heart and let bygones be bygones. Because I, for one, would hate to prolong death. Life is such a beautiful thing.”
The nugget gives a scared nod.
“Same torture device, The Boot, was used by certain criminals in the 1600s. A stone-cold killer,” Camdyn says, as if a game-show host, “by the name of Patrick Roy MacGregor went around causing mayhem. This was a beloved of his. What year was he captured!”
“Uh . . . Uh . . .”
“1600s.” My brathair offers a hint, finishing off his apple.
“Sixteen-sixty . . .”
“Keep it coming,” Camdyn encourages in a deceptively supportive tone.
“Five. 1665.”
Grabbing a tuft of his hair, Camdyn groans. “Daaaamn, friend, you were so close. So close. 1667.”
“But . . .”
The kind smile on Camdyn’s face fades, leaving a vicious scowl. “Even if I had the authority to let you go, I’m not the nice one. He is.” Camdyn claps my shoulder. “Brother, will you let him go?”
I laugh at the nugget’s mind games, shaking my head. “Ye done gabbing aff, Cam?”
“Proceed, big brother. The geek is a fucking idiot.” My brathair grabs Yates by his mouth and nose. Yates’ air is constricted, then he’s relieved, in quick, sadistic successions. Camdyn’s forearms strain while he smothers Yates again. “Next time you look into my personal business, you little cunt—Wait, what am I saying? Won’t be a next time.”
“That’ll do, Cam.” I place a hand on his shoulder as Yates fades.
The placid look on Camdyn’s face evaporates. Smiling, he cocks his head to Yates. “I’m gonna cut the geek’s foot off. Go do some illegal gambling. If it’s as lucky as a rabbit’s foot, may I have the other?”
Hours later, a sliver of sun peeks through the sealed basement windows. I find it hard to imagine that I’d ever hate one person so much. The arsehole has deprived me of sleep, forced me to kill, and manipulated my relationship with Chevelle into a steaming pile of shite. Or maybe all my attempts to follow Chevelle’s contingencies did us in. Och, feck it. I admit I wanted to show my clan I was a man apart from them, a successful lad.
“Aye, the truth is somewhere in the middle,” I mutter. Tipping back a bottle of beer, I take a long swallow. I grab a searing skillet and place it over Yates’ wound.
“Can’t have ya bleeding out,” I bark as he whimpers, too weak from all the howling he’d done earlier. After Camdyn’s twisted game of Jeopardy, Yates had sobbed enough to fill a loch. I’d asked my brathair about his business, and he would only assure me it was considered legal, depending on who ye asked.
There’s the sound of a key in the lock. We all have one, so I wait as the doorknob turns and the door opens. Mam smiles, holding a piping hot mug of coffee. “How’s yer wound?”
“Good.” I kiss her cheek, taking the coffee. She’d stitched me up like a wee bairn late last night before she’d gone to bed.
Mam nods. “That’s my boy. Wit time did Cam disappear on ya?”
“A while back. Made like he was ordering folks in a billion-dollar boardroom. The American is a weird nugget.” Wit the feck is my little brathair up to?
“Och, stop calling my bairn that.”
“A nugget?”
“The American. Jackass. Stop calling Cam the American.” She winks. “He’s a sneaky one.”
Aye, there’ll be nae snitching on Camdyn by asking Mam about his affairs.
Mam sips her own coffee. “How are ye and the missus faring?”
Instantly, I contemplate how Chevelle stole my heart, all in a matter of seconds. I’d wanted her at first sight. I played those video games just to see if I could get her off my mind. I was supposed to end up with a Scottish girl. At least, I never saw any of our clan in any interracial relationships. Then when that motherfecker showed his baws, Chevelle became mine. I had claimed her to keep her safe.
Is she still mine?
“Well, she hasn’t left,” I mutter. My wee wean was supposed to sell her out if Chevelle decided to leave.
“Och, ye’re talking nonsense.”
Yates is rousing awake. She runs a hand over his clammy cheek. “Oh, my Gawd! What have they done to ye?” Her face is drenched in concern.
“Help.” A dose of relief floods across his face until Mam laughs. The same wicked spirit that Camdyn has comes from our Mam. They feed on that split-second look of relief on the faces of their prey. Probably get a kick out of the aftereffects