Four years ago…
It's good to get your hands dirty every now and then.
"I swear, I…din… know anyth…" McKinney slurs.
"Now, I'm thinking ye said ye dinnae know anything," I say, punching him in the face and flattening his nose. "But since most of your teeth are missing, it came out a wee bit mushy. We also know that canna be correct, aye, Duncan?"
My brother blows another smoke ring up at the dirty concrete ceiling. "I canna imagine this feeble feck knowing a lot, but I'm thinking he knows who set that car bomb that took out the warehouse. It's got an Irish stink all over it."
"Aye, the Kellys have always preferred the cowardly way out, killing from a distance instead of face to face," I agree, shaking out my hand before punching our guest again. "If ye want to see the sunrise, ye best start talking, because so far, nothing useful is coming out of your mouth and my brother wants to try out his new scalpel. Did ye know he minored in Human Anatomy in college? He failed the course, actually."
"Hey!" Duncan scowls at me.
"But the lad," I continue, "does have an art when it comes to inflicting maximum pain without letting the victim die."
Duncan smiles modestly, "Oh, ye old flatterer. Dinnae worry. I'm happy to wait until you've gotten your workout done. No better cardio than beating the shite out of a traitor."
"I swear… I din…" Blood pours out of McKinney's mouth, along with a couple of teeth.
Picking up a steel rod, I slam it against his knee, hearing it snap. His chair falls backward onto the gore-soaked floor as he lets out a scream. "Ye were a valued associate before ye got greedy," I say, flipping the rod absently. "For years. Why would ye betray us now? It's hard to imagine you're getting a better deal, so this is a one-time payoff that ye just couldn't resist, aye?"
There's a garbled moan, and then nothing.
"Ach, he's passed out, the poor wee thing," Duncan drawls. "I'm getting the hose. What do ye have from Kai and Logan?"
I'd sent our cousins out to pick up two more of McKinney's associates. They caught the eejits just as they tried to disappear. Betraying the MacTavish Mafia means there is no place on earth we canna follow.
"Same story as before," I say, trying to force down my frustration. "Inside information on shipments. Too much money to turn down the deal."
This isn't the first fire I've had to put out over the last two months. Nothing earth-shattering, but missed shipments here, deals gone bad there, long-time associates suddenly backing off and selecting new investors.
"It's like being nibbled to death by ducks," Duncan says gloomily. "Not enough to really hurt, just enough to bug the shite out of ye."
I'm about to agree when my mobile rings, the special ringtone reserved for family. Picking it up with a clean cloth, I wedge it between my ear and shoulder as I wipe my bloody hands. "MacTavish."
"Mr. MacTavish?" I frown, checking the number. It's Maisie's, but the voice isn't. Then I recognize the apologetic tone.
"Sophie? What's wrong?" I ask, heading over to the corroded sink to wash my hands.
"Mr. MacTavish-"
"Call me Michael," I say for the thousandth time.
"Uh, Michael, I'm sorry to call you on Maisie's phone but she's… uh… sleeping and I hoped that you could come get us? She told me to call you first before… she got nappy."
Checking Sophie's location, I see they're about five miles from the campus of their private boarding school. "And what are the two of ye doing, away from campus with no security?" I say coldly.
There's a watery shriek behind me as Duncan turns the hose on our guest, waking him up.
"What was that?" Sophie gasps. "Are you hurt?"
"Raccoons." I go into the dimly lit hall, shutting the door behind me. "Back to ye and Maisie. What's going on?"
I can hear her anxiety in every word. "We came to a friend's house for a party, one of the kids from school. I didn't think it would get so boozy. Maisie's had a few, I tried to stop her, I'm sorry! I should have done better but I had a glass of wine too and-"
"I'm coming to get ye," I interrupt, tucking my shirt back in my dress pants and checking for blood splatter. There's a spray of it up my left sleeve, damn it. "Has someone been pushing up on ye?" I rip the shirt off, balling it up and throwing it in a trash can.
"Not at the moment," she says apologetically. "I locked us in a bedroom. There's some guys here, not nice people. I told them they were hitting on a MacTavish and they'd be missing an eye by midnight. That usually does the trick, but not this time."
"This has happened before?" I pinch the brow of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.
"No!" Sophie exclaims. "Not like this, anyway. I'm really sorry. Can you pick us up? I'm sending you the address."
Ian, my driver, stands up as I stride down the hall, following me.
"Sophie, what am I hearing?" There's a clamor in the background and she groans.
"They're pounding on the door- Hey, you assholes, get the hell out of here!" she roars. "Michael, the door's locked, so we're okay for now."noveldrama
For now? "Ye stay on with me until you hear me at the door, do ye understand?" I push through the swinging door at the back of the butcher shop we use on occasion. "What's Maisie doing?"
"Um, she's fine, I've got her head propped up," she says. "Really, we thought it was just going to be our classmates. We didn't know Boyd invited other people."
"Are they still pounding on the door?" I slide into the passenger seat of my Maserati SUV, punching the address into the display screen and pulled out a clean shirt from a stash I keep in the back, buttoning it up swiftly.
Sophie's shouting at the door. "You're saying that with the confidence of a much taller man, you douchebag!"
"Good lass." I wince as I hear the pounding on the door again. "Is there a dresser or something ye can push in front of the door?"
Ian takes a corner on two wheels. "Ten minutes."
"Nice work," I say as he passes six cars in a row. "Sophie?"
"I'm here."
"We're close. I'm in a black SUV."
"The Maserati?"
A corner of my mouth quirks up. "Aye. How did ye know?"
"Oh, I just really like it," she stammers. "You know. A Maserati. They're so cool. Even if it's an SUV. I mean, an SUV is good. It's not like it's a minivan or something. I'm just going to shut up now."
Despite the seriousness of the moment, I have to stifle a laugh.
We pull up in front of a big brick Georgian-style house. Lights are blazing from every room and the lawn is cluttered with cars. The place is down a long driveway, separate from the rest of the upscale neighborhood, which is likely the only reason the Polis haven't been called yet.
I'm shoving through the crowd, Ian at my back as I say, "Where are ye, lass?"
"Second floor," Sophie is sounding rattled. "The third door on the left, the one with-"
"The fecking arseholes outside in the hall?" I shout. There's two sons of bitches outside the door, turning at the sound of my voice. One is smart enough to instantly step away and disappear down the hall.
The bigger, stupider one speaks up. "What the hell do ye want? This is our-"
My fist shoots out, flattening his nose, blood spurting, before he can finish the sentence.
"Get the feck out."
His friend returns long enough to haul him up as he's gurgling insults through his bloody lips and they immediately head for the stairway.
I tap on the door. "Sophie? I'm here."
It flies open and she's there, clutching a table lamp. "Thank you for coming!"
"Are ye gonna brain me with that?"
"Oh!" She sets it down hastily. "Maisie's in here, she's on the bed."
My sister is sprawled across the flowered bedspread, snoring softly.
"Has she boaked up yet?" I ask, eyeing Maisie's blissful slumber.
"No." Sophie helps her sit up. "Hey girlie, your brother's here."
"Wha…?" Maisie groans. "Oh, hey Michael. Ye do love me!"
"Was that ever in question?" I ask wryly. "Up ye get, sleeping beauty." Scooping her up in my arms, I head for the door. Sophie's apologizing again.
"I'm really very sorry, Mr.- Michael. It was just a little party until everyone got hammered."
I ignore the clots of gawking teenagers, some still in their school uniforms as we head out the door. "I'd like to ask who the host is, but I dinnae want to punch an eighteen year old in the throat," I say, turning sideways to get my sister into the backseat, strapping her in. "Maisie Grace, dinnae ye spew in my Maserati or you'll be the one cleaning it tomorrow."
She mumbles something as Sophie slides in the other side. "Here, you can use my sweater," she offers.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, lass! Put it back on," I sigh. "Maisie, just tell me if we need to pull over. Grunt. Sign it to me."
There's some kind of vocal affirmation from my sister before she falls asleep again on Sophie's shoulder.
"Where to, boss?" Ian taps his thumbs on the steering wheel.
I groan inwardly. If I drop them off back at their school dormitory, they'd likely get probation, not that they dinnae deserve it. Dropping them off at home would probably be even worse. "My place."
Sophie tries not to gawk as we drag Maisie through the front hall, her good manners taking over. "You have a very nice home, Mr.- I mean, Michael."
I carry my sister up the stairs, settling her in one of the guest bedrooms. "We'll have a discussion tomorrow about what happened."
The blood drains from her face. "I'm terribly sorry. Oh, god. I'm going to lose my scholarship, aren't I?"
Frowning, I shake my head. "Haud your wheesht lass. Do ye think you're the first one in the clan who's gotten pished underage? My father had to bail Duncan out of jail when he was fourteen. He drank half my father's liquor cabinet and decided to steal our neighbor's car."
"It was still stupid," she says, shaking her head.
"I've no doubt my sister dragged ye along with her," I say dryly. "Maisie is relentless in her pursuit of trouble." I get the trash can from the bathroom and put it next to my slumbering sister, along with two bottles of water and some Ibuprofen. "You're gonna need these in the morning. Try not to worry so much, aye?"
Her smile is dazzling and for the first time, I see how beautiful she'll be as an adult. Her slate-grey eyes are silver in this light, chestnut brown hair up in a ponytail and a perfect little pink mouth. She's gotten taller, her head reaches my shoulder and there's curves in places she dinnae have them before, and-
"Get some sleep," I say curtly, striding out the door and shutting it behind me.
"Thank you…" her voice barely reaches me.
"Ye fecking pervert," I mutter as I head back downstairs to pour myself a drink.
***
An auld yin – Scottish slang for an old guy.
Polis – Scottish slang for police.