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36
Camdyn
I’m not the guy who holds a girl close and consoles her. Willow should know this by now. Sure, I’ll hug my four-year-old niece. I’ll wear itchy ass makeup and sit on an impossibly small chair. I’ll drink air from a tiny teacup with a sparkly tutu over my jeans because little Mia cries fat ass crocodile tears if I don’t. Only the tears of my clan persuade me. I’ll die for them. But the thing is, now, I give a fuck about Willow too.
I’ll admit, her despair captivated Jamie, and in return, it enraged me. Jealousy blinded me. I convinced myself that she was a liar and a temptress that way, I could convince Jamie. So, on the night before her birthday, I acted like, as Mom would call me, a numpty, a first-class idiot. I got higher and higher, just so I could fuck her over. Now, she’s even more broken, except for one juicy, ripe cherry, and I’ve restored ownership of her tight cunt.
I watch the subtle rise and fall of her tits while she sleeps. Nothing is stopping me from my face planting between her light brown mounds and being the fucking dog I am. Except, something is stopping me.
For the first time in my life, I’m satiated. The sweet taste of Willow is on my lips. She’s a flower growing in a desolate desert. If I pour all of my energy into giving and not taking from her, man, that would be beautiful.
As she slumbers, I whisper in her ear, “See, no more tears, Willow. You’re welcome.”
* * *
Ienter the code into the door to the basement. JT, the dude I shot in the leg, has his wrists bound above his head. Chin resting against his chest, he’s dozing off. I glare at the other guy in a security guard uniform who’s stretched out.
Brody runs a hand across his face. “This one told me I’ve the wrong lad.”
“Damn, we always have the wrong motherfucker.” I pick up the bronze nametag. “Sterling, here’s the chance of a lifetime.”
In anguish, he measures out each word, “Help . . . Me . . .”
“I am. Tell me what your friend was up to.”
He pants, “JT ain’t no friend of mine.”
“Of course, he’s not.” I pick up a gun, nudge it at his nose. “We both know you’re dying tonight, right?”
“Please—”
“No. Don’t be stupid, Sterling. You’ve seen me, my bros. You know our names. Death is inevitable.”
“I don’t know your na—”
I nod. I forgot I introduced myself to JT. My lips curve into a snarl. “I’m Cam MacKenzie.”
“Brody.” My brother clicks his tongue, bored by my way of doing things. I call it psychological torture. Brody’s closed-minded ass only uses his scalpel for smiley faces.
“Where’s Leith?” I ask.
“Weak stomach.” Bullshit, he took his ass home to his wife.
“Yes, weak stomach.” I twist my eldest brother’s lie and turn to Sterling. “So, when we imply my bro has a weak stomach, it’s not because he’s seen someone being shot. Putting a bullet in a dog is easy. What we have planned, not so much.”
Brody chuckles. “Nae, we’re gonna gut you.”
Sterling whimpers.
“But,” I tell him, patting his cheek with the gun, “you have choices. JT doesn’t. Tell me why Willow was at JT’s. Then my bro’s gonna give you a little Glasgow grin. I’ll put one token bullet between your eyes. JT will see the brunt of my wrath. Sound like a plan?”
“N-no . . .”
I hand the gun to Brody and slaughter Sterling’s abdomen with a right hook. As he sucks in air, my hands anchor his mouth, denying him oxygen.
“Let’s start over. Big tip, Do. Not. Say. No. Understood?”
He’s heaving on my gloved palms. When he nods, I let him go. Only for a second, though. My hands constrict his nose and mouth again. I steal his oxygen a couple of times because that’s the type of bastard I am.
