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“Tonight, I’m in my happy place.” He plucks up a knife, pointing to his cellphone on the floor. “Midnight Gods was on my playlist for a while.”
Midnight’s one of my favorite rock bands. They even got a Scottish fellow. Shite. The wee motherfecker’s just on a natural high, which may be scarier.
Camdyn turns to address Wilmer. “Dead dude, I could see it in your eyes. You would have traded places with me in a nanosecond, huh?”
Wilmer’s daze dances around. He’s lost so much blood that gray tinges his skin.
I return to Camdyn. “Wit were ye on the other night?”
“Good shit.” Camdyn lets the knife roam over his knuckles then holds it out for me. “Here. I guess it’s time for a bit of facial reconstructive surgery, Dead dude. I know. More physical pain. You can block that out, unlike the notion that you won’t be sniffing any more pussy.”
Still disgusted, I get in his face and growl, “Wit were ye on? Wit’s gotten into ya?”
Unfazed, Camdyn’s index finger follows the stick-figure drawing in Wilmer’s stomach. With an evil grin, my bràthair hooks a finger deep into the broken flesh. Blood gushes from Wilmer’s wound as he pants.
Camdyn turns to me. “I’m living my best life, Brody. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re starting to smell like a snitch. Are you going to tell my business, Brody?”
I push at his chest. “Ye’re taking drugs, fighting Leith and me—”
“We’re always fighting!” he snarls.
“Letting a random slut down here. That’s fecking new!”
“Let’s call her an accomplice. No, strike that. The bitch cut him herself. All I did was fuck her afterward. If anyone committed a crime, it was her. I’m seventeen. She’s an adult. A college bitch, remember?” His thick lips begin to tremble. A mask of fear plays on his face, which doesn’t reach the void in his gaze. “She . . . preyed on me . . . a minor.”
I glare at him in shock. Normally, I’d beat this shite out of my wee bràthair, but I change my tune. That didn’t work when Leith and I went after Camdyn at Leith’s house. If I alert Mam or Da, this bawbag’s gonna hate me forever. However, Mam would kill ‘em for letting the wench down here, so there’s that. I put a plan into place. I’ll cement those impossibly small windows that I’d have not expected even a bairn could enter. I’m gonna push it into Leith’s ear to add more security in the basement. Some high-tech shite. For now, I make a call to James, telling him to pick up the blonde.
Still, the question begs: How do I reach the American?
“Brody, c’mon, I’d never compromise our freedom over a bitch. She. Will. Never. Tell.”
“Ye are delusional.” I posture. “Sex in front of this lad? Bringing a woman down here.”
“We discussed the chick, Brody. She has her own sins, so stop it. Sex in front of the dead guy? These days, every-fucking-body’s fucking somebody in front of somebody. But whatever you say.” Camdyn looks toward Wilmer again while getting up. “Hey, dead dude, you’re at the end of the line. A little smile and then a split throat more than likely. Congratulations, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Get back here!” I call after him.
“Oh, I get it.” He cocks his head, groaning, sauntering back over. “This is about the fat chick.”
“Don’t—”
“Cute face, fat chick, bro. No denying it. All the good fluffy parts—ass, breasts—those are real. That’s a major bonus. Here.” Camdyn holds out the knife.
I take it.
“You about to end him, Brody?”
“Aye. Soon as I can get one of the lads to pick ‘em up,” I mutter. Fecking, fecking, getting my beard groomed, and torturing were once the pride of my life. I’d not told Justice that I preferred torture. She looked ready to wilt like a flower in the Scottish sun when I mentioned killingthat other fecker.
Except, my hobby ain’t doing it for me, not tonight.
I don’t want to get my beard groomed. It’s perfect.
It dawns on me. I don’t want to feck another woman.
Images of Justice and I flash before my eyes. It sort of reminds me like one would feel if he were about to die. I have a deep longing to see her again. To argue, to laugh, to do all the same moves I had in the beginning when craving my first taste of her.
When I come to, Wilmer is squirming. Camdyn’s hands are drenched in blood, as are my own. While my bràthair held his face, I’d cut the lad the perfect smile.
I drop the knife, envisioning Justice’s bonny face.
“Have at him,” I mutter, heading for the stairs. I’ve come to a conclusion. Justice Flowers said she wants to kill me. Everything I did was for my clan. But it was also for her.
I put Justice first.
