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“I know,” I growl. Blythe was in the minor leagues. Now, he’s gotten a chance at the MLB.
“You flew my entire clan out here to—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we will support the guy. But I invited you, namely, to kill Leith for his plan in helping Ava return to California.”
“She asked for a plane ticket. He got her a plane ticket.”
Being so fixated on how I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life by letting her go, I haven’t punished any of my henchmen for helping Ava contact Leith.
* * *
The next day, Brody arrives at my mortuary late in the afternoon. Twisting his burly body, he climbs out of the compact, two-door Chevy with a rental tag on the bumper.
“Don’tfeckingmention it,” he mutters.
Shite, I wasn’t. “Where’s Leith?”
“He. Twigs—”
“Twigs? I thought you and Chev—”
“We did. Between you and me, I’ll still call his wifeTwigs, just not to her face. She’s clan now.” He closes the door with an irritated smile.
“Mia with them?”
“Aye.”
The left edge of my mouth twitches at the notion of having my own bairn. I lead him into the lobby. The stench of disinfectant and dead bodies permeates the air. “You didn’t answer my question. Where’s Leith?”
“Stop cutting in like myfeckingmam. Leith said to tell you, ‘Thank ya for flying his family first-class.’ I don’t know why you did. Thatbawbag’sloaded. I’d have sent him coach and let him upgrade it.” Brody chuckles at his own joke. “Also, you’re asking about my brother like he’s the one you’re sweet on.”
“Oh, I’m sweet,” I growl, opening the door to the viewing room. “I’msweeton the idea ofcracking his skull when I see him and begging your parents’ forgiveness later.” I offer a tight laugh.
Brody snorts. “We had this discussion in front of Kiera already.”
“I know. Don’t discuss business in front of thewean. Don’t threaten a life in front of thewean. I’m a changed man.”
“I figured ya were,” he says, eyeing a couch facing a window. “So, what’s this room for?”
“A viewing room. I can’t takeeverybody, pretend to burn it to a crisp, and give families paper cinders now, can I?”
“Uhhhh?”
I gesture toward a set of wooden blinds. I twist the lever, and we’re peering into the crematorium. “The stiffs get cremated in there.”
“Obviously,” he deadpans.
“Some of my clientele pay obscene amounts to sit here on the couch, watch their dead family members burn. Or they can push that lever, light up the dead themselves.”
Brody’s face contours. It’s a cultural disconnect. “Ugh, that’s what power gets ‘em.”
“Trust me. I’d have no part of it. But being a part of the cremation helps some people. For those who aren’t interested in the process, I keep the bodies, place cocaine into them, ship them off. The family gets a stack of printer paper in ashes. You’d be surprised how much an adult’s ashes can weigh.”
He gives an appreciative nod. “Solid gig.”
“Yeah. This is a lot less than the cost of shipping my cocaine in expensive coffins. You ready to haularse?”
“I’ll stick with the guns, mate. Clan Mackenzie’ll never be interested in the drug trade.”
