Kilty as Sin by Amy Vansant

Author:Amy Vansant [Vansant, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-08T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Broch walked outside and paused to scan the surrounding area. Heat radiated from the parked cars in wavy lines, softening the edges of everything baking beneath the relentless desert sun.

He made a clicking noise with the corner of his mouth.

Whit a hell-scape this place is.

Devoid of life, the world around him throbbed like a wound.

He felt the tip of a rifle poke his back.

Lifeless, bit fer the eejit poking the gun intae mah ribs.

A trill ran through the muscles in his back, taut like the strings of a harp.

Ah’m goan tae enjoy this.

He took another step before the gunman poked the back of his arm. “Turn around.”

Broch did as he was prompted. The man leaned his face closer.

“What are you smiling at, moron?”

Broch thrust his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Ah’m juist a happy laddie.”

The man spat. “If I were you I wouldn’t be smiling.”

Broch grinned a little more broadly and nodded to the building “She admitted she loues me. At the end there. Did ye hear it? Ah tellt her afore and now she’s tellt me.”

The man scoffed. “Lot of good that bitch’s love is going to do you now. Take a look at your new home.” He motioned behind Broch with the gun.

Broch turned to the van behind him and tilted his head to peer inside. The bodies of the two workers lay there, partially stacked on each other. Plastic lined the floor of the van beneath them, as if the killers had always known the van would be used for transporting bodies.

Broch shook his head and mumbled. “Ye didnae hae tae kill them.”

“What?”

Still turned towards the van, Broch took a step back towards the gunman, mumbling a poem he recalled from schooling with his friend Gavin in Scotland.

“Come hither, hither, bonny fly, with the pearl ‘n’ silver wing—”

The ground behind him crunched as the gunman took a step forward. “Dude, I can’t understand a word you’re say—”

Broch knew what the crunching sand meant.

He’ll hae a foot oot, ‘n’ the gun oot, ready tae poke me in mah back—

Broch dropped to a squat and spun, striking the side of the man’s knee with the back of his curled fist. With a sucking pop the joint gave way. Above his head the gun fired a single shot as the man yelped in pain.

The shot masked his cry and Broch kept his advantage. No reinforcements came running.

As the gunman folded to the ground like a faulty tent, Broch pounced, covering his mouth with his hand. His crippled foe’s arms flailed, clawing at Broch’s neck, fighting to wrestle free. The Highlander flopped back to a sitting position on the ground, jerking the man’s head into his lap.

The man’s arm reached down and Broch saw his hand wrap around a knife strapped to his thigh. In a moment, that knife would be headed his way.

With a sharp twist, he turned the gunman’s neck until he heard the muffled pop of his spine crack. The man fell limp in his arms. The knife and the hand wrapped around it, fell to the sand.

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