Take a Bullet for You: A Standalone Scottish BWWM Romance by Amarie Avant

Author:Amarie Avant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2021-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 35

Brody

I wrestled with the thought of becoming a fecking snitch. Leith and Camdyn were always the book smart ones when we grew up. The teen was street-smart too. Now, the wee nugget is the daftest smart person I’ve come across. A lad who regards himself too highly is dangerous and requires cutting down. Same goes for Ewan McFarland. But Leith and I had a conversation tonight. It was around one a.m. when I left his home. We decided to have an intervention with the American, the three of us.

Now, I’m seated in front of my home. All the windows are black, and nothing about the place is begging me to enter.

I slide my phone out and try Justice. Leaning my elbow on the window, I thump the backs of my fingertips against my mouth while waiting. The first call goes to voicemail. I ring her again. Och, when I get my hands on ye.

“Feck!” She gives me a good four rings of hope this time before ignoring me. I lean against the headrest, still not interested in entering my house. The lingering scent of her faded while I was in Scotland. Should have stayed. I shouldn’t have fecked her first and told her I’d be leaving.

I’m about to try her number again when I focus on Wilmer’s messages.

“Shite, is he off his heid?” I wonder, clicking the notification for seven missed texts. There are seven variations of how the bampot got away. I slam a hand against the steering wheel, sending a beep echoing down the peaceful street.

Sitting iron-rod straight in the driver seat, I call him.

“Oh, hey, it’s Wilmer,” the druggie speaks quickly. Nae, shite, nugget. I ranged ya. “You got my message? I’m bugging out here.”

“Ya let Marcus get away?” I run a heavy hand over the back of my neck. It’s too late for this shite.

“Nope,” his lips pop in the receiver, “I didn’t let him get away. He escaped.”

“Sounds like the same fecking thing to me.” Still not connecting Wilmer’s reason for calling me, I’m about to hang up. I glare out the window at the dark, empty expensive cell I bought myself.

“I was introducing our mutual friend to the shittiest product I have.” Wilmer rambles about cutting coke in half, and half, and half, and half, mixing it with—

“Wilmer!” I growl out. The nugget sounds like he’s been dealing to the American. “Ye took Marcus to Miami?”

“Nope.” Again, he puffs into the phone. “Funny thing about selling ass. The buyer had a certain list of criteria. Marcus LeRoux’s French accent wasn’t doing it for a half-dead, rich cock sucker. Now, someone owes me money, Brody.”

I take it some old lad decided not to buy Marcus off his hands. “Then find the guy and put him on a fecking corner.”

“No, Mr. MacKenzie. You owe me money. His debt became your debt.”

Rarely am I stunned. When I appealed to Ewan for Justice’s family’s protection, he agreed. That meant canceling all the debts Marcus owed the McFarlands. Turns out, the wee fecker owed more than their clan, which meant open season.

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