Grayson continues the line of questioning with each of the Lords until he turns to me. “It would seem, Wallace, that your alibi is sitting next to you.” He’s looking Luna over carefully, like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck her or stab her, and knowing thisgobshite, it’s likely a mixture of both. “What happened with you two?”
“I caught her, took her to the gardener’s cottage and fucked her raw,” I say in my most disinterested voice. “Never saw Deacon.”
“I still can’t believe this,” Brittany snipes. “Look at her, with that terrible hair and her dumpster clothes. Why is she still here? She was onlyentertainment-”
Grayson’s still sober enough to aim properly because he pulls out a .357 and shoots her in the arm.
The table erupts with screams from the remaining girls, Brittany’s piercing shriek rising above them all. Luna doesn’t make a sound, her grip tightening on her little knife.
I tap my watch three times.
“Did I say anyone could speak?” Grayson arches a haughty brow. “You are fortunate to be a useless, silly little girl. Had you been one of these boys, that bullet would be in your head, not your arm.” He gives her a thin smile as she recoils. “I’ve always had a weakness for the ladies.”
His unhinged gaze returns to me. “I must say that I find your alibi unconvincing, Wallace. I initially came to the island today because our client in Texas has been pushing for his first shipment, and all I hear from you are endless excuses about why the product isn’t ready. You can see my concern.”
“Why is it my problem that the compound isn’t ready? I brought in the rifles to be modified,” I shrug. “Eddie there-” I nod to an alarmed Eddie at the other end of the table, “His crew and yours are responsible for the shipment.”
“We’ll get to that,” Grayson snaps. He blathers on about the client’s outrage and I would tune it out, but he’s still wavingthat feckin’ revolver around. Luna’s staring at me now, disgust radiating from her as she subtly shifts her chair away from mine. I squeeze her thigh warningly before she angrily pulls loose.
“All I know…” Eddie’s rubbing his forehead, looking confused. “I never got...” His brow furrows. “You know…” He lands face-down on his dinner plate.
I hear the ‘click!’ of multiple guns pulled from holsters and safeties being released.
Everyone seated at the table follows Eddie’s example one by one, Brittany and Canary falling off their chairs into a heap on the floor. Marcus hits his wine glass on the way down, shattering it and driving a shard into his face. Enzo falls backward, his chair thudding heavily on the oriental rug. They're all down, aside from Colton and me. And Luna, who I shove under the table with one hand and shoot three of the guards - who are turning in circles, trying to isolate the threat - in quick succession.
Down to three.
Colton grunts, taking a bullet in the shoulder while he shoots two of the guards, and I finish off the last one. Grayson lives up to my full expectations of him, standing there with his mouth open in shock and his pistol dangling from his slack hand. I shoot him in the arm as he screams, dropping the weapon. There’s gunfire and shouting from the kitchen, nearly drowned out by an enormous explosion from the dock, rattling the old windows.
“The problem with the old money bastards like you, Armstrong, is that never in your exalted existence have things not gone the way you expected.” I stroll around the table, putting my foot on his chest and leaning in hard, enjoying his pained grunt. “It makes ya soft. Even diving into dark business such as this never sharpened your senses, aye?”
Luna crawls out from under the table on her hands and knees, staring at me, pale as a ghost and silent.
“You bastard,” Grayson chokes, blood running from his arm and pooling on the ancient rug. “I allowed my sons to bring you in, I-”
Colton joins us. “You want me to check in on the kitchen?” he gestures at the remains of the dinner party. “This group of assholes aren’t going anywhere.”
“Aye, thanks, mate.”
He strolls out into the hallway, whistling cheerfully as he reloads his Beretta.
“But back to you, ya fecking bawbag.” I press my gun against his forehead. It’s still hot from being fired, making him yelp in pain. “Ya might be thinking that we’ll turn ya over to Interpol, aye? Ya get a fancy solicitor and get this awkward mess taken care of? The thing about with dealing with criminals…” I dig my heel into his wound, enjoying his little shriek. “Our sort prefer to handle business our way. You’re not gonna enjoy what’s left of your existence.”
“We can come to an arrangement,” he wheezes, so fecking privileged that even now, he thinks his money can buy his way out of this. “Please! I have-”
“You’ve got nothing I need.” Pressing my gun harder against his forehead, all I can see are the terrified faces of Luna and her friend. These fecks were going to rape the lasses and then sell them, as if guns and nerve gas weren’t evil enough.
“Don’t you do it, lad.”
Dropping my head with a sigh, I mutter, “Hey, Da.”
“Son.” My father squeezes my shoulder and helps me up. “Ya look good,” he says, eyeing me carefully. “How’s the leg?”
“Stitched it up just fine.” I nod to a stunned and motionless Luna. “She held the wound closed for me; makes a fine nurse. Lass, ya can put the knife down now.”
“Ah, ya must be Luna.” My father rounds the table, holding out his hand. “I’m Dougal MacTavish. You’ve already met my son, of course.”
Her mouth opens and closes again, looking a bit like a goldfish.
