“What could your son have gathered that would bring us down?”
Gargoyle became more alert. That was the Ceann-Feadhna[7]—the leader of the Hunters, or Sealgair Uilebheist, as they liked to be called. Why was he here?
“Nothing,” Alfred snapped.
“Don’t push Mitchum. He’s not alone, Diarmad McDonald is close to him,” Alexander warned.
“I am not frightened of that wimp. McDonald is no threat to us,” Ceann-Feadhna snarled.
“Don’t underestimate the two of them,” Alexander retorted.
“McDonald is a gimp. He’s of no importance, and Mitchum is a traitor to the cause. You have one last chance at turning him back onto the righteous path. After that, I shall act. Make no mistake, this isn’t weakness or fondness. This offer is merely an opportunity to make amends. If you fail…” Ceann-Feadhna let the threat hang in the air.
“I say kill Mitchum,” Alfred complained.
“How wonderful to see your loyalty, Alfred,” Ceann-Feadhna replied.
“To the Sealgair Uilebheist, I have loyalty in buckets, and I’ll not let anyone impugn my reputation. The boy isn’t one of us,too much of his mother in him, and we know what happened to Mari.” Alfred spat on the carpet, and Gargoyle mentally shook his head.
“We aren’t the first family that’s had a member in crisis. Mitchum will find his faith again,” Alexander replied quietly.
“Ensure he does,” Ceann-Feadhna said nothing more; he didn’t need to.
Mitch
As he escorted Jess back to her room, Mitch was buzzing. The evening had been perfect. He and Jess had headed to a pizzeria, then to a bar. They’d talked and chatted, and nothing had been awkward. Neither of them alluded to each other’s secrets, and it felt like no time had passed.
“Kiss me goodnight,” Jess said, leaning into him at her door. Mitch didn’t need telling twice. He held her close and kissed her gently. The sparks flared between them, and Jess moved closer. Mitch’s cock grew hard, and he felt Jess smile triumphantly against his lips.
“Only with you,” Mitch whispered.
“I hope so,” Jess quipped, stepping back.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” Mitch inquired. “Maybe a lunch date and then dinner later? There’s a show on if you’d like to attend it?”
“The new murder mystery at the theatre?” Jess asked.
“Yes, interested?”
“Definitely. See you tomorrow,” Jess murmured with a coy smile, and entered her room.
Mitch walked away, almost whistling. Jess was back in his life, and everything was hunky-dory.
The elevator doors opened, and on entering, Mitch pressed the button for the underground car park. As it reached his level, Mitch emerged; his senses came alert. Mitch wasn’t alone. Cautiously, he strode to where he’d parked, keeping his head on a swivel.
Three spaces away from his vehicle, a stranger stepped out from behind a pillar.
A crowbar was thrust at Mitch’s head, and he ducked as it missed him by inches. Mitch danced back as it swung again.
“What do you want?” Mitch demanded.
“Nothing but your life. Neach-brathaidh!” the guy spat, and Mitch growled.
“Murtair[8]!” Mitch snarled, and the attacker grinned. “I’d send you back to tell Alfred and Alexander they made a mistake, but you won’t live.”
Mitch reached down and pulled a wicked-looking knife from a sheath on his boot. He glided into a fighting stance, and the Murtair launched. Mitch dodged the blows as best he could and attacked in return.
The Murtair dropped the crowbar and attacked with his own blade.
