Page 14 of Miki

The smug expression on the guy’s face made me seethe with fury.

On top of everything he had done, this fucking bastard had ordered my sister’s death. I wanted to know why. What his problem was with us and if he was working with anyone else? And then he needed to pay. Him and that little weasel, Simpson.

Marko raised his eyebrows at me when I emitted a growl under my breath. I shook my head at his questioning gaze. He tilted his own head enough to see my screen and his wry smile told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. A pained look flashed across his face, and I knew he was picturing the last time we all saw our beautiful sister.

“We’ll make him pay. We’ll make them all pay,” he reassured me, nodding.

Oh, they would definitely pay dearly for their sins. I still wasn’t sure exactly how yet, but I longed to take at least one of them to the C, and Aiden Mathieson seemed the most likely candidate for a one-way ticket to the place.

When we were in the C, we were totally in control of everything.

Everyone entering was unconscious and properly restrained.

Clothes and personal items were removed, and forensic suits donned, before going into the kill room.

We never went in there alone but always with another person for safety.

After we were finished, we cleansed everything thoroughly and disposed of the bodies through cremation.

The C was our special place and the rules my dad had created, and we rigidly implemented, allowed us to literally get away with murder.

Dad was an amazing planner and strategist, and I tried to be like him as best I could.

That was why I didn’t kill Simpson the minute I discovered his identity, even though I longed to rip out the bastard’s throat. That was also why, although we were headed up to Scotland, I had no plans to confront Mathieson yet.

Not until I discovered everything I could about the guy and ensured there were no other unknown enemies lurking in the shadows. Sadly, the way things had been lately, I really couldn’t discount that possibility. Time would tell.

“I’ll give Jim MacArthur a call and see what he knows,” I told Marko as he continued to dig into Mathieson’s background.

“Miki. Good to hear from you,” Jim answered in his gruff Scottish brogue.

Jim MacArthur was the head of the MacArthur gang from the south side of Glasgow, and one of the few people I was considering for offloading part of our drugs route to.

“Don’t tell me you’ve called to rearrange our meeting?”

“Not at all. Actually, I was looking for a bit of information,” I replied.

“Whatever you need,” he said.

After filling him in on the situation, Jim confirmed Mathieson was the defence lawyer on the payroll of a rival gang. The Thomas gang were based in Glasgow’s east end and were notorious throughout Scotland. They ruled their small territory through fear and violence and were, in the words of Jim, ‘scummy bastards’. If Mathieson was involved with them, he was the lowest of the low.

However, that still didn’t explain his obsession with hurting us or Glowacki. Neither of us had ever had any dealings with the Thomas gang. So, either Mathieson was working alone, and he was the one who had the issue with us, or there was indeed another player yet to be discovered.

Sighing heavily, I rubbed at the tension in my forehead, which was causing me a headache. It was frustrating that the answers still eluded us, but at least we were closing in on a key player.

Tonight, with the help of Marko, I would break into Mathieson’s office and hopefully, that would provide me with many of the answers I so desperately needed.

Hiding behind the bins, out of sight of the security cameras, I waited.

The stink was disgusting. I guessed an office must have had a working lunch as leftover Indian takeaway and pizza boxes overflowed the bin, pushing the lid open enough to allow the stench of rotten food to permeate the air.

Taking quick, shallow breaths, I tried hard to avoid inhaling too deeply for fear that I might end up vomiting. I’d never live it down if Marko heard me spewing my guts up over a bit of leftover food.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait for long and the lights in the building flickered off and then on again.

“Go!” his voice hissed through my earpiece. The alarm was off.

Relief flooded me as I escaped the offending smells and hurried over to the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open enough to slip inside.

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