Chapter Eight

Sophie…

“When this is over, I’m takin’ ya out on a date.”

“What?”

I hand him the last clip in the box, flinching as another spray of bullets hits the shutters. The wood is battered and it won’t protect us much longer. “You’re talkin’ about dating? Now?”

He glances down at me quickly with a bit of an unhinged grin. “I’m thinkin’ I’m not gonna let another Christmas pass by without sayin’ this. So aye, after we kill these feckers we’ll talk about where I’m takin’ ya to dinner and-”

Narrowing his eyes, he fires twice, giving a grunt of satisfaction. “And then, after we eat?” He aims and shoots again as I stand there, mouth gaping open and lookin’ like a numpty. “I’m gonna tell ya in great detail what I plan to do to ya next.”

I’m so grateful the sound of the bullets and the storm cover my embarrassing little whimper. “You’re a nutter, Michael MacTavish!”

Then, I hear it.

A high whine of tires slipping in the snow.

“I think someone’s here!”

I stand on my tiptoes, trying to see outside through Michael’s narrow slot.

“Get down!”

He slides his free arm around my waist, pulling me away just as a barrage of bullets finally tears apart the shutters, our last line of defense. There’s a high scream from Jack and Maisie and my mother pulls them behind the couch, still gripping her fireplace poker.

Duncan leaps over an ottoman, hurling one of his knives through the torn wood and nailing a Krampus-masked invader right in the eye. Looking around wildly, I race over to the fireplace, grabbing the iron shovel, raising it over my head like a cricket bat. Michael’s out of bullets and he’s pistol-whipping the next Krampus trying to fight through the broken doors and then we hear a searingly shrill whistle and the bullets stop.

There’s hammering on the door to the hallway and Cormac aims his gun.

“It’s us! Open the door.”

The voice is muffled, but he must recognize it because he and Caitriona tear the furniture away from their makeshift barricade.

“Where did they go?”

Mala calls over to Duncan. “Do you see them?”

“Just bodies.”

“Those feckers are on the run.”

Michael roars out the window, “We’ll find ya, ya bastards!”

Behind me, something thumps down the chimney, clanking and clanging against the brick.

“Is that Father Christmas?”

Jack shouts, coming out from behind the couch.

Oh, no. No, no no no no!

The object that lands in the fire isn’t big, it’s metallic and-

“Run!”

I shriek, nearly shredding my vocal cords. Jamming my little shovel under the grenade, I scoop it out of the fire and spin, hurling it toward the shattered French doors, screaming like my hair’s on fire.

The grenade barely sails through the opening before it explodes, spraying shards of wood and brick in all directions. Michael and Duncan are thrown halfway across the room. I stumble back, landing awkwardly on my arse, staring at the massive hole where the wall used to be.

“Shite!”

Michael kneels in front of me. “Love, are ya hurt?” He’s got a gash on his forehead that’s streaming blood onto his white dress shirt and something is sticking out of his arm as he reaches for me. It’s a vicious spike of wood, as big around as my wrist. He’s patting my arms and legs like the world’s most awkward frisking. I show my appreciation for his concern by leaning forward and boaking up all over his shoes.

***

Michael…

“I’m sorry about the whole… ya know…”

Sophie waves her hand uncomfortably at my bare feet. My vomit-crusted Dior loafers are outside, tossed into the snow.

“Dinna worry, love. They were uncomfortable as hell. Never liked ‘em.”

She drops her head into her hands, groaning. “Liar. I know ya loved those shoes.”

“You saved our lives, my dear.”

Mum leans down to hug Sophie. “All of us. That was one hell of a swing.”

“She was the star batsman - batswoman - all through her academy years,”

Olivia says proudly, patting Sophie’s shoulder.

“And she has a burn on her arm that I’d like to look at.”

Bonnie shoulders me aside, kneeling in front of her.

“No, wait. Michael’s still hurt, and so is Cormac,”

Sophie protests, pulling away, which is so sweet and noble that I canna decide whether to kiss her or smack her arse. The image is so hot that I groan, trying to will my cock back down.

“I’m fine.”

Showing her my bandaged arm, I kiss her forehead. “It’s your turn, lass.”

“Uncle Cormac’s all patched up. A bullet went through his shoulder with a nice clean exit wound. I told ya a nursing degree would be more useful than becomin’ a barrister,”

Bonnie sasses her, gently cleaning the burn.

“Oh, we need those too.”

Mala hands Bonnie another roll of gauze. “At least, I hope you’ll come to work for the MacTavish Corporation when you graduate, Sophie. There are many legal and legitimate branches of our clan’s business.”

I wink at my mother. We’ve been moving away from the darker side of the MacTavish Corporation for a long time.

To be honest, I miss the danger and the excitement… until nights like these remind me of why my parents are doin’ this.

“There.”

Bonnie gives Sophie’s bandage a gentle pat. “All done.”

“What the hell happened here? I mean, what the feck? Krampus?”

This is the fourth time my Uncle Cameron has said this as he and Da try to piece together who could be behind the attack. My other uncles are patrolling the grounds with their security forces while my aunts pack up what’s left of the gifts.

“You’ll all be sleeping at our place tonight.”

Aunt Morana hugs Maisie and Jack, and to his obvious discomfort, Duncan.

Numpty - Scottish slang for a fool or an idiot

Boak up - Scottish slang for vomit