Thy Kingdom Come (Deliver Us From Evil Trilogy Book One) Page 14

  I quickly accept, and when I hear that voice, I know what I have to do. Puck Kelly will hate me, but I’ll deal with the repercussions because nothing else matters…but this.

  “Hello?” the voice says, heavy with burden.

  I don’t speak. It’s been so long since I’ve heard that voice. I just want to absorb this rare moment in time because I’m happy. It soothes me, even this far away from home.

  “Hi,” I finally reply, squeezing the phone tight, wishing it was them instead.

  He’s watching me, so I can’t say what I want. I’m a prisoner—in every sense of the word.

  “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you! Are you all right?”

  He looks at me with a cocky grin, daring me to tell them otherwise.

  “I’m fine. How are you, more importantly?”

  “I’m okay. Just worried about you. Is it over?”

  And that’s the million-pound question.

  “Camilla?” the voice presses, reminding me this isn’t over…

  Things have only just begun.

  I’m angry.

  This isn’t an uncommon occurrence for me, but this anger is different. I’m angry with myself. As I hit the punching bag hanging off a rafter in the unused barn, all I can think about is Babydoll and how fucking stupid I am.

  I hurt her feelings, and usually, I couldn’t give a fuck, but with her, I do.

  She confessed to being worried about me, after I insinuated she came to see me because she wanted to get off.

  Groaning, I slam my fists into the bag, wishing I could punch away this guilt in my chest. But it only seems to get worse. With heavy metal blaring in my earbuds, I don’t hear anything until it’s too late. The punching bag swings, revealing my dad standing on the other side of it.

  He is the last person I want to see, especially after everything I uncovered two nights ago. He’s here because he wants something as we don’t do small talk. But I don’t take my earbuds out, nor do I stop punching the bag. Instead, I envision it’s his face I’m punching as I belt the red bag.

  Sadly, I can’t ignore him forever.

  “Ya smart-arse.” I only catch the end of his sentence as he spins me around and snatches the earbuds out from my ears.

  Controlling my temper, I glare at him, demanding that if he has something to say, then to do so now.

  “I need ya to talk to one of the men. His delivery was short a couple of kilos.”

  When he says talk, he means beat him within an inch of his life.

  Nodding, I attempt to replace my earbuds, but he slaps my hand away. “Don’tcha fucking touch me, aul’ lad,” I warn, shaking my head.

  He merely laughs in response. “Ack, look at ya. Yer growin’ hair on yer bollocks, then?”

  “Fuck off,” I spit, not interested in conversing with this knobhead.

  His laughter soon dies, and I know things are about to turn dire. “Yer a wee want. A’ll give ya a dig in the bake for that gob on ya.”

  Usually, I wouldn’t bother. But not today.

  “Ach, ya can try.”

  “What did you say to me?”

  “You heard me,” I reply, folding my arms across my broad chest. “I know whatcha did.”

  “Cool yer jets, lad. What’re ye yappin’ ’bout?”

  I didn’t want it to go down this way, but it’s now or never…

  “I had a wild craic conversation the other night with some people.”

  “Aye? Who was it then?”

  “My grandparents,” I reply with no hesitation, deadpanning him.

  I take great pleasure in seeing him pale. He soon composes himself, however. “Ack, what did those culchies have to say for themselves?”

  “A lot, actually.” I clench my taped fists; certain this conversation will end in bloodshed.

  “They told me ya killed Mum,” I reveal, as there is no sugarcoating this. “That she was leavin’ ya. Takin’ me with her. She knew a secret which could ruin the Kellys. What do ya think about that?”

  I wait for him to react. To confirm the truth. But he just stands before me, expressionless.

  “Are ya deef, or what?” I exclaim, angered he’s standing here, not saying a word.

  He shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets. “Dry yer eyes, will ya? Yer pathetic. Always been a mammy’s boy. Things don’t change.”

  “That’s it?” I question, disgusted he would respond this way. I shouldn’t expect more from him, but this is the first time I’ve mentioned my grandparents. “That’s all y’ve got to say for yerself?”

  “What do ya want me to say, lad? That yer ma was a saint?”

  “Ach, shut yer mouth!” I warn, my temper about ready to explode.

  “I will not,” he counters. “Yer so desperate for the truth, here it is. Yer ma was not the angel ya think she was. She was out fuckin’ every man in town while I was the one who changed yer nappies. Made sure ya were fed!”

  I shake my head, refusing to believe him.

  “Aye, yer grandparents were right…she was leavin’ me ’cause I kicked her out. Our marriage was over because the secret…the one she thought she could ruin me with, is that she was fucking Brody Doyle!”

  “What?” I stagger back, unable to process what he just said. There’s no way, no way she was sleeping with a Doyle. “I don’t believe ya.”

  “Believe whatcha want,” he spits, unmoved. “I never told ya any of this ’cause I didn’t wanna hurt ya, lad. But yer so fucking stubborn. So this is the truth, the truth ya asked for. Once ya know this, cub, ya can’t take it back.”

  “Know what?” I question, because this is the answer I’ve been searching for my entire life.

  Dad runs a hand through his hair, and for the first time in his life, he looks exhausted. “Yer ma was killed because she was fucking Brody Doyle and wanted more. He didn’t. She became a nuisance, and once he had his fun, he disposed of her. It’s that simple. There was no drug war. No war over turf. Yer uncle and I made that up to spare yer feelin’s.”

  “Yer a fucking liar!” I scream, tears of anger stinging my eyes.

  “I may be a bastard, but a liar, I am not. That’s why I did nothin’. She got what she deserved for fucking my enemy. I never fought for her because she gave me nothin’ to fight for. She made her choice, Puck.”

  “Ye’d say anythin’ to save yer arse! She’s not here to defend herself.”

  “Ya don’t believe me? Ask yer uncle,” he says, knowing how that’ll hurt me. “The reason I’ve been so tough on ya is ’cause…when I look at ya, all I see is yer ma, and her betrayal.”

  My brain cannot accept his words. They’re lies. All lies. “I’m still yer son! Both yours and Mum’s!” I bellow, arms out wide, but when he lowers his eyes, I realize I’ve misread this entire story and what her betrayal really means.

  “Naw, Puck, that’s the thing…I don’t know that ya are.”

  For the first time in my life, Connor Kelly has shocked me beyond words, and the reason for that is because I believe him.

  It makes sense why he’s been so cruel to me. Sometimes, he looks at me like I’m nothing but a stranger, the enemy, and I understand why that is.

  “Who’s my father then?” I ask in vain because I know, I know but I need him to shatter my world beyond repair.

  He sighs, appearing beaten as he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Ack, bullshit! Don’t stop now.”

  When he refuses to answer me, I advance and shove him in the chest. He staggers back, as this is the first time I’ve laid my hands on him.

  “Don’t start somethin’ ya can’t finish,” he cautions, giving me one chance and one chance only to retreat.

  But that ship has sailed.

  “Let’s finish this then, aul’ lad, once and for all. Tell me who I am.”

  It’s a standoff, and only one man will be left standing.

  “Are ya away in the head, lad? I told ya…I don’t know!”

  Looks like he needs some enco
uragement.

  Without hesitation, I strike out and connect with my da’s jaw. His head snaps back with a satisfying crack. This is the first time I’ve hit him, and I’m instantly addicted to the taste.

  “Let’s try again,” I smartly say, grinning as he wipes away the blood trickling from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Ya wee fucker.”

  Regardless of the bombshell he just dropped, he doesn’t let me off and comes charging toward me. I get into position, ready to fight until the death. He swings, but I dodge and connect with his ribs. It doesn’t stop him, however.

  We circle one another, fists raised, ready to tear the other apart—just how I knew it would always end.

  “Yer ma was fucking a Catholic!” He spits on the ground, expressing his repulsion at the fact. “Ya could be anyone’s son for all I know.”

  His words just fuel this out of control anger, and I strike out, belting him in the stomach. He bends in half, but I don’t show any mercy because he’s never done so to me. I kick him in the face, setting him off balance as he tumbles onto his back.

  I dive on top of him, pinning one shoulder to the ground as I punch him in the face over and over again. His warm blood coats my knuckles, blood which may not run through my veins. With an indignant howl, I grip his cheeks and slam his head onto the hard ground.

  He laughs in response, bloody and beaten. “Ye may not be my son, but ye fight like a Kelly.”

  “Ya fucker!” I scream, and just as I raise my fist, prepared to knock him out for good, strong hands scoop under my arms and drag me off him.

  I fight wildly, but my uncle Sean hushes me, pinning me to his chest. “Catch yerself on! Enough!”

  But not this time. He can’t calm this over.

  I shove him away, and he staggers back, shook, as it’s the first time I’ve been forceful with him.

  “What’s going on here?” he asks, looking between me and my da.

  But he doesn’t get to play peacemaker. He is as much to blame as my da.

  “How could you lie to me? I expected it from him, but not from you,” I say, shaking my head, ragin’ but also, hurt.

  Uncle Sean sighs, interlacing his hands atop his head.

  “So it’s true then? My ma was…fucking Brody Doyle?”

  This is it; the truth I sought so hard for.

  “Aye, lad. I’m sorry ya found out. I wished for ya to never know the truth,” he says regretfully.

  “Ya lied to me!” I shout, unable to accept this because the only person who showed me an ounce of decency was in on this ruse.

  “Only ’cause I wanted to protect ya from the truth.”

  “And what is the truth, Uncle?” I question, peering down at my hands coated in Kelly blood. “Am I a Kelly? Or am I a…Doyle?”

  There it is—the truth which has been staring me in the face.

  My da or, rather, Connor comes into a sitting position, flinching as he clutches his ribs.

  Uncle Sean looks at Connor, who nods. Connor knows I’ll only believe Uncle Sean to tell me the truth.

  “Lad, we don’t know, but we think so. We think Brody Doyle is yer father. When yer ma fell pregnant, yer da and she were separated. The time don’t match up for Connor to be yer da. We never thought much of it, but when yer ma’s deceit became clear, we joined the dots.”

  I shake my head, shook.

  “We never avenged yer ma ’cause she was goin’ to sell yer da out. The secret she kept was that she would ruin the Kellys by revealin’ to everyone that she was havin’ an affair with yer da’s archnemesis.

  “Can ya imagine how that’d look? We’d be the laughin’ stock of Northern Ireland. Connor Kelly can’t control his wife; how was he to manage a multimillion-pound illegal business? How were his men supposed to look at him with respect?

  “How were the enemies supposed to be afraid? This would ruin us. Ya know that. But it was leverage yer ma had. She thought she had the upper hand. She was cocky and careless and demanded things in a world she didn’t understand.

  “Yer da tolerated yer ma’s rebellion because he loved her. But Brody didn’t; this is why he had yer ma killed. She was becomin’ a liability to him, as at the end of the day, she was always a Protestant and he a Catholic. I’m sorry, Punky, but it’s the truth.”

  I need a minute to digest this because it feels like a bad dream.

  I wonder if my ma only slept with Brody to get back at my da. Did Brody do the same thing? I can only imagine what an accomplishment it would be to sleep with yer sworn enemy’s wife. And what about me? Does he know that I could be his son?

  It’s too much. I can’t breathe.

  “How do I know you didn’t do her in?” I ask Connor, who is still slumped on the ground. “Ya had grounds to.”

  “Ack, yer right. But I only found this out by the note she left when she kidnapped ya. The note which cruelly stated you were not my wee chile. The note which implied you were a Doyle.

  “Brody bought that bungalow for her, so he knew where she was. I didn’t even know it existed. That’s why it took me three days to find ya, Puck. Yer ma and I always had problems, but I didn’t know any of this until she left for Moville. The Doyles knew where she was. They always did.”

  I want to fight him, but the tattoo on my wrist burns me with the truth. The tattoo, the same one I saw when I was five years old, the one I saw the other night on the Doyles’ wrists, proves to me he’s telling the truth.

  I always knew the Doyles were responsible for her death. However, I never really knew why—until now.

  My entire life has been a lie.

  “Why didn’t ya give me away?” I ask Connor, not wanting his sympathy. I just need to know why.

  He shifts, flinching as he tries to stand. “’Cause I reared ya like my own.”

  “Yer a Kelly, no matter what,” Uncle Sean says with love, offering a hand to his brother.

  I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. I don’t even know who I am anymore. The man I’ve hated my entire life, the man I believed was responsible for all of this is actually the hero in this story?

  It can’t be.

  I need space. I need time to think.

  Leaving behind the family who I now look at in a different light, I leave the barn, and the moment I walk outside, I tip my face to the skies and scream. I scream so loud, I’m certain my hollowed cries can be heard in Dublin.

  Angry doesn’t describe what I’m feeling right now because this extends past that. I’ve never felt this sort of fury before. Once I’m done cursing the world, I walk toward my house, intent on only one thing.

  When inside, I call both Rory and Cian. They don’t speak as they sense something huge just went down from the tone of my voice.

  “I understand if youse say no, but I’m going to Dublin. Tonight. I can’t wait for Liam to call. I need to go to him.”

  “And then what?” Rory asks.

  “Then I’m goin’ to find out once and for all what that tattoo means. And when I do, then I’m goin’ for Brody Doyle.”

  I can hear Cian choke on his beer. “What?” he wheezes.

  Brody Doyle was always in my sights, but now, he’s my number one target.

  “What happened?”

  “What happened is that I found out Connor Kelly isn’t my father.”

  Both boys sound shook, but they haven’t heard anything yet.

  “And that Brody Doyle may be.”

  I wonder what they’ll say.

  “I’ll see ya in twenty minutes,” Cian says.

  “Aye, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  Ending the call, I realize no matter what surname I bear, they’ll always be my friends.

  We’re quiet, but I compare it to the calm before the storm.

  The streets of Dublin are busy, with many laughing and having a pint with friends. But I’m here for another reason, and that’s to speed up the inevitable.

  I can’t wait for Liam to maybe call me. I need to show initiative, whi
ch is the reason we casually walk into The Craic’s 90. To onlookers, we’re just three friends out for a drink. But when I see Erin Doyle behind the bar, the truth to why I’m here surfaces.

  If I believe Connor and Uncle Sean, then Erin is my half-sister, which makes her very valuable to me but not because I’m interested in a family reunion. Naw. She’s my stepping-stone.

  We stand in line, waiting for our turn to be served. The place is packed, which allows us to blend in. Erin showed interest in me when I was here last, but I can’t work that angle anymore. No matter how desperate I am, I won’t cross that line.

  Until I find out for certain just who she is, just who I am, I need to treat what Connor and Uncle Sean said as the truth, which leaves me with only one option—Cian.

  Rory is too hung up on Darcy to make this convincing, so that leaves Cian. I know girls back home consider him a ride, so I just need Erin to think the same. He looks grand in jeans and a shirt, which allows Erin to see he works out.

  When we’re next in line, Erin does a double take when she sees me. Her smile reveals she’s happy that I’m here.

  “Ack, this is a bad idea,” Cian whispers into my ear. “She’s thick as champ over ya.”

  “Keep ’er lit. This’ll work,” I reply, waving at Erin.

  “Mike from America,” she says when we walk up to the bar.

  “Erin from Dublin,” I reply playfully. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce my friends. This is Kanga and Paul.”

  She politely nods, but makes it clear she’s not interested in either of them. “What can I get ya then?”

  It’s almost impossible to believe she could be my sister. We look nothing alike, but that doesn’t mean we’re not related. My stomach churns at the thought.

  “Blonde with a black skirt,” Cian says in his staged Australian accent.

  Erin smirks as she commences pouring our pints of stout. “Yer Irish is deadly. Massive.”

  Cian leans forward, laying on the charm. “I’m full of surprises, love.”

  Rory rolls his eyes while I chuckle. He’s slipped into the role of Casanova easily.

  “Is your brother, Liam, in?” I ask casually, but Erin seems to think nothing is by chance when her brother is involved.