Thy Kingdom Come (Deliver Us From Evil Trilogy Book One) Read online

  Clapping slowly, I catch Aidan unaware as his wee tale was supposed to upset me. All it did was piss me off even more. He clearly doesn’t think I’m serious, so I decide to call in reinforcements. Sending a text, I wait for the boys to arrive—who I know are outside, waiting for my instructions—and when they do, both Aidan and Ronan gasp.

  “Whataboutye?” I cheerfully ask Cian and Rory as they enter the bedroom.

  “Well then, I wouldn’t mind a wee cup a tae, but this’ll do,” Cian sarcastically says, whistling when he takes in the carnage.

  Rory curses when he sees Ronan tied to the chair. “Ya wee fucker. Ya workin’ for the Doyles then?”

  His bloody nose is enough of an answer.

  “Lads, Aidan Doyle needs some encouragement. Here”—I offer them his license over my shoulder—“can ya pay his family a wee visit?”

  Rory snatches the license from my fingers. “Beezer! Love to.”

  I can see it. I can see Aidan grappling with his loyalties. Loyalty to his family. And loyalty to being a Doyle. And just like me, just for the reason of all this, his family wins out.

  “All right, I was there! That geebag got what she deserved.”

  Inhaling, I take a moment to process his confession because it almost doesn’t feel real. “Mind yer mouth,” I warn, awful serious. “Who were the other two fellas with ya?”

  I realize that he could be lying because if what he says is true and every Doyle gets a tattoo for every Protestant they kill, then any Doyle with a tattoo could be responsible for my ma’s death. But the reason I believe it’s him is because of how personal this kill was.

  My ma was sleeping with Brody, and if what Uncle Sean says is true, then they wanted her dead because she was a liability and a nuisance. If they had wanted to start a war with Connor, then they would have made that clear. Her death would have been their calling card.

  But the reason she was murdered had nothing to do with being a Kelly, but everything to do with wanting to be a Doyle.

  “I think the fucker who slit her throat, that was yer brother, Brody.”

  Aidan pales but doesn’t confirm or deny it.

  I want to ask him about my ma, and if he knew about her affair, but I can’t voice those words aloud.

  “Think whatcha want,” Aidan snarls. “But yer ma was nothin’ but a whore. She spread her legs for whoever looked her way. She was weak, just like you. Yer not gonna hurt my—”

  Aidan never gets to finish his sentence because without a second thought, I loop my fingers through my brass knuckles and silence him for good.

  I connect with his jaw so hard, a tooth dislodges and somersault’s to the floor. But it’s not enough. I hit his cheeks, his temple, until his face is slathered in blood. Hitting under his jaw, his head cracks into the wall with a ferocious thud.

  Panting, I flex my fingers, appreciating the flesh and blood coating my knuckles. Aidan’s chin flops to his chest with a wet squelch, a trickle of bloody spittle trickling from his mouth as he attempts to breathe. There is one last thing he needs to do before he stops—breathing, that is.

  Unlocking his phone, I scroll through his contacts until I reach Liam’s number. Gripping Aidan’s hair, I yank his head back and sneer, “Yer gonna tell yer nephew that everythin’ is beezer. That I can be trusted.”

  “Why would I do that?” he pants, peering at me through one swollen eye. The other has been perforated.

  “To save yer wains,” I reply, promising him that no harm will come of them. And I mean it. “I only want my revenge on those who deserve it. When they’re grown, if they want the same thing, A’ll give them the chance.

  “It’s only fair—an eye for an eye.” No pun intended.

  “Yer word means nothin’ to me,” he wheezes, his chest rattling with every uneven breath he takes.

  “Then, the alternative is I’ll take you to yer house and ya can watch me kill yer family…just how you made me watch mine.”

  Aidan doesn’t have a choice. He is to sacrifice himself to save his family. It’ll be the only honorable thing he’ll ever do in his lifetime.

  Dialing Liam, I put the phone out in front of Aidan, and when Liam answers, I wait for Aidan to make his choice.

  “The cute hoor did it,” he says, surprising me with his acting skills. “It’s taken care of. We can trust him.”

  “Grand. Why’re ye so breathless?” he asks, and I arch a brow at Aidan, hinting he’s to try harder.

  “I got a diddy in ma gob.”

  I scrunch up my nose because now he’s just being disgusting.

  Liam laughs loudly. “I am in me wick! What’ll Aunt Fia say?”

  “Act the jig if she asks, lad,” Aidan replies. “I’m gonna take a couple of days off. I’m jacked.”

  “Aye, good idea. Call me when yer done with yer floozy.” Liam seems to think his uncle’s adultery is something to laugh about.

  “Good on ya,” Aidan says, flinching as he shifts.

  He suddenly quietens because he realizes that this is the last conversation he’s to ever have with his nephew. If I cared, I’d let him live, but I don’t.

  “Talk to ya later then, Uncle.”

  “All right, bye.”

  Liam hangs up, none the wiser, while Aidan sniffs, accepting this for what it is.

  I want to watch him suffer, but the truth is, he is only a small fish in a big pond, and honestly, looking at his face only a mother could love, I want this done. I know he isn’t the one who slit my ma’s throat or unlocked the wardrobe.

  That fucker was tall. I remember that much.

  But that doesn’t mean Aidan’s reckoning has been deferred. He’s just a taste of what’s to come.

  “My brother’s gonna kill ya. Yer nothin’,” he spits, not begging for his life, which I have respect for. “Yer nothin’ but a Kelly.”

  Whistling, I mock, “Are ye lonely? Is this how ya make friends?”

  It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t revealed who the other two men were. I’ll find out, just as I found him. There are no coincidences in our world. My ma was slain because she was lost to a life that showed no mercy.

  Connor Kelly may as well have wielded that knife because Ma’s fate was decided the moment they met.

  Gripping Aidan’s chin, I tilt his head back and examine him closely. “I don’t know who I am,” I confess. “But what I do know is that I’m gonna enjoy killin’ ya.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the first sign that he’s scared.

  I want to humiliate him, just how he did to my ma, and someone like Aidan—someone who called me a molly ’cause I wear this warpaint with pride—would be utterly disgraced if I used him as a canvas before I slit his throat.

  Turning around, I see Cian and Rory standing by Ronan. He is having a complete cack attack at what’s headed his way. I’ll deal with him later. Grabbing my paints from the ground, I smile when Aidan groans.

  “This face,” I share, rubbing my fingers into the white paint and mixing it with the red blood on my hands. “This is the face you created when I was locked in the wardrobe watchin’ ya rape and humiliate my mum.

  “I know it wasn’t you who slit her throat,” I state with poise as I slather his face in white paint. When he tries to move, I grip his chin. “I also know y’ll not tell me who did. But that’s all right…I already know.”

  “Ya know nothin’,” he sneers, baring his teeth when I ensure I’ve covered every part of his face.

  “Ach, I’m pretty sure yer brother was the one. The third fucker, though. Tell me who he is, and I’ll kill ya quick.”

  “I don’t rat, so go ahead and kill me,” he spits, and fair balls to him for not being a grass. “Ya have no idea who yer fightin’. This is bigger than ya can ever guess. Yer life is over. Done. My family will hunt ya. Ya have no idea what’s coming for ya!” He looks ridiculous, threatening me when he looks like Casper the Friendly Ghost.

  Stepping back, I smirk at my handiwork. His face is a blank
backdrop for me to create carnage. Tossing the white container over my shoulder, I rub circles in the black face paint with my fingers and fill in the blanks.

  “Imagine that?” I mock, drawing a black line from his cheek to his mouth. “Me afraid of a Doyle? Too bad I’m not.”

  Once he wears a big, painted grin, I tap my chin, unhappy with what I’m seeing. The artist in me strives for perfection, and that’ll only be achieved with a few minor adjustments. Yanking the knife out from Aidan’s palm, I elbow him in the face to stop any last-ditch efforts to escape. As he gasps for air, I grab his lips and slice them off.

  They drop to the floor with a plop.

  I coat my finger in the blood pouring from his wound, and strike down his forehead once—one down, two to go.

  “Do ya not think that’s better, lads?” I ask Cian and Rory, admiring a lipless Aidan as he incoherently muffles for help.

  “Fucking class,” Cian exclaims, clapping in approval.

  “A masterpiece,” Rory agrees, and places a blade in my hand. “But I think one more thing is needed.”

  Turning over my shoulder, I look at my friend and nod in both agreement and thanks. This isn’t his fight. This vendetta has nothing to do with him or Cian, but here they are, and I know they’ll never leave my side.

  It doesn’t matter what surname I bear; these two lads will always be the family I belong to.

  Opening the butterfly knife, I slip my fingers through the knuckle guard and the five-inch blade becomes an extension of my hand. Aidan has dropped to his knees as the fight in him has conceded defeat. He commences the Lord’s Prayer—as best he can without any lips.

  “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come…”

  “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven,” I conclude, walking behind his praying stance. I grip his hair, yank back his head, press the blade against his throat, and sweep across it brutally.

  The sticky warmth coating my hand thaws the chill from my bones, and for the first time in a long time, there is silence. Aidan gurgling on his blood is the only sound filling the still room as I absorb what I just did.

  I killed.

  Releasing Aidan, he flops onto his stomach, blood pooling around him as he wheezes in his last breaths of life. I stand over him, knife in hand, watching and waiting until eventually, he simply stops being. Filling my lungs with air, I exhale slowly, savoring this moment as it has set a benchmark for things to come.

  I use my foot to turn him onto his back and peer down at the painted, bloody mess. I feel absolutely nothing.

  Cian and Rory stand on either side of me, also examining the carnage before them. This is the beginning of the end.

  “What do we do with him?” Rory asks.

  I lift my shoulders, untroubled. “We leave him someplace where his family will eventually find him.”

  “D’ya not think we should hide the body?”

  “What for? I want them to find him,” I declare. “I want them to see he entered the afterlife baring the scars on his face which are carved onto my soul.”

  I want the Doyles to know someone is after them. I want them to know that they’re next. I didn’t just kill Aidan—I tortured and humiliated him, just like he did to my ma. This is personal, and I want every Doyle to know that.

  “What of Ronan?” Cian questions. “What are the Doyles wantin’ our gear for? They’ve got their own. I don’t understand it.”

  Looking at Ronan, I know he won’t tell us anything because he doesn’t know anything. He’s merely a pawn; all of us are.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll find out.”

  “Do we tell the aul’ lads about him?” Rory asks.

  Ronan whimpers, begging for mercy when he deserves none for what he’s done. But he’s more valuable to me alive than dead.

  Shaking my head calmly, I reply, “Naw. We do not. ’Cause of them, Ronan and Nolen thought they could get away with this. We don’t tell them anythin’. What we do is their job…it’s time we claimed back our kingdom, boys.”

  Someone is in my room.

  Without thought, I spring up and reach for the gun in the top drawer of my bedside table. But when I hear who it is, I halt.

  “Ack, ya won’t be needin’ that, cub.”

  Uncle Sean sits in the chair by my bedside, reading the morning paper. He is untroubled by the fact that I was seconds away from shooting first and asking questions second.

  Running a hand through my snarled hair, I sit up against the bedhead, indicating if he wants to speak, then better he does so now. I’m still gutted he lied to me for all these years. I know he thought he was protecting me, but I’d have preferred the truth.

  “Are ya still angry with me?” he asks, lowering the paper and looking at me over the rims of his glasses.

  “No.” My short response is hardly convincing.

  “When yer older, y’ll—”

  But I don’t want to hear his excuses.

  “Spare me the fucking lecture.” Kicking off the blankets, I stand, hinting I’m not interested in continuing this conversation. But Uncle Sean won’t let this go.

  “Please, Punky, I’m sorry. It’s done, so it is. No matter what, y’ll always be my blood.”

  And we’ll find that out for certain once I get a paternity test sorted.

  A blood test is out of the question, but that doesn’t deter me. It means I just need to be creative as there are other ways to get someone’s blood, like breaking their nose. I need anything that has Connor’s DNA on it, so I plan on getting a sample of his saliva and hair as well.

  “Oh, happy fucking days.” I sarcastically smirk.

  Uncle Sean sighs, and even though it upsets me to see him this way, I’ve got other things to deal with.

  We flipped a coin—heads, we do Ronan in. Tails, he lives.

  It was tails.

  But he left Dublin barely alive as it was a warning of things to come if we ever saw him again. He said he acted alone, but we don’t believe him, which is why we’re suspicious of everyone. Until we can confirm everyone is with us, they’re all the enemy.

  Uncle Sean cannot know that we plan on giving our operation an overhaul because he’ll stop me. Just as he didn’t tell me the truth about my ma, he will want to protect me for the rest of my life. But I’m grown, and I don’t need him protecting me.

  I can do that myself.

  “If yer done havin’ a face like a Lurgan spade, don’t forget the party. It’s in a few hours.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I completely forgot about Connor’s fifteenth wedding anniversary.

  It’s going to be a proper affair because Chief Constable Moore—among other people of “importance”—will be attending. This is Connor’s way of appearing like every normal Joe Soap, while working over the people he wants in his corner.

  Connor doesn’t do anything just cause. There is always an ulterior motive.

  “Quit yer yackin’, I’ll be there,” I reply with half a smile.

  Uncle Sean smirks, but it’s strained. He knows we’ve got a long way to go before we’re sound again. “Have ya not heard about Ronan?”

  “I can’t say that I have,” I reply calmly.

  “We think he’s been stealin’,” he explains, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’s knackered. “But no bother.”

  “Ack, it sickens ye. He’s probably long gone by now, though.” I need to send him off course. No one can know that he’s gone for good.

  Uncle Sean nods. “Aye, yer right. Yer some pup. Smarter than me when I was yer age.”

  Laughing, I open my wardrobe and see my suit hanging up, freshly pressed. I’ll thank Amber when I see her later. “That was some time ago, aul’ lad.”

  “All right, ya smart-arse. I’ll see ya later.” He playfully slaps the back of my head, before leaving to no doubt help with the fur coat, no knickers festivities inside.

  Once he’s gone, I exhale, that was close. No one can kno
w about Ronan. Rory, Cian, and I will deal with this our own way because our fathers have dropped the ball. For the men to think they can go behind our back is a sure sign they’re not afraid of the repercussions.

  I want to rule with respect, not cruelty, but it seems we might not have a choice. I can’t shake this feeling that we have a mole in our midst. What Aidan said has been playing on my mind since he said it.

  “Ya have no idea who yer fightin’. This is bigger than ya can ever guess.”

  What does that mean? My guess is that it’s the Doyles were fighting, seeing as they’re the enemy. So why would he phrase it like that? Like I’m supposed to guess who’s behind the secret door. I need to speak to the boys about it because it doesn’t make sense.

  I shower and get ready for tonight’s façade. I wonder what Connor has up his sleeve to impress the chief constable? I’m already done.

  Looking at my phone, I’m tempted to send Babydoll a message. I don’t know what I’d say. Sorry for being such a bastard would be a good place to start. But I can’t do that. My life is a fucking mess right now.

  It’s best I leave her be because I have absolutely nothing to offer her. But that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything in my power to find out who hurt her. They’re going to pay. Her wounds, they were inflicted by someone whipping her.

  Such a barbaric act. I don’t understand why or who would do such a thing. But I don’t know anything about Babydoll, and that is troubling, especially now. I need to treat everyone like the enemy.

  Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, it’s amazing what a mask can hide. I look like everyone else, but I’m not. I smile, laugh when prompted, but it’s all just an illusion to make people feel safe because when they do, they lower their guards and then I can see their true faces.

  I must be ruthless because that’s the only way I will succeed.

  Once I’m dressed, I decide to head to the main house and see the twins. I doubt they’ll be allowed out of their rooms as Connor will see them as just getting in the way. I can hear distant voices up ahead as the house will be a panic of people, not wishing to upset the hosts.