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

by Monica James

  Amber and the twins are in the backyard, flying a kite. She places her hand over her eyes to shield the sun and when she sees me, she waves.

  My mum’s gardens once thrived here. Her roses grew tall, but they’re no more. Fiona made sure of it when she dug up the gardens and left nothing in their place. She just wanted to destroy something that was my ma’s.

  I walk over, smiling when I see the twins fighting over whose turn it is.

  “Y’ve already had yer turn,” whines Hannah, as Ethan tongues the corner of his mouth in concentration. “I’ll tell Da!”

  “Ya will not,” I say with a smile when I’m within earshot. “What did I tell ya about dobbin’ on yer brother?”

  When Hannah sees me, she smirks and throws herself in my arms. “He’s being a dick,” she states, while I try not to laugh.

  “And what did I tell ya about usin’ bad language?”

  She wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. “I’ve heard ya say worse.”

  I look at Amber who shrugs with a grin as we both know she’s right.

  Pulling Hannah out at arm’s length, I see her pink dress has grass stains all over it. “I like yer dress,” I say, kissing her forehead.

  “I hate it,” she argues, pursing her lips together. “I want to wear trousers, but Amber said Ma wanted me to wear this.”

  Of course, Fiona did. They have to look like the perfect family. I’m surprised she allowed me to attend, seeing as I ruin her charade. But Dad wants me there to be a lickarse with the chief constable. He’s away in the head if he thinks that’s happening.

  “Best listen to Amber then. She helped dress me too.”

  Amber smiles, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

  “Yer turn!” Ethan yells to Hannah, but she shakes her head.

  “I wanna stay with Punky.”

  “Naw, I wanna,” Ethan wails, losing interest in the kite as it sails to the grass.

  Amber swoops forward and saves it from becoming a tangled mess as Ethan drops the spool and comes running over to me. I bend and pick him up as well.

  The twins are small, so I’m able to hold them both at the same time. It won’t be much longer however until that changes. I wonder who they’ll grow into. I can only hope someone not like me.

  “Is yer face all right?” Ethan asks, examining the fading bruises. I heal quickly, but it’s been a tough week.

  “I’m all right. Don’tcha trouble yerself.”

  “We heard Mum tellin’ Da yer a dirty wee hallion,” says Hannah, awful upset as she narrows her eyes. “That one day, yer gonna end up dead like yer ma. She said she wouldn’t cry. We don’t wantcha to die, Punky. We’ll protect ya. A’ll never let anyone hurt ya.”

  Amber averts her gaze, hinting she heard this too.

  The twins are too small to realize what that means, and I want to keep it that way. The longer they hold onto their innocence, the better for them. I wish I’d had that luxury.

  “I’m not going anywhere, rascals,” I promise, kissing their cheeks. “And it’s my job to protect youse. Okay?”

  They both nod, but I can see the fear in their eyes. Fiona has always been jealous of my relationship with the twins. I have no doubt I’m in her prayers; prayers that I leave and never return.

  “She said yer a Catholic lover. What’s that mean?” Hannah asks, always curious.

  When I see Fiona headed our way, I narrow my eyes but try to act calm. “Don’t ya be troublin’ yerself with that.”

  “Hannah!” she cries out. “You’re jokin’ me? Look at yer dress! It’s ruined.”

  Hannah clings to me tighter.

  When I make no attempts at putting them down, Fiona arches an unimpressed brow. “Something troublin’ ya?”

  “Aye, ya could say that. Cover yer ears and sing yer favorite nursery rhyme,” I instruct the twins, who immediately do as they’re told.

  I would say Fiona looks scared, but thanks to all the Botox she’s had, I can’t distinguish what her facial features are anymore.

  “Don’tcha ever talk about me in front of the twins again,” I calmly order, holding onto them tightly. “What I do is my business. Stay outta it ’cause y’ve no idea whatcher talkin’ about.”

  She pulls back her shoulders. “I was only consolin’ yer father. He was troubled about the rosary—”

  “Imagine that, a world where I give a fuck what you and Connor were doin’,” I interrupt, not interested in hearing her gurn. “And don’tcha ever mention my mum again.”

  Fiona’s lips pull into a thin line. “Yer father will be hearin’ about this.”

  Laughing, I state coolly, “There ya go again, thinkin’ I give a fuck.”

  “Ack, y’ve got no respect.”

  “For ye? No, I do not.”

  Fiona’s nostrils flare as she’s realized this is a losing battle. We’ve never gotten along, and that’ll never change.

  “Come,” she orders the wains, gesturing they’re to get down. “I want ya to say hello to Pastor Diffin.”

  They look at me, their singing growing quiet as I lower them to the ground. “Go with yer ma.”

  Both of them screw up their faces but do what they’re told.

  Fiona roughly snatches their hands. “We’re payin’ ya to work, not talk,” she snaps at Amber, who pulls in her lips, embarrassed.

  Fiona storms off, kids in hand, leaving Amber and me alone.

  When she’s gone, Amber exhales loudly. “She’s insufferable.”

  “I’d have said she’s a fucking bitch, but that’ll do.”

  Amber turns to me, a smile breaking out across her cheeks. “The twins shouldn’t have told you that. I’m sorry.”

  “What are ya apologizin’ for? You didn’t say what was overheard.”

  “I know, but I don’t like seeing you upset,” she says softly.

  “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to upset me, doll. But thanks.”

  She wrings her hands in front of herself, appearing to want to say something. I don’t know what’s going on. “Punky, I wanted to ask you…um, this is really awkward.”

  “What is it?” I ask, suddenly worried. “Has the aul’ lad done somethin’ to ya?”

  “What?” she questions, before shaking her head quickly when she realizes what I mean. “No, nothing like that. I just…I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink sometime?”

  My worry soon turns to surprise. This is the first time Amber has openly asked me to do something with her. And I know she doesn’t mean as friends.

  I like Amber, I would be an eejit not to. But we just don’t…click that way.

  “I’m flattered, I really am, but I can’t,” I say, not wanting to lead her on. “I’ve got a lot on, and it’s not fair—”

  But she doesn’t buy it.

  “Is it because of that girl? Poppy?”

  I want to deny it, but I don’t want to lie to Amber. She’s wild craic, and I don’t want to insult her that way. But she catches me off guard.

  “You don’t think her accent is…off?”

  “Off?” I question, unsure what she means by that.

  She nods, chewing her bottom lip. “She doesn’t sound like she’s from London. I was in London for six months before I came here, and trust me, I know what a Londoner sounds like.”

  I haven’t noticed anything strange, but I suppose that could be because I’ve been trying to work out what her motives are.

  “Where d’ya think she’s from then?”

  Amber weighs over my question. “I don’t know, but what Londoner says y’all?”

  And the mystery just continues to grow…

  “I better go inside. I’m sure Fiona has met her quota for doting mother of the year already.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Be careful, Punky. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  She leaves me standing in the middle of the yard, pondering over what she just said.

  I don’t want to believe Amber, but she wouldn’t l
ie to me just to spite Babydoll. If she believes something is weird, then it’s worth investigating. But how do I do that? I know nothing about Babydoll. It’s like she just appeared from nowhere.

  “What’s the craic?”

  Turning, I see Rory and Cian walking toward me. They’re also in suits and looking as uncomfortable as me.

  “Was that Amber?” Cian asks, looking in the direction of where she’s walking.

  “Aye, it was.”

  “Somethin’ troublin’ ya?” Rory questions, sensing my mood.

  “Still no luck finding anythin’ out about Babydoll?”

  “Naw,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I can’t find much under that name.”

  “Maybe that’s not her name then,” Cian says with no real thought as he’s still looking at Amber. But Rory and I turn to one another, thinking the same thing.

  I never thought this was a possibility because the Clerys confirmed she worked for them. And what little information was online all pointed that she was who she said she is. But with what Amber just shared, I’m beginning to think Babydoll is hiding a lot more than I originally thought.

  “I tell a lie, yer not a complete eejit,” Rory teases, while Cian gives him the middle finger.

  We decide to get this over with as we have some investigating to do. Some of our “colleagues” are coming, and there is nothing like a wee bit of alcohol to loosen the lips. We have to be on our A game, so no going on the piss for us, which is a shame because dealing with this sober is going to be brutal.

  The house is chaos, with countless people rushing around, ensuring everything is in place. They know what happens when Connor Kelly is unhappy. The castle sparkles, and I wonder how many hours Fiona’s slaves were forced to scrub every corner of this place.

  “With all this, y’d think our aul’ lads knew what they were doin’,” Rory whispers, whistling when he looks at the hanging crystal chandelier.

  And he’s right.

  This wealth was built on blood money, and our fathers believed they were untouchable. But the last few days have proven otherwise.

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” Rory says, keeping his voice low as we casually walk down the hallway. “About what Aidan said. I think we have a double agent working for us.”

  “Aye, I was thinkin’ the same thing,” I reply with a nod. “Nolen and Ronan were workin’ for the Doyles, but who put them in contact? They don’t have the brains or the bollocks to do that themselves. They’re small fry. We need the whole fuckin’ ocean.”

  Rory hums in agreement. “And why? What are the Doyles offerin’ them? To consort with Catholics, it’s sacrilegious. Not just for us Protestants, but if other Catholics found out that the Doyles were dealin’ with us…they’d be shunned. This is bigger than we thought.”

  “Can ya ask yer uncle Sean?”

  “What should I ask him, Cian? How’s it hangin’, Uncle? Who’d ya think would betray us? Oh, and I’ve gone into Dublin in hopes of tryin’ to infiltrate the Doyles.”

  “Aye right,” he says, while Rory laughs. “It was just an idea. Yer uncle wouldn’t lie to ya.”

  But as soon as the words leave him, he realizes the mistake he made. Uncle Sean has lied to me and will do so again if he thinks I’m getting too close. This is why we need to do this on our own.

  When we come to the family portrait bar me, both Rory and Cian stop, needing a closer look. “That fuckin’ bitch,” Rory says, shaking his head.

  “Aye, she has a face like a baten bear.” Cian gags, shuddering.

  A waiter walks by with a bottle of champagne. Cian stops him. “I’ll be havin’ that. Cheers.”

  Cian doesn’t give him a chance to argue and snatches the bottle from his hands. He legs it away from us, scared.

  A photographer takes our picture. It’s a little over the top, but it seems Fiona has gone all out.

  “I think we deserve a wee drink.” Before I can protest—considering we agreed not to drink—Cian shakes the bottle rigorously, aims it at the painting, and pops it open, showering the canvas with expensive champagne. “Much better.”

  Rory chuckles while I tilt my head to the side, admiring the adjustment. It looks class.

  “Away ta fuck,” Rory mumbles under his breath. I have no idea why, until I peer in the direction he’s looking and almost rub my eyes in case I’m seeing things.

  “Who’s thon?” Cian asks, the remnants of the bottle trickling all over the floor.

  “Babydoll,” I say, not answering his question, but rather, speaking my disbelief aloud.

  Standing down the hallway is Babydoll, a silver tray in hand. A man speaks to her and she nods, like she’s taking note of his instructions. Is she working this event?

  “That’s her?” Cian whistles as we all stare.

  Rory has seen her picture on social media, so he recognized her, but no picture can capture how beautiful she really is. She is innocent, but fierce all in the same breath. It doesn’t make sense, nor does her being here.

  Amber’s warning plays over in my mind, and I push aside the happiness I feel at seeing her because I must stick to my guns—everyone is the enemy until I can prove otherwise.

  Inhaling deeply, I dig my hands into my pockets and walk to where she stands. When she realizes she’s not alone, she lifts her eyes, and as they lock with mine, her mouth parts. I try not to think about how those lips felt when I claimed them as mine—wild craic, that’s how.

  “How’s it goin’, wee doll?”

  She rolls her eyes. “It was great until about five seconds ago.”

  She attempts to push past me, but I sidestep, blocking her exit. It seems to be our go-to move. “Ach, that’s not nice.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be nice,” she snaps, just turning me on further.

  She has every right to be ragin’. The last time we were together, I was a fucking bastard to her, but if only she knew why. The reasons seem to evade me, however, because seeing her now, all I want to do is beat my own arse for being such a prick.

  “Hi, I’m Cian.” He offers his hand, which Babydoll shakes.

  “Rory.” He waves from a distance.

  I don’t know what to say or do as I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve never been interested in anyone as I am with Babydoll.

  She clears her throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Your father isn’t paying me to chat, so I better go.”

  I hate that she’s waiting on these fuckers, so I ask, “How much is he payin’ ya?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Cian snorts, awful amused with Babydoll’s smart mouth.

  Digging into my pocket, I retrieve my wallet and pull out six hundred pounds. “This enough?”

  When I offer it to her, Cian groans, shaking his head.

  She steps back, her mouth ajar. “Are you fucking serious? I don’t need or want your charity. I work for my money. I don’t have the luxury of everything being served to me on a silver platter—literally. Now, if you’ll excuse me…kindly fuck off.”

  She bumps her shoulder into mine as she pushes past me, offended. When she’s gone, I look at Rory and Cian, confused.

  “Ach, that went downhill awful quick,” Cian says, doing a poor job of concealing his grin.

  “Really, Punky?” Rory asks, eyebrow cocked. “Ya may as well have called her a millbeg.”

  “What?” I put the money into my pocket, suddenly feeling scundered.

  “It’s true,” Cian butts in. “Really sorry, but the fuck? Why would ya think that was a good idea?”

  “’Cause I don’t want her servin’ these arseholes. She’s better than that,” I argue, still not seeing what the big deal is. “I was trying to be…nice.”

  Cian slaps my back playfully. “Maybe try being a little less patronizin’ next time,” he suggests, smirking. “She doesn’t strike me as the type of girl who appreciates charity.”

  “Charity?” I scoff. “I did no such thing. I offered her money—�
�� But I stop midsentence as I realize what I just did. “Fuck.”

  I meant well, but the boys are right. I may as well have flashed my wealth in her face because six hundred pounds is nothing to me, but to others, it’s a lot. I insulted her by trying to be considerate.

  “This is why I don’t do nice,” I say, running a hand down my face.

  “If that was yer attempt at being nice—”

  “I’ll knock yer melt in if ya want to see nice,” I interrupt Cian, who bursts into laughter.

  All laughter is long forgotten however when Connor walks down the hallway. “There y’are,” he says, adjusting his black bow tie. “The chief constable has arrived.”

  “And?” I challenge, not jumping to command.

  Connor pauses from rearranging his too tight tie and looks at Cian and Rory. “Yer fathers are lookin’ for ya.”

  This is a not so subtle hint that they’re to leave.

  Nodding discreetly, I give them the okay that I’ll be fine. They both leave, knowing better than to argue with Connor.

  Once they’re away, Connor steps close so no one can earwig. “Tonight is very important. Don’t fuck it up.”

  “Aye,” I smartly reply, folding my arms. “It’s the day ya married the love of yer life, so ya did.”

  “Quit yer gurnin’. I won’t have ye runnin’ yer smart mouth, ruinin’ this,” he warns, not appreciating my sarcasm. “I don’t need to remind ya what happens if we make an enemy of the chief constable.”

  The chief constable should be the least of his worries. He needs to sort out his men first because it doesn’t matter who’s on our side if we don’t have a side. But that’s how arrogant he is. He thinks everyone is blinded by his bullshit.

  “I’ll not tell ya again.”

  He leads the way, expecting me to follow, and I do ’cause the quicker I get this done, the sooner I can find Babydoll and apologize. Guests greet us as we walk through the castle, talking utter bollocks, but I nod and smile, pretending to give a fuck.

  Connor’s ability to shit talk still amazes me because you’d think he cared if you didn’t know any better. When the chief constable, and who I’m presuming is his wife, appear up ahead, Connor quickly excuses himself and casually makes a beeline for them.