by Monica James
The less he speaks, the more I do.
“I earned their trust by winnin’ a fight against Hugh. They think I’m just some stupid foreigner which is why they’re havin’ me do their dirty work. But tonight, they told me they’re comin’ to Belfast. They plan to rob us.”
Uncle Sean places the empty glass onto his desk, his eyes void of emotion. I’ve never seen him like this. “Uncle Sean?”
“Aye, cub?” he says, and I wonder if he’s gone into shock.
“Are ye all right?”
He rocks in his chair, considering my question, and what he asks next confirms he’s shook. “Why d’ya call him Connor? He’s yer da.”
After everything I’ve just revealed, this is what concerns him the most?
“I don’t know that. He’s never been a father to me.”
“Is that why ye did this? To get back at him?”
“Course not,” I argue, shaking my head. “I did this ’cause no one in this fuckin’ family has told me the truth! I was sick of being lied to. Can’t ye even try to understand that?”
“Yer a buck eejit, so ya are,” he says, finally addressing the issue at hand. “Do ye have any idea what y’ve done? Is this why ya knew the peelers were raidin’ us?”
“No, that was someone else.” And that someone, I will never rat on.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Puck!” he exclaims. “What a dog’s dinner this is. Ya should have come to me. Y’ve got blood on yer hands now, Doyle blood, and they will not stop until he is avenged.”
“Aye, sure, this is it.”
“I’m just needin’ a minute.” He shakes his head at my dismissive response.
I give him some time because I know this is a lot to take in, but he needs to know it all.
“Ronan was workin’ for the Doyles. He double crossed us.”
Uncle Sean’s eyes narrow. “And how would ya know that?”
“’Cause I was sent by the Doyles to take care of him. He was stealin’ from us. Giving our gear to the Doyles. I think they want Northern Ireland as their own. They’re recruitin’ our men who are disloyal because we’ve allowed it.
“For them to do this, they don’t fear or respect us, and it’ll only be a matter of time before the Doyles get their wish. I think they have someone here in Belfast workin’ for them. They’re sellin’ our stolen gear, testing the waters to see how easy it’ll be.”
I didn’t understand why they wanted our drugs when they had their own, but this must be why.
To have control of all ports—here and in Dublin—gives them total power. They can import gear into Belfast and sell here without risking driving across the border and being caught by the peelers. The less movement, the better.
We all know that. Every time a lorry goes out, we’re at risk of being caught. Or one of the drivers betraying us. But if the Doyles had connections inside Northern Ireland, this would eliminate the risk.
“Why do ya think that?” Uncle Sean asks, and I’m thankful he’s listening and not giving me a lecture.
“Why else are they interested in our gear? They’ve got their own contacts, their own drugs in Dublin. But takin’ our men, our drugs, that gives them knowledge into how we run our business. They want to set up base here. And they need an inside man to do that.”
I cannot believe I didn’t see this sooner.
“What of Ronan?”
“I let him go as I needed a scapegoat for Aidan’s murder.” I decide to leave out Cian’s and Rory’s involvement in this.
“Yer some pup, Punky,” Uncle Sean says in a tone which sounds like praise. “What ya did was stupid and very dangerous, but ye did good.”
The relief I feel is overwhelming. I should have known that no matter what, Uncle Sean would stick by me.
“So what’s the plan then?”
Uncle Sean appears deep in thought, staring straight through me. “We do what those fuckers want. We go, and then we ambush them. They think yer someone else. We have the advantage here.”
“Brody, he says to me that he…that he took ma.”
Uncle Sean squeezes his eyes shut. I know this is a lot to take in.
“Aidan was the other man who was there. That’s why I killed him. He deserved to die, and I’d do it again given half the chance.”
“Ya told me there were three men. Who else was there?” he asks, reopening his eyes. He looks knackered.
“I don’t know. But I’ll find that out. This tattoo”—I hold up my wrist—“Aidan told me every Doyle gets one when they kill a Protestant. Have ya heard that?”
“I have not,” he replies angrily. “I cannot believe this. This is my fault. And yer fa—”
He stops himself before correcting, “Connor’s. It never should have gotten this far. Those fuckers have been under our noses this entire time, and we didn’t even know. It sickens ya.”
“Aye, but we know now.”
Uncle Sean nods, looking at me with nothing but pride. “If Brody is yer father, yer okay with killin’ him then?”
Without missing a beat, I reply, “I’m not just goin’ to kill him, Uncle Sean, I’m goin’ to torture him until he begs me to put him out of his misery. And even then, I will not. He is going to suffer in ways unimaginable, and I won’t feel a fucking thing about that.”
Uncle Sean is stoic. He’s never heard me speak this way. I realize it’s a lot to take in. He still sees me as the innocent wain he helped rear, but it’s time that stopped.
“I have to tell Connor,” he finally says.
“He’s the reason for this,” I state. “If he had control over his men, instead of being such an arrogant bastard, none of this would be happenin’.”
“I’m at fault as well.”
This is so like Uncle Sean to blame himself. But we both know this is Connor’s show. Nothing goes unless he gives it the green light. He was supposed to be our leader, but he’s just a fucking joke.
“Stop that,” I argue, refusing to stand here and allow him to take the blame. “This is Connor’s doin’. Everythin’ is his fault. He’s about to ruin this family, and even if I’m not a Kelly—”
But Uncle Sean stands abruptly. “Don’tcha finish that sentence, ya hear me? Yer a Kelly. Yer my blood”—he thumps his hand over his chest—“I care not what anyone says. Ye fight like a Kelly. Ye die like a Kelly.”
Nodding, I don’t let my sentiment show as I appreciate this more than he’ll ever know.
Connor hasn’t even bothered to address this issue. He dropped the bombshell, and that was it. But in a few days, I’ll know the truth because once that paternity test comes back, it’ll tell me if I’m a Kelly or not.
“Thanks. No matter what, y’ll always be my uncle.”
He averts his gaze, touched by my words. But he soon clears his throat. “All right then, I’ll make some calls. Ya did the right thing tellin’ me this. We’ll deal with these Doyles once and for all. Belfast is ours, and any fuckin’ Catholic who thinks they can come here and steal it from us will suffer desperately.”
“Nice one,” I hum in agreement, unable to wait for more bloodshed. But now, I need to phone the boys and fill them in.
I’m about to turn and leave, but Uncle Sean steps forward and hugs me. It’s a tight embrace. It’s one filled with affection. “Be careful, cub.”
I’m not exactly sure what I need to be careful of as everything has gone to shit, but I hug him back. If anything were to happen to him, I don’t think I’d survive this. I pull away, not wanting to make a fuss.
He smiles, and I’m relieved I told him. He is the only person I trust. He and the lads, that is. Speaking of, I can’t avoid them for much longer. Since the party, I’ve been dodging their calls as I don’t want to tell them about Babydoll.
The reason for that is I know they’ll tell me what a fucking eejit I am for not being more cautious about her. She’s a liar, a liar who refuses to tell me the truth. If this were anyone else, they wouldn’t be left standing.
But w
hen I left Babydoll’s house, I knew I was in deep. There is no way I can hurt her. Liar or not, that doesn’t change my feelings for her. I don’t know what those feelings are, or how to deal with them, but what I do know is that I’ll protect her because she is mine.
“I’ll talk to ye later.”
Uncle Sean nods and takes a seat at his desk. I guess he’s got a few phone calls to make.
Closing the door behind me, I reach for my mobile and see three missed calls from Rory. I can’t avoid him any longer.
“All right, then?” I casually say when he answers.
“Have you spoken to Cian?”
The panic in his voice troubles me. “No, I have not. Why?”
“’Cause that arsehole usually phones me about ten times a day, and I haven’t heard from him in a few hours.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably out on the pull.”
“Ach, yer right,” he agrees. “Where ye been then?”
Keeping my voice low, I reply, “I’ve a lot to tell ya. Call on me tomorrow?”
“Oh, happy fucking days,” he sarcastically mumbles. “Is she who she says she is?”
He doesn’t need to clarify who.
“Don’t ye be concernin’ yerself with that.” My response is as good as a no.
“Ye buck eejit. Ridin’ the enemy is not smart.”
“She’s not the enemy. Well, I don’t think she is.”
“Is that you and yer cock talkin’?”
With a smirk, I reply, “Me and my cock will see ye tomorrow then.”
I hang up, not interested in any lectures.
As I make my way outside, I decide to call Babydoll as I haven’t spoken to her since I left her home in the middle of the night. I don’t know what the protocol is for after sex talk as I’ve never been interested in revisiting a one-night stand.
But this isn’t that with Babydoll.
Even though there wasn’t any cuddling after we had sex, me leaving was a mutual thing. I could sense she wanted me to leave, and I think it’s ’cause she was worried about getting caught. But caught by whom? She’s an adult and can ride whoever she wants.
But the urgency was her fearing for my safety. I haven’t wanted to think about this because I have so many issues going on in my life right now, but this is one which cannot be solved with violence. And a wee part of me doesn’t want to know the truth.
But I can’t dodge the truth forever. I need to know.
I dial her but am surprised when a voice tells me the number is no longer in service.
Sighing, I place my phone back into my pocket and add this to the ever-growing pile of shite I need to deal with.
“It’s my turn.”
“Y’already had a turn,” Hannah says, using her elbow as a barricade as Ethan tries to steal the remote control from her.
The twins got a motorized toy sailboat from Connor and wanted to sail it on the lake behind the castle. These gifts come from him every so often to make up for being a shitty dad. The problem is, he always seems to forget there are two of them. He’s so self-absorbed, he thinks he’s doing them a kindness, but all it does is leave them bickering.
“Hey, no one will have a turn if you can’t play nice,” Amber warns sternly.
She’s kept her distance since the party, which is why I didn’t want anything to happen between us. I enjoy her company, but now, things are just fucking weird.
My phone rings, and when I see a number I don’t recognize, I excuse myself so I can answer it in private.
“Hello?”
“Is this Puck Kelly?” asks a male voice I don’t recognize.
“Aye, it is. Who’s this?”
“Oh, Mr. Kelly, this is Dr. Dunne from Oak Park Clinic. Yer results are here. I understand the urgency, so I wanted to phone and tell ye—”
“What are they?” I ask, cutting him off.
Finding someone who wouldn’t tell Connor what I’m up to was near impossible, but Dr. Dunne is new to Belfast and not yet aware of the Kelly reputation. I could have used those home paternity tests, but going to a clinic would give me the most accurate results.
“If ye wanted to come in—”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Doctor, but please tell me the fuckin’ results.”
He clears his throat. “The samples of hair, blood and saliva you provided, well, they conclude that the subject is excluded as the biological father.”
Excluded…
“Mr. Kelly? Did ye hear me? The data gathered from the test do not support a relationship of paternity. I’m awful sorry. However, if—”
I don’t bother listening to anything further because what would be the point? The results all confirm that Connor Kelly is not my father. That I’m not a Kelly.
“Thank you, Doctor.” I hang up, ’bout to lose my shite. All I can hear on repeat are the words excluded as the biological father.
I don’t know how to feel. Relieved in some ways not to be related to that pile o’ shit, but the alternative is just as bad.
When my phone vibrates, I’m about to hurl it into the lake. But it’s Cian’s number that flashes on my screen. I’ve been trying to get a hold of this fucker all day.
“The fuck ye—”
But the panic in his voice has me forgetting everything. Something is terribly wrong.
“Punky, they think I’m you,” Cian pants. “And I’ve let them think it.”
At first, I think he’s hammered, but then I realize he’s breathless because he’s hurt.
“Cian? Where are ya?”
“I don’t know,” he confesses, wheezing in pain. “But ye can’t come here. They’ll kill ya.”
“And if I don’t, they’ll kill you instead. Who’s got ye? Cian?” I press when he doesn’t reply.
“The Doyles. But—”
There are no buts in this situation.
“I’m coming for ye, brother. I promise ya. Please hold on.”
“I’m sorry, Punky. I—”
But the line goes dead.
I frantically try to call him back, but his phone is switched off.
“Fuck!” I scream, blinded by nothing but mad rage. I regret my outburst as I know the twins are scared, but if anything happens to Cian…
“Punky?” Amber asks, but I don’t have time to explain. If the Doyles have Cian, all gloves are off, and no one is safe.
“Amber, go inside and lock all the doors, ya hear me? Don’tcha let anyone in.”
“What’s going on?” I know she’s afraid, but I can’t console her. I don’t have time.
“Please, just listen to me. Keep the twins safe, all right? I’ll explain everythin’ later.”
She nods quickly, sensing the urgency to my demands. “Kids, let’s go inside and put on that movie you wanted to watch.”
Hannah and Ethan look at me for guidance, and at this moment, I realize it doesn’t matter that we’re not blood. They will always be my kin.
“Go with Amber,” I say with a strained smile.
They may only be small, but they understand when something is wrong. They’re Kellys, after all, and nothing is ever right in our fucked-up world.
Both of them come running over to me, their fighting over the boat long forgotten. They cling to me tight as I crouch down to hug them.
“Yer coming back?” Hannah asks, choking on her tears.
“Of course, I am.”
Ethan doesn’t say a word.
“Yer the man of the house, all right?” I say, pushing him out at arm’s length. “I need ye to be brave for me. Can ya do that?”
His head bobs, but he’s afraid. “I love you, Punky.”
“Me too. I love ya both. Go now. A’ll see ya soon.”
I gently coax them to leave with Amber who nods, promising me she’ll look after them.
Once they’re gone, I run to my gaff and dial Rory. I don’t give him a chance to talk.
“Can ye trace Cian’s phone?”
“I’ve tried doing that all day, but it’s turned off. What’s going on then?”
“He just phoned me about two minutes ago. He’s in trouble, Rory.” I kick open my door and storm over to the painting hanging above the fireplace. Ripping it off the wall, I punch in the code to my safe.
I can hear the frantic clicking on a keyboard as I gather guns, knives, and money and stuff them into a bag. I don’t know why the Doyles have Cian, but I’m going in prepared for every possible scenario.
“Holy fuck,” he says, and I know this isn’t good. “The call came from the bungalow where yer grandparents are. He’s there.”
“Fuck,” I curse, not understanding any of this. “We’ve got to go. The Doyles have him. They think he’s me.”
“If the Doyles are there, and we go, they’ll know yer not Mike. They have Cian because they don’t know who y’are. All of yer hard work would have been for nothin’, and the upper hand ya have will be lost.”
My body is vibrating in anger. I can barely stand it. Rory is right. If I go there now, the plan to ambush the Doyles with Uncle Sean will be ruined. They’ll know that I’m not Mike and that I’ve played them, and then we’ll never get to the bottom of who’s behind all this.
This proves there is a mole amongst us, but why do they think Cian is me?
Desperately searching the room for an answer, I see it scattered on the coffee table—my face paints. It’s not foolproof, but when they see the face I paint, the same one which I etched onto Aidan’s, they’ll only see that—the face that killed a Doyle.
Whoever has him can’t be Liam or Hugh because they met him at the pub. It’s someone else. I can only think of one other Doyle—Brody.
Snatching the paints from the table, I throw them into my bag. “I have an idea. Be here in ten.”
My hand is surprisingly steady as I apply the final downward stroke on my sinister grin. Looking into the sun visor mirror, I realize how comfortable I am wearing this face.
I make no apologies for what I’ve done and what I plan to do.
I feel nothing.
Rory now knows everything and agrees that someone is using our gear as a test run. We won’t stop until we find out who that is. He also knows that Babydoll isn’t from London. He reacted how I thought he would—he called me a fucking eejit.