Into Temptation (Deliver Us from Evil Trilogy Book Two)

by Monica James

  I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard, but it seems the more I do, the further detached I feel from this new life I built without Punky in it. And that life includes marrying Rory.

  I want to love him how I do Punky, but I just don’t. My heart belongs to a man I can never have because he’s my half-brother.

  This morning, I woke up in Punky’s arms. It was the most peaceful slumber I’ve had in ten long years. But when I realized it wasn’t his arms I should be in, guilt overrode me. In some sense, I had cheated on Rory, and he didn’t deserve that.

  I fled Punky’s home, not caring I had no shoes. I just needed to get out of there. The farther I walked, the heavier Rory’s ring felt. I realized marrying him isn’t fair; I don’t love him the way he deserves. And he needs to know that.

  “Rory, I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

  “This,” I clarify, gesturing a finger between us.

  I wish I could sugarcoat this to spare his feelings, but he deserves more than that.

  Rory’s cheeks billow before he exhales loudly. “I don’t understand. Y’ve got cold feet, is it? A’ll wait. A’ll wait forever for ye, Cami. I love ya.”

  I turn my cheek, guilt eating at me as he confesses his love because I don’t feel the same. “I don’t have cold feet,” I explain softly. “I…I can’t marry you, Rory, because I don’t love you how you deserve.”

  Even though it’s the truth, it doesn’t make me feel any better for breaking his heart.

  “Where were ya last night?” He knows, but he asks me anyway. “Cami! Answer me.”

  I jolt, not used to his tone as he’s never raised his voice to me before.

  My silence has him filling in the blanks. “He’s yer brother, ferfeckssake! It’s sick.”

  “It’s not like that,” I cry, angered.

  “How is it then?” he challenges, folding his arms across his chest.

  He’s livid, and he has every right to be. But forcing me into this isn’t doing him any favors. “I know I can’t be with him,” I state, pushing my sadness aside. “But I don’t have those feelings for you. I don’t think I ever will.”

  “What feelin’s? Yer talkin’ rubbish! You had those feelin’s for me when ya said yes to bein’ my wife. Why has that changed?”

  Biting my lip, I shrug. “I don’t know. It just has.”

  Rory sighs, messing his hair up further as he runs his fingers through it. “Puck bein’ back has confused everyone,” he shares, the first time he’s openly spoken about him to me. “I understand. But y’ve got to let him go.”

  “I can’t,” I confess, shaking my head. “He’s a part of me. I’ve told you that.”

  Rory snickers, his anger rising. “Aye, that’s ’cause he’s yer brother.”

  “I know that,” I reply, not appreciating his snide remark. “But it’s more than that. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Don’tcha do that,” he scolds, eyes narrowed. “Don’t act like I wasn’t there. He was my friend too.”

  “Is your friend,” I amend. “You’re the one who’s pushed him away. You won’t even talk to him.”

  “What would ya have me say, Cami? Ten years is a long time. I’ve changed and so has he. I don’t even know what to say to him anymore.”

  “What about, hi, how are you?” I offer as I know there is more to this. “You were inseparable once upon a time.”

  “We’re not those people anymore,” he states firmly. “None of us are. Nothin’ but trouble follows Punky. I don’t want that life. I’m glad we’re out.”

  “You’re out because Punky went to jail so we all could live a normal life,” I say, in case he needs reminding. “He sacrificed his freedom so we could have ours.”

  “Ach, don’t be makin’ a martyr outta him,” he snaps. “That was his choice. And besides, if he wasn’t so fucking thran, none of this would have happened.”

  I pull back, stunned he would say that. “Are you fucking serious? Have you forgotten we all had a part to play in this?”

  “Naw, I cannot forget. Ya won’t allow it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means ya won’t leave things where they belong—in the past! Ya can’t be happy ’cause ye thrive on the drama.”

  He may as well have slapped me with his insult. “That’s bullshit. The ‘things’ you speak so flippantly about is a man who lost ten years of his life, rotting alone in a cell because my father forced him to!”

  “What d’ya mean?” Rory questions as he doesn’t know the truth. But he’s about to.

  “Brody gave Punky an ultimatum—take the fall for the mess we all had a hand in and give Belfast to him, or he’d make sure we all paid. Punky went to jail to protect us. So that we could live a normal life, away from crime, away from him!”

  “I was there. I heard what was said,” Rory exclaims, arms out wide. “But why did he refuse to see us? Why did he not let us help him when we could?”

  “Because we only heard part of it. Punky told me what was said when we left—that he was to cease contact with us or Brody would kill us all,” I explain, the truth still angering me beyond words. “If Punky tried to get out of jail, we would pay.

  “So, he stayed in there to ensure we could live the life he could not.”

  Rory’s shoulders sag as he hears the truth. We were all angry with Punky for refusing to see us, thinking he was just being stubborn. But the truth is, he couldn’t. If he did, Brody would have killed us all.

  This whole time, we thought Punky had given up, but he never did. He sacrificed himself to save us. My love for him just grows.

  “Fucking hell,” Rory says, clearly surprised.

  I decide not to tell him what else I know about Sean being alive, as this isn’t my news to share.

  “Cami, I love ya. No matter what’s happened, please see sense. Yer actin’ crazy!”

  His disrespect for my feelings maddens me, and it’s out before I can stop myself. “I will never love you how I love him.”

  Once the truth surfaces from me, it leaves a bitter aftertaste, one I wish I could wash away. But I can’t. He doesn’t see it now, but I’m saving Rory a lifetime of heartache because he will always be second best.

  Rory tongues his cheek, appearing to weigh over what I just spewed forth.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head as this isn’t the way I wanted this to go. “The love I feel for Punky, it goes beyond that. I can’t explain it. I don’t expect you to understand because I don’t understand it myself.”

  This is the best way I can explain something which doesn’t make sense.

  “I don’t know what ya want me to say. Ya tell me yer still in love with my mate and expect me to be okay with it?” he states, his disgust clear. “I wish y’d told me this before our engagement party. I look like a buck eejit.”

  “I wanted to be honest,” I explain, realizing that doesn’t make a difference.

  “Ach, I wish ya were honest before ya agreed to marryin’ me.”

  He has every right to be mad at me. I’m mad at me. He’s a good man who loves me and provides stability, but it’s not enough. And I won’t string him along, hoping my feelings will change. That’s not fair to either of us.

  “I’ll just pack my things.”

  He doesn’t stop me.

  I don’t have that much stuff here, so everything fits into my overnight bag I left at the flat. Thinking back, I wonder if I knew it would always come to this. I always made excuses as to why I never left more stuff here. Rory wanted me to stay with him when I came to Belfast, but I always felt more comfortable in a hotel.

  I should have known why that was.

  Once I have everything, I slip on a pair of black Chucks and take one last look at the flat because I do have happy memories here. It’s just not enough.

  Rory is sitting on the couch, head bowed, hands interlaced between his splayed legs. “Don’t do this, Cami. Ya don’
t have to marry me. Just don’t leave me. We’re good together.”

  Toying with the strap of the overnight bag over my shoulder, I shake my head. “No, Rory, you’re good. I’m the fucked-up one. You deserve so much better than me.”

  There’s no point prolonging the inevitable, so I slip the ring from my finger and place it on the coffee table. Rory’s shoulders shudder as he inhales sharply. I just broke his heart.

  With tears in my eyes, I leave behind the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  But once I step onto the sidewalk, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my chest. I know that I should never have agreed to marry Rory. I wanted so desperately to believe that I would be happy by being his wife, but it never felt natural.

  My smile, my laugh, it was always forced. And even though I will probably live the rest of my life alone, I’m okay with that as I won’t settle for second best.

  With a sigh, I flag down a passing taxi because there is something I have to do.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Punky revealed—Sean is alive. And he killed Cara Kelly. But what I don’t understand is, why?

  What reason did Sean have to kill her?

  Punky’s hatred for Sean is far deeper than that toward Brody, so this makes me think that whatever Sean did, Punky sees it as a bigger betrayal than that of Brody, who he is willing to work with. Both are as corrupt and vile as the other, but for Punky to be hunting Sean instead of Brody, it’s safe to assume Sean has done something else to Punky.

  But what?

  Once we arrive at the destination, I pay the driver and take a quick look around before exiting the taxi. It’s quiet, but I know the Doyle spies are never too far away. As I make my way down the street, I take in the stores which used to thrive, but now, they’re nothing but a ghost town.

  And that’s thanks to my father.

  I enter Ron’s Butchers, and when I see Ron Brady behind the counter, I smile and wave. “Hi, Ron. How are you?”

  There are no customers in line, which answers my question. “Cami, bout ye? Is everythin’ all right? Yer brother called by this mornin’,” he says nervously, wiping his hands on his apron. “I already paid him.”

  I shake my head, horrified. “Oh no, that’s not the reason I’m here.”

  It disgusts me that my brother and father are okay with exploiting people for their own gain. They offer protection from the “bad guys,” but they are the bad guys. People like Ron pay—in fear for their lives if they don’t do what the Doyles say.

  Which is why I’ve come here.

  “Can I speak with you? In private,” I add in fear of being overheard by the two workers.

  Ron narrows his eyes in suspicion but nods. “Aye.”

  He removes his apron and grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter. We walk outside where Ron heads toward the back of the store. I follow.

  When we’re in the alley, he lights his smoke.

  Clearing my throat, I hope to God this works. “I know you respected Connor Kelly. You called him a friend,” I commence, watching for any signs. But he continues smoking.

  “When we came to speak with you—Cian, Rory, and I—Puck was in prison,” I say because I know he’s wondering where I’m going with this. “But he’s just been released. And I—”

  Before I can go on, he shakes his head, eyes wide. “Hush, love,” he whispers, peering up and down the alleyway. “Don’tcha speak his name.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause y’ll get us killed,” he warns, and he isn’t being melodramatic. He means every word.

  “Killed?” I question. “I don’t understand.”

  Ron tosses his cigarette onto the ground and turns to leave. But I latch onto his forearm, begging him to explain.

  Ron and a dozen other men and women loyal to the Kellys were beside themselves when they found out what had happened to Punky and Connor. They didn’t believe Punky was guilty of the charges he was accused of and wanted to help any way they could.

  But over time, Brody and Liam forced them to see that if they weren’t willing to work with the Doyles, then they would suffer the consequences. So, with a family to feed and fearing for their lives, they submitted. Their loyalty was with a new family—mine.

  But that loyalty isn’t genuine, as my family doesn’t care whether Ron and others like him live or die. They are merely dollar signs. Each person represents money Brody can extort from them.

  It wasn’t that way with Connor. He actually gave a shit about them, and that’s because most of them were his friends. I came to learn a lot about Connor Kelly when trying to free Punky. Although he didn’t take any shit and wouldn’t think twice about killing someone for double-crossing him, he actually made people like Ron feel safe.

  He never exploited them and often helped them. If their kids were buying drugs from him, he would usually give them a lecture about how their decision would affect their parents. He never refused to sell to them, as that would be bad business, but he always made clear that the drugs he sold would fuck up their lives.

  It was their decision in the end, but to know he cared enough to speak up reveals what sort of a man he was.

  He was an asshole, but he wasn’t a fucking asshole.

  Cian and Rory told me they too operated this way. They never knew Connor did, though. There was a lot of things they didn’t know Connor did.

  I know he was hard on Punky, but I think he was trying his best to parent a man just as stubborn as he was.

  “Punky is back,” I continue softly. I’m going to help him, even if he doesn’t want me to. “And he’s going to right the wrongs which have occurred over the last ten years.”

  I know Punky believes he needs to work with Brody, but I won’t stand back and watch him demean himself and work with the man who killed his mom. Punky has forgotten, I’m a Doyle too. People know who I am. And they fear me because of my surname.

  He needs allies. And I plan on getting them for him.

  “It’s only a matter of time. Brody’s days are numbered. He is no match for Punky. Belfast belongs to him, to a Kelly. Not a Doyle.”

  I don’t care that technically Punky is a Doyle. He is known as Puck Kelly, because that’s who he is.

  Ron sighs, running a hand over his bald head. He’s torn. I know Punky is worried Sean has been recruiting behind the scenes, but I came to Ron because he expressed his dislike for Sean. He would never do business with him.

  This is why I can trust him.

  “Does he know that Sea—”

  But I nod, cutting him off as I refuse to give that vile human the satisfaction of saying his name aloud. “Yes. He knows that that asshole is back. But he never left, did he?”

  Ron nods slowly. “I will not go into business with him. It’s gettin’ into bed with the devil. It’ll be like leavin’ one gobshite for another. But if what ya say ’bout Puck is true, then aye, I want to help. As will others who were friends with Connor.

  “We owe him that.”

  I smile, happiness and relief overcoming me. “Do you think you could spread the word? Put the feelers out to see who’s onboard?”

  “I’ll get it sorted,” he says, the first sign of life reflecting in his green eyes. “I’ll be discreet, don’tcha worry.”

  “As will I,” I reply. “Don’t go to Punky. For the moment, come to me with everything.”

  Ron arches a brow but doesn’t argue. “If anyone can save us, it’s thon boy. He’s more like Connor than he thinks. Both are awful thran, but they’re loyal. They’ll do what’s right.”

  “Yes. And that’s all Punky wants—to make things right. And to make those who betrayed him pay,” I add, while Ron grins.

  “Good craic. We’ve been waitin’ for a miracle. Looks like our prayers have been answered. Thank you for comin’ to me, Cami. Y’ve given me hope.”

  Tears prick my eyes and I don’t know why. It’s only when I shake Ron’s hand, flag down a taxi, and direct the driver to th
e closest hotel in town do I understand why.

  Punky is hope.

  He may not believe it, but we do. He doesn’t realize the impact he has on this world. His strength and loyalty give those who have lost their way a reason to smile again.

  Once I check into the hotel, I collapse face-first onto the bed and smile. If I can help people like Ron while destroying my father and helping Punky, then I will make it my mission to ensure my plan doesn’t fail.

  Punky believes he’s in this alone, but he’s not. He believes everyone has forgotten him, but someone like Punky isn’t easily forgotten.

  My cell chimes and when I see it’s Brody, I decide to answer in case one of his henchmen saw me talking to Ron. “What?”

  “Ya answered,” he says, his surprise clear.

  “Yup, and I already regret it. What do you want?”

  Brody chuckles that confident laugh which I hate so much. “I need to speak with ya.” Before I can protest, he adds, “It’s about Punky,” as he knows I will never say no to that request.

  “Fine then. Speak.”

  “Naw, what I have to say can’t be said over the phone. I’m at the pub. See you soon.” He hangs up, knowing he’s won this round.

  With a groan, I punch the mattress, frustrated this asshole wields so much power over us. But with no other choice, I get up and organize a taxi to meet me downstairs.

  As I lock the door, I decide to send a text in case this is a trap, and I’m willingly walking into my death.

  Daddy dearest wants to see me at The Craic’s 90. If you don’t hear from me, assume that I’m dead. I’ll check in later. Ps. Last night was a mistake.

  Turning off my phone, I regret nothing.

  “It would be easier if we rip this wall out,” says the tradesman, as he attempts to convince me for the third time to destroy part of the castle as it’ll make his job easier.

  “And it’d be easier if I rip yer tongue out,” I counter, standing firm.

  He pales, knowing my threat isn’t empty. “This will cost another—”

  But he soon stops in his tracks when I arch a brow.