by Monica James
“Like what?” I sarcastically question, arching a brow.
“Like a fucking molly. Get outta here before ya break a fingernail.”
His friends all laugh, egging him on as they think his joke is fucking hilarious. I’ll give them something to laugh about.
I join in with their laughter, confusing them, but my amusement is due to me quickly striking out and punching him in the esophagus. He chokes mid-laugh, his eyes bugging out of his head as he cups his throat, gasping for air. But I’m not that generous.
Cupping his throat, I force him to squeeze his larynx. He turns a lovely shade of red as he struggles to breathe. His friends’ laughter soon dies.
“Anythin’ else ya want to say to me?” I question inches from his face.
He quickly shakes his head, begging me to let him go.
“Are ya sure now? It seemed ye couldn’t stop talkin’ a few seconds ago.”
I ease the pressure on his throat, allowing him to wheeze in air. “Sorry.”
“What was that?” I ask, placing my ear near his mouth.
“Let him go,” demands one of the men. When he tries to pry me off his mucker, I elbow him in the face. His screams echo in the distance as he cups his broken nose.
“Now, what was I sayin’?”
“Sorry, sorry,” he wheezes, his eyes pleading I let him go as he slaps at my hand at his throat.
“I don’t believe ye,” I scold, forcing him to his knees.
“Yer welcome to stay.”
Peering down at him, I smile. “Ach, that’s awful kind of ya. Thank you.”
I finally let him go.
He collapses forward, gasping for air on his hands and knees. I roll my eyes ’cause this response is a little dramatic. As he attempts to stand, I push him back down with my boot.
“I think y’d much prefer the view from down there, do ya not think?” I suggest, ensuring he understands if he attempts to stand again, I’ll break his kneecaps.
His head jerks in a half-hearted nod.
The last man standing doesn’t get in my way as I walk past him and into the farmhouse. The place is gutted. The only thing which stands is the structure. There doesn’t appear to be as many men here as Brody sent me on the list.
The men who are missing will be considered traitors and dealt with accordingly.
As I scan the room, I see Brody and Liam talking to a group of men. This is the first time I’ve seen Liam since I got out. He looks even more arrogant than I remember. When we lock eyes, his narrow, making clear he isn’t on board with the deal I made with his father.
He shoves the men he’s speaking with aside and comes my way. “Y’ve got some bollocks on ye, comin’ here with yer face painted like that. After what ya did to my uncle. And my brother,” he spits, fists clenched.
I decorated Aidan and Hugh’s faces before I killed them. It was my finest hour.
“Y’d prefer a different color?” I mock, pursing my lips in contemplation.
He advances forward, the veins in his neck pulsating, hinting at his rage. “I’d prefer it if ye were dead,” he states bitterly. “Just ’cause my dad thinks this is a good idea, doesn’t mean I do. If ya do anything to piss me off, I’ll kill ya.”
“Yer goin’ to have to be a little more specific,” I counter smartly. “What pisses ya off, Liam? Just so I know.”
He growls, ready to end the agreement between his father and me. But Brody steps in, grabbing Liam.
“That’s enough, son,” he warns softly, not wanting to alert anyone that something is wrong. But that was the case long before me.
“This is yer idea of concealin’ who ye are?” Brody asks.
“Aye. I thought y’d like it.”
He exhales, clearly holding back the urge to kill me.
“What the fuck?” Liam curses, looking over my shoulder.
Turning to see what’s going on, I snort when I see the arsehole who tried to act like a tough guy enter the room on his hands and knees. The guy whose nose I broke stands by his friend with blood dried on his face.
When they see me standing with Brody and Liam, they instantly avert their eyes.
“Your doing?” Brody asks while I smirk in response.
“Good thing they don’t know who I am.”
Liam is about to clock me, but Brody grips his bicep.
“I said enough.” His tone is firm, hinting if Liam continues to defy him, he’ll suffer the consequences. “Our men need leaders. Not to see us arguin’ like a couple of aul’ weemin.”
“And ya think this cunt can do that?” Liam spits, looking at me.
“Flynn and Grady seem to think so,” Brody replies, looking at the two men I encountered earlier.
Liam doesn’t reply because his aul’ lad has a point.
“This all of them?” I ask, looking around the room.
“Naw, some are workin’. I couldn’t get everyone together on such short notice.”
“Blah, blah, fucking blah,” I exclaim, shaking my head. “You’re the boss, and last I checked, yer workers do what ya say. No wonder yer up shit creek without a paddle.”
Before they can give me their excuses, I clear my throat loudly, interrupting the soft chatter amongst the men. “Can I have yer attention, please?”
Some men give me their attention while others turn their lip up at me and continue talking. These men are like uncivilized animals that need taming.
Reaching into the small of my back for my gun, I find an uncouth animal laughing joyously, aim for his leg, and fire. The sound ricochets off the walls, as do the screams of the pussy who drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
The room suddenly becomes so still, I could hear a pin drop.
“Ya fucking cunt! Ya shot me!” he cries, rolling from side to side as he grips his leg.
“So I did,” I reply, using the butt of my gun to scratch my temple. “To be fair, I did ask for yer attention.”
“Brody! Who is this nutter?” someone asks, as Brody has obviously fallen into the good cop category.
“He’s my new partner,” he replies, and I can only imagine how that stung to say aloud. “Rumor has it some of youse have forgotten what loyalty is.”
Anger is replaced with nervousness as the men look between each other. Brody steps aside, indicating the floor is mine.
“That’s right,” I agree, folding my arms. “Now, before ya go denyin’ it, I want ya to know yer all guilty until proven otherwise.”
A ballbag steps forward, attempting to assert some authority. “What’s yer name?”
With a smirk, I counter, “Ya don’t need to know my name. We’re not friends. We’re not goin’ to go out and ’ave a pint. I know your names, however. I know where ya live. Who yer family are. I know what I need to.”
The men look amongst one another, clearly shaken up that a stranger has come into their territory and threatened them.
“If I discover any of youse are double-crossing us”—I pause and tongue my cheek—“it won’t end well for ya. I promise ya that. I’ll be keepin’ a close eye on youse. I’ll know when you eat, sleep, and when ya take a shite because that’s what a good leader does.
“They know where their men are.”
Brody clears this throat, clearly not impressed with my choice of words. But this is his fault, as it was Connor’s. I can’t help but compare this speech to the one I made to Connor’s men. I learned my lesson, though, and will not make the same mistake again.
“If I find out yer loyalty lies elsewhere, and I will find out, I’ll torture ya until ye speak, and when ya do, I’ll kill ya. Consider this yer first and only warnin’. Yer lucky I’m givin’ ya that. There are no second chances.”
They hate me, and that’s what I want. But above that, I want them to respect me. Fear only gets you so far, but earn the respect of a man, and he’ll be willing to die for you.
“Go home. Count yerself lucky ya came. The same can’t be said for the men who can’t follow orders.”
The men look confused, unsure if this is a trick. When I aim my gun, they realize it’s not.
They scatter like scared mice, not looking back as they make a dash for the exit. The man I shot is helped to his feet by his friends and hobbles out the door. Some men stand aside, clearly wanting to talk to Liam and Brody about what the fuck is going on.
One man is hovering. I know he wants to speak to me because he used to work for us. The way he examines me, I’m certain he knows who I am.
When everyone is out of earshot, he walks over. “Punky?” he whispers, desperately searching for any clues that it’s me.
The face paint is a great disguise for those who don’t know me, but a familiar face would easily recognize who I am. And that’s what Logan Doherty has done.
I knew this was bound to happen, but I didn’t expect the anger I feel to be so predominant. This arsehole is a fucking traitor, and the urge to hurt him is almost unbearable.
“I always knew ya were a weak pussy, Logan,” I mutter, eyeing him fiercely. “So I’m not surprised to see ya here.”
“Ach, I knew it was you,” he says, almost jumping on the spot in excitement. I don’t know why. I’m about to break his nose for being here. “Yer speech reminded me of—”
I give in to temptation and punch him square in the nose.
He knows better than to retaliate or cry out. He simply accepts his punishment and reaches into his pocket for a tissue.
“Have ya no loyalty?” I question softly, clenching my fist. “We were good to ya, and this is how ya thank Connor? By working with the fucking Doyles?”
“What would ya have me do? I needed to feed my family.”
“These are excuses I have no interest in listenin’ to. I’m here to right the wrongs of the past.”
“Yer uncle is goin’ to be—”
But he quickly stops as I arch a brow.
“My uncle is goin’ to be what?” I question, hinting if he lies to me, I’ll cut out his tongue.
He nervously peers around the room. “Yer uncle is goin’ to be so happy yer back,” he reveals, which hints that Sean hasn’t let our old colleagues onto the fact that he wants me dead. “He’s tryin’ to restore Belfast to her former glory.
“But there is pushback. People want nothin’ to do with the Kellys after what happened.” He soon stops, realizing what he just said.
I gesture he’s to continue.
“Connor was the one they listened to. The one they respected. Sean was always his second. Well, third.”
When I arch a brow, confused, he clarifies.
“We always expected you to take over, not Sean, which is why he’s havin’ problems gatherin’ the support he needs to overthrow Brody. People don’t think Sean has the bollocks to fill Connor’s shoes. And they’re right.
“This is why Brody is still in control. Men don’t have faith in Sean. They don’t trust him, not after he resurfaced when we all thought he was dead. He should have done more to save ya, but instead, he let ya rot. We’re angry with him for doin’ that.
“He was the one who should have gone to prison, not you. When we found out he was alive, we were certain he would get ya outta prison. But when he wanted to be the new leader, and not save ya, the men saw him as nothin’ but a traitor.
“He let ya take the fall. What man does that? Certainly not a leader. But you, Puck. Whatcha did…the men would follow ya into war. Yer Connor’s son, after all.”
This is a lot to take in as I never realized how loyal some men still are to Connor.
“He’s workin’ with some men, but he doesn’t have the manpower to win. He’s tryin’ everythin’, but Brody is still in charge because Sean doesn’t stand a chance against him. But with you back, that’ll change. I can’t wait to tell him.”
I grip Logan’s forearm, a gentle warning of things to come if he doesn’t listen very closely. “Yer not gonna tell anyone I’m back, especially Sean,” I state calmly. “This is goin’ to stay between us. Y’hear?”
“Aye, but I—”
“Don’t make me cut out yer tongue,” I interrupt because he doesn’t seem to understand me.
His head bobbles as he nods, fearing for his life.
“I want ya to compile a list of names of the men who used to work for us. I want to know who is loyal to Brody. And who you think can be swayed back to our side.”
“And what will ya do to them?” he questions with a gulp.
“They made their choice, Logan. It was the wrong one. Think ya can manage that?”
He doesn’t press any further. “All right. I can do that. Aye. I’ll give ya all the names of the men who used to work for the Kellys and whose side they’re now on.”
“Grand. That’ll be most helpful. Thank you.”
Logan won’t fuck with me because I know where he lives, who his children are, and that he is probably still fucking his wife’s best friend. If he goes behind my back, I’ll make sure he pays for his betrayal.
I release him, and he exhales in relief.
“Sooner rather than later, yeah?”
“Of course. I’ll run it over to ya tomorrow.”
He doesn’t stick around and quickly exits while he still can.
Brody is still talking to a couple of men, but he makes eye contact with me as he saw the exchange between Logan and me. I need to be very careful now that I know he wields more power than I thought.
My phone rings, and when I see the caller is Hannah, I answer.
“It’s Ethan,” she blurts out, her panic clear.
She doesn’t need to say another word as I’m out the door, running toward the car. Cian and Rory are following in hot pursuit, understanding the urgency. Rory deactivates the car alarm, and I almost rip open the door as I jump into the back seat.
The boys are in the car within seconds, and we’re speeding down the road toward Fiona’s house. No one speaks.
I’ve wiped my face paint off by the time we arrive. I don’t take the time to look at Fiona’s new house because I don’t care. She is standing in the front garden having a feg. She doesn’t recognize Rory’s car, but when I get out, she shakes her head, snickering.
“So typical of Hannah to call her knight in shining armor,” she quips, blowing out a puff of smoke.
“Where is she?” I question, not interested in getting into an argument with her, but she has other ideas.
“Yer not welcome here, Puck. Go, before I call the peelers.”
“Listen to me, Fiona, whatever issues ya have with me, get over them. I’m here to help Ethan.”
She scoffs in response. “Help? Since when have you helped anyone but yerself. Just how ya helped yerself to my money. I’ve struggled since yer father died, bein’ a single mum, but no one seems to give a fuck about that!
“They’re all concerned about you!”
I don’t have time for her melodramatics, so I walk past her, as she’s past reasoning. But she grips my arm, stopping me. “If you set foot in my home, I’ll fucking kill ya.”
“Mum, enough!” Hannah scolds as she opens the front door. “Thanks for comin’.”
Eyeing Fiona’s fingers, I give her the option to remove them on her own accord, or I’ll remove them for her. She gets the hint and lets me go. But not before she lets me know what she thinks of me.
“Yer the reason Connor is dead. I wish it was you who died.”
Time hasn’t been kind to Fiona—I hardly recognize her. Some may be happy that their stepmum is suffering, but not me. I feel sorry for her.
“I wish that every day,” I reply, meaning every word.
She feels nothing but hatred and anger for me, and I know that’ll never change. There is no point trying to revive something that was dead long ago, so I walk past her and gesture to Hannah to take me to Ethan.
She walks down the short hallway and opens the last door on the left. She steps aside, and I see the boy I no longer recognize curled up on the single bed. He’s not under the covers. I
t looks like he passed out where he dropped.
“I found him like that,” Hannah whispers, working her bottom lip. “I think—”
“Ya think what?” I coax when she pauses.
She merely shakes her head, unable to say the words, but she doesn’t need to.
Walking into Ethan’s bedroom, I notice how bland things are in here. For a young lad, he barely has anything in here to indicate this is a seventeen-year-old boy’s room.
His chest rises and falls listlessly; it looks like he’s in a coma, and that’s because he is, in a sense. Dropping to a crouch by his bed, I gently pull up the sleeve on his hoodie and see what I suspected would be there.
Track marks.
Hannah muffles a cry behind her hand when she too sees what I do. She must have suspected he was using, but to be confronted by the truth is a hard pill to swallow.
A heavy sigh leaves me as I look at my baby brother. He’s been brought into this world because of me. Rory, Cian, and I never touched the shite we dealt as we saw what it did. It turned functioning people into zombies, which is what Sean wanted.
I have no doubt Sean was the one who encouraged Ethan to try heroin because that’s what Ethan is addicted to. I know this because, with heroin, there isn’t simply one time. One taste, and you’re hooked. And judging from these track marks, Ethan has been lost for a very long time.
Vomit rises, but I hold it down.
Reaching out, I brush back the matted hair at his brow. Where has my innocent brother gone?
He stirs, a whimper leaving him. Even in his drug-induced state, the pain still lingers, which is dangerous to any user. They use more to numb the pain, leaving them with an even bigger addiction.
His backpack lays by the foot of the bed, so I reach for it and search through it. I find his stash, as well as some prescription drugs. This is worse than I thought. If he continues this way, he won’t live to see his eighteenth birthday.
Maybe that’s what he wants.
“The fuck,” Ethan slurs, his eyes flickering open as he attempts to gauge where he is.
“Hi, Ethan,” I say gently.
It takes him a moment, but when he realizes where he is and that I’m really here, he springs up onto his knees, pressing his back to the wall. With urgency, he scans the room for a weapon no doubt. He thinks I’m here to hurt him.