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“Naw. Connor was never meant to be here. Why did ya bring him? He’s called the chief constable. They’ll be here in minutes. We’ve got to go.”
When he tries to reach for me, I recoil. His hurt is palpable, but I don’t know who to believe.
“I’ll explain everythin’, but now, we’ve got to go. If we don’t, we’ll go to prison for a very long time. That lorry is full of drugs!”
“I don’t care anymore,” I confess, everything becoming murky.
“Stop that!” Uncle Sean scolds. “We go now, and we let the Doyles take the blame. They’re here when they’re not supposed to be. It’s the perfect plan. It’s what I wanted to happen.”
“Is it now?”
Uncle Sean looks over my shoulder as the barrel of a gun presses to the back of my head. Turning around slowly, what I see changes the course of everything once more.
Brody and Liam have three people who trusted me at gunpoint, revealing no one will get out of this alive. I thought she had fled in the van. But that would have been too easy, and nothing in life ever is.
Cian, Rory, and Babydoll are their prisoners, and the only exchange acceptable is my life for theirs. They put up a fight, as they’re bloody and bruised, but it wasn’t enough.
Cian and Rory got ambushed while keeping dick—I have no doubt about that. They were only here because I asked them to, because I believed our plan would work.
“Let them go,” Uncle Sean warns, coming to stand next to me, gun pointed at Brody.
Brody grins. “Really sorry, but I can’t do that. Ya see, someone has got to take the blame for this.”
Sirens wail in the distance. Connordidcall the police, knowing he would be held accountable for this entire thing.
“And that won’t be me.”
I look at Cian, who nods discreetly. He and Rory can take Liam and Brody. But what Brody says next, seals the deal.
“If I go down, then all of ye will too; that includes yer ma, Camilla. That’s why I brought ye here. Ya were always collateral. Ye were always my get out of jail free card because I knew Puck would do anythin’ to save ya.”
Babydoll shakes her head, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
“I go to prison, yer ma gets nothin’. I will make sure she suffers, and yer little sister, well, ya saw firsthand how cruel the Doyle men can be. We like to keep it in the family. I’m sure ya came to learn that from Hugh. He punished ya, did he not?”
What does that mean?
When she lowers her eyes, ashamed, I understand that Hugh was the one who whipped her and did so much more than I expected.
“Ya bleedin’ fucker,” Uncle Sean spits, his arm never wavering from Brody.
Five men appear from the bushes, surrounding us, guns raised.
Uncle Sean closes his eyes, defeated.
This was never an ambush; this was a suicide mission. We thought we had the upper hand, but the Doyles were always ten steps ahead. This was supposed to work, and it would have if they weren’t tipped off. I still don’t know by whom.
“Okay then, let it be me.” Uncle Sean lowers his gun and raises his hands in the air.
Brody laughs, and I have no idea why.
“Naw, I think not, Sean. Somethin’ else is headed yer way.”
It happens in the blink of an eye.
Brody fires, and Uncle Sean drops to his knees before collapsing onto his front with a thud.
I stare at my uncle and my dad who lay feet apart, slaughtered by the Doyles, but the ironic thing is, they aren’t to blame—I am.
