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“Ya don’t know Connor. Ya don’t know his son, Pu—”
Before he has a chance to say another word, I leap forward and connect with his jaw. His head jars back with the force.
Aidan’s eyes are wide, surprised by my sudden need for violence, but Ronan cannot say my name. I have no doubt the Doyles know who I am, but the less they know, the better.
Aidan’s shock soon turns to delight as he claps happily. “Ronan, meet Mike.”
Ronan frantically shifts his head from left to right, attempting to gauge where Mike is. I make that clear when I punch him again—in the nose this time.
“Janey Mack!” Aidan shouts, elated, stepping out of the way as he doesn’t want to get blood on his white shirt.
I need to know what Ronan has told the Doyles.
“Think you can run with the big boys?” I say, knowing he won’t recognize my voice, thanks to my flawless American accent. “I don’t know who these Kelly people are, but—”
“That’s right,” Ronan interrupts, taking the bait like I knew he would. “They’re the biggest drug dealers, among other things, in all of Northern Ireland.”
“Then why are you double-crossing them?”
Aidan allows the interrogation, appearing just as interested in his response as I am.
“’Cause things are about to change. TheDoylesare going to change that.”
Holy fuck.
“Aye,” Aidan agrees, nodding happily. “Ya chose the right side, Ronan. Even though yer a Protestant. But that doesn’t seem to matter much.”
Of course, it fucking matters. What the fuck is going on here?
“I’m sorry, Aidan. Let me make it up to ya. Connor’s twins…I’ll bring them to ya. He loves them wains.”
The walls close in on me, and my darkness snaps its jaws, demanding bloodshed.
“All right then,” Aidan says with a grin. “Seems fair. Brody can decide what to do with them. Use them as collateral. Raise them as Doyles. Or sell them. The possibilities are endless.”
These people he speaks so flippantly about are my siblings—whether they’re flesh and blood or not, it doesn’t matter. They are innocent in all of this, just as I once was.
But innocence escaped me long ago.
Aidan appears happy with their compromise and removes Ronan’s blindfold. He blinks rapidly, attempting to adjust to the lighting and when he does, a gasp leaves him because all he sees is me—theKellyhe fucking betrayed.
“Naw, it can’t be,” he wheezes, and when Aidan turns slowly, not understanding why it appears Ronan knows me, I know it’s time.
It doesn’t matter if I’m a Kelly or a Doyle. In the end, I’m one fucking pissed off human being who is about to deliver revenge to all who betrayed me.
Aidan quickly reaches into his pocket, but it’s too late and I kick him in the throat. He staggers back, clutching at his neck because the blow has compromised his windpipe. Ronan frantically tugs at the ropes around his wrists, fruitlessly attempting to break free.
“I’m sorry!” he pleads, knowing what his fate is. “It was a trap.”
“Shut up,” I demand, curling my lip, disgusted with his lies. “Yertrapinvolved negotiating with my siblings? Are ye jokin’? I’m not fucking thick.”
Aidan’s wheezes stop when he hears what I just revealed. “Yer Irish?”
“Naw, I’m Northern Irish,” I declare, standing tall. “And I’m a fucking Kelly. My name’s Puck Kelly. What’s the craic?”
Aidan, who is still struggling to breathe, knows it’s now or never and makes a wild dash for the door, but no one is leaving this room. Blocking the exit, I raise my elbow and strike him in the nose, breaking it. He tumbles back, blood gushing through his fingers as he cups his nose and attempts to gulp in mouthfuls of air.
Opening my backpack, I reach for my knife, shove Aidan against the wall, and twist his arm high above his head. He launches forward, but he’s not going anywhere, and I make that clear when I drive my knife into his palm, crucifying him to the wall.
