AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“This face,” I share, rubbing my fingers into the white paint and mixing it with the red blood on my hands. “This is the faceyoucreated when I was locked in the wardrobe watchin’ ya rape and humiliate my mum.
“I know it wasn’t you who slit her throat,” I state with poise as I slather his face in white paint. When he tries to move, I grip his chin. “I also know y’ll not tell me who did. But that’s all right…I already know.”
“Ya know nothin’,” he sneers, baring his teeth when I ensure I’ve covered every part of his face.
“Ach, I’m pretty sure yer brother was the one. The third fucker, though. Tell me who he is, and I’ll kill ya quick.”
“I don’t rat, so go ahead and kill me,” he spits, and fair balls to him for not being a grass. “Ya have no idea who yer fightin’. This is bigger than ya can ever guess. Yer life is over. Done. My family will hunt ya. Ya have no idea what’s coming for ya!” He looks ridiculous, threatening me when he looks like Casper the Friendly Ghost.
Stepping back, I smirk at my handiwork. His face is a blank backdrop for me to create carnage. Tossing the white container over my shoulder, I rub circles in the black face paint with my fingers and fill in the blanks.
“Imagine that?” I mock, drawing a black line from his cheek to his mouth. “Me afraid of a Doyle? Too bad I’m not.”
Once he wears a big, painted grin, I tap my chin, unhappy with what I’m seeing. The artist in me strives for perfection, and that’ll only be achieved with a few minor adjustments. Yanking the knife out from Aidan’s palm, I elbow him in the face to stop any last-ditch efforts to escape. As he gasps for air, I grab his lips and slice them off.
They drop to the floor with a plop.
I coat my finger in the blood pouring from his wound, and strike down his forehead once—one down, two to go.
“Do ya not think that’s better, lads?” I ask Cian and Rory, admiring a lipless Aidan as he incoherently muffles for help.
“Fucking class,” Cian exclaims, clapping in approval.
“A masterpiece,” Rory agrees, and places a blade in my hand. “But I think one more thing is needed.”
Turning over my shoulder, I look at my friend and nod in both agreement and thanks. This isn’t his fight. This vendetta has nothing to do with him or Cian, but here they are, and I know they’ll never leave my side.
It doesn’t matter what surname I bear; these two lads will always be the family I belong to.
Opening the butterfly knife, I slip my fingers through the knuckle guard and the five-inch blade becomes an extension of my hand. Aidan has dropped to his knees as the fight in him has conceded defeat. He commences the Lord’s Prayer—as best he can without any lips.
“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come…”
“Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven,” I conclude, walking behind his praying stance. I grip his hair, yank back his head, press the blade against his throat, and sweep across it brutally.
The sticky warmth coating my hand thaws the chill from my bones, and for the first time in a long time, there is silence. Aidan gurgling on his blood is the only sound filling the still room as I absorb what I just did.
I killed.
Releasing Aidan, he flops onto his stomach, blood pooling around him as he wheezes in his last breaths of life. I stand over him, knife in hand, watching and waiting until eventually, he simply stops being. Filling my lungs with air, I exhale slowly, savoring this moment as it has set a benchmark for things to come.
I use my foot to turn him onto his back and peer down at the painted, bloody mess. I feel absolutely nothing.
Cian and Rory stand on either side of me, also examining the carnage before them. This is the beginning of the end.
“What do we do with him?” Rory asks.
I lift my shoulders, untroubled. “We leave him someplace where his family will eventually find him.”
“D’ya not think we should hide the body?”
“What for? I want them to find him,” I declare. “I want them to see he entered the afterlife baring the scars on his face which are carved onto my soul.”
I want the Doyles to know someone is after them. I want them to know that they’re next. I didn’t just kill Aidan—I tortured and humiliated him, just like he did to my ma. This is personal, and I want every Doyle to know that.
“What of Ronan?” Cian questions. “What are the Doyles wantin’ our gear for? They’ve got their own. I don’t understand it.”
Looking at Ronan, I know he won’t tell us anything because he doesn’t know anything. He’s merely a pawn; all of us are.
“I don’t know. But I’ll find out.”
“Do we tell the aul’ lads about him?” Rory asks.
Ronan whimpers, begging for mercy when he deserves none for what he’s done. But he’s more valuable to me alive than dead.
Shaking my head calmly, I reply, “Naw. We do not. ’Cause of them, Ronan and Nolen thought they could get away with this. We don’t tell them anythin’. What we do istheirjob…it’s time we claimed back our kingdom, boys.”
