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This proves there is a mole amongst us, but why do they think Cian is me?
Desperately searching the room for an answer, I see it scattered on the coffee table—my face paints. It’s not foolproof, but when they see the face I paint, the same one which I etched onto Aidan’s, they’ll only see that—the face that killed a Doyle.
Whoever has him can’t be Liam or Hugh because they met him at the pub. It’s someone else. I can only think of one other Doyle—Brody.
Snatching the paints from the table, I throw them into my bag. “I have an idea. Be here in ten.”
My hand is surprisingly steady as I apply the final downward stroke on my sinister grin. Looking into the sun visor mirror, I realize how comfortable I am wearing this face.
I make no apologies for what I’ve done and what I plan to do.
I feel nothing.
Rory now knows everything and agrees that someone is using our gear as a test run. We won’t stop until we find out who that is. He also knows that Babydoll isn’t from London. He reacted how I thought he would—he called me a fucking eejit.
When he asked if I thought Babydoll had anything to do with this, I answered honestly; I really don’t know.
When he asked how I felt about not being Connor’s son, I replied with the same response.
I don’t know anything anymore, but what I do know is that I’m going to kill every fucker who laid a finger on Cian. As for my grandparents…I really am walking into the unknown. The only advantage we have is that we’ve been here before.
We park down the road, taking in our surroundings as it’s dusk. We don’t have the moonlight to hide behind. We decide to jump the fence on the side of the property as the thick shrubs and hedges lining it will provide the coverage we need.
The absolute silence scares me. I don’t know what we’ll find inside this house of horrors.
We quietly jump the fence, hiding behind the hedges. The curtains are drawn across the window, so we can’t see anything. I gesture with my head that we’re to move.
“Ya need to be quiet. Quieter than a mouse.”
All I can hear is my ma’s voice. The words she spoke to me before our lives changed forever.
This house is riddled with nothing but bad memories, and the fact my “family” has no issues being here, shows they don’t care about what happened to my ma. Being here makes me want to vomit. But they stay here of their own accord. It’s beyond fucked up.
I may not be a Kelly, but I’m not a Foster either. I don’t know who I am. And I’m okay with that.
When Rory and I peek into the window at the back of the gaff, I hold my breath because this room is where my ma was slaughtered. And it’s the room where my best friend was beaten to a bloody mess.
The curtains are parted a fraction, so we can see in, and what I see has me clenching my fist, promising to kill every last fucker who laid a hand on Cian.
“He’s breathin’,” Rory whispers. “Only just.”
“I need ya to stay out here,” I order, placing my bag onto the ground and quietly unzipping it. “Don’t let anyone in. Or out.”
When I give him a gun and a knife, he understands what we need to do when the enemy approaches.
“Y’ll be all right on yer own?”
Nodding, I arm myself and slip on my hood. “Aye. It’s this gaff which taught me what bloodshed was.”
“See ye soon.” He extends his hand, which I slap and shake.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, but Cian won’t die in my place. I’ll do everything I can to save him.
Without hesitation, I walk toward the back door and peer around the doorjamb. It’s unmanned, so I open it quietly. The moment I step foot inside, I’m hit with Ma’s perfume, her warming smile. This place is entrenched with her memories.
My boots don’t make a sound as I tiptoe through the gaff, refusing to give way to the memories which plague me with each step I take. The fact there is no one in here troubles me as to what I’m about to find. As I peer around the corner, I see a man standing in front of the bedroom door.
He’s holding a machine gun.
