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We haven’t officially met as she knew me as Mike from America, not Puck Kelly. She looks how I remember her.
“Not now, Erin,” Brody barks. “Yer brother probably placed the order. Go back inside.”
But she stubbornly stands her ground and steps onto the footpath. She looks at her injured father, then at me, shaking her head in disgust before slapping my cheek.
“Ya bleedin’ arsehole. Ye lied to me. Ya used me…Mike.”
“Ach, so I did,” I reply, moving my jaw from side to side. I don’t make apologies because I would do it again.
“I actually liked ya,” she reveals, turning up her lip, repulsed. “And yer my brother. That’s sick.”
“Naw, I’m not,” I counter sharply, done playing this game. Nothing good has come out of this lie, and I intend to tell Babydoll the truth, regardless of the consequences. “I’m not a Doyle. Iama Kelly, but Connor Kelly isn’t my father. Sean Kelly is. Isn’t that right, Brody? Ya played along for whatever reason Sean told ya to, makin’ me believe that ye were my da.”
Erin’s mouth hinges open while Brody stands rigid.
“I know a lot more than ya think I do,” I state, eyeing him closely. “And I know Sean wanted us all together for a—”
“Why did ya order another delivery?”
The reason he wanted me here detonates inside me before everything explodes—literally.
“Move!” I scream, desperate for Erin to move aside so I can go inside to save Babydoll, but it’s too late.
My world is set on fire asThe Craic’s 90shatters the silence and is engulfed in black smoke and an earsplittingBOOM. I dive for cover behind a parked lorry on the road, but the stinging in my arms and legs is a sure sign I’ve been hit.
Car alarms blare, adding to the chaos, as do the disorientated people who stagger along the footpath, bleeding and looking for missing limbs. I don’t bother to look at my injuries. My legs and eyes work; that’s all I need as I push past patrons who are stumbling from what is left of the blown-up pub.
The smoke is so thick, I can barely breathe, so I place my forearm over my mouth and nose and run inside. There are small fires where debris has caught alight, but the mess is far worse from the blast of the bomb Sean planted inside those kegs.
“Babydoll!” I call out, coughing madly as I inhale the suffocating smoke. The liquor is the perfect accelerant—it’ll only be a few minutes before this place explodes once again.
Twisted, bloody bodies are strewn everywhere. Innocent victims who never wanted a part in this war. As my boots slip and slide during my frantic search for Babydoll, I realize it’s because I’m traipsing through blood and guts. The thought turns my stomach, and I want to be sick.
But I don’t have time.
When I see a head with brown hair a few feet away, I pray harder than I’ve ever prayed before that this isn’t Babydoll. I know for a fact that this person is dead because the head is no longer attached to a body.
Dropping to a squat, I hold my breath as I cup the head in my trembling hands and turn it over so I can see the face. A sigh of relief leaves me when I see that it’s not her, but that’s soon replaced with regret for this poor lass whose life has been cut short.
Someone’s jacket is within reach, so I wrap her head in the garment and place it on a table. It’s the only thing I can do to honor her in death.
Sirens sound in the distance, hinting help is on the way, but it’s too late. No one in here is alive. It’s eerily silent. No moans for help. Just death lingering in the air.
The back of the building has been blown out because of the blast, so I frantically race toward it as it leads out into the alley. There are people slumped against the brick wall, coughing, crying for help. I pass a man who is pushing his entrails back into the gaping wound in his body.
I see a woman cradling her dead baby.
I see the destruction my father caused because he wanted to send a message. He has eyes everywhere, and the gloves are off. Nothing,no oneis off-limits. He doesn’t care who he kills to get what he wants.
“Please, help me.” A woman tugs at my jeans with one hand; the other has been blown off.
This is a war zone.
“Help is comin’,” I assure her because she needs medical assistance, something I can’t provide.
A man who is missing both his legs screams for help, and when I look his way, I see her—Babydoll.
She has collapsed on the ground. She’s covered in soot and blood. I almost trip over my feet as I desperately run toward her. Dropping to my knees, I cradle her lifeless body against me.
