Thy Kingdom Come

Aidan turns down a dark street, and instantly, the quaint village vibe is replaced with desolation, and when I see an abandoned house up ahead, I know the tour is over. Shite is about to get real.

He parks the car and turns to me. “This wee fucker deserves no mercy. Let us see what yer made of then.”

He’ll be experiencing that firsthand soon enough, but I nod coolly. I know better than to ask questions and reach for the backpack I packed “just in case.”

We exit the car, the closing doors echoing out here in the silence. There are no houses nearby, but still, this is hardly ideal. Sloppy work on the Doyles’ behalf, but then I have a thought; maybe they don’t care who sees or hears them, and that’s because they own this fucking town.

That makes what I plan on doing wild craic.

I follow Aidan who unlocks the front door. When he turns on a light, I’m surprised there’s electricity, but focus on my surroundings because if this is a kill house, then I need to memorize every nook and cra

I’m not an eejit. I know this is a test to see if they can trust me. I’m here to do their dirty work, and if I prove valuable, they just may not kill me. But I’m disposable, so I need to make my mark.

Aidan turns over his shoulder, eyes animated when we walk down the hallway and hear the unmistakable sound of someone’s gagged cries for help. I have no idea what I’m walking into. Aidan opens the door, and the person I see bound to a chair in the middle of the bedroom—which resembles a squatter’s den—clarifies what shite hitting the fan really means.

A black T-shirt serves as a blindfold, and a dirty rag is shoved into his mouth, gagging him, but without a doubt in that chair is Ronan Murray—one of my men. A fucking traitor.

Co

This isn’t good. This is a reflection on our leadership. If two men had no issues consorting with the enemy, then this means they don’t respect us. They don’t fear the consequences of what happens when doing business with a Doyle.

Something needs to change because I fear Nolen and Ronan are just the start of many.

But now, I need to deal with this shitshow because Mike from America isn’t supposed to know who this man is.

“Hello, Ronan,” Aidan happily says, a

Ronan’s cries are muffled around the gag, so Aidan reaches out and roughly removes it. Ronan moves his jaw from side to side, while I’m seconds away from tearing out his traitorous tongue.

“I don’t know anything!” Ronan pleads, which sickens me more than I already am.

“Ach, don’t lie to me. We’re past this. Yer job was easy—deliver us the Kelly gear.”

So Ronan was the man Co

He betrayed Cian, Rory, and I, and that ca

“I tried mi best, but Co

“Not my problem,” Aidan replies, unmoved. “Ya said ya could do this.”

He did? Why did he seek the Doyles out in the first place? More money? I don’t understand any of this.

“Ya don’t know Co

Before he has a chance to say another word, I leap forward and co

Aidan’s eyes are wide, surprised by my sudden need for violence, but Ronan ca

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. The Doyles are 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. Co

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 i

But i

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—the Kelly he 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. “Yer trap involved 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.

His howls are music to my soul.

One arm is still free, so he swings out, trying to grab me, but I step back, laughing. “Take the knife out,” I dare him. “That’s the only way yer comin’ off that wall.”

When he attempts to do so, I seize his free hand and bend it backward until bone snaps. It flops lifelessly as his wrist is broken.