Thy Kingdom Come

“Why would I do that?” he pants, peering at me through one swollen eye. The other has been perforated.

“To save yer wains,” I reply, promising him that no harm will come of them. And I mean it. “I only want my revenge on those who deserve it. When they’re grown, if they want the same thing, A’ll give them the chance.

“It’s only fair—an eye for an eye.” No pun intended.

“Yer word means nothin’ to me,” he wheezes, his chest rattling with every uneven breath he takes.

“Then, the alternative is I’ll take you to yer house and ya can watch me kill yer family…just how you made me watch mine.”

Aidan doesn’t have a choice. He is to sacrifice himself to save his family. It’ll be the only honorable thing he’ll ever do in his lifetime.

Dialing Liam, I put the phone out in front of Aidan, and when Liam answers, I wait for Aidan to make his choice.

“The cute hoor did it,” he says, surprising me with his acting skills. “It’s taken care of. We can trust him.”

“Grand. Why’re ye so breathless?” he asks, and I arch a brow at Aidan, hinting he’s to try harder.

“I got a diddy in ma gob.”

I scrunch up my nose because now he’s just being disgusting.

Liam laughs loudly. “I am in me wick! What’ll Aunt Fia say?”

“Act the jig if she asks, lad,” Aidan replies. “I’m go

“Aye, good idea. Call me when yer done with yer floozy.” Liam seems to think his uncle’s adultery is something to laugh about.

“Good on ya,” Aidan says, flinching as he shifts.

He suddenly quietens because he realizes that this is the last conversation he’s to ever have with his nephew. If I cared, I’d let him live, but I don’t.

“Talk to ya later then, Uncle.”

“All right, bye.”

Liam hangs up, none the wiser, while Aidan sniffs, accepting this for what it is.

I want to watch him suffer, but the truth is, he is only a small fish in a big pond, and honestly, looking at his face only a mother could love, I want this done. I know he isn’t the one who slit my ma’s throat or unlocked the wardrobe.

That fucker was tall. I remember that much.

But that doesn’t mean Aidan’s reckoning has been deferred. He’s just a taste of what’s to come.

“My brother’s go

Whistling, I mock, “Are ye lonely? Is this how ya make friends?”

It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t revealed who the other two men were. I’ll find out, just as I found him. There are no coincidences in our world. My ma was slain because she was lost to a life that showed no mercy.

Co

Gripping Aidan’s chin, I tilt his head back and examine him closely. “I don’t know who I am,” I confess. “But what I do know is that I’m go

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the first sign that he’s scared.

I want to humiliate him, just how he did to my ma, and someone like Aidan—someone who called me a molly ’cause I wear this warpaint with pride—would be utterly disgraced if I used him as a canvas before I slit his throat.

Turning around, I see Cian and Rory standing by Ronan. He is having a complete cack attack at what’s headed his way. I’ll deal with him later. Grabbing my paints from the ground, I smile when Aidan groans.

“This face,” I share, rubbing my fingers into the white paint and mixing it with the red blood on my hands. “This is the face you created 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 begi

“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.”