Thy Kingdom Come

“It’s my turn.”

“Y’already had a turn,” Ha

The twins got a motorized toy sailboat from Co

“Hey, no one will have a turn if you can’t play nice,” Amber warns sternly.

She’s kept her distance since the party, which is why I didn’t want anything to happen between us. I enjoy her company, but now, things are just fucking weird.

My phone rings, and when I see a number I don’t recognize, I excuse myself so I can answer it in private.

“Hello?”

“Is this Puck Kelly?” asks a male voice I don’t recognize.

“Aye, it is. Who’s this?”

“Oh, Mr. Kelly, this is Dr. Du

“What are they?” I ask, cutting him off.

Finding someone who wouldn’t tell Co

“If ye wanted to come in—”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Doctor, but please tell me the fuckin’ results.”

He clears his throat. “The samples of hair, blood and saliva you provided, well, they conclude that the subject is excluded as the biological father.”

Excluded…

“Mr. Kelly? Did ye hear me? The data gathered from the test do not support a relationship of paternity. I’m awful sorry. However, if—”

I don’t bother listening to anything further because what would be the point? The results all confirm that Co

“Thank you, Doctor.” I hang up, ’bout to lose my shite. All I can hear on repeat are the words excluded as the biological father.

I don’t know how to feel. Relieved in some ways not to be related to that pile o’ shit, but the alternative is just as bad.

When my phone vibrates, I’m about to hurl it into the lake. But it’s Cian’s number that flashes on my screen. I’ve been trying to get a hold of this fucker all day.

“The fuck ye—”

But the panic in his voice has me forgetting everything. Something is terribly wrong.

“Punky, they think I’m you,” Cian pants. “And I’ve let them think it.”

At first, I think he’s hammered, but then I realize he’s breathless because he’s hurt.

“Cian? Where are ya?”

“I don’t know,” he confesses, wheezing in pain. “But ye can’t come here. They’ll kill ya.”

“And if I don’t, they’ll kill you instead. Who’s got ye? Cian?” I press when he doesn’t reply.

“The Doyles. But—”

There are no buts in this situation.

“I’m coming for ye, brother. I promise ya. Please hold on.”

“I’m sorry, Punky. I—”

But the line goes dead.

I frantically try to call him back, but his phone is switched off.

“Fuck!” I scream, blinded by nothing but mad rage. I regret my outburst as I know the twins are scared, but if anything happens to Cian…

“Punky?” Amber asks, but I don’t have time to explain. If the Doyles have Cian, all gloves are off, and no one is safe.

“Amber, go inside and lock all the doors, ya hear me? Don’tcha let anyone in.”

“What’s going on?” I know she’s afraid, but I can’t console her. I don’t have time.

“Please, just listen to me. Keep the twins safe, all right? I’ll explain everythin’ later.”

She nods quickly, sensing the urgency to my demands. “Kids, let’s go inside and put on that movie you wanted to watch.”

Ha

“Go with Amber,” I say with a strained smile.

They may only be small, but they understand when something is wrong. They’re Kellys, after all, and nothing is ever right in our fucked-up world.

Both of them come ru

“Yer coming back?” Ha

“Of course, I am.”

Ethan doesn’t say a word.

“Yer the man of the house, all right?” I say, pushing him out at arm’s length. “I need ye to be brave for me. Can ya do that?”

His head bobs, but he’s afraid. “I love you, Punky.”

“Me too. I love ya both. Go now. A’ll see ya soon.”

I gently coax them to leave with Amber who nods, promising me she’ll look after them.

Once they’re gone, I run to my gaff and dial Rory. I don’t give him a chance to talk.

“Can ye trace Cian’s phone?”

“I’ve tried doing that all day, but it’s turned off. What’s going on then?”

“He just phoned me about two minutes ago. He’s in trouble, Rory.” I kick open my door and storm over to the painting hanging above the fireplace. Ripping it off the wall, I punch in the code to my safe.

I can hear the frantic clicking on a keyboard as I gather guns, knives, and money and stuff them into a bag. I don’t know why the Doyles have Cian, but I’m going in prepared for every possible scenario.

“Holy fuck,” he says, and I know this isn’t good. “The call came from the bungalow where yer grandparents are. He’s there.”

“Fuck,” I curse, not understanding any of this. “We’ve got to go. The Doyles have him. They think he’s me.”

“If the Doyles are there, and we go, they’ll know yer not Mike. They have Cian because they don’t know who y’are. All of yer hard work would have been for nothin’, and the upper hand ya have will be lost.”

My body is vibrating in anger. I can barely stand it. Rory is right. If I go there now, the plan to ambush the Doyles with Uncle Sean will be ruined. They’ll know that I’m not Mike and that I’ve played them, and then we’ll never get to the bottom of who’s behind all this.

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.