Turning my cheek, I see Cian sitting in the armchair, skimming through a copy of Macbeth.
“Ach, happy days,” I reply, flinching as I shift to lean against the headboard. I’m breathless from the simple action.
“He lamped ya good this time, didn’t he?”
It’s not uncommon for Cian to find me black and blue, thanks to my dad’s fists. It’s a sight he’s seen many times over the years. But this time is different because I’m going to fight back; just not in the way everyone thinks.
“I need yer help,” I say, which has Cian placing the book on the armrest. “I want to go to Dublin.”
Cian blinks once, appearing to need a moment to process what I just said. “Dublin?” he asks, in case he’s had a lapse in hearing.
I nod firmly.
He shoots up from the chair and begins pacing the room. “A don’t believe ya! Stop actin’ the eejit. Ya wanna get killed?”
“Stop bein’ so dramatic,” I counter, pulling back the blankets. Cian flinches when he sees my bruised ribs. “I just want to have a wee look, that’s all.”
“A wee look at what?” Cian exclaims, hands out wide, but he knows. He knew it would eventually come to this.
“I can’t let those fuckers walk around without any repercussions for what they did to my mum. Every day they live is just an insult to her memory!
“The aul’ lad is nothin’ but a coward. The only reason I’m still here is ’cause I hoped to learn somethin’ about Ma’s death. But I’m done waitin’. I know I can’t do this on my own. I have to be smart.”
“Ya can’t just go danderin’ into Dublin, Punky. Would ya quit actin’ reckless?”
Placing my feet onto the carpet, I take a moment to pace myself. “Sure, this is it, but I’ll be careful. Besides, youse big lads are gonna keep dick for me, aye?”
Cian pales and abruptly stops in his tracks. “This is a bad idea. But we’re with ya. Besides, a wee look can’t hurt?”
“Aye, sure why nat?”
My flippant response does nothing to ease Cian’s worries, but I mean it. I’ll proceed with caution. I just want to take a look around. That’s all.
But that look will eventually lead to bloodshed, one way or another.
“Is that why ya got a hidin’? Ya told him yer goin’ to Dublin?”
“Ack, no,” I hiss, my eyes darting to the door to ensure no one is listening in. “No one can know about this but us. Once I have a plan, we go. All right?”
“Sound.” Cian nods, running a hand through his dark brown hair. “So why did he belt ya?”
Clearing my throat, I stand casually. The room spins, but I stay upright—for now. “’Cause I lost the rosary beads.”
“Shut your bake! How?”
I’m utterly scundered when I confess, “A wee doll stole it…when I helped her last night.”
Cian’s mouth twists into an amused grin as me helping strangers, or anyone for that matter, is a quare rare thing. “Helped her with what?”
“Helped fix her bike,” I explain, but he thinks it’s code for sex.
“Yeo!” he hollers, but there is nothing to be excited about. “She a ride then?”
“Cian, what she is, is in trouble. I need to find her. She took my mum’s brooch too.”
His smirk soon dies as he understands my urgency to seek her out. “Sure, this is it. I’ll help ya find her. Whatcha gonna do when ya do?”
And that’s a question I don’t have an answer to.
If this were anyone else, they would pay and pay painfully slow, but with Babydoll, the thought of hurting her doesn’t get me off like it would with most. I’m fair ragin’, but after last night’s strange response to her, I don’t want to punish her with pain.
So what do I want to punish her with?
Thoughts of her tied to my bed and squirming while I make her beg come to mind. Sex for me is something carnal. It always has been. There’s never any commitment; no chance at falling in love, because I don’t want love.
I just want the pain to go away for a small fraction of time.
Running a hand through my snarled hair, I decide to take a quick shower and work out my plan of attack. Cian plays a video game while he waits for me as I limp toward the bathroom.
The simple act of showering hurts, and I wonder what excuse Dad will use at tonight’s tea for me looking like someone’s punching bag. This is another reason for me to pursue something I should have years ago. I am done being his lackey.
I’m not stupid, I know I can’t go into Dublin, guns blazing. I need a plan, and a smart one at that. Even though I’ve never met Brody Doyle, the kingpin of Dublin and the arsehole who ordered the hit on my ma, I’ve heard stories which make Da look like Father Christmas compared to him.
Uncle Sean said there wasn’t any proof, but he was certain it came from the top as nothing happens unless it goes through Brody first. I begged him to tell me more, but he said it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. But I don’t understand how.
How can they allow my ma’s death to go unpunished?
When your dad is feared in all of Northern Ireland, it’s hard to get any dirt on him, as everyone is too afraid to talk bad about him in case it comes back to bite them in the arse. So getting any information from his confidants was impossible.
I don’t know my mum’s family. I don’t even know if they exist. Growing up, all I knew was the Kelly family as my dad said that was all that mattered. I’ve grown up only knowing half of my identity. It’s time that changed.
I don’t care what Ma did, but I imagine she betrayed my dad in one way or another for him to forget she existed and not avenge her death. I’m going to get to the bottom of the Kelly family secrets and ensure those who were involved pay.
Looking down at the crucifix tattoo on my wrist, I decide to start with this first piece in the large, intricate puzzle. I need to get into my da’s office to look at the photo he took for any clues.
It’s a long shot, but when you’ve got nothing, it’s a start.
Drying off, I put on ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. I loop the silver chain around my neck before running my fingers through my wet hair. I avoid the mirror and enter my bedroom. Hannah and Ethan have taken over the PlayStation from Cian, but when they see me, they stop their game, their eyes wide.
“Hey! How are ya?” Hannah says, chewing on her bottom lip when she notices my injured face.
“Stickin’ out, wee rascal,” I reply, playing off my injuries. Hannah and I have a special relationship. I love them both the same, but there is something about Hannah.
I hate them seeing me this way because even though they’re only six, they understand that something bad happened.
Dad hasn’t raised a hand to them, and if he ever did, I would make sure it was the last thing he did. I look at Ethan, silently promising to never let Da use him the way he’s used me.
Amber pokes her head into my doorway and sighs in relief when she sees the twins. “Oh, thank God. You two are going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
Cian instantly sits taller when he sees Amber. “Good mornin’,” he says with a smile.