“I doubt that,” she argues stubbornly. “Yer always lookin’ after others. What about you? It’s one of the many things I like about ye, Puck Kelly. Yer noble, even if ya don’t believe it.”
I appreciate her words, but nobility has fucked me royally. I won’t make the same mistake again.
Removing her hand, she watches with tears in her eyes as I sign my life away. “Thank you, Darcy. I’ll talk to ye soon.”
It’s a not-so-subtle hint that I’m not interested in speaking about this further.
She sighs, realizing I’m a lost cause.
After gathering all the paperwork, she files it into her briefcase. I walk to the door and open it. With nothing left to say, she leaves and doesn’t turn back.
Closing the door, I lean my forehead against it, utter fatigue rocking me. I don’t know what to do anymore. I have no direction.
My mobile rings, a loud shrill which alerts me that I’m being summoned. I answer without looking who the caller is.
“Mornin’, son. I need ye to come down to the factory. I’m callin’ a meeting.”
Gritting my teeth at his continuous use of the word son, I reply, “Why?”
“’Cause it’s time everyone knew of our plans.”
“And what plans are those?”
“I want the men to see we’re unified. That we’re a team now.”
With a scoff, I say, “I don’t think they’re expectin’ a public family reunion.” But I know this isn’t optional.
For this to work, Sean needs everyone on our side. The split between the Doyles and the Kellys took a toll on the men. They don’t know who to trust. Sean wants them to believe he and I are in an equal partnership to ensure another uprising doesn’t occur.
This means the men who remain loyal to the Doyles are a threat. Now I understand why killing Liam is so important to Sean. He wants all competition eliminated and done with haste.
“All right then. I’ll be there.”
“Grand. I need ye to do something for me first.”
Of course, he does.
“I will text ya the address.” And he hangs up.
When a text comes through a second later with an address in a shady neighborhood, I know I’ll be expected to spill blood. Gathering my supplies, I peer at the face paints on my coffee table. I remember how brutal Babydoll looked, wearing a face that matched mine.
I’ve always found solace in the painted mask I wear. It’s been a part of me since I was five years old. I always felt split right down the middle, like it was just as much a part of me as my natural face. But I don’t see it that way any longer.
That mask and the horror it reflects is who I now am. I’ve never felt more connected to it than I do now, and I know that’s because sooner or later, that face will replace my own—I will be the monster that mask represents.
Once I have everything I need, I lock my door and get into my truck. This once belonged to Cian. He offered it to me without thought because that’s what best friends do. And I thanked him by killing our best friend.
Starting the engine, I reach into the console for a cigarette. I wasn’t much for smoking, but now, it’s the only thing that calms me down. I don’t need the GPS and commence my drive to the derelict neighborhood Sean wants me to visit.
I can’t help but feel like every day is Groundhog Day. I’ve lived this life before. Being the muscle for Connor, and then for myself when I thought I could beat Sean. I believed it would be different the second time around.
I was wrong.
Peering at the vacant gaff ahead, I sigh as I kill the engine. Literally anything awaits me.
Grabbing my things, I throw on my hood and lower my chin. The last thing I need is eyewitnesses. The house has been abandoned long ago if the dated graffiti is anything to go by. The door is unlocked. The moment I step inside, the smell of piss and stale cigarettes hit me.
I don’t draw a weapon. I carefully search each room, but the gaff is small, and when I reach the last bedroom at the end of the hallway, I brace myself for who’s inside. Opening the door slowly, I gasp when I see who the person tied to a chair in the middle of the boggin’ room is.
I haven’t braced for shite.
“Orla?”
Beneath that shaggy brown hair, I know it’s her.
I’m transported back in time, when I was in her home and using her for my own personal gain. She had no idea I was there because Connor sent me. She has no idea I know what happened to her dad.
I haven’t thought about Orla or her father, Nolen Ryan, who Sean murdered in fear of him telling me the truth in a long time. At the time, I thought Sean was looking out for me, but I know now Sean only looks out for one person, and that’s himself.
Her chin is drooped, but when she hears my voice, she slowly meets my eyes. “Puck?” she asks, as if she’s seen a ghost.
In some ways, she has, as we are clearly not the same people we were all those years ago.
Orla is thin, sickly thin, and that’s ’cause she’s hooked on whatever shite she’s put into her body. If Sean has her here, it’s because she hasn’t paid up. She has a debt to pay. But these kinds of situations are reserved for those who have been given more than one chance.
Orla is on her last leg.
“Are ye here to help me?”
When I lower my eyes, she nods, biting her cracked lips.
“Please don’t kill me. I promise. I’m good for it. I just need m-more time.”
This would be the time I roll up my sleeves and reach for my brass knuckles. But as I look at Orla, a shell of the person I once knew, I know that I cannot.
“How’d ye get messed up in this shite, Orla?” I question, remembering the good girl she once was.
She snivels, her bony body shuddering. “My da left us. Without a word. My ma thought he found another woman, but I knew he wouldn’t do that. He would have never left without a goodbye.”
My heart clenches in my chest because she’s right.
“I just wanted to numb the p-pain,” she sobs, pleading I believe her. “But I didn’t know when to stop. I promised myself just one more time. It’s been that way for ten years. Please…help me, Puck. Please don’t kill me.”
“Please don’t kill me.”
Rory’s plea echoes loudly, and I shake my head, hoping to expel these voices for good. But it seems to be a common occurrence—people pleading for their lives when I’m involved.
“I’m not gonna kill ye, Orla.”
“Yer not?” she sniffs, eyes wide.
“Naw.” Hunting through my bag, I retrieve my knife.
Orla’s relief soon turns to panic as she doesn’t know if I’m telling her the truth or not. Walking around her, I gently cut through the cable ties that bind her hands. The moment it snaps free, she sighs in relief.
She shakes out her arms as she was bound tight. Her feet are untied, but she remains seated.
“How much do you owe Sean?”
She sucks her bottom lip. “Two thousand.”
“Orla,” I scold, shaking my head. “Catch yerself on!”
No wonder he sent me here.
“I don’t have it, but I can get it to ya next week.”
I know what that means—she’ll likely whore herself out. I don’t want that.