“Ach, don’tcha be concernin’ yerself with that. I’ll sort it.”
“Thank you, Punky. Ye were always a good man.”
She wouldn’t think that if she knew what I did to her father.
She stands, but I grip her bony arm—hard. “This is yer only warning, Orla. I don’t give second chances. Understood?”
Her head bobbles as she nods jerkily.
“Get off that shite. It’ll kill ya.”
It pains me to see that it already has.
Orla is just a walking zombie with her emaciated face covered in scabs and sunken eyes which lost their spark long ago. All she cares about is her next fix.
There are different types of addicts—functioning addicts you’d never guess were hooked, and addicts like Orla, who society discarded long ago. These people exist because of Sean. He doesn’t care who he sells to, or how often. They are just walking pound signs to him.
“I’m gonna check on ye, and so help me God, if y’ve gone back on yer word, I promise ya, A’ll do what I came here for.”
My threat isn’t empty, and Orla knows it.
Digging into my pocket for my wallet, I pull out a wad of twenties. Orla eyes the money like a hungry wolf.
“This is to get ye home. Not to waste on smack.”
She nods and snatches the money from my hand.
In case she’s in doubt, I warn, “I’ll know if yer lyin’ ’cause who do ya think yer buyin’ the gear off? The Kellys. Don’tcha be forgettin’ it.”
“Ye wouldn’t hurt me, Punky,” she says, and her confidence reveals she doesn’t know me at all.
I lunge forward, and a cry leaves her when I twist her arm behind her back. “Don’t mistake me for the hero, Orla,” I warn, leveling her with a scowl. “’Cause I’m not. Fuck with me, and I swear, y’ll be just as dead as yer da.”
Her eyes widen when she realizes what I mean by that comment. I won’t elaborate, but she can guess.
I let her go, shoving her away. “Away now, before I change my mind.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice and runs from the room, not turning back. I can only hope my warning wasn’t in vain, because I meant what I said—if I see her again, I’ll kill her. That’s why I needed to be harsh.
The money she owes, I’ll pay it. If I come up empty-handed, Sean will know I let her go.
Grabbing my bag, I peer around at the boggin’ surroundings, wondering how many of these shitholes Sean uses. Darcy gave me a list of houses such as this. I could always check them out. I don’t want to think Babydoll calls a place such as this home, but she’s got to be somewhere.
My heart sinks at the thought.
Walking to my truck, I jump in and drive to the factory. This pretense of playing happy families is an insult to anyone with half a brain. But Sean needs this public display to fortify his position and to warn off any potential rivals.
I’m not sure who’s left. I’ve killed them all. Liam isn’t a worthy opponent because if he steps foot into Northern Ireland, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him regardless, and broadcast it for all to see—just like I did with his dad, Brody.
It’s the one thing that makes me feel anything.
When I arrive at the factory and see the number of cars parked, I shake my head in disgust. These men are the reason Sean thrives. If he had no one supporting him, things would be so much easier. I could overthrow him, just as I’d planned on doing. And just how he knew I would, which is why he has Babydoll.
Parking the truck, I make my way toward the factory, comparing it to better times when Connor was alive. I didn’t know it then, but that time in my life was one which I actually now miss. I miss Connor. If he were alive, he’d know what to do.
Me, however? I am so fucking lost.
When I enter the factory and see the faces of men willing to sacrifice everything for me, I am hit with guilt and shame. I failed them. I promised them change, but instead, I’ve condemned them to a life serving the devil.
Ronan Murray is here with men who sacrificed their lives for me. They look at me with hope in their eyes, like I’m the magical potion that will better all our lives. But I’m not. I feel guilty for dragging them into my personal vendetta, only to end up here.
Ronan pulled through in the end, and as I see it, he owes me nothing. His debt is paid. He tried to save Northern Ireland. We all did.
Ron Brady and his men aren’t here, which is no surprise. They’d rather die than help Sean succeed. We were almost there. Victory was within reach, but the plot twist came out of nowhere and proved what a cruel, fucked-up bitch life really is.
Sean stands with men I know; Logan Doherty, Flynn, and Grady—they were all Brody’s men. But now, it seems, they’re Sean’s.
Flynn and Grady were the arseholes who thought they could intimidate me, and in return, I broke one’s nose and the other, I almost choked to death with my bare hands. I can’t help but snicker when I see them.
“I almost didn’t recognize ye…standin’ on yer feet,” I taunt the brown-haired cunt who I forced to crawl on his knees. “Did ya crawl here?”
When he advances, Sean grips his arm. “Flynn, enough. I’m sure yer not keen for another beatin’.”
He almost sounds proud of the fact.
Flynn settles down—for now.
Grady, the ballbag whose nose I broke, offers me his hand. I peer down at it, making clear I’m not here to make friends. He retreats quickly.
“I wanted to apologize for bein’ disrespectful to ye when we first met. I didn’t know who ye were.”
“That’s a grand yarn, but why the fuck are ye tellin’ me this?”
He recoils, as he clearly believed waving the white flag would make everything okay. All it’s done is make me think he’s nothing but a lickarse.
He doesn’t reply.
Logan Doherty, like Ronan, came to my aid when I needed them the most. The ironic thing was that I put my entire trust in Rory, not them, when in fact, they were the men who I should have trusted. They pledged their loyalty because of Connor and because I am his son—blood or not, that’s who I am.
Now, however, they wonder what went wrong. Why am I working with the man who I fought so hard against? I wish I could tell them, but I refuse to jeopardize any more lives.
There are other faces I recognize, but there are some I don’t. There are more men than I anticipated, meaning Sean’s army grows.
“Did ya get it sorted?” he asks me discreetly as I stand beside him.
I nod in response, hoping Orla is a long way from here.
He smirks before clearing his throat. The room falls quiet. “This sight,” he starts proudly. “This is one I’ve been dreamin’ of for years. My men are here, in their rightful place, standin’ before the Kellys.”
This wee inspirational speech is already testing my patience.
“I know there have been rumors, but I called ye here today to put them to rest. Puck stands with me. Not against me, as most of ya have heard. But ye can see with yer own eyes that there is no feud between us. He is here, where he should be…where a son should be.”
This comes as a surprise to most as they believed that Connor was my father.
“Puck is my son, not Connor’s. I’ve wanted to tell you for so many years, but I couldn’t do that to Connor. I wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his men.”