by Monica James
“Yer so much like him. Yer both so bleedin’ stubborn.”
“Please don’t insult me, Uncle Sean,” I sternly say. “I’m nothin’ like that bastard.”
Uncle Sean knows better than to argue. “That’s the truth, so it is. Have fun tonight,” he quips, knowing how opposed to the idea I am. “Make sure yer not runnin’ late.”
He gives us one final look before we part ways, and I’m onto the next state of affairs for the day.
When we’re out of earshot, Cian exhales in relief. But the fun is only just beginning, and he knows it.
“Ya didn’t tell me the wee ride’s name.”
A mix of emotions come over me when I think about her. Even though I am rippin’ that she stole from me, a small, insane part is actually impressed she was able to nick from me in the first place. I haven’t been caught unaware in a long time.
But regardless of that, she’s going to pay for taking something that isn’t hers.
Only when we’re in my car do I reply, “Babydoll,” before turning up the radio.
“Oh, fuck,” Cian groans, shaking his head as he fastens his seat belt, knowing this is about to get bumpy.
As I’m knotting my black tie in the bathroom mirror, I scoff, hating everything about tonight. My face looks a mess, and no matter that I’m sporting a pressed white shirt and tie, it doesn’t deter from the black and blue mess my face is.
My tie is loosely knotted, and two buttons are left undone on my shirt. My dad is not going to be happy that I replaced my black trousers with ripped black jeans and black combat boots, but he’s lucky I’m going at all.
My mood is foul because Cian and I didn’t find anything on Babydoll. We went back to where I last saw her but came up empty. In the daylight, it was even more isolated than it looked at night. There wasn’t a house for miles, which has me wondering, just what was she doing out there?
I haven’t given up, however.
I will find her. I just need to figure out how.
My hair is a tousled mess with the longer blond strands flicked to the left to cover the bruises around my eye.
Once I’m ready, I grab everything I need and jump into my Jeep. I’m not riding with Da as I don’t plan on staying long. The moment this tea is over with, I plan on making an excuse to leave. It’ll take about an hour and a half to get to Dublin, so I have no time to waste.
The drive to the Duffys’ is quite peaceful. Filled with lush greenery and old homes, I appreciate how “fortunate” I am to bear the Kelly name at times. I’ve never had to worry about money, and my house, which was once a castle, is the envy of many.
I begin to wonder what Dublin will be like. The unknown excites me. I know I have to be careful, as even our lingo differs, so it won’t be hard to spot the odd man out. I need to blend in.
When the Duffys’ mansion comes into view, I put all thoughts on hold because I need to get through this fucking tea first. Parking my Jeep, I send Cian and Rory a quick text, telling them to be ready for my call. I can only hope tonight is over with soon.
I don’t even have a chance to ring the doorbell before the door opens, and I’m greeted by a butler. “Can I take your—” He peers at my clothes and just smiles uncomfortably instead.
Entering the grand foyer and whistling an annoying tune, he gestures that my dad and Mr. Duffy are in the living room. I can hear my da laughing, which is a rare occurrence, but I know it’s all for show. He’s a lickarse as he clearly wants something from Patrick Duffy.
At a guess, I’d say he wants in on his business.
Patrick’s construction company is very valuable to my da, and not just financially. To have access to abandoned buildings and neighborhoods where Dad can run his operations would benefit him immensely, especially now that he’s unsure if Chief Constable Moore will turn a blind eye to the Kellys illegal dealings.
My dad’s most effective means of drug transportation has been concealing cannabis in loads of vegetables on lorries. The drivers are aware of what they’re doing. Nolen Ryan is one of those drivers, which is why Dad wants him dealt with.
If he can’t be trusted with his religious beliefs, how can he be trusted with transporting over 600 kilos of cannabis?
Uncle Sean and Dad take care of the logistics while I deal with anyone who dares to defy them. There are a few, but the Kelly name is notorious in Northern Ireland. So most know better than to challenge a Kelly.
I enter the living room, and the moment Patrick sees me, his eyes widen. “What happened?”
Dad speaks for me before I can. “Karate. The wee lad forgot to dodge,” he playfully says. This is believable because I am a black belt, and it could be assumed someone got in a lucky shot. But because of my reputation, Patrick will probably guess I got into a fight, but he’d never anticipate with who.
“Ack, yer poor critter.”
Dad looks at me, hinting I’m to play along with his wee fairy tale, so I merely nod.
“Darcy and my wife are still getting ready. Can I get you a drink?”
I shake my head. “Naw, I’m all right.”
My dad is sulking for whatever reason, but that reason can wait because something strange happens. I don’t know how to explain it, other than that bubble of excitement that wells in yer stomach before a fight—that’s what I feel.
When I turn around and see the reason, I don’t know whether to be happy or rippin’ because this bold doll has been on my mind since the moment we met. And she shouldn’t be because Babydoll is a fucking thief.
Her fear is clear when she sees me, and the tray of drinks she holds falters in her hands. But she soon recovers, not wanting to make a scene. Patrick and Dad seem unaware of what’s happening.
“Ack, hurry, love,” Patrick orders, annoyed she’s taking so long.
Babydoll nods, avoiding eye contact with me as she offers her tray to Patrick and Dad. My dad looks at Babydoll, obviously liking what he sees.
On instinct, I curl my hands into fists by my side, wanting to punch the aul’ lad for looking at her that way. She’s in yet another costume, but I eat her up all the same.
Her black dress with a white collar is about a size too big, but regardless, she’s parful looking. Her white apron angers me because she’s too good to be serving ballbags like Patrick Duffy. Is this why she stole from me? Does she need the money?
The fact she appears to be the Duffys’ new housekeeper confirms that she does.
“Who’s this, then?” asks Dad, taking a glass of champagne from the silver tray Babydoll holds.
“This is Poppy,” Patrick reveals with a smile; a smile I want to slap from his bake. “She just moved here from London. She came highly recommended by the Clerys.”
“Is that right, love?” Da asks with a grin.
Babydoll nods nervously.
Under the bright lights, her blonde hair glows, but her dark eyebrows reveal her natural hair color is light brown. It’s my job to notice these things. Knowing the enemy is what a smart predator does because that’s what Babydoll is.
I keep calm, not wanting to alert anyone to the fact that I’m about to corner Babydoll and demand she give me back what she stole.
“Hi,” Darcy says as she enters the room, oblivious to what’s going on as she politely gives my dad a kiss on the cheek.
Babydoll quickly makes a beeline for the exit, but I think not. She’s not getting away, not again. Discreetly reaching out, I snare her wrist, stopping her. The glasses on the tray rattle. She licks her lips, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Y’ve got somethin’ of mine…I want it back.” My low tone is firm. I take great pleasure in seeing her pretty pink lips part as she gulps in a mouthful of air. “I care not about the rosary beads. But the brooch, I want it back, and I want it back now.”
Her eyes dart to Darcy making gracious conversation with the aul’ fellas. “I don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” she frantically whispers, insulting me further.
When she
tries to remove herself from my grip, I tighten my hold and pull her toward me. “Will ya do me a kindness? Don’t fuck with me, Babydoll,” I warn, eyeing her closely. “Ya won’t like the consequences if ya do.”
“Let me go,” she hisses angrily, fruitlessly trying to break free.
Why isn’t she afraid of me like everyone else? It’s time that changes.
With a cocky grin, I bend low, completely ignoring her personal space. “Ye may be able to fool others with yer shy act,” I hum, slowly running my thumb along her bottom lip and leveling her with a scowl. “But I see ya for what you are. Yer a thief, and ya stole from the wrong lad. Well, good luck with that ’cause I’m huntin’ ya, wee doll.”
And only then do I let her go.
She’s shaking, but I’m unsure if it’s from fear or rage, and that just excites me all the more.
We stare at one another, and the static between us is so toxic I can barely breathe. But I stand tall, not letting on what being in her presence does to me.
She’s out the door fairly lively, as she’s not thick—she knows I meant what I said.
Darcy turns toward me, where I smile, pretending my heart isn’t beating faster than it has ever beaten before. It’s the most confusing of emotions because in one heartbeat, I want to hurt Babydoll, but in the next, all I want to do is press her body against mine and steal her warmth like I did last night.
Fair play to her because she’s the first person to ever provoke this in me.
“Bout ye, Puck,” Darcy says, kissing my cheek and reminding me where I am.
“Dead-on,” I reply, subtly moving away from her, unlike with Babydoll, who I couldn’t get close enough to. I’m up to high doh from our encounter.
“I thought ye’d come last night with the boys,” she says, lowering her voice so her da doesn’t hear.
“I was busy,” I vaguely reply, noticing our fathers happily overlooking our exchange. Is Patrick all for this, too?
“No bother.” She smiles, and I suddenly feel unsettled. “Do ya think then when yer not busy…we could go out to the pictures or maybe a swall?”
“Why d’ya say that for?” I ask quickly, confused.
“Why not?” she counters with a grin.
“’Cause a lovely wee bird like yerself doesn’t want to go out with someone like me. I’m sure ya have lots of other fellas, like Rory, who would be happy to take ya.”
Darcy stands on her toes to whisper into my ear, “I don’t want another fella. I want you.”
I pull away, stunned. “Are ye havin’ a laugh?”
She brushes a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “No, I’m not. I like ya, Puck Kelly.”
Right, this has turned to shite in a matter of seconds.
Before I can tell her that’ll never happen, Patrick and my da come over, smiling happily. But they don’t know their arses from their elbows if they think this is happening. However, as Darcy shifts closer to me, not at all deterred by my obvious rejection, I realize this is a lot worse than I thought.
“She said that?” Rory asks, his mouth slack.
“Aye, sorry, big lad. I don’t know if her dad has got to her, but the whole night, she made it awful obvious she was interested in me. I don’t know why,” I add because the feeling was definitely not reciprocated.
We’re in a rental as we would never drive our own cars into Dublin, but I suddenly wish I was because Rory is sulking. I wanted to be honest and let him know what happened tonight. However, now I wish I’d kept my bake shut.
“I can’t get my head around it. I mean, we kissed a couple of nights ago.”
I shrug because I don’t have an answer. I’m just as confused as he is.
“Darcy is a melt,” Cian says, trying to lighten the mood. “At least ya know now.”
But Rory doesn’t see it in that way. He’s been mad about Darcy for as long as I can remember, so I can imagine knowing this has him rippin’.
“Ack, what does yer dad want with the Duffys anyway?”
“Fuck if I know. But at a guess, Patrick’s portfolio is probably a good place to start.”
“Yer dad is a real wanker,” Rory angrily says.
I don’t argue because I agree.
Tea at the Duffys’ was painful and long, and Darcy trying to discreetly play footsie with me under the table made it worse. I don’t know what’s caused this forward response from her, but I don’t like it.
Nothing she says or does will change my mind and having Babydoll feet away just confirmed it. It just proved I’ll never want Darcy the way I do Babydoll.
I don’t understand these feelings I have for her. I hardly know her. But I can’t deny that whenever she’s near, I seek her out. I’m drawn to her.
She ignored me the entire time I was at the Duffys’, but her breathless whimpers when she leant over to refill my glass or collect an empty dish revealed she also feels whatever this is. There is still one small problem, and that is, Babydoll is a thief. Therefore, I can’t trust her nor should I trust whatever this feeling is.
“So ya left without yer mum’s brooch?” asks Cian, interrupting my thoughts.
“Aye. What could I do? I couldn’t exactly frisk her between the main course and afters. Now that I know where she is, I can act, but not tonight. I have other important things to deal with.”
The car falls quiet.
We’re about twenty minutes from arriving at the border, twenty minutes where everything is about to change. We went over everything we know about the Doyles or, more specifically, Brody Doyle. This information is either hearsay or things we’ve earwigged on.
Our parents would rather the Doyles didn’t exist; therefore, talk about them has been sacrilegious our entire lives, but I can’t live that way any longer. I need answers. I need those who hurt my ma to pay. And tonight is the first step toward achieving that.
“So, we know that Brody has three kids. Two boys and one girl.”
Cian nods, opening his notepad and reading over his scribble. “Aye. The lads are older. The wee girl is the wain of the family.
“The eldest is Liam. He’s dead spit of his da. Hugh is second eldest. He is a wee rip. Likes to punch first, ask questions later. He’s the one we have to look out for. Liam is discreet. Hugh is not.”
“And the daughter?” I ask, needing to arm myself with as much information as I can.
“I couldn’t get much information on her, which makes her dangerous. She could be anyone.”
He’s right. We need to be alert.
The research into the address reveals it’s a pub. When we searched it online, it didn’t say who the owners were. We’re guessing it belongs to the Doyles, but honestly, we could be walking into anything.
Rory taps his fingers against the steering wheel, clearly caught up in other thoughts—such as Darcy. I wish I could empathize with him, but all I see is a huffy bastard. She doesn’t like him, so I’m not sure why he’s stressing over something out of his control.
But that’s just me. I’m not wired like everyone else.
“I still can’t believe Babydoll is the Duffys’ new maid. What a small world, do ya not think?” Cian probes, desperately trying to get a response from me.
“I don’t think anythin’,” I retort, loosening my tie.
Both Cian and Rory smirk, not convinced, but I don’t care what they think because the moment we cross the border, all I care about is revenge.
We’re all quiet, marveling at this foreign land that’s been forbidden our whole lives, but now that we’re here, it’s made what we’re about to do real. I thought I would come into Dublin with Dad, avenging my ma, but it’s just up to me.
Rory keeps to the speed limit, which is now in kilometers, not wanting to draw any attention to us being here.
I don’t know what I expected Dublin to look like. Being from the north, I never took much interest in the south, but it certainly doesn’t look like the hellhole I thought it to be. I suppose I am biased, as I have no problem
with the city itself; it’s the inhabitants who make this place hell on earth.
The map says we’re five minutes away.
“Right, boys,” I say, rolling down the sleeves of my shirt as I don’t want my tattoos to be on show. “Nice and quick, yeah?”
“So, we have a wee drink and a juke?” Rory asks, an excited energy radiating from him.
This is why we’re best friends—all three of us thrive in the darkness, the corrupt, and this right now is probably the most danger we’ve been involved in. Our parents thought we’d forget this vendetta, that Cian and Rory would talk me out of acting in haste if this time ever came.
But they don’t know what true friendship is because these lads have had my back since I can remember. They don’t have to be here, as this is my retribution, not theirs, but they wouldn’t let me do this alone.
“Aye. We won’t be long in there. We’re just three lads out for a wee drink. That’s all.”
They nod.
Rory parks the car a few blocks away, inhaling deeply as he puts on a hat backward to conceal his tousled brown hair. Cian smirks, slipping into his coat to hide the tattoo sleeve on his right arm. I hunt through my backpack and slip on my black-rimmed glasses, then take out my nose and lip piercing.
I don’t know what the Doyles know about us, so to blend in, we have to look like everyone else. Piercings and tattoos can be used to identify us, and we can’t have that. Tugging at the sleeve of my shirt to cover my crucifix tattoo, I know firsthand how disastrous it can be if that information falls into the wrong hands.
We exit the car and slip our masks into place. To onlookers, we’re just three mates out for a good night.
Dublin has a cosmopolitan atmosphere, while Belfast is small and has a country town feeling to it. I can imagine many come to Dublin and get lost as you can be anyone in such a large city. I instantly miss home. But the closer we get to the pub, the more excited I become—excited by the possibility of spilling Doyle blood. When we’re feet away, I look overhead at the glowing green sign.
