by Monica James
“Aileen and I are proud of you, son. Y’ve never backed down, and shown true strength in whatever life decisions y’ve made.”
Rory nods in acknowledgment as Cormac raises his glass in salute.
“Yer a good man with a big heart. Yer willin’ to overlook the past.”
I shuffle uncomfortably because I suddenly feel like this speech is directed at me.
“Ye give people a second chance. And ya forgive. Yer kindness is somethin’ ya got from yer ma.”
The crowd chuckles while I gesture for the waiter to bring me another glass of champagne. This entire speech is Cormac’s way of telling me that his son is perfect while I’m the whore who fucked her brother.
“So, let’s raise our glasses and celebrate the happy couple. Cheers!”
The room clinks their glasses, drinking to Rory’s and my engagement as I throw back my drink, suddenly light-headed from all the booze I’ve had in such a short amount of time.
Rory seems oblivious to the fact as he takes the microphone from his father so he can thank our guests. I stand off to the side, staring into the crowd, which suddenly looks double in size.
“Ach, that’s a hard act to follow,” Rory teases, looking at his father, who smirks.
I’m suddenly angered he would choose the words that he did because his passive-aggressive approach is not necessary. I know how he feels about me. He doesn’t need to embarrass me in front of our guests—guests who have no right to judge me when Cormac isn’t exactly an angel.
He once was best friends and in partnership with Connor Kelly, the biggest drug dealer and bad guy in all of Belfast. He has no right to make me feel bad for my past.
No right.
When Rory turns over his shoulder to look at me mid-speech, I realize I’ve spoken those words aloud. I try to act normal, but when my gaze falls on Darcy whispering something into Punky’s ear, my ruse falters.
I quickly down another glass of champagne, hoping to suppress the need to throw up.
“To my beautiful fiancée, Camilla, I love you. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with ya.” Rory raises his glass while the masses follow and salute our happy union, all unaware of the conflict raging within me.
It’s suddenly too much, and I’m going to be sick.
Before Rory has a chance to kiss me, I quickly excuse myself and make a beeline for the door, hand over my mouth to stop my vomit. Guests move out of my way, gossiping no doubt about my sudden departure. But let them talk. I don’t care anymore.
The moment I find the nearest bathroom, I yank open the door and heave into the toilet. Gripping the toilet bowl, I dry retch, hoping to expel this emptiness I feel. But I only feel worse.
Something is seriously wrong with me.
Unrolling some toilet paper, I wipe my mouth and toss it into the toilet. Coming to a shaky stand, I flush it and make my way over to the basin. Peering into the mirror, I blanch when I see my pallid complexion. I look like shit.
My red ball gown would put any Disney Princess to shame, but I suddenly feel like a fraud. The thick jeweled bracelets confirm this as they conceal what I did. It’s all too much, and I wonder if that is because I’m trying to make up for something that isn’t there. I thought if I looked like a happy fiancée, I would surely feel like one.
But I don’t.
All I feel is numb.
Turning on the faucet, I gulp down some water to clear my head, but the static isn’t because I drank too much—no. I’m drunk on something, someone else, and I don’t know what to do about it.
As I pop a mint from the conveniently placed glass bowl on the counter, there is a knock on the door. Before I can tell whoever it is that I’ll be out in a minute, it opens, and who I see has me gripping the marble counter in fear I’ll fall down.
Punky closes and locks the door. He doesn’t move. He leans against it, watching me closely.
My heart begins to beat faster, and I’m suddenly animated in ways I never thought possible again.
“Some speech,” he finally says, understanding why I left so suddenly to puke up my guts. “Don’t let Cormac get to ya. He was always a self-entitled bastard.”
I nod, embarrassed at how rapidly my breaths leave me.
Punky pushes off the door while I gulp, still clutching onto the counter for support.
“What’s the matter, Babydoll?” he asks, his voice smooth, calm. “This should be a happy day.”
“I-I am happy,” I counter, but my falter proves me to be a liar.
He arches a smug brow, continuing his saunter toward me. “Happy days then.”
When he gets within feet, he stops, watching me with those predatory eyes. I need to leave.
When I move to make a mad dash for the door, his hand snaps out, and he grips my forearm. The touch sets me alight, and I bite my cheek to suppress my moan. “Let me go.”
Punky smirks, tonguing over his bottom lip. I’m instantly hit with the memory of how that bottom lip looked pierced. I whimper when I remember how it felt.
“So, Rory? I didn’t realize ya felt that way about him.”
“Neither did I,” I respond sharply, trying to yank my arm free. “But he was there for me when I needed him. When you refused to see me.”
“That was awful convenient,” he says, smirking. “I just find it…weird. I don’t see ya havin’ that much in common.”
He’s right.
We disagree on the smallest things, but opposites attract, and I love that he challenges me. That he isn’t a yes-man.
“He’s your best friend. You can’t find it that weird,” I argue, standing tall. “You know what a good person he is.”
He reaches out while I forget to breathe as he runs a single finger along the seam of my mouth. “Aye, he’s the best. I’m glad y’ve found yer happiness with him. When’s the weddin’?”
“I-I don’t know,” I reply from around his finger. “We haven’t set a date.”
“And yer gettin’ married here? Yer goin’ to live in Belfast then?”
I nod, and my knees buckle when his signature fragrance hits me. He looks like my Punky, only older, harder maybe. I suppose being in jail for ten years does that to a person.
His blue eyes can still hold me prisoner, as does his entire being. He’s built as the tux hugs his taut frame, allowing me to imagine his defined muscles beneath. His hair is longer, the dirty blond strands falling whichever way they flick naturally to give him a sexy bedhead look.
Even though he wears a tuxedo, I don’t mistake him for a gentleman because he is anything but. And God strike me down, I like it. He still towers over me, even in my heels. I remember his weight pressed against me. I remember how I knew he could hurt me, but he never did.
He pushed me to the point of breaking, but that sort of pain had never felt that good. I grow wet between the legs at the memory.
My cheeks flush as I’m ashamed I can’t control myself with him. I need to remember we’re blood. I need to remember that I’m engaged.
“I think so. Rory and I haven’t discussed the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
But he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he pulls me toward him, pressing us chest to chest. He peers down at me, the perfect poker face in play. “Why did ya not tell me Rory was yer fiancé when you came to see me?”
I lick my lips nervously.
I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t know how. And I promised Rory we would do it together.
“I don’t know,” I confess, losing sight of what’s right and what’s wrong. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re Darcy’s new pet?”
I regret the words the moment they leave me. But it’s too late.
With a low growl, Punky shoves me up against the wall, holding me captive with his body. “I’m no one’s pet,” he snarls, inches from my face.
I laugh in response. “Could have fooled me. You’re following her around like a little lost puppy.”
He cups my throat, arching my neck back. “If I
was, what business is it of yours?”
“It’s not,” I gasp as he squeezes tighter. “I don’t blame you. After being starved for so long, anything will look appetizing.”
Punky snickers while tonguing his cheek. “Ya think yer sweet pussy was the last I had, Babydoll?”
My cheeks instantly blush at his words. But they also heat because, what does that mean?
“I hate to disappoint ya, but yer cunt is a distant memory. There were quite a few who tended to me in more ways than one.”
I don’t let my emotions betray me, but does this mean he did see visitors in prison? Or that the prison staff crossed the line? Either way, I see red.
“Nice story. Tell it to someone who gives a fuck.” I try to push him away, but he slams my back into the wall and raises my arms above my head. He secures my wrists in one hand.
“Good to see you’re still a fucking asshole! Let me go.”
He clucks his tongue as I fight him fruitlessly. “Still got a filthy mouth, is it. What else is still the same?”
He bends low and inhales deeply along the column of my neck.
Humming, he utters, “Sweet as always.”
The low neckline of my dress exposes the tops of my breasts, rising and falling rapidly, betraying my arousal. The more he talks, the wetter I become, and the further I hate myself for it.
“Sweetness your best friend enjoys over and over again.” I go on the attack, needing this to end before I do something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
Punky smirks, but there is nothing pleasant about it. “Fair play.”
I’m expecting him to let me go, but he doesn’t. He examines me slowly while I quiver under his watchful eye.
“Yer heart is racing.”
“Is not,” I uselessly argue because when he lets me go and places his hand over my chest, he can feel how my heart betrays me.
With the tips of his fingers, he gently brushes over the tops of my breasts. Millions of goosebumps prickle my skin. “Ya used to be such a good liar. That’s something that has changed.”
Instantly, I lower my gaze, embarrassed and ashamed. It’s because of my lies Punky lost ten years of his life.
“Regardless of that big rock on yer finger, I know somethin’ that’s not changed.”
“Punky, don’t,” I caution when he lowers his lips to mine. But the warning is weak because I want this—I want him.
“Don’t what?” he asks, inches from my mouth as he places a hand against the wall. His breath is warm and sweet, and I want to be lost in it forevermore.
“Please don’t do this.” He needs to be the one to stop this because I don’t have the strength to.
“Don’t drop to my knees and bury my head between those parful legs of yours?”
A whimper escapes me because I want that and so much more.
“Don’t lift yer dress and fuck ye up against this wall how we both want me to?”
He presses his erection into me, rubbing over me deliciously slow. My gown’s thick material acts as a buffer, but I can still feel him, and my mouth waters at the sensation.
“No, we c-can’t.” But my resolve is failing.
“Why?” he questions, those blue eyes looking deep into my soul. “Because we’re kin?”
Yes, that’s a big reason, but I’m afraid if we cross that line, I will lose myself to him again, and this time, the damage we cause will be irreparable to so many.
“No, because Rory doesn’t deserve this. Just because we’re fucked up doesn’t mean we have to take him down with us.”
My confession has Punky squeezing his eyes shut. A moment later, he slams his fist against the wall. I flinch, afraid of what comes next.
He places a chaste kiss on my cheek before pulling away.
I wait for him to pounce, but he doesn’t. He turns his back, his shoulders rising and falling with the deep breaths he takes. I should be relieved, but I’m not. I’m disappointed he stopped. That’s how fucked up I am.
“Aye, yer right. Let’s not speak of this again.”
I wrap my arms around my middle, holding back the torrent of tears. Doing the right thing has never felt more wrong.
With a deep breath, Punky unlocks and opens the door, but when he hisses and instantly retreats back, guarding me with his body, my sadness is replaced with terror when I see what or, rather, who has caused him to respond this way.
“Ach, together at last,” says Brody Doyle, our father—the man who destroyed our lives.
My first instinct is to protect her.
And my second? Well, the second instinct is to rip out Brody’s spleen and feed it to him.
Babydoll’s accelerated breathing hints that Brody wasn’t invited. She’s just as surprised as I am at seeing him here. But Darcy seemed to know he was coming. I wonder how?
I can figure that out later because now, I need to salvage the last ten years of my life.
Brody enters the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He obviously wants privacy. My stance in front of Babydoll remains firm. He’s going to have to go through me before he touches her.
I was seconds away from telling her the truth—that we’re not brother and sister. But when I asked her why we couldn’t give in to what we both wanted, her response put everything into perspective.
“Because Rory doesn’t deserve this. Just because we’re fucked up doesn’t mean we have to take him down with us.”
She’s right.
I lost sight of everything because all I could see was her.
I didn’t care that my best friend was happy and living the life I wanted for him. All that mattered was giving in to temptation because my hunger for Babydoll has only grown, and I know that regardless of what’s right or wrong, she feels this undeniable pull as well.
Her body responded to me just how it did ten years ago. She may love Rory, but it’s clear our feelings for one another haven’t diminished with time. Which is why I will never tell her the truth. If she believes we cannot be, then her feelings will eventually fade, and she and Rory can have a chance at living the life they both deserve.
Every part of me rebels at the thought, but what nearly happened is proof that together, we’re on a collision course, bound to destroy anyone in our way. And I won’t allow that to happen. I need to accept that Babydoll and I are better off apart.
The hunger she stirs in me is unbearable, but I won’t let it win. I will treat her as if we are really related and forget that I want her more than I need air to fucking breathe.
“Bout ye, son?” asks Brody, smiling happily. “Look at ya. Yer a big man now.”
He almost sounds proud at the fact, that going to prison because he sent me there was a grand life lesson.
“How dare you!” Babydoll snarls from behind me. “You say that like it’s something to be proud of. Puck was in jail because of you. You’re not welcome here. Get out before I throw you out myself.”
Brody chuckles, not at all intimidated by her demands. And why would he? He’s the king of this fucking town.
“I’m a wee bit hurt ya didn’t invite yer da to yer engagement,” he says while Babydoll scoffs.
“You may have been the sperm donor, but you are not my dad. As far as I’m concerned, I have no father. And I’m totally fine with that.”
Brody merely smiles in response. But what I say next wipes his smile clean.
“I thought y’d have better things to do, like trackin’ down Sean. I mean, surely ya know he’s not dead?”
Babydoll gasps while Brody’s jaw clenches. “I can’t say I do.”
But he’s lying.
Although he may not want to believe it, I’m certain he’s heard rumors about the fact. However, without proof, he has merely passed it off as hearsay. I’m here to change that.
“I think we have some things to discuss in private.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Babydoll argues, and I know this is a fight I won’t win.
So, I put my plan into actio
n as I confront Brody.
“We both know that’s a lie, but I suppose honesty isn’t a quality ya possess. Yer sloppy. And yer fucking arrogant. Yer not untouchable. You may think that ye are, but yer not. Sean is smarter than ya. He also has somethin’ that you don’t. And that’s the Kelly name.
“Don’t you ever forget that we once ruled Northern Ireland, and if Sean is intendin’ to return, then ya won’t stand a chance against him. He managed to fool ya once. The second time around, he won’t be so generous.”
“Ye know an awful lot, considerin’ ya just got out of prison. Ya shouldn’t be believin’ everythin’ ya hear.”
I smirk, taking great pleasure in seeing him squirm. “Suit yerself. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya when he comes for yer head.”
Brody folds his arms across his chest. “What concern is it of yers, anyway?”
“’Cause that cunt has fooled my wee brother, and for that, I will do everythin’ to take him down. I won’t stand back and let him ruin Ethan’s life. He’s cancer, a cancer which needs to be cut out.”
Babydoll is silent throughout the exchange as I know this is news to her.
“So, what do you propose then?”
Levelling Brody, I detail my plans, knowing he’ll listen because deep down, he’s afraid of the power Sean still holds. “I’m goin’ to smoke him out. He believes I don’t know of his plans, but he’s underestimated my hatred for him.”
As a twitch spasms under Brody’s left eye, I see it. He’s read between the lines—he realizes I’ve uncovered the truth. He knows I’ve found out who my real father is.
“And y’ve underestimated yer men. Y’ve given them more credit than they deserve, for Sean has recruited them. He’s building an army, and he’s waitin’, waitin’ for the perfect time to strike and bring ye down. And when he does, ya won’t stand a chance.”
Brody doesn’t say a word, but for me to come to him with this information, he understands I have an inside source—Sean’s journal. Written in his own hand, I have Sean’s plans detailed in black and white, and with Hannah’s sighting of him and Ethan’s attack on me, I know he’s putting those plans into action.
“Why are ya tellin’ me this?”
“’Cause we both want the same thing. Sean dead, and for real this time.”
