Page 34 of Into Temptation

“Only the good die young,” I quip, ensuring Shane knows I’m happy that the bastard is dead. “So, what do ya want? Yer here to lend a hand?”

The corded veins in Shane’s neck reveal he is trying his best to stop from using his hands to choke the life from me. “I’m ’ere ’cause I want ya to know I’m keepin’ an eye on ya.”

“Are ye the welcomin’ committee?” I say, never breaking eye contact with him. “I’ll run some fifteens over to the cap shap to express mi thanks.”

If this arsehole thinks he can come here and intimidate me, he is sorely mistaken. I’ve dealt with far worse monsters than him.

“Yer da was awful attentive toward the Kellys too. Like father, like wee son. Now, if y’ll excuse me, we’ve been up to ninety since half seven. I’ve got to throw away ten years’ worth of filth, so I better get back to work. And I’m sure yer busy, chasin’ crime, so y’are.”

My words are dripping with innuendo and sarcasm, something which Shane doesn’t appreciate.

He advances forward but soon remembers he’s wearing a uniform and stops. His nostrils flare, expressing his anger. “I’ll be seein’ ya around, Puck Kelly.”

“All the best, Stuart,” I say with a wave, deciding to bait him further by deliberately using a different name.

He doesn’t correct me and storms off. He rakes down the drive, leaving dust in his wake.

“Thon wee fella has a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp,” Cian says, shaking his head.

“Aye, he’s a waste of space, just like his da. He made a mistake comin’ here. I now know he’s watchin’ us. We’ve got to be careful.”

Cian nods. “What a wee want. He came here to whip out his cock when he should have stayed hidden.”

“There’s no cure for stupid, Cian, and Shane Moore’s gene pool is drownin’ in stupidity. He wanted to assert his authority, but he’s small fry. Now we know the peelers aren’t on our side.”

“Who is?” Cian asks, expressing his concerns.

I don’t reply because honestly, I don’t know. There are so many unanswered questions, but I’m certain about one thing and that is: I have no doubt Brody will be in touch soon. Once he is, we can get the ball rolling.

A truck turns into the drive, alerting us that the builder has arrived. He parks the car, and when he exits, both Cian and I turn toward the other, shook.

We know him.

Ronan Murray.

I’m transported back in time to when Ronan was tied to a chair, begging for his life. Rory, Cian, and I decided to let him go even though he was a traitor. He was the scapegoat we needed and was used to throw the Doyles off course.

But that all turned to shite.

“The fuck ya doin’ here?” Cian says, half in awe, the other in anger. “We gave ya one chance, and ye fucked it up.”

When he goes to retrieve the gun from the small of his back, I stop him. I want to know why Ronan would come here willingly. This address is known to him, and I’m certain he heard I was out. So why would he risk it?

“What’s the craic, Ronan?”

Ronan keeps his distance. “Hi, Punky. Y’ve grown.”

“Aye, that’s what happens when ten years pass,” I reply, not interested in small talk. “Why would ya come here when ye knew the consequences?”

Ronan looks at the ground. “’Cause I want a second chance.”

Cian scoffs, while I cannot believe the bollocks on Ronan. “Second chance with what?”

“I want to regain yer trust and help rebuild yer empire. Northern Ireland is rightfully yours. Yer da would be turnin’ in his grave. God rest his soul.”

A laugh leaves me, but it’s not a happy sound. “Why the fuck would I trust ya? After everythin’ y’ve done. I should cut out yer tongue and feed it to ye for speaking such filth.”

He knows I speak the truth because he was there when I cut off Aidan Doyle’s lips.

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