The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher

Poppy

What’s the expression, again?

Something about doing the same thing and expecting different results. Something about insanity.

I need to stop doing the same thing: dreaming of escape and then letting all thoughts of it dissolve away the second Lorcan’s nice to me. Because the second he shows his true colors again, I’m back to square one. Dreaming of escape.

I’m curled up on the window seat, pressing my head against the glass and listening to the rain. Despite the rhythmic pitter-patter, not even the greatest storm of all time would drown out Cillian’s words. You need to get out of here.

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Now if only I could teleport myself out of this Museum, past the hundred or so armed guards and over the fifty-foot hedge, that’d be great. I stare out at the towering hedge walls of the garden and rack my brain. Maybe I could ask Cillian to leave me out a ladder, conveniently propped up against the bush. Maybe he could also leave a ladder on the other side too. So, you know, I don’t break my legs or anything.

I slam my head against the glass in frustration, a little too hard.

This is useless.

My head is still throbbing when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in,” I sigh, still staring out the window.

When the door creaks open and the chirpy conversation doesn’t immediately start, I know it’s not Orna.

“Ask me a question.”

I glance over long enough to scowl at Lorcan. “Go away.”

He steps into the room, eyes trained on me. “I won’t offer you the opportunity again.”

“Okay. Why are you such an asshole?” I mumble into the glass, closing my eyes again.

“A few reasons. Mainly because everyone’s always bowed down to me upon hearing my last name and that’s given me an ego the size of Africa. I’ve never been told no. I’ve never had any real responsibility, and there’s more money in my bank account than the GDP of Malta.”

I turn to him so fast that my neck cricks. His face is stone-cold serious. He takes another step towards and says, “I’ve always been an asshole but when my father and brothers were killed, I became a bitter asshole. A mix of grief and the weight of the organization’s future on my shoulders, I suppose.”

My mouth falls open. “W-wait,” I stammer, swinging my legs around. “I didn’t think you were serious. That was a practice question.”

Lorcan narrows his eyes but they never leave me. He takes three, silent strides and perches on the end of the window seat. “Fine. I’ll grant you another.”

“And you’ll answer it truthfully?” I whisper back.

His face is stern when he speaks. “I’ve already proven I will.”

My mind races with a million questions. I struggle to fish for the most important one. Eventually, I say, “Okay. Who was my father?” He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “You said you’d answer truthfully,” I press.

A heavy silence swirls between us, softened only by the rain. He looks different today, and for once it’s not because he’s drunk. It’s because he’s in casual jeans, running sneakers and a soft cream sweater I just want to bury my face in.

Eventually, he turns to stare out the window, showing the sharp lines of his jaw in a side-profile. He focuses on a spot far away and speaks. “A long time ago, your father was my father’s right-hand man, business partner, and best friend. A second father to me and my brothers. He had it all—both of them did. They collected protection payments from everyone in this city and no other family on the East Coast would dare put a toe on their territory without being invited. But it all changed for Murphy. Fuck knows why, I guess one day he woke up and decided that the power wasn’t enough for him anymore. He went behind my father’s back and formed an alliance with the O’Sullivans, the Irish family on the West Coast. His idea was that they’d team up, Cedric O’Sullivan on the West Coast and Murphy on the East, and they’d work their way in-land and take over every city and state in between.” He pauses to swallow and rake his fingers through his hair. I notice his knuckles are swollen but I don’t dare speak. I don’t think the hand around my throat would let me, anyway. He continues. “We never suspected a thing. Even when Murphy turned up at our gates with twelve of O’Sullivan’s men, we thought he was bringing them in for a business meeting.” He laughs bitterly at the memory. “No. They were here to overthrow us and make it as known as possible.” When he chews on his cheek and shakes his head, I want to throw my arms around him and take the memory away. Almost. Instead, I sit and stare, open-mouthed, waiting for what happened next. “Six dead, including Cathy.”

“Cathy?” I choke out.

“Orna’s mom.”

His words snatch my breath away. “Then what happened?” I all but whisper.

“Turns out, the O’Sullivan’s wanted power over the East Coast, but they had no intention of bringing Murphy in on their plan. They turned his gun on him in the final hour. We shot them all dead, apart from Cedric. He got away.

My head is throbbing and not just from when I slammed it against the window minutes earlier. There’s so much to take in… I knew my father wasn’t who he said he was, but a ruthless mob boss? No. He was the exact opposite. His tatty clothes, quivering demeanor. Now that I’ve experienced what life is like on the top rung of the ladder, there’s no doubt in my mind that he belonged firmly on the bottom.

Out of all my burning questions, one forms on my lips. “Why didn’t your father kill Marcus? He betrayed you.”

Now, he drags his eyes back to mine. They are misty with memories, ones he’s probably used to repressed with whiskey. “Because he’s a better man than me. Instead of killing him, he stripped everything from him. Money, cars, mansions. Why? Because he didn’t want your mother to grow up without the father of her child.”

“You knew my mom?” I whisper.

After a moment’s silence, he leans over and strokes my cheek. A small part of my heart melts under his thumb. “You look just like her,” he murmurs, studying me with suffocating intensity. “You know that? The same fire-red hair, pale skin.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and lean into his palm. “Did my mom know?”

“About your father planning a coup? No. She was pregnant with you at the time. She divorced him straight away and my father made sure she was taken care of.”

I shake my head, feeling the tears brimming. When one escapes, Lorcan brushes it away. “But she died. She killed herself.”

“I know. I’m sorry, China Doll,” he murmurs, sadness swelling in his eyes. “She couldn’t handle the stress. Everything was ripped away from her in an instant. Everyone in the city knew what her husband had done, and she couldn’t live with it. When she… passed, my father made a vow that you’d never find out and suffer the same embarrassment. He lived with the guilt of what happened to your mom until the day he died.”

We lock eyes. “But you told me.”

He grinds his molars, nostrils flaring. “I was meant to leave you alone. But when I found out it was Murphy’s stupidity that let the package bomb enter the warehouse, I couldn’t leave you alone. My father took everything from him except you. There was nothing left to hurt him with, except you. Death would have been too kind for everything he’s done to my family. I wanted him to feel the same pain I’d felt every fucking day since his failed coup.”

I pull away from his warm palm and he doesn’t stop me. “Only it didn’t hurt him” I’m sobbing now. Hard, ugly sobs that rattle my rib cage. “It didn’t hurt him at all. He doesn’t care.”

In one quick movement, Lorcan lunges forward and pulls me into his arms. I don’t have the energy to resist. And even if I did I don’t think I would. His chest feels warm and safe, his tree-trunk arms swallowing me up as I cry against his beating heart. His lips brush against my hair as he says, “It doesn’t matter, China Doll. I care.”

“But why?” I mumble into the cashmere fabric of his sweater.

His body stiffens against my chest. “You only had one question,” he says stiffly. “Don’t push your luck.”

“No. I have one more.”

A heavy sigh presses against me. “Go on.”

“Cedric. Whatever happened to him? Is he still on the run?”

“You know what happened to him.”

I twist around, meeting his gaze with a frown. “Why would I?”

Lorcan eyes me, unsure. “You saw your father slit his throat in his study.”

Numb, I fall back against him, overwhelmed with information. The biggest mystery of my childhood answered in half a second.

He lets me stay in his arms a little longer, falling into the rhythm of rubbing my back and leaving gentle kisses on the top of my head. “I almost forgot,” he says eventually, shifting me in his arms to retrieve something from his pocket. “I have something for you.”

I look up through bleary eyes to see a small cell phone in his hand. It’s a flip phone that’s probably older than me, with a small screen and definitely no 4G network.

“You got me a phone?” I say in disbelief.

“I can’t say it’s out of the goodness of my own heart,” he replies softly, flipping it open and powering it on. “Mondez’s daughter took a liking to you, and it seems like she has daddy wrapped around her little finger. He said our deal was off unless I gave you a way to reach his precious daughter.”

I’ll get a phone to you, promise.

Despite everything, I have to bite back a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I only met Nova for that one night, but I can definitely imagine her throwing a tantrum until she gets what she wants.

“I’m trusting you, Poppy,” he says, eyes darkening. “I know you won’t call your… ex-boyfriend—”

I cringe at the thought of that asshole. “Hell no.”

“And I trust that you won’t call anyone else you shouldn’t, either.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I whisper, curling my hands around the phone. It feels like the most precious artifact in this entire room.

Lorcan plants a small kiss on my nose, “Good girl,” he says with a sultry tone that makes me forget all of my life’s problems. The kiss on the nose turns into a bite on my neck, and his hand snakes from my back to my chest…

And then his cell buzzes.

“Fuck’s sake,” he growls, pulling out a small black phone that’s almost identical to mine. “Speak.”

The second whoever is on the line begins to talk, his body tenses and he pushes me off of his lap.

“I’ll be right there.”

When I look up at him, his face is strangled and pale. “What’s wrong?” I say, panic rising in my throat.

“Stay here,” he says sternly.

“Lorcan!” I shout desperately, but he’s already halfway across the room. He stops, turns back and pulls me in for a rough kiss. It’s desperate and raw and makes me want to rip his fucking clothes off. Then, he clamps his hands over my cheeks and tilts my face up to his. “If anything happens to me, China Doll. Go with Orna. You can trust her.”

One last lingering kiss, even hungrier than the one before, before he tears away from me and stalks down the stairs. He leaves me in the silence of the Museum, his name still tumbling from my lips and echoing off the walls.