When Kings Rise : A Dark Irish Mafia Romance intensified by the presence of a cult. (The O'Sullivan

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kings are made to lead our world, and they must also lead their homes. Kings are required to take on a Consort. Three candidates (Brides) are chosen for the examination, exploration, and exploitation of the King. One will be chosen as his Consort.

THE TASTING DID little to satisfy me. On the contrary, I find myself wanting more. Needing more. Every shiver and reaction from them had sent a thrill to my cock. I want to take each of them one at a time or all together. Each of them was exquisite. Choosing just one is proving to be a problem. If only I could keep them all…but I know that is against the rules.

The churchyard that I drive into is deserted. But that doesn’t fool me; I know from the moment I pass the large wrought iron gates and move down the long, winding driveway that I am being watched.

St. Gertrude”s church is the perfect location for a man like Victor to hold his private meetings in. Who would suspect a man of such high standing in our society could be so calculated? Truly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Aren’t we all? I muse as I park the car and get out. No service is happening, but several people mill about the sanctuary. If this truly was God’s house, we would all combust into flames for our sins.

Even the people cleaning the church are Pages and Barons assigned to protect Victor with their lives. Even if someone successfully took out the priest, they wouldn’t make it out of the building. Killing Victor meant killing yourself, which is the only reason the priest is still breathing. But a man can fantasize about ending Victor’s life. His day will come, just not today, apparently.

I nod at the cleaners as I walk to the confessional boxes. There is a row of them at the back of the church. Each one has its red curtains closed. The one I select has a small, red light above the door, telling people it’s occupied. It”s my cue to enter this one. I step into the small box and draw the curtain behind me. I can hear a creak of wood from the other side and know Victor has been waiting for me.

I won’t kneel as I make my confession. I never do.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I start.

“When did you sin?” Victor’s voice is clear through the wood. I can’t see him; I don’t want to see his face.

He’s asking me if the job was done. “Yesterday afternoon.” I think of the boy whose life I was meant to take. He’s on a plane heading for a new life in America. My stomach squirms when the mother’s look of pure devastation enters my mind.

“With God as your witness?”

“My only witness,” I respond. There is a long pause.

“You’ve done well, my son.” Victor gives me his unwanted praise. More silence drags out.

I’ve always been sent to kill men, but a boy… I know it’s wise for me to question it so as not to raise suspicion.

“I wonder if this kind of sin will happen again?” Basically, will I have to kill any more children?

“Not right now.”

I glare at the wood that separates us. I can’t see through it. It’s not like in the movies when you can see the silhouette of the priest through the wooden partition with its small cutouts. This one is pretty much solid, with a few small holes to allow our voices to pass through.

But I don’t need to see Victor in order to know what he is doing. He moves, and I hear the worn wood creak as the priest shifts his weight. The sound of the silky fabric of his robe against the rougher fabric of the seat is another noise I can hear. I can almost see Victor’s nostrils flare as he lets out a deep breath. Is he annoyed at my line of questioning?

“This is your greatest sin.”

“This sin surprised me, I admit with genuine emotion.

“You have done it all for the sake of a greater purpose, a greater world.” Victor recites, and I detect no emotion in the old man’s voice.

I roll my eyes at that. Brien Cahill’s father had a gambling debt. With the wealth of the Hand of Kings, this could have been forgiven without affecting business at all. There was no greatness to this act. It was unnecessary. I bite my tongue, not saying what I truly want to say.

“Have you ever wondered why I didn’t send you to boarding school like your brothers?” His voice is closer to the partition. It is something I had wondered. I am as intelligent as my brothers, yet Victor had sent me to run weapons and kill enemies, and now I’ve been lowered to killing children.

Once again, I seem incapable of answering.

“I plan to make all three O’Sullivan brothers Kings. Do you know why we need Kings, Diarmuid?” Victor doesn’t seem put off by my silence.

I already know the answer to this because it has been drilled into my head repeatedly since I was a child. It was part of the plan: repeat the creed until the children believed nothing else. I didn’t buy into everything they taught us; sometimes, I saw beyond the curtain that hides the greed, monsters, and madness.

“Yes.” I finally answer.

“This world is filled with manmade wonders, ancient and modern. The greatest of these wonders exist only because the right person led an entire nation of people. These men didn’t have to heed the whims of politicians. They didn’t have to worry about maintaining face for an election. They only needed to obey themselves. They accomplished great feats. The human race was made in such a way thatthe majority of people are followers. They are made to bring to life the dreams of greater men. Whether through evolution or divine right, some men are just made to be Kings.”

I roll my eyes again at his spiel. He loves the sound of his own voice as he spews his poison. Like we are still kids eager to please or terrified to fail.

“We put those Kings in the right places so that humanity can continue to achieve great things. Your brothers will be Kings like the other Kings I have made, but you...you are a once-in-a-generation type of King. You are my Warrior King.”

He really loves to talk, and all he is doing is grating on my nerves. He’s trying to praise me, so I don’t think about the child he thinks I’ve just murdered. He continues to speak about my brothers and me as if he owns us. I can sense the weight of my gun in the band of my trousers. My fingers twitch. I can detect exactly where Victor is sitting. I could end it all.

“Richard the Lionheart, Alexander the Great, and Charlemagne. These were Warrior Kings, Diarmuid. Warrior Kings are made to fight the battles that turn the stomachs of other Kings. They are…special.”

He must really detect my displeasure at killing the kid. He’s never tried to praise me so much in one sitting. Is it panic that I hear in his voice? I think how one single bullet could fulfill every dream of revenge that has ever woken me from sleep. There are guards in the sanctuary, but none of them have my training. I could move quickly. I might be able to get away

“When your father left us, I felt great sadness. He thought that your family could survive without the Kings. He didn’t succeed. We didn’t let him. When he came crawling back to us, I felt as if the universe had given me another chance to make a difference in this world. I hope that I didn’t make a mistake.”

All my thoughts cease. Something in Victor”s tone has changed. Is it from my lack of response earlier?

I hear the crinkle of paper and wait to hear what he has to say.

“This is the autopsy of Andrew O’Sullivan. A curious document, if I may be honest. The head, hands, and feet have been removed. Without the use of DNA, the coroner may have never identified our dear Andrew. I will say that Andrew didn’t have a peaceful exit from this world. One of his lungs was punctured. Ribs broken. Femur snapped. Burn marks on his chest. Obscenely brutal, his death. I imagine that whoever killed your uncle harbored a great deal of resentment toward him.” I hide a smile at each one of the wounds I gave my uncle. Pride swells in my chest.

“This line of work does that to a man. You can throw a stone in any direction in Dublin and hit a man who wanted to kill my uncle,” I reply.

“Yes, but their want would have never made them actually do the deed. No one is foolish enough to do this. Unless they felt they could get away with it,” Victor responds.

I grit my teeth and then relax my jaw. “Obviously, they won’t get away with it.”

“I don’t imagine they will. It’s just strange. No one I know would have ever left a body like this in a grave; it would have been destroyed,” Victor says simply.

“It sounds like they were stupid,” I respond.

“Or that they wanted to have a grave to spit on.”

He knows. He knows I did it; that’s exactly why I gave my uncle a grave. So I could return to it and remember his brutal death. The way Victor is talking suggests he suspects me, but I don’t think he is the one who set me up. He isn’t the one who placed the female body on top of my uncle’s grave.

“I know how you feel about me, my son. I know that one day, you will disregard your own life and take mine. I can see it in you. I just want you to realize that there are worse monsters than me.”

My heart hammers at his confession. The creak of the wood and the flash of light tells me he is gone. I sit for a moment, listening, and when I step out of the confessional box, the movement of the cleaners catches my attention. They don’t look at me, but I now know I was surrounded the entire time.

Victor is leaving no room for an attempt on his life.

As I walk out of the church, I realize I may have far more people watching me than I suspected.