Page 5 of Malevolent Hearts
But there’s hope in a raging storm,
a lighthouse guiding lost boys home.
—Cadden James Connelly
Growing up, I always knew my place, or more importantly, my role as the only son of Finn Connelly: one day I will take over for my father and eventually become the king of Munster.
As I stand here staring down at a table filled with homemade tilt fuses and circuit boards, a soldering iron in my hand, the reality of what I’m being forced to become hits me hard. I hate this version of myself, the one who knowingly puts people in danger. I may not be the one who detonates the bombs, but I’m still a killer, responsible for the lives stolen by the devices I make.
Accept it, my father said. This is your kingdom, and you do what you can to protect it. You have a gift, son. Don’t waste your potential by losing your head in a fantasy tale. One day a war will rage, and you, my boy, will be ready for the fight.
Being the only heir to my father’s throne comes with pressures, so when most of my classmates are either filling their days playing Gaelic football and hurling or holed up in their rooms spending hours on mindless video games, my reality couldn’t be further from the average sixteen-year-old’s.
Every second I’m not hiding out in my library with my nose buried in a classic, I’m shadowing my father, learning everything there is to know about the family business. Each sector of the syndicate has their speciality, and Munster is no different.
For generations, my hometown, Dingle, has been the hub for weapons and explosives. With our proximity to the Atlantic, we are in the perfect location for importing and exporting to and from the United States, where most of our revenue is made.
Today, much like any other Saturday, I’m at my father’s warehouse paying my dues. The large armoury is full of enough weapons and military-grade equipment needed to create explosives to take out a small country. This place is my father’s pride and joy. Although, if you ask him, that title belongs to me. Thankfully, I know better than to be blinded by his delusions.
“My boy’s exceptional,” my father brags to his syndicate acquaintance, Oliver Devereux. “Sixteen, and his IQ is a staggering 187.”
As my father continues to boast about my achievements, my eyes roll to heaven. It’s always the same. Love and affection do not have a place, but as long as I continue to please my father by doing his dirty bidding, he will shower me with praise.
Ignoring the two men, I count down the mere minutes it takes me to rig up a timing device, a task I could do with my eyes closed. Reciting the seconds usually calms me, but today, it doesn’t do anything to ease my racing mind. I’m more than a little distracted because all I can think about is the real reason behind Mr Devereux’s visit to Dingle. There is only one explanation as to why my father would involve me in this little show-and-tell, and I’m guessing it has something to do with the pretty blonde girl with the bad attitude that we conveniently left back at the house with my mother.
If I had to wager a guess, I’m sure Oliver wanted to suss me out before he made any formal introductions to his precious princess. As it stands, I only caught a glimpse of Pretty Poison before my mother whisked her off to do whatever it is sixteen-year-old girls do.
For centuries, the Emerald Isle Syndicate has been built on arrangements between powerful families, but considering I am still a couple of years off eighteen, I thought I had more time before my father tried to pair me up with a bride, especially one from a different sector.
I should have known better, Finn Connelly is always two steps ahead, prepared for every situation. By outsourcing my future wife from another quarter, he’s ensuring he has alliances within the syndicate as a whole. As far as I am aware, Oliver Devereux is gunning for his eldest son to take over as the future king of Leinster, but rumour has it that there’s a hidden Ryan heir somewhere, so it would be wise of him to make arrangements for his eldest daughter in the event his plan goes sideways.
I presume that’s where I come in.
A mutually beneficial agreement amongst men. Who gives a crap whether or not this Beibhinn chick and I like one another? We’re nothing more than pawns in our fathers’ games.
Still ignoring the constant play-by-play of my every move, I focus on the switch in my hand and place the perfect amount of mercury at the bottom end of the tube. Once I’m finished, I narrow in on the cap end, wiring up two live electrical contacts before linking them to the final product.
“And time,” my father calls out, stopping the timer on his watch. “Just under five minutes. Well done, Cadden.”
His compliment does nothing for me, not when I know the deadly device in my grasp will one day take a life. A familiar coil knots my stomach, threatening to expel the breakfast I ate this morning, but I keep it down, knowing that no matter how many fucking bombs I’m forced to make, each one will take another piece of my soul with it, until one day, I won’t feel anything at all.
After all, who needs emotions when you have power? Or at least, that’s the picture my father paints.
Searching for a girl I’ve not formally met is not how I want to spend the remainder of my afternoon, yet here I am traipsing towards the coastline calling her name like a fucking idiot. What the hell was my mother thinking allowing Beibhinn Devereux to roam around by herself? She’s not in Killybegs anymore. There is not much to fucking see around here, nothing but wide open spaces, a three-hundred-meter drop into the fucking ocean, and my… “FUCK!”
Turning on my heel, I take off in the opposite direction and ignore the sharpness clawing at my lungs as I bolt along the peninsula towards my lighthouse.
I don’t care how pretty the poisonous princess is, she better not have ventured into my haven. Every breath cuts my lungs as I pick up pace, closing the distance between land and sea.
Before long, I spy my lighthouse standing alone at the edge of the water, disturbing the view of the horizon. It’s the only place I can truly be myself. Without hesitation, I reach for the chain around my neck, feeling for the key I keep tucked safely beneath my shirt at all times. Relief washes through me when I find it exactly where it’s supposed to be. If Beibhinn did make it this far, at least there is no way she passed through the door.
I’m borderline obsessive about allowing people to see the sacred space I spent the last three years creating. My soul resides in the stone walls of this place. It’s etched in every nook and cranny. It’s gathered between the pages of every book I keep there. It lingers in the darkness that surrounds the spiral staircase, until finally, it bleeds from the light that reflects beyond the shore. My very own kingdom by the sea.
If my earlier assessment is true, one day the Devereux princess will become my wife, but even then, she will have no business stepping foot inside my sanctuary. Ever. It’s mine, and mine alone. The one place on the godforsaken Connelly estate I will guard with my life.
Every day, I take great care in locking the lighthouse up as if it’s Fort Knox because it’s the only property around here untouched by the life my father’s paving for me. It’s free of the darkness that gnaws at me, threatening to drag me under. It’s a reflection of who I am. I don’t want her near it. Not now. Not ever.
After wiping away the glaze of sweat that has formed along my brow, I follow the cobbled pathway lined with ancient stone walls until I meet the pedestrian wrought iron gateway. My eyes fall to the padlock keeping the gate secure, and I exhale.