Devil of Dublin

by B.B. Easton

“Ya know what they say about the Devil. Once upon a time, he was God’s most beautiful angel.”

“Grandpa says I should stay away from you ’cause your daddy is the Devil, but I don’t care about that. He says my daddy is a son of a bitch, but you’ll still play with me, right?”

Her eyes lifted to mine, round and sweet, and without a word, without a plan, without a clue as to why we would do such a thing, Darby and I pressed our bloody palms together. And kissed. The moment her lips touched mine, the same still blue presence that had beckoned me into the water returned. It wrapped around my mind like the tail of a cat, warm and soft and cautiously curious. Then, it spoke. “Is fíor bhur ngrá,” it purred. “Tugaim mobheannacht daoibh.”

The breath I’d been holding spilled from my lips as I drank her in. She was perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Although her body had filled out in all the right places, her cheeks and nose were just as flushed and freckled as I remembered. Her hair was just as golden orange. And her pouty pink lips were pursed in concentration, the way they always were when she was thinking about something.

Kellen Donovan—the mute, motherless, powerless reject—was just as dead to me as Father Henry. So, when the Brotherhood took me in, I didn’t give them a name. I told them they could call me whatever the fuck they wanted. At first, they went with Boy—I was only seventeen at the time—but after I made my first few kills, the elders began calling me Diabhal. Devil.

I wasn’t letting anything take her from me again. Not even God himself.

“Get dressed,” I said, walking over to my own pile of clothes. “We need to get you warm.” “Wh-wh-why aren’t you f-f-freezing too?” Darby asked over the sound of zips and fabric rustling behind me. “There’s l-l-literally s-s-steam coming off of you.” Because I got one foot in hell, I thought, zipping up my jeans. Keeps me nice and toasty.

May you be in heaven half an hour before the Devil knows you’re dead.

If the Devil wanted to drag me back to hell now, he was going to need a fucking body bag.

The United Irish Brotherhood had been called a lot of things over the years—a political party, a militia, a terrorist organization, a revolution—and perhaps those things had been true before The Troubles. But now, they were like any other organized crime family. Corrupt.

I went from security to enforcer, and by my twentieth birthday, I became the UIB’s most notorious hitman.

I had the skills necessary to take a life with my bare hands or from thirty meters away, but nothing had ever made me feel more powerful than discovering that I had the ability to make Darby Collins make that fucking sound.

I was no longer human or demon or even fucking breathing. I was simply hers—mind, body, and cursed black soul.

I wanted to give her everything I had. My fucking life. My splintered heart. My hateful, hell bound soul. She could do with it what she pleased. I didn’t care. None of it belonged to me anymore, and it hadn’t since I was ten years old. “I’m in love with you, Darby,” I said, pressing my lips to her shoulder. “Always have been. And if I had a fucking birth certificate, I’d ask you to marry me right now.”

“Is fíor bhur ngrá. Tugaim mobheannacht daoibh,” I recited, shaking my head again as I glanced back up at her. “I heard those words, in a woman’s voice, right after we kissed in the lough. I didn’t even speak Irish at the time, but I never forgot them.” “What does it mean?” I smirked. “Yer love is true. You have my blessing.” “Shut up.” Darby laughed, a tear spilling over one flushed pink cheek. “Are you serious?” I nodded. “I thought I was goin’ mad.” The warmth in Darby’s eyes was nothing short of breathtaking as she leaned forward and pressed a smiling kiss to my lips.

“I’m in love with you too, Kellen Donovan,” she whispered, rolling her hips as I swelled inside of her. “Always will be.”

“All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is for you to look at me the way you’re lookin’ at me now.”

“Is fíor bhur ngrá,” Kellen recited, his voice as soft and sad as his haunted gaze. “We have eternity, remember? Maybe I’ll deserve you by then.”