18+ Five novels: Seizing Control, Making Choices, Seeking Redemption, Tempting Fate, Finding Nirvana
by Kylie Hillman
Brotherhood before blood.
It's that simple.
Until, the brotherhood betrays blood...
On the surface, the Black Shamrocks MC is exactly what an outlaw motorcycle club should be. Unapologetically brutal. Unquestionably ruthless. Unwaveringly loyal.The brotherhood appears rock solid, allied and impenetrable. Their various blood ties only serve as a reminder of the generations of kinship and family that came before them.
Dig a little deeper and the illusion begins to shatter. Beneath a well-cultivated facade of unity, old tensions simmer and new alliances are created. Game plans are being put into action. Legacies are being secured. Deals with the devil are being made.
While these betrayals are being executed with cold efficiency, a new love is born. It's a love that those undermining the club never saw coming. It's a love that threatens to derail the upcoming coup. It's a love that could unite them all and stop evil in its tracks if it's allowed to prosper.
When those closest to you are plotting your downfall, is it possible for love to conquer all? If the war needed to defeat those responsible could cost you a loved one, would you be willing to pay the price? Unfortunately, the answers don't matter anymore ... because, ready or not, the Black Shamrocks MC is about to be engulfed by BLOOD & BETRAYAL.
EXCERPTs
SOOTHING SUFFERING, BLACK SHAMROCKS
MC #0.5
PROLOGUE
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest
souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ~Kahlil
Gibran~
Turns out that there is a fate worse than death. After watching my
mother fade away before my eyes, I decided that I would do everything in my
power to live a long life.
Death is scary.
Death is the end.
Now, every time I look at my scarred and broken body, I close my eyes
and I pray for death. It doesn’t scare me anymore; if anything, I look forward
to the day that I can close my eyes for the final time and never have to think
about Brendan Taylor and what he did to me, ever again. The sweet respite from
the voices in my head—the ones that keep telling me that I’m still Brendan’s
slut—can only be achieved by embracing the end of my life.
That final barrier, the one that stops me from following through on my
desire to die, is getting thinner by the day. With every memory that
masquerades as a nightmare, with each flinch away from Mik’s gentle touch, with
every single glance he sends my way that’s filled with guilt and regret; I edge
one step closer to finishing it all.
No-one knows. I refuse to let them see just how close I am
to giving up. There’s nothing they can do anyway. My bed was made when I chose
to let my pride get in the way of admitting my mistakes. If I’d spoken up, none
of this would have happened.
I should find it ironic that the person I hurt the most is the only
one stopping me from taking my life. Except, I don’t. He’s always been the one. Even when I was too stupid to realise it.
If it wasn’t for that loving glimmer I glimpse in his gaze when he looks at me,
I’d do it.
Instead, I hold onto that love and push through another day.
For how much longer? I don’t know.
All I know is that today isn’t the day I put an end to my pain.
CHAPTER ONE
LAINEY
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. Lost as I am in my own world—a
world filled with painful memories that make the fear that is now my constant
companion kick up a notch—I don’t recognize the owner until I’ve flinched away
from their touch, putting space between myself and the person I perceive to be
my newest attacker. Swinging around with looping punch that would have my
self-defence instructor shaking his head, I follow with an ear-splitting shriek
that makes me cringe.
“Fuck. Lainey. It’s me.” Mik
holds his arms out in front of himself. He looks me dead in the eye and waves
his hands as if he’s trying to settle a spooked horse. Even his mouth is shaped
in a circle as if he’s about to tell me to “whoa”. My heart’s trying to pound
out of my chest, fearful trembling seizing control of my body, while heat rises
up my neck and warms my cheeks. I feel like a damn idiot, but I can’t seem to
stop overacting to the smallest thing.
“I thought you heard me coming, Angel. I’m sorry.”
His apology makes me feel worse. Adding his slumped shoulders and
strained expression into the mix only drives home how much he’s suffering with
me. The green flecks in his hazel eyes have been dulled by the pain he carries.
Every time I flinch away from him, the light in them—that cheeky spark that
used to illuminate his face—dims a little bit more.
“It’s all good, I was daydreaming,” I say in a voice that doesn’t
sound nearly as breezy as it did in my head. Forcing my stiff, shaking body to
loosen, I fake my best smile and close the distance between us in three steps.
Ignoring how my hands tremble, I press my breasts against his hard chest and
wrap my arms around his neck.
Bringing his head down to mine, I press my lips against his and
initiate a kiss that’s deeper than the quick pecks that we’ve exchanged since I
was released from hospital eight weeks ago. Mik was rigid when I put my arms
around him; yet, he manages to take it to another level altogether at my touch.
His arms hang at his side and he doesn’t return my kiss past allowing the
initial joining of our mouths. Feeling like I trying to make out with a statue,
I pull back an inch and sink my teeth into his bottom lip with deliberate
viciousness.
“Fuck!” He yelps, the blank expression on his face changing to one of
annoyance. Gripping me with infinite gentleness by the tops of my arms, he
moves me back so that he can look down at me. “Why’d you fucking do that?”
Pushing away the embarrassment that’s threatening to overwhelm
me—first from my overreaction to his innocent touch and secondly from his
refusal to kiss me back—I shake my head at him. Wrenching out of his grasp, I
sit on the dining table in the same spot I was before he interrupted me.
“Why did I do that?” I mimic his confused tone. “Gee, I don’t know.
Maybe because my boyfriend refuses to kiss me.”
The aggravation leaves his rugged features, sympathy taking its place.
It’s the one emotion I can’t deal with; one that he should know better than to
send in my direction. The small amount of spirit left in my psyche—the tiny
part that survived my ex-boyfriend’s onslaught—flares to life, heating my
indignation, and giving me the ability to lash out at him.
“You know, if being with me is too much for you to handle, the door’s
that way.” I spit the words at him with a certainty that doesn’t reflect my
inner fear that he’ll take me up on my offer. Pointing in the direction of the
front door, I continue. “Don’t let it hit you on your fine ass on the way out.”
Swinging back to my feet, I step up into his personal space and glare
at him through narrowed eyes. “We both know I’m damaged. Hell, nobody’d blame
you if you walked. Nobody wants a woman as scarred as me.”
Putting space between us, I wave my right hand over my abdomen.
“Inside and out.”
Turning my back to him, I make my way to our bedroom. Slamming the
door shut behind me, I flick the lock before throwing myself face down on our
king-sized bed. The tears that are constantly trying to escape from my eyes—the
tears that I have to fight everyday—run down my cheeks. The only time I let
them fall is when no one else can see them. When I’m alone, they’re stronger
than me. So much so, that I should be out of tears to cry since it feels like
it’s all I do lately.
Keeping my anguish to myself is becoming too much. It’s making me
treat Mik like shit, when he’s the only one who has a chance of understanding
how I feel because he’s the only one who knows the full truth of what happened
to me. The guilt that my behavior brings just adds another layer to what I’m
already struggling under.
If I’d listened to him, none of this would have happened. If I’d gone
to him after the first time Brendan hurt me, it wouldn’t have got so bad. If
I’d listened to the voice in the back of my mind that told me to tell him the
truth, I wouldn’t be broken now.
The handle rattles as Mik tries to open the door, interrupting my
mental blame game. He raps his knuckles against the hard wood. “Lainey, let me
in. Fuck me dead, I’m trying my best here. If I try to touch you, it makes you
freak out so when you kissed me I didn’t have a fucking clue how to react.”
I hear a soft thud, and I can picture him resting his forehead against
the door. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I sit up and stare at the wooden
barrier that separates us. Wiping my face, I press my lips together so they’ll
stop trembling while I breathe deeply through my nose, making my lungs expand
before letting the air out slowly. It’s a technique my therapist reckons will
calm me, although it hasn’t worked so far.
“Angel. Talk to me. Tell me how to help you. I’ll do anything you
want.” He pauses, a loud sigh coming from the other side of the door, telling
me that he’s not only confused—he’s hurt and frustrated with me for shutting
him out. I open my mouth, unsure what words are going to leave my lips when I
speak, when he interrupts me with the words that are the main reason why I
can’t confide in him. “Fucking hell, Mo Ghrá. I know this is my fault and I’m
fucking sorry. More than you’ll ever know.”
My mouth closes of its own volition. I throw myself backward on the
comforter, landing on my back as the tears call an end to the brief reprieve
they’d granted me. Flailing my hand toward the head of the bed, I reach for a
pillow. Jamming it over my face, I open my mouth and scream … and scream and
scream. My mind joins in, shrieking two sentences at me over and over in a
matching rhythm to the cries that my pillow is muffling.
It’s not your fault. It’s mine.
Mik must mistake my silence for agreement. A louder thud makes the
door shake—I’m not sure if he’s hit it with his head or his fist—before I hear
him walk away from our bedroom, his heavy biker boots sounding against the
jarrah floorboards. My attention is drawn from my screams as I listen to see if
he’s leaving the house.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. After the thirteenth step, there’s a resounding
bang as the front door is thrown open, hitting the wall behind it. I jump on
the bed when a louder boom echoes through the house as Mik slams the door shut
behind him.
Barely five seconds later, I hear his Harley roar to life before the
squealing of tyres heralds his departure from our street. With straining ears,
I listen as the rumbling engine gets further away, the sound receding until I
can’t hear it anymore.
Rolling onto my side, I pull the pillow against me and curl into the
foetal position around it. Burying my face in its softness, I drag in a ragged
breath and Mik’s scent overcomes me. I must have grabbed his pillow. The
familiar smell makes me long for him. Yet, I know that after my actions this
afternoon, this might be all I’m left with. An empty house, a broken heart and
body, and the slowly disappearing scent of the man I love.
It’s with that thought that the never-ending tears pick up pace and
begin pooling on the pillow as a liquid tribute to my sorrow.
SEIZING CONTROL, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC
#1
This has been my motto
for the past four years. I was certain I’d proven to myself, and anyone who
mattered, that I’d let my past strengthen me, not destroy me. I’d survived
every woman's worst nightmare and I was still standing. I was chasing my
dreams, my family was thriving, and so was my relationship. As far as I was
concerned, I exemplified the positive essence of the saying.
Unfortunately,
everything I thought I’d overcome was about to rear its ugly head. He refused to stay in the past where he
belonged. He was determined to
conquer me and keep me for himself—to control me, alienate me from my loved
ones, and force me to submit to his will. His latest attack was going to prove
his most lethal, and he was going to teach me that, even though he hadn't
destroyed me in the past, he had absolutely defined me.
LAINEY
Grabbing my phone to
text Mik that I’m home, I find thirteen missed calls from him and four messages
telling me to wait at the office until he gets there. Just my luck. I forgot to turn my ringer back on. He’s not going to
be happy about my lack of communication. I’m going to hear all about it when he
gets home.
In my defence, I
switched my phone to vibrate to minimise interruptions during my back-to-back
meetings this afternoon. Namely his interruptions, since my headstrong man
doesn’t respect the rules of traditional workplaces. He calls and texts
multiple times a day, even when I’ve told him I’ll be too busy to talk.
The thought of the
overreaction I’m going to face when he gets home brings a cheeky grin to my
face. The phrase “Control Freak” was coined to describe my fiancé. I can hear
his low, gruff voice already, lecturing me for not waiting for him and not
returning his calls; for putting my phone on vibrate in the first place. Then
I’ll be lectured for leaving work without an escort, and for taking what he
deems “unnecessary risks” with my safety.
I completely
understand where his protectiveness comes from, although it does grate at my
need for independence at times. Because I understand Mik’s need for strict
safety precautions—having barely survived what happened when I was eighteen—I
don’t often step outside his carefully constructed lines on purpose. Not
listening this time is purely due to forgetfulness and exhaustion. It’s
unfortunate, but it’ll end up being worth it since every lecture he gives me
ends with us tangled around each other in bed. My stomach tightens with
delighted anticipation of how this evening is going to end.
Buzzz.
Buzzz.
I'm jolted from my
thoughts by my flashing and vibrating phone. I decline the call in favour of
sending a text, not wanting to deal with the beginning of his tirade over the
phone. Mik is much more receptive to my feminine manipulations in person.
ME: Already home. Just saw your messages. Sorry xx
A reply flashes on my
screen less than a minute later.
MIK: OMW.
His abruptness leads
me to think that he’s texting me as he rides his Harley. I can picture him
weaving in and out of traffic in his rush to get to me. Shaking my head at the
dangerous habit I’ve been unable to get him to break, I pull my keys from the ignition.
The chronic worrier always returns my texts and calls straight-away. He’ll
always drop whatever he’s doing to be with me, should he feel the slightest
inclination that I might need him. Gratitude fills me that, four years after he
saved me, he’s still as protective as ever.
It’s unusual not to
have Mik, or one of the enforcers, pulling into my driveway right behind me. I
normally have an escort to and from work each day and I wonder what was so
important that none of them were able to be here with me.
Summoning the energy
to get out of my car, I pull my oversized work bag out behind me and wander to
the mailbox. Pulling out the envelopes and flipping through them, I find that
all but one is addressed to Mikhail Kennedy—as always, his detested given name
makes me laugh. One single piece of mail isn't addressed to either of us. The
plain white envelope is unsealed. Tipping the contents into my palm unearths a
USB with Lainey scrawled on it in black lettering. As I'm contemplating it with
growing unease, a white work van pulls across my driveway.
“Hey, miss, are you
ready for us?” The big man in the passenger seat yells at me, leaning out the
window.
“What do you mean?” I
reply, walking toward the van, my thin heels clicking on our concrete driveway.
I slip the USB and Mik’s mail into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. A
sliver of foreboding runs through my mind, manifesting as an icy shiver that
flows through my body. I carefully edge my right hand into my bag and wrap my
fingers around the butt of my handgun. My
illegal, unlicenced handgun.
Stopping a few metres
from the van and cocking an eyebrow, I wait for a response to my question.
Almost unconsciously, my thumb begins to play with my engagement ring, a
nervous habit I've developed since Mik slid the ring on my finger just over a
year ago.
The man in the
driver’s seat starts speaking, but I can’t hear him. He’s gesturing toward a
piece of paper in his hand. Considering signage for a plumbing business
decorates the side of the van, I decide they must have the wrong address.
Giving myself a mental shake for being suspicious of nothing, I pull my hand
from my bag and walk to the passenger window.
“I didn’t book a
plumber.”
“We know.” the driver
sneers, a sinister smirk crossing his face.
My heart lurches at
his tone, chills running down my spine, and I turn to run. Two steps are all I
manage before the van’s side door bursts open and two men leap out, each
latching onto my arms, and dragging me kicking and screaming into the van. They
slam the door shut as the van drives off at high speed, wheels squealing.
Screaming at the top
of my lungs, I fight for my freedom with all I have. I manage to kick one of my
attackers in the face before I feel a sharp pinch in my arm. Twisting around, I
see an empty syringe sticking out of my bicep. That can't be good. My head grows fuzzy and my eyesight starts to
dim. In the developing drug-induced darkness, I vaguely hear a man whining.
“Fucking bitch made my
nose bleed. Fuck.”
Turning to search for
the source of the comment, I’m hit in the temple with sickening force, and left
with no choice but to embrace the beckoning darkness.
*
Blinking slowly
because the light hurts my eyes, I lift my head to see if I can determine where
I am. I vaguely remember being carried out of the van, and then being thrown
onto a bed before I lost consciousness again. It didn't feel as if I was out
for long in the van, so I hope I’m close to home. Feeling slightly better at
that thought, I try to make sense of my situation. Everything is muddled in my
head from whatever I was injected with.
Forcing myself to keep
my eyes open despite the pain shooting through my temple, I discover that I’m
in a large bedroom. A man’s bedroom, by the look of the dark bedding I’m lying
on. Male clothes lay over the foot of the bed, and the smell of cologne lingers
in the air. The cologne smells familiar to my addled brain, causing my stomach
to churn.
My strange reaction to
the scent disturbs me, but before I can examine why, the bedroom door opens and
in strides a large, muscular man with a shaved head and black tribal tattoos
covering his arms. He glares at me, hatred shining from his hard eyes.
Gathering as much energy as I can muster, I glare back. I can tell he’s the
piece of work I kicked in the face, the dried blood on the front of his shirt
and bruising setting in under his eyes giving that fact away. I make a point of
grinning at him, lifting my eyebrows in amusement as I slowly drag my gaze over
his face and blatantly examine the damage I inflicted.
“I see you’ve finally
finished with your beauty sleep,” he snaps, advancing on me. “You looked pretty
fuckable lying there moaning away like a bitch in heat—”
“You touch me and I'll
have you killed,” I cut him off. I'm not bluffing. I know plenty of people who
can dispose of anyone I ask them to. “Where am I? What the hell do you want
with me?”
Lashing out at him
with my legs, I land a good kick to his stomach. He grunts, but doesn’t slow
his stride toward me. Ignoring my shouted questions, he slaps my legs down.
Grabbing me by the arm, he hauls me off the bed, shaking me when I continue to
struggle. My feet barely touch the ground as he towers over my five foot eleven
frame, even with the added height of my heels.
This guy is massive,
and regret fills me when he glowers down at me in rage. It’s going to hurt if
he decides to turn violent. Silently, he drags me out of the room, down an
expensively decorated hallway, and into an open plan living area.
“Is he here yet?” he
barks to the other three men in the room.
They’re all equally as
big and scary looking as the guy holding me. I didn't get a good look at the
time, but I’m pretty sure they’re the other guys from the van. “She’s really
starting to piss me off.”
“He’ll be here in ten.
We've got plenty of time to teach her a quick lesson, Duke,” the black-haired
guy sitting by himself at the breakfast bar announces to the bastard holding
me. His gaze travels from the top of my long blonde hair and down my face,
coming to rest on my chest, which is heaving from the exertion of trying to
keep on my feet during my trip from the bedroom.
“Good idea.” Duke
sneers down at me, his intent written all over his face. His grip on my arms
tightens. My stomach drops and my adrenaline spikes. Backing me up against the
closest wall, he rips open my satin dress shirt, exposing my blue lace bra. I
instinctively struggle, albeit sluggishly because my head is still foggy, but
he pins my hands above my head by holding both my wrists in one of his big
paws. Groping my covered breasts without finesse, he squeezes and pinches. I’m
about to knee him when one of the men sitting on the couch jumps up and pulls
Duke off of me.
“If you value your
fucked-up life, you won’t touch her. We’re here to snatch and deliver, not for
fun,” the man states.
Duke lets go of me as
he’s yanked backward by the man speaking. Once I have enough space, I rear back
and punch him in the face before kneeing him in the balls. My ample
self-defence skills are rising to the surface, the residual fog from the
sedative they injected into me clearing somewhat. My attack on his family
jewels makes him drop to one knee. His attempts to rise to his full height are
hampered by the guy holding him. Even so, he still manages to backhand me
across the face, my head jerking to the side from the impact. Pain shoots
through my cheek and lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. My face
throbs, but I ignore it, choosing to make a run for the front door. Thank God,
I'm able to run in heels, my movements sure and balanced, despite the lasting
effects of whatever the hell they drugged me with earlier.
Finally shaking off
the guy who pulled him off me, Duke, grabs me around the waist, successfully
foiling my escape. When he pulls me back against him, I throw my head back and
strike him in the chin. He bellows, but doesn’t loosen his hold on me.
In the chaos, the
other men rise to their feet and pull their guns. I vaguely register the
weapons as they’re trained on me, concentrating instead on my struggle with
Duke. I land a couple of good punches to his face and another knee to his
groin. He hits me. The blows are hard enough to enough to stun, even as I use
every ounce of my defensive fight training to avoid them. I’m left reeling when
I mistime my ducking and weaving. It glances off my temple, and I feel my legs
turn to jelly, seconds before an unexpected, booming shout from one of the
other men fills the room. Duke uses my wavering concentration to his advantage,
seizing me from behind and pulling me to his chest. Using his arms to pin mine
to my sides, he slides a clammy hand into my bra and kneads my breast.
“Stop fucking touching
her,” the guy, who pulled Duke off me initially orders him once more. His
serious, almost professional expression matches the take-no-prisoner’s persona
he presents with his crew cut, cargo pants, and khaki T-shirt. He looks like a
mercenary. Pushing Duke away from me and grabbing me by the top of my arm, he
squeezes tight when I resist.
“Duke, fuck off over
there and stay the fuck away from her. I won’t tell you again.” He points at
the couch. Duke stares at me, intense loathing in his eyes, before he limps off
and collapses on the lounge. “Cain, take her back to the bedroom and watch her.”
He shouts this at the
smart mouth from the breakfast bar before he turns his back to huddle with the
man he was sitting next to when we entered. Cain salutes the order, winking at
me like we're about to share a private joke. I shudder under his lust-filled
perusal.
“No problem, Stu.” The
mercenary-looking man now has a name. I mentally catalogue all of them. It’ll
come in handy later, I’m certain.
The two who’ve huddled
are talking in hushed tones, ignoring the rest of us. They appear to be the
leaders of this group, so I assume this house belongs to one of them. My first
thought when I look at them is that they have military backgrounds, their
upright bearing and haircuts a good indication. Either military or MC. They
wouldn’t look out of place in a cut either.
My lingering confusion is bugging me. I can’t work out why they’ve abducted
me and who this guy is that they're waiting to arrive. The only thing I know
for sure—if this has something to do with my Dad’s MC—he’s going to go apeshit
on their asses. It’s a cardinal rule that
women and children are not involved in Club conflicts.
Cain saunters over and
grabs me by my sore arm, dragging me away from a glowering Duke. I return
Duke’s glare through narrowed eyes as I'm pulled passed him and down the hall,
sending a prayer to the universe that his balls hurt for at least a week. We’re
nearly at the end of the hallway and out of sight of the living area when Cain
slaps his hand over my mouth, pushing me against the wall. My head hits the
drywall with a sickening thud, and he presses his leg between my thighs. I
scream, minimal sound escaping around his hand.
He licks the side of
my face as we wrestle for control of my arms. Overpowering me after a short
scuffle, he grabs my wrists and secures them above my head with one of his
hands. I try to bring my hands back down so that I can defend myself, but
Cain’s too strong. Using the leg he has wedged between my thighs, he lifts me
up the wall, and spreads my legs with his hips. He moves between them and
presses his denim-clad erection against me. My skirt rides up, exposing my
lace-covered core. Feeling his hardness against me through my thin panties, I
attempt to squirm away. I can’t stand the feeling of him pressed against me, so
I kick him in the back of his thighs with my heels. He doesn’t budge.
“Stop fighting me,
bitch. I don’t give a fuck what Stu says. You’re too hot to hand over without
tasting,” he tells me, his mouth to my ear.
Ignoring him, I yell
against his hand because I know he isn’t supposed to touch me. It achieves
nothing, the sound too muffled to carry down the long hallway. He releases my
mouth only to punch me hard in the face for disobeying. My head bounces off the
wall again, shooting stars bursting through my vision. Fear that I’m going to
pass out from the impact overcomes me as he roughly grabs my breasts and grinds
himself against me. The world dims. Cain breathes heavily in excitement. He
tastes of stale coffee as he forces his tongue into my mouth. I cringe at his
invasion, despair winding its way through me like a snake that’s squeezing my
internal organs.
When his hold on my
hands loosens as his groping gains enthusiasm, I wrench them from his
slackening grip and lash out at him. My wild swing misses because Cain is
pulled off me and thrown to the floor. I hit the ground with a thump from the
unexpected loss of his weight holding me against the wall.
I watch in a daze as a
large man with dark brown hair pounds on Cain. Hope rises within me, dulling
the panic that’s been threatening to choke me since I woke in this strange
house, as I realise that I might about to be rescued. It dies seconds later
when nobody comes to investigate the growing commotion.
Wriggling my skirt
back down my hips, I sag to the floor, clasping the pieces of my top together.
My mind races, matched in intensity by the trembling that’s overcome my body.
Blood runs down my chin from Cain’s hit, my lip throbbing in time with my
frenetic pulse. There’s nowhere for me to run because they’re blocking the
hallway, and this scares me almost as much as Cain’s attack.
Abruptly, the man
stops beating Cain. Without acknowledging me, he lifts my attacker by his shirt
and drags him down the hallway. A shard of fear pierces my chest as I watch him
pull Cain’s prone body away with minimal effort.
“Get this piece of
scum out of my house. The rest of you can go as well. This part of the job is
done. Stu will be in touch to organise the next phase.” His commanding voice
sends chills through me—he’s the other guy they were waiting for. The puppet
master behind my abduction. “Find someone to replace him. If I see him again,
I'll kill him for touching her. She's
mine.”
Crouched on all fours,
I crawl to the end of the hallway and peek around the corner. Cain’s lying on
the floor near the front door, still unconscious, while the others stand near
the breakfast bar with their backs to me. They’re watching the newcomer ransack
my handbag. Even from behind, he seems familiar. Ominously familiar. I’m still trying to place him when he leaves the
room and my range of sight.
My handbag’s presence
means my handgun and my phone are here somewhere. The first burst of real hope
I've had since I regained consciousness explodes within me. If I can’t get away
right now, I might be able to get to my phone to call Mik, or get to my gun to
protect myself.
Duke and the blond
guy—whose name I haven't learned—turn away from the breakfast bar, nodding to
Stu in farewell. They pick up Cain, taking one arm each before they drag him
through the front door, closing it behind them without saying another word. My
heart leaps when I don’t hear the telltale click of a lock when it engages.
Glancing around for
the remaining men, hope grows when I don’t see any of them. The buzz of a phone
vibrating on silent breaks the silence in the house. My heart jumps into my
throat when I spot my phone lying on the kitchen bench. I’d bet everything I
own that Mik’s calling me nonstop to see where I am. My man would be home by
now, and losing his mind since I’m not there when I told him I was.
Lord, I’d give
anything to go back in time and wait at the office for him like he asked.
My addled mind is
finding it hard to wrap itself around what’s happening. I take a few steadying,
deep breaths, exhaling slowly through my nose to calm myself.
Peeking again, I see
that they’re still gone. It’s now or
never to make my run for the front door.
I button my shirt up
as well as I can and slip my heels off so I don’t slow myself. My favourite
pair of Manolo Blahnik’s are about to be sacrificed for my escape, and my
father will be replacing them.
Edging around the
corner of the hallway, I spare one last glance in their direction before rising
from my crouched position and running as fast as I can to the front door. I
make it without detection, twisting the handle of the door with urgency. My
shaking hands make a mess of it, impeding my escape.
“What the hell?” a
deep voice exclaims, and someone rushes toward me.
Turning the handle
with increasing desperation, I squeal with delight when the door finally flies
open. My first step toward freedom is thwarted when I’m grabbed around the
waist and slung over a large shoulder. My breath leaves me in a rush from the
impact.
A large hand swats my
ass with a stinging slap, causing me to gasp in shock and pain. The sudden
intake of breath forces the cologne from the bedroom to flood my senses. My
sedative affected mind finally remembers why the smell made me feel nauseous. Terror
rising within me, I struggle in earnest, kicking my legs and punching my captor
in the back with all of my strength.
“Now, now, Lainey.
Calm down, darling girl. You don’t want to end up hurting yourself, do you?”
His deep, velvety smooth voice mocks me.
Realisation dawning,
it sinks in that my abduction has nothing to do with the MC, and everything to
do with me and the stupid choice I made when I was eighteen.
No. This can't be happening.
My body shakes
uncontrollably. Feeling light-headed, I’m afraid I’m going to faint. My mind
races without aim, refusing to accept the truth in front of me.
Brendan’s my worst
nightmare. I’ve spent the last four years putting myself back together after
escaping this man, and just as I start feeling safe in the life Mik and I have
been building, he turns up to wreck it all.
“Put me down, Brendan.
Please,” I plead in a shaky voice, scrambling to find some much-needed
composure. “You’re not supposed to be anywhere near me, you know that. If you
let me walk out of here now, I won’t tell the police and your parole will be
safe.”
He chuckles at my
request, and slowly lowers me down his body, thrusting his hard bulge against
me when our pelvic areas meet. My feet have barely reached the ground before
I’m backing away from him.
It’s fruitless. He
won’t let me go. Grasping the tops of my arms, he pulls me onto his lap as he
sits down on the brown leather settee. All fight leaves my body at his touch,
my anxious shaking increasing.
Hearing the door locks
engage and buttons being pressed on a keypad, I realise that my pleas to leave
are going to fall on deaf ears. I’m stuck for now—not only because of the
locked door and security system—but because this man scares me to death. I know
if I mess up my escape again, he’ll make me pay in a painful and humiliating
way.
“I’ll leave you two
lovebirds to your reunion,” Stu says, chuckling as he walks past us and out of
sight. I stare, almost with longing after him, willing him to come back and
take me with him.
He’s the lesser of the two evils facing me.
Brendan gently grasps
my chin, tilting my head until I’m forced to look at him. He looks exactly the
same. His eyes are a warm chocolate brown, his skin lightly tanned, and his
lips rosy pink and kissable. The dark chocolate brown hair that sets off his
traditionally handsome features is still full, luscious, and wavy. Jail hasn’t
taken any discernible toll on his looks, which annoys me, because I’m certain
that Mik arranged for some of the MC’s boys on the inside to visit him a few
times. The evil soul that lurks behind his angelically handsome face is still
safely hidden from the world.
“Lainey, what’s
today’s date?” he asks, purring the words at me with sadistic pleasure.
The voice that was
once one of the most pleasant sounds in the world to me now sends slivers of
icy fear down my spine. In a rush I realise the date, and tears of anger and
frustration leak from my eyes. I’m angry at myself for dropping my guard. I
understand now why Mik didn’t want me to go to work today.
Today is Brendan’s
first day off of parole for raping and almost beating me to death just over
four years ago. He was sentenced to two years in jail for my assault, with a
non-parole period of eighteen months. He’s been out of jail for six months and
had left me alone until now, so I’d become complacent in watching my back even
if Mik hadn’t. It’s apparent now that Brendan was waiting to be free and clear
of the law before he forced our reunion.
“Shhhh, sweetheart.
I'm not here to hurt you,” he soothes, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.
I jerk away from him,
his touch making me feel dirty, but he curls his fingers around the tops of my
arms and pulls me to his chest. Anger coils within me as I take stock of the
fact that the only reason he’s sitting here tormenting me now is because I only
had him charged with assaulting me on one occasion. I never told the
authorities—or my family—about his repeated beatings and rapes, or his
blackmail. They believe we had a one-off physical fight and that he threatened
my family because I was leaving him.
That was bad enough.
There are only three
other people who know the full truth of what he did to me, and that’s how I
want to keep it. Mik was always adamant that I should’ve made him pay for
everything, but I couldn't face the embarrassment and pity that telling the
truth would bring. I also couldn't throw Benji under the bus. My reasons seem
petty at this moment as I sit unwilling and scared on his lap, wishing that I’d
told everyone every horrible detail.
“It’s so good to be
able to touch you again, Lainey,” Brendan whispers against my cheek. “I’ve
missed touching you more than you could believe. Watching you since I left that
hellhole has been torture, especially knowing I had to wait until today to
claim you as mine again.”
I gasp at his
statement, pulling as far away from him as he’ll let me.
“How have you been
watching me? Mik has precautions set up. You haven’t been anywhere near the
city or we would’ve known.” The second Mik’s name falls from my lips, I know
I’ve made a big mistake. He has a long history of irrational jealousy toward my
fiancé.
Brendan’s face changes
from loving to irate in a split second. Letting go of my arms, he stands with
calculated abruptness. I topple backward off his lap and onto the carpeted
floor. He unleashes his anger, slapping me across the face twice, and worsening
the damage Cain has already caused to my face.
As I cower, waiting
for another slap, he pulls me to my feet by the front of my shirt. I'm barely
upright when he grabs my hand and tugs me behind him, through the modern
kitchen and into a formal living area. I want to pull my hand from his, but
it’s the only thing keeping me upright as he strides in front of me.
There’s a huge
telescope pointing toward large bay windows. A room like this should be filled
with expensive chaises, televisions, and coffee tables. Instead, it has three
desks, numerous filing cabinets, and a large open gun safe lining the
perimeter. The walls have paperwork and photos pinned all over them. A quick
glance tells me that I’m the subject of most of the photos.
Brendan shoves me into
the chair behind the telescope.
“Have a look,” he
grunts. “I have been watching you, making sure that dirty biker doesn’t touch
you. I was always coming back for you. You’re
mine. You always will be, as much as you try to fight it.”
Brendan grabs me by
the back of my neck and forces my face toward the eyepiece.
Resistance is futile.
I learned this years ago, so I let him position my head where he wants it.
“Given your slutty
tendencies, I’m not surprised you ran to him the second I was gone. You will be
making up for that and every other damn thing you’ve done to me very soon,” he
tells me, certainty colouring his tone.
Attempting to tune out
his threats, I peer into the telescope and pray that I'm not about to see what
I fear he wants to show me. No such luck since, just as I feared, the house I
share with Mik stares back at me.
There’s a large nature
reserve between this house and mine containing a playground, bike track, and
public amenities. I can see my car in the driveway with Mik’s Harley parked
next to it. Mik is pacing on the front deck, running his hand through his hair
in jerky, agitated movements. His phone to his ear, I can make out his mouth
moving as he speaks.
Dragging my eyes from
my stressed fiancé, I take in the whole view. I can see straight through the
open curtains into my living room. Brendan has been able to see into my home
for God knows how long.
The one place I’ve
felt safe for the last four years hasn’t been the sanctuary I thought it was.
As usual, Brendan’s managed to make my feelings of safety and freedom nothing
but a pretty illusion. I didn’t think my heart could sink any further than it
already has in this situation, but this revelation completely knocks the wind
out of my sails.
Brendan laughs at my
appalled expression, his eyes filling with enjoyment when he sees the situation
become clear to me. Even though I know rationally that it's the wrong move, I
can't stop myself from losing my temper. Rising to my feet, I swing on my heel
to face him.
“What is wrong with
you?” I question, pushing him as hard as I can in the chest with both hands. He
staggers backward a couple of steps in surprise at my attack. “Why won't you
just leave me alone? You need to go away. You’re completely crazy. I’m not
yours, and I never will be. I hate you!”
I swing at him,
hitting him in the chest and the stomach as I unleash my fears and
frustrations. Pulling my right arm back, I punch him as hard as I can in the
mouth. Blood bursts from the corner upon impact. I shake my fist out, and swing
again.
Five years of fear,
anger, and hurt are finally finding the correct outlet.
I’m out of control,
and ready to kill him with my bare hands.
I want to hit him,
choke him, and humiliate him.
I want him to feel everything he made me feel.
Brendan ducks my
follow-up punch and grasps me by the throat, subduing me with little effort. He
forces me backward on my tiptoes until my back hits the wall. Then he lifts me
until my feet are no longer touching the ground. A sick sense of déjà vu
engulfs me as my consciousness recognises the position I’m in.
I scratch at the hand
he has around my neck with both of mine; two of my fingernails snap as I try to
pull free. Kicking at him with my legs, I attempt to head butt him. I’m
fighting for breath, black spots floating through my vision, but I don’t give
up. Even lost in my anger, the only thought in my head is that I’m not going to
let him hurt me without a fight this time.
He licks the blood
from his split lip, before leaning down, and whispering in my ear, “I’ll let
you hit me once without punishment, Lainey, because I know I hurt you in the
past. Just this once, though. Every time you step out of line from now on, I’m
going to punish you or one of your family.”
He licks the shell of
my ear before he continues with calm menace. “Is Lachie still catching the bus
to practice by himself?”
Shocked, my body falls
still at his mention of my youngest brother. Brendan must be watching all of my
family—not just me—to know that my fifteen-year-old brother is living in
Brisbane now and catches the bus to football practice. My entire beautiful,
crazy family moved down here after he hurt me for the final time.
I refused to move
home, not only due to the terrifying memories they knew nothing about, but
because I was determined Brendan wasn’t going to derail my plans for my future
entirely.
My mind quickly
dismisses his words, and I calm myself. He doesn’t realise that one of the
Club’s enforcers escorts Lachie everywhere for this exact reason. Everyone was
worried Brendan would try to use my family against me when he was freed from
jail, so Mik has used the MC to put multiple layers of safety precautions in
place. Lachie doesn’t know he’s being protected because of me. He’s just been
told “Club business”, which is our dad’s go-to excuse when he doesn’t want to
explain something.
Brendan squeezes his
hand tighter around my neck and continues to torment me with his words.
“Do you understand
what I’m saying, Lainey? You're mine, and you're going to stay with me this time. The people you love are
going to get hurt, one by one, every
time you try to leave me.” He leans down and stares at me with feral, glazed
eyes. “Now nod if you get what I’m telling you. I’ll let you go when you show
that you understand me.”
I stay still, fixing
unblinking eyes on his, ignoring his demand. The strong, defiant, and wilful
parts of my personality that Mik’s spent the last four years helping me put
back together won’t let me bow down to this monster again. He can threaten my
brothers as much as he wants because I know that they’re safe this time.
There’s nothing he can do. Mik’s going to put this madman in the ground for
daring to touch me again. I can feel it in my soul that my wild and unyielding
fiancé is going to rescue me.
I continue staring at
Brendan. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of making me nod.
He regards me
steadily, a smile curling his lips when I continue refusing to give him the
reaction he seeks.
“This is what I love
about you, Lainey. You challenge me like no one else.”
Nuzzling my ear, his
free hand closes around my breast. Vomit rises in my throat.
He knows exactly how to get to me.
Brendan lets go of my
breast. He rips the last of the buttons off my shirt with his free hand. It
falls open, exposing my bra. Touching me again, the asshole tweaks my nipple
until it goes hard, then he pinches it until I whimper.
“Nod if you understand
me, darling,” His voice is tender, loving. A contradiction to his nasty touch.
I shake my head, not
only at his request, but also to clear the pain. Killing me isn’t going to give
him what he wants. I know that I just need to wait him out. I can take any pain
he throws at me. I proved that last time.
Licking the inside of
my ear, he sinks his teeth into my lobe with enough force to cause maximum pain
without breaking the skin. I can't help myself as I scream as much as my
closed-up throat will allow me.
“Nod if you
understand.” He repeats after removing his teeth from my earlobe.
As the pain recedes, I
regain my will to fight. I pull against the hand around my throat, stomping on
his foot with as much force as I can manage. He barely acknowledges my attack,
except to slam me back against the wall when I try to knee him in the groin. My
bare foot has little effect against his boot.
His body is shaking
with rage. He slams me against the wall twice more, not with his full strength,
but enough to hurt and make me rethink my bravado.
Maybe I should nod, just to get him to let me
go.
Black spots dance
across my eyesight when he squeezes my throat once more and shoves me against
the wall for the fourth time. My head bounces off the wall. Brendan pushes up
my skirt, wedging his thigh between mine. I squirm, trying to keep my legs
shut, but he’s incessant, and manages to get his thigh not only between my legs
but against my panties. I hoarsely scream at him to stop, head-butting him as
hard as I can when he doesn’t.
All I achieve is
hurting my own head because he doesn’t stop.
Not even for a second.
When I head-butt him
again, he slaps me across the face. As I fall still from the impact, his hand
slides to the apex of my thighs. Using the considerable weight of his body to
pin me against the wall, he finally releases my throat. I draw much-needed
gasps of air, hoping this is over.
Instead of letting me
go as I'd expected, he rips my panties off of my body with one harsh tug, and
throws them on the floor behind him. My constant struggling achieves nothing as
Brendan pins me with apparent ease against the wall. He strokes between my legs
with surprising softness, rubbing his hand back and forth, from my clit to my
ass. Continuing his circuit as my entire body shudders in disgust, my mind
trying to shut down to block out his vile touch. He grins at my reaction.
I thought I could defy
him, but I can’t go through this particular form of torture again.
I mentally admit
defeat, my head sagging against him. I mouth against his shoulder that I get
him, furiously nodding my head as tears stream down my face. He leans away from
me and smiles down at me, gloating. He knows he’s broken me and won this round.
“Too little, too late,
my darling,” he admonishes, using two fingers to penetrate me with clinical
precision. I scream in pain, fighting to get away as he pumps his fingers into
me again.
MAKING
CHOICES, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #2
PROLOGUE
“In the end, we only
regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have,
and the decisions we waited too long to make.” ~Lewis Carroll~
Everything in life comes down to choices. Big
choices, little choices, choices that seem insignificant at the time yet end up
having a significant impact on our life, and choices that we know are going to
change things for us in the biggest way.
Smart people—educated, well-raised people—like
me make choices with rationality. We make choices by weighing up the pros and
cons, by analyzing every potential outcome, and by removing emotion and fear
from the equation.
Is love a choice?
Can you make a choice whether or not to love
someone? Or is it a decision that’s taken out of our hands by a combination of
hormonal fluctuations and our addiction to them, emotion-led instinct, and a micro-moment
of positive resonance that transcends all logic and common sense?
I was certain that as a logical, educated, and
composed woman, I would eventually love the person who was the best fit for my
career aspirations. The person who would complement my vision for my life. The
person who would meet my parent’s exacting expectations.
As a logical, educated, and composed person, I
didn’t believe that I would ever regret my choices. If I was honest, I thought
I was too smart to end up with significant regrets.
How wrong was I.
CHAPTER ONE
LUCAS
“I knew it!” A small, angry voice interrupts me as I’m watching Maddi walk down the hallway to her bedroom and the—potentially unwanted—surprise that awaits her.
“I knew it!” A small, angry voice interrupts me as I’m watching Maddi walk down the hallway to her bedroom and the—potentially unwanted—surprise that awaits her.
Swinging from my spot on the couch to face the
French doors that lead to the alfresco area, I’m greeted by an irate JJ. She’s
staring at me with her hands on her tiny hips, her ruby-red lips pressed
together tight. The fury that emanates from her makes her dark-red hair appear
more intense than usual, her ire helping her appear taller than her just over
five feet.
“You know what?” My heart’s thudding in my
chest. Fuck. I hope she doesn’t say what I think she’s going to say.
I don’t want to deal with this tonight—or any bloody night.
Clenching her hands into fists when I rise
from the couch and walk toward her, she spits her answer at me through gritted
teeth. “That you’re in love with Maddi, Lucas. I’ve been watching you with her
for months. Ever since she moved in with you when Mad Dog dumped her perfect
ass, you’ve pined after her like a bloody, love-sick fool hoping she’ll give
you her attention.”
“You know nothing. It’s not like that.”
I want to defend myself further, but I can’t.
I’m not guilty of everything she’s
assuming, but I am guilty. What JJ doesn’t
understand is her place in the convoluted mess of my fucking emotions.
“Why do you care anyway? We’ve been playing
this cat-and-mouse game that you love so fucking much for the last six months.
Didn’t you tell me we were finished last night?”
Shuffling on the spot, she drops her gaze from
my eyes and studies the cream tiles on the kitchen floor as if they hold the
answer to my questions.
“I came over to apologise. I didn’t expect to
find you with Maddi on your lap. And
I didn’t expect to hear you tell her that you’d love a shot with her. Damn,
Lucas, she called you my dirty little secret. Is that how you feel?”
“It is. You fucking know it is.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve told you why…”
“Yeah, thanks for the warning. You’re a true
friend!” My best female friend’s pissed-off voice interrupts JJ’s attempted
justifications when she yells from her room. I hold up one finger to silence
the seething woman in front of me and yell in response, “Anytime, Princess!”
Even in the face of JJ’s anger, I can’t help the
booming laughter that rumbles from my chest. She’s obviously found Mad Dog
waiting in her bedroom, ready to ambush her and finally talk her into taking
him back. As much as I wish otherwise, she’s made for him, and he’s perfect for
her. They just needed someone to give them a push to sort out their shit once
and for all—a push I’m happy to provide.
Maybe happy is the wrong word.
It’s more like a push I feel obliged to
provide.
“What the hell is that about?” JJ asks in a
frosty tone once my laughter dies down.
“That was about the surprise waiting for her
in her room.”
Raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me,
she sneers. “The surprise being Mad Dog?”
“Yep.”
Turning my back to her, I walk to the fridge
and pull out a beer. Cracking the top, I drink half of it down in one go. I’m
confused as fuck. I don’t know how I feel about this whole situation. I’m happy
that Maddi hasn’t sent him packing yet, but the part that will always wonder if
we would’ve stood a chance won’t shut up.
How I feel about JJ isn’t helping matters, and
neither are her bloody hang-ups.
“You’re a piece of work, you know? A real
fucked-up individual.”
Straightening my shoulders, I face her.
“Jesus, tell me how you really feel, Doll. You’re fucking awesome at telling me
how I’m wrong about everything, so let’s lay it all out. Let’s sort this shit
out once and for all.”
As she stands there swallowing hard in the
face of my ferocity, I continue. “You don’t get to barge into my house after you threw my feelings for you in my fucking face last night and then cuss
me out for looking out for my best
friends. Whatever it is you think is going on here, you’re fucking wrong. All
I’ve done is put everyone else’s happiness in front of mine, and I’m fucking
over it. Princess and Mad Dog will sort their shit out, so how about you sort
yours out. You gonna tell Daddy about us, or are we over and fucking done for
good? Those are the options here. All or
nothing.”
As I come to the crux of our problems, JJ
bites her bottom lip so hard that I’m worried she’s going to draw blood. She
can throw all the shit she wants at me about my feelings for Maddi, but I’ve
done fuck all wrong. I’ve chased this woman for six months—breaking every
fucking one of my rules along the way. I’ve kept quiet about us, even going as
far as pretending that we aren’t fucking six ways to Sunday when we’re in front
of anyone she knows.
Fuck, I’ve even hidden in her bedroom when her
parents have turned up at her place unexpectedly. In return, I’ve introduced
her to my Club, and they’ve all taken her into our family. She’s even been to
my parents’ for our monthly Sunday roast lunch.
A place I’ve only ever taken one other woman.
All I asked last night was that she finally
acknowledge we’re more than a fucking fling. That went down well, resulting in
a temper tantrum about me pushing her too fucking fast. Instead of listening to
what I had to say like a bloody adult, she told me it was too hard and that we
couldn’t see each other anymore.
Then she stormed off.
I’d decided then and there that I wasn’t
chasing her anymore, so I’d left her alone today and was planning to do so from
now on. There are only so many times I’m willing to bang my head against a
brick wall before I give up. Throughout the day, I’d slowly wrapped my head
around the end of whatever the fuck it was that we had, only to have her come
here tonight to fuck with my head again, jumping to conclusions that weren’t
hers to make anymore.
Finishing my beer, I throw the empty bottle in
the recycle bin before verbally prodding her again. “You gonna stand there all
night chewing on that luscious lip of yours? Or am I gonna get a straight
answer?”
Sighing, she removes her teeth from her lip.
“I need to think, Lucas. I came here to apologise, even though nothing’s really
changed. You want serious, and I can’t give you that…yet.”
“Bullshit. You can, but you won’t. Too scared
of what everyone else thinks—that’s what you are.”
Approaching me as if I’m a wild animal she’s
unsure of, JJ lifts herself up onto her tiptoes, and grabs me by the front of
my shirt. She tugs hard, and after a moment’s hesitation, I lean down to her.
“I need time.” She breathes her words over my face before she touches her lips
to mine. It takes every ounce of control I have not to pick her up, push her
against the wall, and kiss her back before planting myself inside of her warm
body.
Instead of giving in to my growing need, I
pull back from her mouth. “Six months is plenty of time.”
Her pretty, hope-filled face shuts down, and
the professional mask she wears at work drops into place. Awesome. Here comes cold, calculating JJ.
“No, it’s not. I’ve told you it’s not. I need
more time.”
Shaking my head at her, I gently push her away
from me, and toward the French doors that she entered through. She doesn’t even
attempt to struggle to stay with me, heightening my doubts of the success of
what I’m about to offer.
“One week, Doll. That’s it.” This ultimatum is
going to bite me in the ass—I can feel it—but I need to do this. I’ve been
burned before. Actually, I was more than burned—I was fucking incinerated.
I need upfront promises before I go down this
road with another woman with daddy issues.
“You’ve got one week. I’ll leave you alone for
one week. So go home now, JJ, and think about how it felt when we met. Think
about how good we are together. Think
about how you feel when we’re apart. And when your week’s up, I’ll come find
you. Then you can tell me if those feelings outweigh your Daddy being upset
with you.” When I emphasise the word “Daddy” she winces. It’s a low blow, but
she’s supposed to be a grown woman. I need to know if she’ll ever be all in
with me.
“All right, Lucas. I will. But you need to do
one thing for me during this week.”
Fuck knows what else she wants from me. I’ve
done everything she’s asked of me, even when it’s chafed against my need to be
straightforward.
“Anything, Doll.”
Walking to the French doors, she pauses with
her hand on the door handle. “I want you to figure out if I’m more important to
you than Maddi. If I have to deal with the fall-out from my family for you,
then I refuse to play second fiddle to her.”
JJ doesn’t wait for my answer. She simply
walks out the door, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
Fuck.
SEEKING
REDMEPTION, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #3
PROLOGUE
“The day misspent,
the love misplaced, has inside it the seed of redemption. Nothing is exempt
from resurrection.”
~Kay Ryan~
There comes a time when you have to admit
defeat, when the only thing left to do is throw your hands in the air, and say
“That’s it! I’m done.”
You realize that you’ve reached that point,
when no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that your life is going to get
better, you know deep down that you’ll need a miracle for things to improve.
And since I don’t believe in miracles anymore; I know I’m fucked. Right now,
it’s just a matter of when, not if.
In my former life as the pin-up girl for
wholesomeness, I couldn’t have imagined that I’d ever reach this point. I was
the girl with the nice house, the worthwhile career, the supportive parents,
and the hot bad-boy biker boyfriend who was really a teddy bear underneath it
all. I volunteered. I played competitive hockey. I helped old people carry
their groceries to their car.
I can pin-point the exact moment my life
started to spiral out-of-control. When his fist connected with my cheek that
first time, when I accepted his sobbing apology instead of walking away like
I’d always said I would if it happened to me—that was when everything was set
in motion.
Forgiveness, deliverance, salvation—I’ve
always believed that everyone was entitled to a second chance. I might not have
faith in my own worthiness, but the broken man who has joined me in my descent
into the darkness, I know he warrants another opportunity to pull himself back
from the brink.
For me, I know there isn’t a way out of this
bleak, black hole we currently call a life, yet before I admit defeat, maybe I
can help him find the redemption he so desperately seeks?
CHAPTER ONE
BENJI
My mouth is dry, my fucking head pounds, and
the throbbing in my right arm is almost unbearable. Actually, every part of me
aches in some way—the constant beeping and the bright, overhead light shining
in my eyes is not helping matters—and that makes me wonder how hard I partied
last night.
Bloody hell, I’ve gotta lay off the meth. The comedowns are hitting harder and lasting longer. This one looks
like it’s gearing up to be a real motherfucker. Even trying to swallow is near
impossible. I need something to drink, something to at least wet my mouth.
Opening my eyes to search for the bottle of water I keep next to my bed, I
regret that decision when the pain in my temples kicks up a notch. My need for
something wet overrides my desire for total darkness, so I close the eye that
hurts the most, and peer around the room with my good one.
This isn’t my room. I’m in a goddamn hospital
room. The annoying beeping is coming from the monitors hooked to my left arm,
the ache in my right arm is explained by the plaster covering it. Raising what
I assume is a broken arm, I peer at it in confusion. Flashes of Maddi screaming
at me flit across my mind, followed by glimpses of Lacey staring at me with
hurt, tear-filled eyes. I grab my head with my left hand and squeeze my eyes
shut as a bolt of pain tries to split my head in half.
Why were my sister and Lacey at my house
together? How did I end up in the hospital? What the hell happened?
“About time you woke the fuck up.”
Shit. I feel like death warmed up and he’s the
last person I want to deal with.
Dropping my arm back onto the bed and feigning
sleep, I lie still and concentrate on keeping my breathing regular. So far,
I’ve been able to keep him from working out how much I use. If he sees me like
this, he’s going to figure it out pretty, fucking quickly.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy. I’m not in the
fucking mood. Shit’s hit the roof today. Finding out you’re a lying junkie is
the least of my bloody problems.”
I thought my mouth was dry before but
listening to my dad spit his venomous words at me turns it into the Sahara.
Sighing in defeat, I turn my head in the direction his voice is coming from.
Cracking one eye enough to see him, I attempt to speak. My voice is croaky and
just about inaudible.
“Turn the lights down. Get me water.”
Dad shakes his head at me, huffing like I’ve
asked him if I could take his antique Harley for a ride, before hauling his
mammoth frame out of the green visitor’s chair. His shoulders are slumped as he
moves to the light switch and dims the room. Grabbing a plastic cup with a
straw, he shoves it at me once I’ve raised the hospital bed so I’m upright. He
drops back into his seat with a loud exhalation, making my eyes roll of their
own accord.
Ouch. Dumb move.
Holding the cup as if it contains liquid gold,
I suck ice-cold water through the short straw as I regard him over the rim. He
looks tired. Deep lines bracket his blue eyes—the same ones that stare back at
me whenever I look in a mirror—and he looks a decade older than he did when I
last saw him a week ago. Returning my gaze through bleak eyes, he scares the
shit out of me. I’ve never seen him look so defeated.
“Well, what’s up?”
I break the heavy silence filling the room.
The atmosphere feels like it’s trying to squash me like an irritating bug.
Serious discussions with my father are something I avoid like the plague; not
that they occur often. I’m normally invisible to him, unless I’m running around
a football field in a futile attempt to live up to his footy legend status.
Looking at the closed door to my room before
he leans closer to me, Dad asks, “You know how I’ve been looking for the body?”
Fuck. I don’t want to get into this shit again.
Sucking some more water through the straw, I try to ignore the guilt that’s
knocking on my mind seeking admittance. My fuck-up has left my family’s
motorcycle club with a big problem to deal with. It’s left my twin sister in an
even bigger predicament if the body is found by someone outside of the Club. So
far, Dad’s kept it from everyone else, but I’ve always known it was only a
matter of time before they found out.
“Yeah. Did you find him?” I hold my breath,
hoping like hell that he’s about to say that he’s finally found him.
“Doesn’t matter no more. The Shamrocks know
about it. They reckon they’re gonna find him themselves, which is bullshit.
Ain’t nothing nobody can do…I’m out of the Club anyway. They can go fuck
themselves.”
I can’t follow a word of what he’s saying. My
mouth drops open as I stare at him. Dad’s a bigger fucking mess than I
originally thought. It takes a moment but I find my voice again. “What the hell
are you talking about, Dad? What do you mean, you’re out of the…” Trailing off
as I realize that he’s not wearing his President’s cut, I shake my head, and
grimace when shards of pain ricochet through my skull. I can count on one hand
the number of times in my life that I’ve seen him without his cut on. None of
them have been in public.
“They voted you out because of my fuck up?”
The question tumbles from my lips and my heart falls with them. Disbelief grips
me, even as I interrogate him. There’s no way my mistake was bad enough to get
Dad booted as President. Not from a Club my family founded.
There’s something he’s not telling me.
“What the fuck’s going on?” I demand with as
much volume as I can muster. Confusion doesn’t sit well with me, something I
inherited from the man who’s sitting in front of me, refusing to meet my eyes.
My rough and tough father—the father who
alternates between scaring the shit out of me and inspiring awe within me, even
as a twenty-three-year-old grown man—visibly gulps. Shrugging, he shakes
himself, then straightens his shoulders and meets my eyes with the trademark
O’Brien don’t-fuck-with-me glare that my three brothers, sister, and I all got
from him.
“I had some schemes in action. Had hoped that
I’d pull off everything without anyone putting two and two together. None of
the balls I had in the air fell in my favour. Fucking Mad Dog fucked everything
up for us.”
“Us?”
The pain in my head fades into a secondary annoyance as my confusion grows at
Dad’s mention of Mad Dog. I haven’t had much to do with him over the last six
months since he’s always busting my balls about my so-called addiction, although I’m aware that he’s been at
loggerheads with Dad since the shit went down with Maddi and her ex. Fuck knows
why Mad Dog’s copped the blame for everything that happened with my father, but
if it keeps him off my back, I’m not going out of my way to set Dad straight.
“Bloody hell, you’re not making any sense.
You’re saying that you haven’t found Brendan’s body and that it’s not a problem
anymore. If that’s right, why have the Shamrocks voted you out? What schemes
are you talking about? What does any of this have to do with me and Mad Dog?”
Leaning forward, Dad laces his fingers
together and leans his chin on them. A strange glint lights up his eyes, making
my pulse spike. “It is what it is, Benji. I’m sure you’ll hear all the details
soon enough. I’m out, but your ass is covered. Right now, we need to
concentrate on making sure you end up in your rightful role. He might’ve fucked
everything else up for me, but if the Shamrocks survive the war that’s coming,
there’s no way he’ll be leading my club. The presidency belongs to the
O’Brien’s. It’ll be a cold day in hell before a Kennedy is anything more than a
fill-in.”
Please, Lord, don’t let him be hinting at what I fucking think he is.
“Dad, I’m not—” I begin to tell him that I’m
not on board with this, but as usual, I’m ignored. Sitting upright, his
expression’s fierce as he talks over me. “I have a plan in place to guarantee
you the presidency. All you need to do is follow my instructions. Call time on
your footy, get your junkie self fucking clean, and get your sorry ass
prospecting. It’ll be a fucking formality and in a year or two, you’ll be
Prez.”
My racing heartbeat becomes a roar in my ears
as his words about finishing my football career sink in. No fucking way. I
thought I had a few more years before we had to have this conversation. I’ve
never said I wanted to join the Club. That’s always been Maddi’s thing—even
though she’s a girl, she’s much more than suitable. It’ll be even better once
her and Mad Dog sort their shit out and get married. An O’Brien and a Kennedy,
the dynasty will be intact, and I’ll be free to live my own life.
“I’m not quitting footy. I’m rehabbing my knee
so I can play next year.” I argue.
“Highly fucking unlikely that’ll happen
considering baby girl just broke your arm for you. You’re never gonna play
footy again. Wake up and smell the roses, son. You’ve wasted the talent I gave
you. Squandered it and fucked me over in the process.” Dad spits his words at
me. Pure loathing covers his face, his top lip curling on one side as he snarls
at me. “You owe me. You owe your twin. You owe Joel. Each of us have paid the
price for your fuck-ups.”
My stomach churns as his accusations hit me.
He’s one-hundred percent right. I’m a fuck up and my family has paid the price.
My guilt travels up my throat, making me gag. After my bender, there’s nothing
in my stomach to puke, yet that doesn’t stop my body from trying. My mouth
waters, and I start shaking. A cold shiver shoots through me and my body breaks
out in goose bumps.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I ride out
the sickness by slowly letting the air out through my clenched teeth. Once I
feel somewhat better, I turn my attention to my father. He watched me battle
through the sickness with hard eyes, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
“Coming down, are we?”
Dropping his accusing glare, I stare at my
plastered arm without answering him. Dad’s words about Maddi breaking my arm
tumble around my head and I struggle to piece together when that might have
happened. Last thing I remember was calling Lacey and sweet talking her into
coming over and sharing the meth I’d just got my hands on. She came over,
helped me shoot up since I’m still hopeless at hitting my vein, and then we’d
fucked. A typical night between the two of us. I don’t know why Maddi would be
there at the same time as Lacey since we’re keeping the fact we’re fucking to
ourselves—Maddi being Lacey’s best friend is a complication I’m not thrilled
about. My bossy-ass twin doesn’t need any further reason to stick her nose into
my shit.
“Did
you hear what I said?” Dad pulls me from my thoughts with his terse question. I
hadn’t realized that he was speaking again.
Giving him a sheepish smile, I shake my head.
He snorts at me.
“I said that you need to ask to prospect the day
you get the fuck out of here.” He waves his hand around, indicating my hospital
room. “I’ll get Lenny to nominate you. You can deal with your footy club
later.”
“Dad.” I interrupt him. “I’m not—”
Pointing his huge fucking finger in my face
after he jumps to his feet and strides to my bedside, saliva showers my face
when he yells at me, “You’ll do as you’re fucking told. I have plans in place
for this to go down tomorrow. Fuck this up for me and I’ll make sure you have
nothing left. You think everyone’s pissed with you, now? That’ll be nothing to
how much they’ll hate you by the time I’m done.”
I recoil at his vehemence. His eyes glitter
with fury and he looks one step away from completely losing it. Watching his
shoulders shake and his fists clench and unclench, I stay quiet so I don’t push
him over the edge. My father’s a volatile man, prone to temper tantrums when he
thinks you’re not going to meet his demands, yet until this moment, I’ve never
been scared that he was going to deck me. Right now, it’s a genuine worry.
Summoning every ounce of spine I possess, I
force down my nausea, straighten my back, and meet his eyes.
“You’re losing the fucking plot, old man.”
Swallowing hard, every part of me revolts at what I’m about to say. This is the
last thing I ever wanted to do. “But I’ll prospect.”
Lifting my broken arm, I point at my fucked
right knee with the fingers protruding from the cast, and laugh. It’s a hollow
laugh, not the least bit happy. “We both know I’m never playing footy again so
I might as well pay you back for the fall you’ve just taken for me.”
I watch as my father blinks in rapid
succession. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was fighting tears. The
moment passes as if it never happened, his features hardening as his expression
shuts down.
“What if I am losing it?” he asks, without any
heat to his tone. “Would that make you fucking well listen to me?” Dad doesn’t
wait for me to answer him before he continues in the same monotone. “All I’m
trying to do is make sure you kids are taken care of. You mightn’t agree with
my plans, but they’re what I think is for the best, so just do as you’re told
for once.”
Even though he says this evenly, it still gets
my back up. My own temper sparks. Do as I’m told? He’s got to be kidding me?
“Jesus Christ. I don’t have a clue what you’re
on about. Fuck you and fuck your cryptic bullshit. I’m a grown fucking man.” My
nostrils flare as my breathing picks up pace. “You’re a bit late to become a
caring father now. Maybe Matty and Lachie will welcome your sudden concern, but
me, Joel, and Maddi don’t need you.”
I want to say so much more. I want to yell
every grievance I’ve had with him since my mum died but I force myself to stop.
It’s too late. He’ll never listen.
Bull-headed cunt that he is.
“I said I’ll prospect. That’s it. I’m not
making a play for the president’s patch unless I’m wanted. If that means Mad
Dog ends up as Prez, then that’s too fucking bad—”
For the first time, I’m ready to admit my lack
of desire to join the Shamrocks, but I’m forced to shut up when he hurtles
forward and grabs me by the front of my hospital gown. Pulling my face to his,
he glares at me, running his feral eyes over my face as if I’m a puzzle he’s
trying to solve. Shaking me twice, he throws me back against the bed. There’s nothing
left of the father I know in his eyes when he snarls his ultimatum at me.
“You don’t get a say in fuck all. Everything’s
already in motion. You either get with the program or you get the fuck out of
this family…” His words trail off as he turns his back on me and walks to the
door. “Since we both know you’re a junkie loser who can’t survive without his
twin saving his ass, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. Considering I
didn’t tell the Club about you hiding Connor and his whore at your house after
they fucked-up their takeover attempt.”
Every ounce of oxygen is sucked from my lungs
at his veiled threat. I’m gasping for breath when the door slams behind him,
making me jump in shock.
How the fuck does he know?
Anyone else finds out what I did, I’m dead.
Literally.
CONQUERING
CIRCUMSTANCES, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #3.5
CHAPTER ONE
“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then
the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons,
heaven or hell.” ~Buddha~
“The biopsy showed Invasive Lobular Carcinoma
Breast Cancer. I’m sorry, but it appears that it’s already spread to a degree.”
I cross
myself as the official diagnosis is delivered in measured tones that are meant
to be reassuring. It’s possibly futile—this effort to keep my rapidly failing
faith alive—but I say a prayer to my Lord for good measure. To be honest, in my
heart of hearts, I already knew the truth which is why I didn’t tell anyone
about my suspicions. Or that I had an appointment today.
With Mikhail’s release from prison this
morning, my children were needed elsewhere. If they knew what I had planned for
today, after the urgent phone call from my specialist’s receptionist yesterday
afternoon, all five of them would be here trying their hardest to be
supportive. As much as the thought of my daughter cross-examining the doctor
and the boys cracking jokes to lighten the mood makes me smile, I’d much rather
that they attend a happy event.
Shaking away thoughts of the children, a wry
smile crosses my face at the reaction I’d receive from them if they knew I
still called them children. The twins, Madeleine, and Benjamin, are
twenty-three while Joel is almost twenty-two. Rounding out the siblings is
Matthew at seventeen, and the baby, Lachlan, who recently turned fifteen.
Hardly children anymore, although they always will be in my heart.
“Ms. Markham,” the sympathetic voice of my
specialist cuts into my musing. Crossing his hands and resting them on his
desk, he regards me with a serious expression. “The options are not pretty, but
I’m confident that you are facing good odds. Due to this being your second
occurrence, I must stress the need for a double mastectomy and a full
hysterectomy, in addition to the chemotherapy. You’re only forty-six. Life-saving
and preventative measures are
needed.”
He doesn’t have the sentence completed before
I’m shaking my head. It might be a life-ending decision, but I can’t face
losing my breasts and my most feminine of female body parts. Every woman has a
limit to what they can handle. I know mine with absolute certainty. The
decision I made twenty years ago stills stands—strong and true, and I’m as
resolute today as I was back then. Life may have dealt me cruel blows with the
loss of my only biological child, followed quickly by my first brush with
cancer, yet even with the subsequent loss of my ability to have other children
because of the treatment options available back then, I will not be persuaded
otherwise.
Dr. Jenkins presses his lips together at my
vehement, albeit silent denial. “Wendy, if you want to live then you’re left
with no other options. With a second occurrence, one that’s already spread to
the lymph nodes, chemotherapy followed by surgery is your best chance for
survival.”
Internally, I’m screaming with frustration at
his stern, disapproving words, although I’m sure on the outside I appear to be
listening with appropriate gravity. I’ve always been a master at hiding my true
emotions. It’s held me in good stead, and I hope it continues to do so because
after the last few months, this is the last thing I need to deal with. Patrick
is slowly driving me crazy with worry, and the children all have varying issues
for which they require my ongoing support.
I don’t have the energy to fight cancer on top of it all.
“I’ll think about it,” I reply in a
non-committal tone, reaching into my handbag where it rests on the floor next
to my seat to pull out my beeping mobile. “I need information about the effects
of the chemotherapy. Recovery times, if it’s needed weekly or fortnightly,
potential side effects, the long-term effects on my health…those type of
figures.”
While Dr. Jenkins busies himself with
gathering the documents that answer my questions, I quickly check my phone.
MADELAINE: He’s
FREEEEE!!! Come to the club and say hello xx
MADELAINE: Oh, and
Dad’s in town. He was hiding in the prison carpark, but rode off before anyone
could say anything to him
At the mention of Patrick, the butterflies
that only he can set off take flight in my lower belly. Lust. Unadulterated,
pure, orgasm inducing lust flows through my suddenly taut body. I place my
palms together and slide them between my thighs until they rest against my
throbbing core. Then I press my legs together in an attempt to calm myself. Now
is not the time to remember that it’s been over five months since he touched me
last.
Summoning every ounce of willpower I possess,
I relax my tensed body and reply to Madelaine’s text message.
ME: Thank
you, sweetheart. I’ll try to get there.
As I bend down to slip my mobile back into my
handbag, it beeps again. Seeing that the doctor is still occupied with sliding
leaflets out of folders, I pull it back out to see what Madelaine has to say to
my evasive answer. She’s likely to be unhappy, as determined as she is to pull
me out of the funk she feels I’ve fallen into since my split with her father.
PATRICK: I’m in
Brisbane for the day. I need to see you. Please answer me, little lady.
My stupid heart—the one that still beats only
for him, even after all he’s done—skips a beat. Warmth spreads through me at
the effort he’s put into contacting me after I’ve continued to ignore his phone
calls. It wouldn’t seem like much coming from anyone else, but I know how much
he hates texting. His fingers are three times the size of a normal man’s,
making it hard for him to hit the right letter. Patience not being one of his
few virtues; continued mistakes usually results in his phone flying into the
closest wall.
Running my eyes over his message, savouring
each word as if it’s the last I’ll ever read, tears well in my eyes when I read
his endearment. “Little lady” were the first words he ever said to me. We literally ran into each other in the
only bakery to grace the one-horse town I called home; the town that he had
moved to that very day. With loaves of bread and fresh rolls to feed his five
children piled high in his huge arms, Patrick hadn’t seen me when I’d walked in
front of him, engrossed in my paperback. Walking while reading is one of my
quirks; one that’s resulted in more than a few accidents. Although, none have
ever been as life-changing as walking into Patrick that day.
ME: Leave
me alone. Please. I beg you.
I type the words, delete them, then type them
again and press send before I can talk myself out of it. It kills me to be so
blunt with him, although it’s unavoidable. My diagnosis is the final nail in
our always doomed relationship. There is zero chance of Patrick coping with
what’s to come. Not after watching his first wife perish from the same disease.
“Wendy,” Dr. Jenkin’s voice cuts into my
thoughts. “This should answer any questions you have.”
Looking up from my phone with sightless eyes,
I blink in rapid succession. My vision clears after a moment, and the tears
that were welling retreat … for now.
“Thank you,” I reach across the table to grab
the leaflets. Shuffling them in my hands, the sheer volume makes my mouth run
dry. There’s so much information to take in. Waving them at him, I laugh as I
try to brazen my way through the solemn silence that’s gripping the room. “A
little light reading to get—”
“I’m
going to give you the same advice I’d give my wife. Please get the surgery,” I
purse my lips as he says this solemnly, cutting me off to make an obvious play
on my emotions. “A lumpectomy is not going to stop the spread. It’s already in
your lymph nodes and the surrounding tissue. Your breasts can be reconstructed,
and hormone therapy will help you through menopause.”
Standing, I stuff the leaflets into my
handbag. I need to get out of here. It feels as if the walls are closing in on
me. His words are sucking all of the oxygen out of the room as I flee without
another word, two thoughts circling my mind while I run for the car.
I don’t want fake breasts. I want the originals.
The breasts that fed my child for the glorious
two hours that I had her in my life.
The breasts that cradled the head of Patrick’s
five children when they cried.
The breasts that Patrick worshipped for almost
thirteen agonizingly trying, yet blissfully happy years.
TEMPTING
FATE, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #4
PROLOGUE
“It matters not how
strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my
fate: I am the captain of my soul.”
~William Ernest
Henley~
Revenge. The vindictive pleasure it brings has been
many a man’s downfall. Its seductive nature, the power it imbues, the
satisfaction that settles in your bones knowing that you’ve settled the score,
is a craving that’s hard to resist.
My man is strong. Stronger than any I’ve ever
known yet I fear his need for retribution is going to beat him. The Club needs
a leader they can trust, a man who sticks to his word, a champion of their code
of honour. Me, well, I need my lover, my partner, my soul mate to put me first.
He needs to be the master of our destiny, the keeper of our fate, while I’m
lost in my grief and confusion.
It’s not fair. I know it’s not. Yet, even
knowing how much he needs to avenge the wrongs that were brought down on our
head—the deception that threatened to tear the Shamrocks apart—I can’t give him
what he’s asking for.
My blessing.
To kill my father.
Every fibre of my being accepts that he’s my
soul mate. My matching half. The yin to my yang. We both acknowledge that our
destiny was sealed when I was just a girl. However, if he continues with his
pursuit of vengeance, I fear the outcome will do more than tempt our fate.
It’ll destroy our future.
CHAPTER
ONE
MIK
The wind and my woman at my back.
There’s no better feeling.
Gripping my ape-hangers, I manoeuvre my Harley
to the head of the pack and accelerate. Fuck riding behind Timber right now.
Fuck riding with anyone but Lainey. She’s the only person who matters to me, my
sole reason for breathing.
I’m finally fucking free. The
jail is nothing but a receding reflection in my side mirror. We’ve survived our
latest betrayal. Five months of fucking hell it cost us; leaving my woman to
struggle on her own and me locked in a manmade hell-hole. Every fucker who
conspired against us is gonna pay. I don’t give a shit whether they call
themselves family or friend.
Mik was who they locked up. He was stabbed and
beaten; bent and almost broken by a corrupt system and a plan put in place by a
man he once loved like a second father.
Mad Dog is who emerged. Spiteful, nasty,
bitter, and resentful. He’s hell bent on revenge; bound and determined to rid
the world of every cockhead who’s ever done us wrong.
Starting with Beast. Father of the love of my life or not, he’s
going to die.
It’s with that resolution sitting in the
forefront of my mind that I decide where me and Lainey are heading first. The
party at the Compound can wait—the Club will still be there no matter how long
our detour takes. I need to get properly reacquainted with my woman before I
deal with the celebrations they have planned. Why the Shamrocks would think I
want to share a beer in remembrance of the deception that saw me lose my
freedom for five months alludes me. The last thing I want to do is examine the
damage caused.
No, I wanna spend my first night balls deep in
my woman—reminding myself of how well our bodies fit together. I need her to
ground me before I put into action the plan I formulated while I was locked up.
Her beauty, her innocence, the way she needs me to complete her. They’re the
perfect antidote to the darkness that threatens to spill free anytime I think
about Beast, about Thomas Taylor, or the corrupt fucking legal system that they
manipulated to keep me away from her.
Patting Lainey’s hands where they sit snuggly
around my waist, I wait until she looks at me in the side mirror before I
gesture with my thumb at the left-hand side of the road. Slowing my bike, I
round a sharp corner and then come to a halt in front of a huge two-story
house.
Bracing my Harley with my feet, I lock my
knees so the perfectly balanced machine doesn’t tilt and pull off my helmet.
Patting the inside pocket of my cut, first the left side then the right, I pull
out the packet of smokes I stashed there on my way out of the prison. Lighting
one, I inhale deeply, holding it in my lungs as I watch Lainey look at the
house, then at the sold sticker sitting proudly across the “For Sale” sign, and
then back at me.
Pulling
her helmet off in a rush, she stares at me with wide, bright blue eyes. “Mik.
You didn’t?”
Her tone makes it obvious that she’s hoping
that I did. Twisting as much as I can, I nod proudly as the smoke I was holding
billows from my nose. Her delicate little nose twitches, her disdain apparent.
I don’t usually smoke around her unless I’m drinking, being what you’d call a
part-time smoker—that was until I was incarcerated and had nothing else to do.
As of now, I have a habit. It’s just one of the many things that have changed
in our time apart.
“I can’t believe—” She stops speaking and
looks back at the house. Her delighted expression makes all the headaches
caused by trying to purchase a house while I was locked up worth it. I was
determined that I wasn’t coming home to my dad’s spare room, our room in the
Compound, or the house that Lainey had rented in my absence. “My God, it’s
huge. How much was it?”
Throwing my cigarette onto the ground near my
front tyre, I grab Lainey’s closest hand and pull her toward me. It’s not easy,
but I manage to silence her with my mouth. Slipping my tongue between her
easily parted lips, I explore the recesses of her mouth as we kiss. Frustration
takes hold when my hands try to touch her without success; our positions making
it impossible. Pulling away from her alluring mouth, I grin when she pouts.
“Hop off, Angel. Let me show you your new home.”
We walk hand-in-hand up the drive to the front
door. Reaching up, I grab the key from the top of the door frame where Joel
left it for me, and unlock the house. With an extended arm, I usher Lainey in
before me, my eyes firmly planted on her ass that’s displayed in all its glory
in her tight jeans. She comes to a stop in front of me and only my quick
reflexes stop me from ploughing into her back.
Spinning to face me, she wraps her arms around
my neck and plants kisses all over my face. I pull her body into mine, my
eyebrows lifting as I realize how much weight she’s lost since I held her last.
I knew she was struggling without me; the light in her eyes was dimming with
each visit to see me in jail, yet, I hadn’t a clue she was this bad.
Placing my hands on either side of her face, I
pull her away from me, ready to ask her about her much-smaller frame. Lainey
mistakes my intentions, instead taking a step back and pulling her shirt over
her head. When her tits come into view, pushed high in a sexy red bra, all of
my questions fly out of my head. Fuck, I’ve missed her. Seeing her almost every
day was torture when I couldn’t even hold her hand without running the risk of
getting her visitation rights revoked.
Her shirt has barely slipped from her fingers
to the floor before I’m walking her backward in search of the closest wall to
lift her against while I unsnap her bra and free her breasts. We come to a stop
when Lainey’s back hits the wall behind us. Mouths pressed together, tongues
duelling, my fingers are nimble as I pop open the button to her jeans and yank
them and her panties down past her knees. I hold them so she can step out of
them, planting a kiss on her smooth mound as I straighten. Lainey starts
fumbling with my pants button. My frantic movements make it hard for her so I
undo it for her. Tugging my zipper down, I pull my jeans down far enough to
free my cock. Her slender fingers are wrapped around me before I’m fully
exposed, working my dick up and down with the finesse of a woman who’s had her
hand around it many times before.
Impatient to be inside her, I knock her hand
aside, push her hard against the wall and lift her with one arm under her ass.
With my free hand, I guide my cock inside her tight body, burying myself to the
hilt in her hot cunt with one forceful stroke. Lainey’s resulting gasp is music
to my ears, as is her instinctive response to wind her fingers through my hair
and tug at it.
Drawing back, I drive myself into her again.
She feels fucking exquisite, gripping me with her pulsing walls, pulling me
further into her beautiful body. I push my cock into her pussy, over and over,
each stroke harder than the last until I’m lifting her up the wall with each
thrust.
“Mik…God…Missed this.” Lainey’s words are
barely audible; broken and breathless. When her legs wrap around my hips
tighter, I know she’s close to the edge. I make enough space between us so I
can reach her clit and still maintain my pace. Grinding my thumb against the
sensitive bundle of nerves, I feel her pussy clamp around my cock as I send her
over the edge into the first orgasm I’ve been able to give her in months. The
tightening of her walls pushes me past the point of no return, my release
spilling into her while she’s still riding her own climax.
“Fuck. Yes.” I groan as I come. My orgasm
feels like it goes on and on. I’m like a boy getting his first taste of how
good a woman feels around his dick. It doesn’t matter how many times you pull
yourself, nothing will beat spilling your cum into a tight cunt. It’s even
better when that pussy belongs to the woman you love.
Lainey slumps forward, her head coming to rest
on my shoulder as the final spasms of my hips die down. She’s done for, while
getting a taste of her after so long has me barely softening. It’s not gonna
take much for me to be ready for round two.
I’m still buried in her, enjoying the feel of
her pussy holding me inside, when the difference in her weight pushes its way
back into my head. She’s always been tall and curvy—not heavy but her body was
lush in all the right places. The woman I’m holding in my arms is frail. Too
slender and nothing like her normal self. It’s fucking scary.
Standing straight so she’s not leaning against
the wall, I walk into the kitchen and place her on the island that separates
the kitchen from the dining area. Pulling my softening cock out of her, I shrug
off my cut and then my T-shirt. Putting my cut on over the ribbed tee I was
wearing under my T-shirt, I pass it to her so she can clean up. While she’s
doing that, I zip up my jeans and have a proper look at her.
“Fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
My comment can be taken two ways. Her jutting
collarbones look sharp enough to cut, the natural tone in her arms is gone and
so is some of the fullness from her perky tits. The tattoo of St. Michael on a
Harley on her hip and the rose tattoo that runs down her right side almost look
too big for her now. I’m gonna smash Benji and Joel’s heads together for
letting her get like this. They both promised me that they’d look after her.
Fine fucking job they’ve done.
Lainey’s cheeks flush, making me realize that
she understood what I meant with my observation. She wraps her arms around
herself, trying to hide her body from my prying eyes, and it’s then that I spy
the white bandage on her right thigh. I’ve seen that before—a long time ago—and
its presence makes my mouth run dry.
Heart pounding in my ears, I reach a suddenly
shaky hand toward her leg. She sees me coming, reads my intentions in one
glance, and scrambles backward on the countertop to get out of my reach. Her
evasive tactics don’t stop me. I grab hold of her ankle and slide her in my
direction.
“No. Mik. It’s not what you think, I promise.”
The timid delivery of her protest, coupled with her continued fight to get away
from me, confirm what I already suspect.
Holding her leg straight, I peel the edge of
the bandage back. I find three thin cuts across the fleshiest part of her
thigh. Across flesh that bears evidence that this isn’t the first fucking time.
They’re not shallow because they’re done with a practised hand—a hand that
belongs to the squirming woman in front of me. The bloody woman who swore on
her little brothers life that she’d never do this to herself again.
“You promised.” She flinches and I watch
Lainey’s blue eyes become brighter as tears well. Pulling her into my arms, I
pick her up with one arm behind her back and the other under her knees and hold
her to my chest.
“I’m sorry, Mik. It won’t do it anymore. Not
now I have you back—” She breaks off, sobbing softly as she snuggles into me.
“You’re all I need. When I have you, I feel safe. In control.”
My heart fractures in my chest for my broken
woman, although, anger rises within me at the same time. Not at Lainey; at the
cunts who’ve caused her to get to the point where she feels like she needs to
cut her own flesh with a fucking razor in order to feel some control over her
life. My body’s vibrating with rage at the cockheads behind my incarceration.
They’re the reason she’s back to square one. The shit she’d already been
through nearly killed her, yet, they saw fit to bring more down on her
head.
“Shhhh.” I try my best to soothe her, all the
while the plans I made in prison go round and round in my mind. Tonight is about me and Lainey. Tomorrow, I’m
taking the President’s patch from Timber and beginning to right the wrongs done
to us. Starting with my fucking father-in-law-to-be. He’s gonna learn that the
Black Shamrocks MC is now mine and anyone who disputes that will join him in
Hell.
FINDING NIRVANA, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC
#5
PROLOGUE
“A great battle is a terrible thing,” the old knight
said, “but in the midst of blood and carnage, there is sometimes also beauty,
beauty that could break your heart.” ~ George R. R. Martin ~
Beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, or so it’s said. The day he walked—limped—into my clinic,
there was no beauty to be found. Instead, a gigantic dark mass of rage hid his
soulful blue eyes, perfectly symmetrical features, and full lips under a cloak of
misery so dense that it stole the breath from my lungs. I took down his name,
and he took a piece of my heart.
My mum always says
that I’m too quick to trust, too fast to give away my feelings. I can’t help
it. Pain and suffering calls to me. It whispers my name, begging me to act as a
salve to the unbearable ache that I can see them crumbling under.
From the first moment
I can remember, my touch has brought comfort. Whether it was my puppy when he
injured his leg, my little sister when she grazed her knees, or my daughter who
still looks to her mummy to kiss away the hurt—I’m the person who makes
everything better.
Until him. He
confounded me; shook off my desire to care for him with an angry shrug that
should have scared me into leaving him alone. It didn’t work, though. Because
beneath his veneer of hostility, there’s a glimmer of something deeper. It’s
easily identifiable to those who are adept at finding it.
Hope. That’s what I see when he lets his guard drop.
And, it’s what stops
me from walking away when he begins snarling at the world.
Life let me taste the
sweetness it can offer—one time, long ago. The spark of interest that colours
his cheeks when he looks at me. The hint of jealousy that narrows his eyes when
I talk to his friends. The way he angles his body closer to mine when I’m near.
They tell me two things.
One. I’m responsible for the hope that’s growing in his
gaze with each furtive glance in my direction.
Two. This man is my last chance to grab the fleeting
goodness that life has to offer.
Because, together, we
could do more than fall in love.
We might find nirvana.
CHAPTER ONE
JOEL
A sharp bolt of agony travels from my knees to
my hips. Thankfully, I broke nothing when I dropped to the ground next to my
bleeding sister. Although my relief is short-lived when she screams as I prod
her in an effort to find the source of the dark, red liquid that’s pooling on
the ground beneath her. Shifting so I can get out of her way when she reaches
for Mad Dog’s hand, the sheer fury in the words that Maddi yells freezes the
beating of my heart in my chest. It stops. Dead in its tracks. Unable to cope
with the bloodbath that surrounds us.
“This is wrong. It’s my goddamned wedding day.
It’s not supposed to end like this.”
The unfairness of the situation is clear. What
I can do to help is not. The hand she’s holding belongs to her
more-than-likely, close-to-death—or dead—husband of fifteen minutes, not even
two metres away, her best friend lies unmoving over his family, while just
beyond him our cousin lays dead. What used to be his chest is sprayed over the
ground in front of him; the knees of his sobbing father—my uncle—kneeling in
the remnants of his only child. Around him, the rest of the Shamrocks women
scream, and the few men who are still standing search the yard for clues to
whether the attack is over.
Lacey falls to the ground beside me, finally
able to come in answer to my wild beckoning. Her eyes are wide, filled with the
same emotions that I know she’ll find reflected in mine.
Disbelief. Urgency. Sorrow.
“Are they alive?” Lacey shoots the question at
me, then ducks her head to brace herself for the answer. The couple in front of
us aren’t moving, except for the minute rise and fall of their chests.
“I think s—”
My reply is cut off when another explosion
erupts. The row of Harley’s that line the front fence lift off the ground and
then burst into flames, sending everyone scattering. This time we have no
leadership to tell us what to do, and that fact becomes apparent as everyone
takes off in different directions.
We are sitting ducks.
And the snipers who have us in their sight
know this.
“Get down,” I growl at Lacey, pushing her by
the shoulders until she’s on the ground next to Maddi. “Play dead.”
Sparing my suddenly cooperative hands a quick
glance, I force myself to my feet. I need a weapon and I need to find out who’s
left to form some sort of a defence with me. No sooner has that thought taken
hold in my mind when it’s sent spiralling to the dark recesses of my brain.
I spot three men, all dressed in black. One is
positioned on top of the Clubhouse, the second partially hidden in one of the
alcoves built into the eight-foot-tall concrete fence that surrounds the
compound. That’s bad enough. But, it’s the third guy, who turns my blood to
ice.
He has his rifle pointed at Benji. My brother
is distracted; his attention focussed on Viking and our younger brothers. He’s
frantically gesturing for Matty and Lachie to help Mad Dog’s ailing father into
the workshop. Over the shrill cries, and the gruff voices that are trying to
take control, I can hear my brother taking charge of that trio—all the while,
oblivious to the threat that’s bearing down on him.
“Get in the shed, and, get the fuck down.
Don’t even look out the windows.” My feet have a mind of their own, heading in
my brother’s direction before I decide to. The limp that normally slows me is
curiously absent as I watch the third sniper lean closer to his scope and line
Benji up. My brother’s still yelling orders as I close the distance between us.
My throat has seized up, the warning that I
need to provide not coming. One step. Two steps. I open my mouth and yell
louder than I ever have in my life. “BENJI! SNIPER!”
He spins toward me, turning his back on our little
brothers. His mouth—the one that’s been responsible for some of the greatest
one-liners I’ve ever heard—drops open when he sees me gaining on him. My right
arm lifts in an attempt to show him where the sniper is, only to fall uselessly
to my side when the sound of a shot being fired rings out and a perfectly
round, bright red circle appears in the dead centre of his forehead.
Benji drops to his knees. The surprise that
was on his face disappearing as his expression turns blank and his life comes
to an end. He slumps forward, falling face first on the concrete driveway. I
stumble over my own feet and land next to him. My hands raise just in time for
me to brace for impact, then I roll onto my side next to my dead brother and
look up at the cloudless, blue sky.
For a second I close my eyes and hope to hell
that this is all a dream. Opening them, I’m met with the shocked faces of my
two little brothers and Kyle leaning over me. Matty begins to speak, only to be
drowned out by the staccato sound of an automatic rifle echoing off the
surrounding buildings.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One. Two. Three.
Matty. Lachie. Kyle.
One by one, my blood brothers and our adopted
brother fall to the ground beside me.
Everyone I love. My sister. My cousin. My
brothers. Gone.
The shooting stops, a deathly silence taking
its place. I turn on my side, determined to find another survivor. Instead, I
see nothing but rivers of red. The blood of my family runs down the concrete
driveway, pooling together as a manmade tribute to the carnage to which I just
played witness.
I lower my eyelids again.
Please God, let this be a dream.
I lift them, only to be greeted by the same
sight.
Nope, it’s definitely not a
dream.SOOTHING SUFFERING, BLACK SHAMROCKS
MC #0.5
PROLOGUE
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest
souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ~Kahlil
Gibran~
Turns out that there is a fate worse than death. After watching my
mother fade away before my eyes, I decided that I would do everything in my
power to live a long life.
Death is scary.
Death is the end.
Now, every time I look at my scarred and broken body, I close my eyes
and I pray for death. It doesn’t scare me anymore; if anything, I look forward
to the day that I can close my eyes for the final time and never have to think
about Brendan Taylor and what he did to me, ever again. The sweet respite from
the voices in my head—the ones that keep telling me that I’m still Brendan’s
slut—can only be achieved by embracing the end of my life.
That final barrier, the one that stops me from following through on my
desire to die, is getting thinner by the day. With every memory that
masquerades as a nightmare, with each flinch away from Mik’s gentle touch, with
every single glance he sends my way that’s filled with guilt and regret; I edge
one step closer to finishing it all.
No-one knows. I refuse to let them see just how close I am
to giving up. There’s nothing they can do anyway. My bed was made when I chose
to let my pride get in the way of admitting my mistakes. If I’d spoken up, none
of this would have happened.
I should find it ironic that the person I hurt the most is the only
one stopping me from taking my life. Except, I don’t. He’s always been the one. Even when I was too stupid to realise it.
If it wasn’t for that loving glimmer I glimpse in his gaze when he looks at me,
I’d do it.
Instead, I hold onto that love and push through another day.
For how much longer? I don’t know.
All I know is that today isn’t the day I put an end to my pain.
CHAPTER ONE
LAINEY
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. Lost as I am in my own world—a
world filled with painful memories that make the fear that is now my constant
companion kick up a notch—I don’t recognize the owner until I’ve flinched away
from their touch, putting space between myself and the person I perceive to be
my newest attacker. Swinging around with looping punch that would have my
self-defence instructor shaking his head, I follow with an ear-splitting shriek
that makes me cringe.
“Fuck. Lainey. It’s me.” Mik
holds his arms out in front of himself. He looks me dead in the eye and waves
his hands as if he’s trying to settle a spooked horse. Even his mouth is shaped
in a circle as if he’s about to tell me to “whoa”. My heart’s trying to pound
out of my chest, fearful trembling seizing control of my body, while heat rises
up my neck and warms my cheeks. I feel like a damn idiot, but I can’t seem to
stop overacting to the smallest thing.
“I thought you heard me coming, Angel. I’m sorry.”
His apology makes me feel worse. Adding his slumped shoulders and
strained expression into the mix only drives home how much he’s suffering with
me. The green flecks in his hazel eyes have been dulled by the pain he carries.
Every time I flinch away from him, the light in them—that cheeky spark that
used to illuminate his face—dims a little bit more.
“It’s all good, I was daydreaming,” I say in a voice that doesn’t
sound nearly as breezy as it did in my head. Forcing my stiff, shaking body to
loosen, I fake my best smile and close the distance between us in three steps.
Ignoring how my hands tremble, I press my breasts against his hard chest and
wrap my arms around his neck.
Bringing his head down to mine, I press my lips against his and
initiate a kiss that’s deeper than the quick pecks that we’ve exchanged since I
was released from hospital eight weeks ago. Mik was rigid when I put my arms
around him; yet, he manages to take it to another level altogether at my touch.
His arms hang at his side and he doesn’t return my kiss past allowing the
initial joining of our mouths. Feeling like I trying to make out with a statue,
I pull back an inch and sink my teeth into his bottom lip with deliberate
viciousness.
“Fuck!” He yelps, the blank expression on his face changing to one of
annoyance. Gripping me with infinite gentleness by the tops of my arms, he
moves me back so that he can look down at me. “Why’d you fucking do that?”
Pushing away the embarrassment that’s threatening to overwhelm
me—first from my overreaction to his innocent touch and secondly from his
refusal to kiss me back—I shake my head at him. Wrenching out of his grasp, I
sit on the dining table in the same spot I was before he interrupted me.
“Why did I do that?” I mimic his confused tone. “Gee, I don’t know.
Maybe because my boyfriend refuses to kiss me.”
The aggravation leaves his rugged features, sympathy taking its place.
It’s the one emotion I can’t deal with; one that he should know better than to
send in my direction. The small amount of spirit left in my psyche—the tiny
part that survived my ex-boyfriend’s onslaught—flares to life, heating my
indignation, and giving me the ability to lash out at him.
“You know, if being with me is too much for you to handle, the door’s
that way.” I spit the words at him with a certainty that doesn’t reflect my
inner fear that he’ll take me up on my offer. Pointing in the direction of the
front door, I continue. “Don’t let it hit you on your fine ass on the way out.”
Swinging back to my feet, I step up into his personal space and glare
at him through narrowed eyes. “We both know I’m damaged. Hell, nobody’d blame
you if you walked. Nobody wants a woman as scarred as me.”
Putting space between us, I wave my right hand over my abdomen.
“Inside and out.”
Turning my back to him, I make my way to our bedroom. Slamming the
door shut behind me, I flick the lock before throwing myself face down on our
king-sized bed. The tears that are constantly trying to escape from my eyes—the
tears that I have to fight everyday—run down my cheeks. The only time I let
them fall is when no one else can see them. When I’m alone, they’re stronger
than me. So much so, that I should be out of tears to cry since it feels like
it’s all I do lately.
Keeping my anguish to myself is becoming too much. It’s making me
treat Mik like shit, when he’s the only one who has a chance of understanding
how I feel because he’s the only one who knows the full truth of what happened
to me. The guilt that my behavior brings just adds another layer to what I’m
already struggling under.
If I’d listened to him, none of this would have happened. If I’d gone
to him after the first time Brendan hurt me, it wouldn’t have got so bad. If
I’d listened to the voice in the back of my mind that told me to tell him the
truth, I wouldn’t be broken now.
The handle rattles as Mik tries to open the door, interrupting my
mental blame game. He raps his knuckles against the hard wood. “Lainey, let me
in. Fuck me dead, I’m trying my best here. If I try to touch you, it makes you
freak out so when you kissed me I didn’t have a fucking clue how to react.”
I hear a soft thud, and I can picture him resting his forehead against
the door. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I sit up and stare at the wooden
barrier that separates us. Wiping my face, I press my lips together so they’ll
stop trembling while I breathe deeply through my nose, making my lungs expand
before letting the air out slowly. It’s a technique my therapist reckons will
calm me, although it hasn’t worked so far.
“Angel. Talk to me. Tell me how to help you. I’ll do anything you
want.” He pauses, a loud sigh coming from the other side of the door, telling
me that he’s not only confused—he’s hurt and frustrated with me for shutting
him out. I open my mouth, unsure what words are going to leave my lips when I
speak, when he interrupts me with the words that are the main reason why I
can’t confide in him. “Fucking hell, Mo Ghrá. I know this is my fault and I’m
fucking sorry. More than you’ll ever know.”
My mouth closes of its own volition. I throw myself backward on the
comforter, landing on my back as the tears call an end to the brief reprieve
they’d granted me. Flailing my hand toward the head of the bed, I reach for a
pillow. Jamming it over my face, I open my mouth and scream … and scream and
scream. My mind joins in, shrieking two sentences at me over and over in a
matching rhythm to the cries that my pillow is muffling.
It’s not your fault. It’s mine.
Mik must mistake my silence for agreement. A louder thud makes the
door shake—I’m not sure if he’s hit it with his head or his fist—before I hear
him walk away from our bedroom, his heavy biker boots sounding against the
jarrah floorboards. My attention is drawn from my screams as I listen to see if
he’s leaving the house.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. After the thirteenth step, there’s a resounding
bang as the front door is thrown open, hitting the wall behind it. I jump on
the bed when a louder boom echoes through the house as Mik slams the door shut
behind him.
Barely five seconds later, I hear his Harley roar to life before the
squealing of tyres heralds his departure from our street. With straining ears,
I listen as the rumbling engine gets further away, the sound receding until I
can’t hear it anymore.
Rolling onto my side, I pull the pillow against me and curl into the
foetal position around it. Burying my face in its softness, I drag in a ragged
breath and Mik’s scent overcomes me. I must have grabbed his pillow. The
familiar smell makes me long for him. Yet, I know that after my actions this
afternoon, this might be all I’m left with. An empty house, a broken heart and
body, and the slowly disappearing scent of the man I love.
It’s with that thought that the never-ending tears pick up pace and
begin pooling on the pillow as a liquid tribute to my sorrow.
SEIZING CONTROL, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC
#1
This has been my motto
for the past four years. I was certain I’d proven to myself, and anyone who
mattered, that I’d let my past strengthen me, not destroy me. I’d survived
every woman's worst nightmare and I was still standing. I was chasing my
dreams, my family was thriving, and so was my relationship. As far as I was
concerned, I exemplified the positive essence of the saying.
Unfortunately,
everything I thought I’d overcome was about to rear its ugly head. He refused to stay in the past where he
belonged. He was determined to
conquer me and keep me for himself—to control me, alienate me from my loved
ones, and force me to submit to his will. His latest attack was going to prove
his most lethal, and he was going to teach me that, even though he hadn't
destroyed me in the past, he had absolutely defined me.
LAINEY
Grabbing my phone to
text Mik that I’m home, I find thirteen missed calls from him and four messages
telling me to wait at the office until he gets there. Just my luck. I forgot to turn my ringer back on. He’s not going to
be happy about my lack of communication. I’m going to hear all about it when he
gets home.
In my defence, I
switched my phone to vibrate to minimise interruptions during my back-to-back
meetings this afternoon. Namely his interruptions, since my headstrong man
doesn’t respect the rules of traditional workplaces. He calls and texts
multiple times a day, even when I’ve told him I’ll be too busy to talk.
The thought of the
overreaction I’m going to face when he gets home brings a cheeky grin to my
face. The phrase “Control Freak” was coined to describe my fiancé. I can hear
his low, gruff voice already, lecturing me for not waiting for him and not
returning his calls; for putting my phone on vibrate in the first place. Then
I’ll be lectured for leaving work without an escort, and for taking what he
deems “unnecessary risks” with my safety.
I completely
understand where his protectiveness comes from, although it does grate at my
need for independence at times. Because I understand Mik’s need for strict
safety precautions—having barely survived what happened when I was eighteen—I
don’t often step outside his carefully constructed lines on purpose. Not
listening this time is purely due to forgetfulness and exhaustion. It’s
unfortunate, but it’ll end up being worth it since every lecture he gives me
ends with us tangled around each other in bed. My stomach tightens with
delighted anticipation of how this evening is going to end.
Buzzz.
Buzzz.
I'm jolted from my
thoughts by my flashing and vibrating phone. I decline the call in favour of
sending a text, not wanting to deal with the beginning of his tirade over the
phone. Mik is much more receptive to my feminine manipulations in person.
ME: Already home. Just saw your messages. Sorry xx
A reply flashes on my
screen less than a minute later.
MIK: OMW.
His abruptness leads
me to think that he’s texting me as he rides his Harley. I can picture him
weaving in and out of traffic in his rush to get to me. Shaking my head at the
dangerous habit I’ve been unable to get him to break, I pull my keys from the ignition.
The chronic worrier always returns my texts and calls straight-away. He’ll
always drop whatever he’s doing to be with me, should he feel the slightest
inclination that I might need him. Gratitude fills me that, four years after he
saved me, he’s still as protective as ever.
It’s unusual not to
have Mik, or one of the enforcers, pulling into my driveway right behind me. I
normally have an escort to and from work each day and I wonder what was so
important that none of them were able to be here with me.
Summoning the energy
to get out of my car, I pull my oversized work bag out behind me and wander to
the mailbox. Pulling out the envelopes and flipping through them, I find that
all but one is addressed to Mikhail Kennedy—as always, his detested given name
makes me laugh. One single piece of mail isn't addressed to either of us. The
plain white envelope is unsealed. Tipping the contents into my palm unearths a
USB with Lainey scrawled on it in black lettering. As I'm contemplating it with
growing unease, a white work van pulls across my driveway.
“Hey, miss, are you
ready for us?” The big man in the passenger seat yells at me, leaning out the
window.
“What do you mean?” I
reply, walking toward the van, my thin heels clicking on our concrete driveway.
I slip the USB and Mik’s mail into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. A
sliver of foreboding runs through my mind, manifesting as an icy shiver that
flows through my body. I carefully edge my right hand into my bag and wrap my
fingers around the butt of my handgun. My
illegal, unlicenced handgun.
Stopping a few metres
from the van and cocking an eyebrow, I wait for a response to my question.
Almost unconsciously, my thumb begins to play with my engagement ring, a
nervous habit I've developed since Mik slid the ring on my finger just over a
year ago.
The man in the
driver’s seat starts speaking, but I can’t hear him. He’s gesturing toward a
piece of paper in his hand. Considering signage for a plumbing business
decorates the side of the van, I decide they must have the wrong address.
Giving myself a mental shake for being suspicious of nothing, I pull my hand
from my bag and walk to the passenger window.
“I didn’t book a
plumber.”
“We know.” the driver
sneers, a sinister smirk crossing his face.
My heart lurches at
his tone, chills running down my spine, and I turn to run. Two steps are all I
manage before the van’s side door bursts open and two men leap out, each
latching onto my arms, and dragging me kicking and screaming into the van. They
slam the door shut as the van drives off at high speed, wheels squealing.
Screaming at the top
of my lungs, I fight for my freedom with all I have. I manage to kick one of my
attackers in the face before I feel a sharp pinch in my arm. Twisting around, I
see an empty syringe sticking out of my bicep. That can't be good. My head grows fuzzy and my eyesight starts to
dim. In the developing drug-induced darkness, I vaguely hear a man whining.
“Fucking bitch made my
nose bleed. Fuck.”
Turning to search for
the source of the comment, I’m hit in the temple with sickening force, and left
with no choice but to embrace the beckoning darkness.
*
Blinking slowly
because the light hurts my eyes, I lift my head to see if I can determine where
I am. I vaguely remember being carried out of the van, and then being thrown
onto a bed before I lost consciousness again. It didn't feel as if I was out
for long in the van, so I hope I’m close to home. Feeling slightly better at
that thought, I try to make sense of my situation. Everything is muddled in my
head from whatever I was injected with.
Forcing myself to keep
my eyes open despite the pain shooting through my temple, I discover that I’m
in a large bedroom. A man’s bedroom, by the look of the dark bedding I’m lying
on. Male clothes lay over the foot of the bed, and the smell of cologne lingers
in the air. The cologne smells familiar to my addled brain, causing my stomach
to churn.
My strange reaction to
the scent disturbs me, but before I can examine why, the bedroom door opens and
in strides a large, muscular man with a shaved head and black tribal tattoos
covering his arms. He glares at me, hatred shining from his hard eyes.
Gathering as much energy as I can muster, I glare back. I can tell he’s the
piece of work I kicked in the face, the dried blood on the front of his shirt
and bruising setting in under his eyes giving that fact away. I make a point of
grinning at him, lifting my eyebrows in amusement as I slowly drag my gaze over
his face and blatantly examine the damage I inflicted.
“I see you’ve finally
finished with your beauty sleep,” he snaps, advancing on me. “You looked pretty
fuckable lying there moaning away like a bitch in heat—”
“You touch me and I'll
have you killed,” I cut him off. I'm not bluffing. I know plenty of people who
can dispose of anyone I ask them to. “Where am I? What the hell do you want
with me?”
Lashing out at him
with my legs, I land a good kick to his stomach. He grunts, but doesn’t slow
his stride toward me. Ignoring my shouted questions, he slaps my legs down.
Grabbing me by the arm, he hauls me off the bed, shaking me when I continue to
struggle. My feet barely touch the ground as he towers over my five foot eleven
frame, even with the added height of my heels.
This guy is massive,
and regret fills me when he glowers down at me in rage. It’s going to hurt if
he decides to turn violent. Silently, he drags me out of the room, down an
expensively decorated hallway, and into an open plan living area.
“Is he here yet?” he
barks to the other three men in the room.
They’re all equally as
big and scary looking as the guy holding me. I didn't get a good look at the
time, but I’m pretty sure they’re the other guys from the van. “She’s really
starting to piss me off.”
“He’ll be here in ten.
We've got plenty of time to teach her a quick lesson, Duke,” the black-haired
guy sitting by himself at the breakfast bar announces to the bastard holding
me. His gaze travels from the top of my long blonde hair and down my face,
coming to rest on my chest, which is heaving from the exertion of trying to
keep on my feet during my trip from the bedroom.
“Good idea.” Duke
sneers down at me, his intent written all over his face. His grip on my arms
tightens. My stomach drops and my adrenaline spikes. Backing me up against the
closest wall, he rips open my satin dress shirt, exposing my blue lace bra. I
instinctively struggle, albeit sluggishly because my head is still foggy, but
he pins my hands above my head by holding both my wrists in one of his big
paws. Groping my covered breasts without finesse, he squeezes and pinches. I’m
about to knee him when one of the men sitting on the couch jumps up and pulls
Duke off of me.
“If you value your
fucked-up life, you won’t touch her. We’re here to snatch and deliver, not for
fun,” the man states.
Duke lets go of me as
he’s yanked backward by the man speaking. Once I have enough space, I rear back
and punch him in the face before kneeing him in the balls. My ample
self-defence skills are rising to the surface, the residual fog from the
sedative they injected into me clearing somewhat. My attack on his family
jewels makes him drop to one knee. His attempts to rise to his full height are
hampered by the guy holding him. Even so, he still manages to backhand me
across the face, my head jerking to the side from the impact. Pain shoots
through my cheek and lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. My face
throbs, but I ignore it, choosing to make a run for the front door. Thank God,
I'm able to run in heels, my movements sure and balanced, despite the lasting
effects of whatever the hell they drugged me with earlier.
Finally shaking off
the guy who pulled him off me, Duke, grabs me around the waist, successfully
foiling my escape. When he pulls me back against him, I throw my head back and
strike him in the chin. He bellows, but doesn’t loosen his hold on me.
In the chaos, the
other men rise to their feet and pull their guns. I vaguely register the
weapons as they’re trained on me, concentrating instead on my struggle with
Duke. I land a couple of good punches to his face and another knee to his
groin. He hits me. The blows are hard enough to enough to stun, even as I use
every ounce of my defensive fight training to avoid them. I’m left reeling when
I mistime my ducking and weaving. It glances off my temple, and I feel my legs
turn to jelly, seconds before an unexpected, booming shout from one of the
other men fills the room. Duke uses my wavering concentration to his advantage,
seizing me from behind and pulling me to his chest. Using his arms to pin mine
to my sides, he slides a clammy hand into my bra and kneads my breast.
“Stop fucking touching
her,” the guy, who pulled Duke off me initially orders him once more. His
serious, almost professional expression matches the take-no-prisoner’s persona
he presents with his crew cut, cargo pants, and khaki T-shirt. He looks like a
mercenary. Pushing Duke away from me and grabbing me by the top of my arm, he
squeezes tight when I resist.
“Duke, fuck off over
there and stay the fuck away from her. I won’t tell you again.” He points at
the couch. Duke stares at me, intense loathing in his eyes, before he limps off
and collapses on the lounge. “Cain, take her back to the bedroom and watch her.”
He shouts this at the
smart mouth from the breakfast bar before he turns his back to huddle with the
man he was sitting next to when we entered. Cain salutes the order, winking at
me like we're about to share a private joke. I shudder under his lust-filled
perusal.
“No problem, Stu.” The
mercenary-looking man now has a name. I mentally catalogue all of them. It’ll
come in handy later, I’m certain.
The two who’ve huddled
are talking in hushed tones, ignoring the rest of us. They appear to be the
leaders of this group, so I assume this house belongs to one of them. My first
thought when I look at them is that they have military backgrounds, their
upright bearing and haircuts a good indication. Either military or MC. They
wouldn’t look out of place in a cut either.
My lingering confusion is bugging me. I can’t work out why they’ve abducted
me and who this guy is that they're waiting to arrive. The only thing I know
for sure—if this has something to do with my Dad’s MC—he’s going to go apeshit
on their asses. It’s a cardinal rule that
women and children are not involved in Club conflicts.
Cain saunters over and
grabs me by my sore arm, dragging me away from a glowering Duke. I return
Duke’s glare through narrowed eyes as I'm pulled passed him and down the hall,
sending a prayer to the universe that his balls hurt for at least a week. We’re
nearly at the end of the hallway and out of sight of the living area when Cain
slaps his hand over my mouth, pushing me against the wall. My head hits the
drywall with a sickening thud, and he presses his leg between my thighs. I
scream, minimal sound escaping around his hand.
He licks the side of
my face as we wrestle for control of my arms. Overpowering me after a short
scuffle, he grabs my wrists and secures them above my head with one of his
hands. I try to bring my hands back down so that I can defend myself, but
Cain’s too strong. Using the leg he has wedged between my thighs, he lifts me
up the wall, and spreads my legs with his hips. He moves between them and
presses his denim-clad erection against me. My skirt rides up, exposing my
lace-covered core. Feeling his hardness against me through my thin panties, I
attempt to squirm away. I can’t stand the feeling of him pressed against me, so
I kick him in the back of his thighs with my heels. He doesn’t budge.
“Stop fighting me,
bitch. I don’t give a fuck what Stu says. You’re too hot to hand over without
tasting,” he tells me, his mouth to my ear.
Ignoring him, I yell
against his hand because I know he isn’t supposed to touch me. It achieves
nothing, the sound too muffled to carry down the long hallway. He releases my
mouth only to punch me hard in the face for disobeying. My head bounces off the
wall again, shooting stars bursting through my vision. Fear that I’m going to
pass out from the impact overcomes me as he roughly grabs my breasts and grinds
himself against me. The world dims. Cain breathes heavily in excitement. He
tastes of stale coffee as he forces his tongue into my mouth. I cringe at his
invasion, despair winding its way through me like a snake that’s squeezing my
internal organs.
When his hold on my
hands loosens as his groping gains enthusiasm, I wrench them from his
slackening grip and lash out at him. My wild swing misses because Cain is
pulled off me and thrown to the floor. I hit the ground with a thump from the
unexpected loss of his weight holding me against the wall.
I watch in a daze as a
large man with dark brown hair pounds on Cain. Hope rises within me, dulling
the panic that’s been threatening to choke me since I woke in this strange
house, as I realise that I might about to be rescued. It dies seconds later
when nobody comes to investigate the growing commotion.
Wriggling my skirt
back down my hips, I sag to the floor, clasping the pieces of my top together.
My mind races, matched in intensity by the trembling that’s overcome my body.
Blood runs down my chin from Cain’s hit, my lip throbbing in time with my
frenetic pulse. There’s nowhere for me to run because they’re blocking the
hallway, and this scares me almost as much as Cain’s attack.
Abruptly, the man
stops beating Cain. Without acknowledging me, he lifts my attacker by his shirt
and drags him down the hallway. A shard of fear pierces my chest as I watch him
pull Cain’s prone body away with minimal effort.
“Get this piece of
scum out of my house. The rest of you can go as well. This part of the job is
done. Stu will be in touch to organise the next phase.” His commanding voice
sends chills through me—he’s the other guy they were waiting for. The puppet
master behind my abduction. “Find someone to replace him. If I see him again,
I'll kill him for touching her. She's
mine.”
Crouched on all fours,
I crawl to the end of the hallway and peek around the corner. Cain’s lying on
the floor near the front door, still unconscious, while the others stand near
the breakfast bar with their backs to me. They’re watching the newcomer ransack
my handbag. Even from behind, he seems familiar. Ominously familiar. I’m still trying to place him when he leaves the
room and my range of sight.
My handbag’s presence
means my handgun and my phone are here somewhere. The first burst of real hope
I've had since I regained consciousness explodes within me. If I can’t get away
right now, I might be able to get to my phone to call Mik, or get to my gun to
protect myself.
Duke and the blond
guy—whose name I haven't learned—turn away from the breakfast bar, nodding to
Stu in farewell. They pick up Cain, taking one arm each before they drag him
through the front door, closing it behind them without saying another word. My
heart leaps when I don’t hear the telltale click of a lock when it engages.
Glancing around for
the remaining men, hope grows when I don’t see any of them. The buzz of a phone
vibrating on silent breaks the silence in the house. My heart jumps into my
throat when I spot my phone lying on the kitchen bench. I’d bet everything I
own that Mik’s calling me nonstop to see where I am. My man would be home by
now, and losing his mind since I’m not there when I told him I was.
Lord, I’d give
anything to go back in time and wait at the office for him like he asked.
My addled mind is
finding it hard to wrap itself around what’s happening. I take a few steadying,
deep breaths, exhaling slowly through my nose to calm myself.
Peeking again, I see
that they’re still gone. It’s now or
never to make my run for the front door.
I button my shirt up
as well as I can and slip my heels off so I don’t slow myself. My favourite
pair of Manolo Blahnik’s are about to be sacrificed for my escape, and my
father will be replacing them.
Edging around the
corner of the hallway, I spare one last glance in their direction before rising
from my crouched position and running as fast as I can to the front door. I
make it without detection, twisting the handle of the door with urgency. My
shaking hands make a mess of it, impeding my escape.
“What the hell?” a
deep voice exclaims, and someone rushes toward me.
Turning the handle
with increasing desperation, I squeal with delight when the door finally flies
open. My first step toward freedom is thwarted when I’m grabbed around the
waist and slung over a large shoulder. My breath leaves me in a rush from the
impact.
A large hand swats my
ass with a stinging slap, causing me to gasp in shock and pain. The sudden
intake of breath forces the cologne from the bedroom to flood my senses. My
sedative affected mind finally remembers why the smell made me feel nauseous. Terror
rising within me, I struggle in earnest, kicking my legs and punching my captor
in the back with all of my strength.
“Now, now, Lainey.
Calm down, darling girl. You don’t want to end up hurting yourself, do you?”
His deep, velvety smooth voice mocks me.
Realisation dawning,
it sinks in that my abduction has nothing to do with the MC, and everything to
do with me and the stupid choice I made when I was eighteen.
No. This can't be happening.
My body shakes
uncontrollably. Feeling light-headed, I’m afraid I’m going to faint. My mind
races without aim, refusing to accept the truth in front of me.
Brendan’s my worst
nightmare. I’ve spent the last four years putting myself back together after
escaping this man, and just as I start feeling safe in the life Mik and I have
been building, he turns up to wreck it all.
“Put me down, Brendan.
Please,” I plead in a shaky voice, scrambling to find some much-needed
composure. “You’re not supposed to be anywhere near me, you know that. If you
let me walk out of here now, I won’t tell the police and your parole will be
safe.”
He chuckles at my
request, and slowly lowers me down his body, thrusting his hard bulge against
me when our pelvic areas meet. My feet have barely reached the ground before
I’m backing away from him.
It’s fruitless. He
won’t let me go. Grasping the tops of my arms, he pulls me onto his lap as he
sits down on the brown leather settee. All fight leaves my body at his touch,
my anxious shaking increasing.
Hearing the door locks
engage and buttons being pressed on a keypad, I realise that my pleas to leave
are going to fall on deaf ears. I’m stuck for now—not only because of the
locked door and security system—but because this man scares me to death. I know
if I mess up my escape again, he’ll make me pay in a painful and humiliating
way.
“I’ll leave you two
lovebirds to your reunion,” Stu says, chuckling as he walks past us and out of
sight. I stare, almost with longing after him, willing him to come back and
take me with him.
He’s the lesser of the two evils facing me.
Brendan gently grasps
my chin, tilting my head until I’m forced to look at him. He looks exactly the
same. His eyes are a warm chocolate brown, his skin lightly tanned, and his
lips rosy pink and kissable. The dark chocolate brown hair that sets off his
traditionally handsome features is still full, luscious, and wavy. Jail hasn’t
taken any discernible toll on his looks, which annoys me, because I’m certain
that Mik arranged for some of the MC’s boys on the inside to visit him a few
times. The evil soul that lurks behind his angelically handsome face is still
safely hidden from the world.
“Lainey, what’s
today’s date?” he asks, purring the words at me with sadistic pleasure.
The voice that was
once one of the most pleasant sounds in the world to me now sends slivers of
icy fear down my spine. In a rush I realise the date, and tears of anger and
frustration leak from my eyes. I’m angry at myself for dropping my guard. I
understand now why Mik didn’t want me to go to work today.
Today is Brendan’s
first day off of parole for raping and almost beating me to death just over
four years ago. He was sentenced to two years in jail for my assault, with a
non-parole period of eighteen months. He’s been out of jail for six months and
had left me alone until now, so I’d become complacent in watching my back even
if Mik hadn’t. It’s apparent now that Brendan was waiting to be free and clear
of the law before he forced our reunion.
“Shhhh, sweetheart.
I'm not here to hurt you,” he soothes, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.
I jerk away from him,
his touch making me feel dirty, but he curls his fingers around the tops of my
arms and pulls me to his chest. Anger coils within me as I take stock of the
fact that the only reason he’s sitting here tormenting me now is because I only
had him charged with assaulting me on one occasion. I never told the
authorities—or my family—about his repeated beatings and rapes, or his
blackmail. They believe we had a one-off physical fight and that he threatened
my family because I was leaving him.
That was bad enough.
There are only three
other people who know the full truth of what he did to me, and that’s how I
want to keep it. Mik was always adamant that I should’ve made him pay for
everything, but I couldn't face the embarrassment and pity that telling the
truth would bring. I also couldn't throw Benji under the bus. My reasons seem
petty at this moment as I sit unwilling and scared on his lap, wishing that I’d
told everyone every horrible detail.
“It’s so good to be
able to touch you again, Lainey,” Brendan whispers against my cheek. “I’ve
missed touching you more than you could believe. Watching you since I left that
hellhole has been torture, especially knowing I had to wait until today to
claim you as mine again.”
I gasp at his
statement, pulling as far away from him as he’ll let me.
“How have you been
watching me? Mik has precautions set up. You haven’t been anywhere near the
city or we would’ve known.” The second Mik’s name falls from my lips, I know
I’ve made a big mistake. He has a long history of irrational jealousy toward my
fiancé.
Brendan’s face changes
from loving to irate in a split second. Letting go of my arms, he stands with
calculated abruptness. I topple backward off his lap and onto the carpeted
floor. He unleashes his anger, slapping me across the face twice, and worsening
the damage Cain has already caused to my face.
As I cower, waiting
for another slap, he pulls me to my feet by the front of my shirt. I'm barely
upright when he grabs my hand and tugs me behind him, through the modern
kitchen and into a formal living area. I want to pull my hand from his, but
it’s the only thing keeping me upright as he strides in front of me.
There’s a huge
telescope pointing toward large bay windows. A room like this should be filled
with expensive chaises, televisions, and coffee tables. Instead, it has three
desks, numerous filing cabinets, and a large open gun safe lining the
perimeter. The walls have paperwork and photos pinned all over them. A quick
glance tells me that I’m the subject of most of the photos.
Brendan shoves me into
the chair behind the telescope.
“Have a look,” he
grunts. “I have been watching you, making sure that dirty biker doesn’t touch
you. I was always coming back for you. You’re
mine. You always will be, as much as you try to fight it.”
Brendan grabs me by
the back of my neck and forces my face toward the eyepiece.
Resistance is futile.
I learned this years ago, so I let him position my head where he wants it.
“Given your slutty
tendencies, I’m not surprised you ran to him the second I was gone. You will be
making up for that and every other damn thing you’ve done to me very soon,” he
tells me, certainty colouring his tone.
Attempting to tune out
his threats, I peer into the telescope and pray that I'm not about to see what
I fear he wants to show me. No such luck since, just as I feared, the house I
share with Mik stares back at me.
There’s a large nature
reserve between this house and mine containing a playground, bike track, and
public amenities. I can see my car in the driveway with Mik’s Harley parked
next to it. Mik is pacing on the front deck, running his hand through his hair
in jerky, agitated movements. His phone to his ear, I can make out his mouth
moving as he speaks.
Dragging my eyes from
my stressed fiancé, I take in the whole view. I can see straight through the
open curtains into my living room. Brendan has been able to see into my home
for God knows how long.
The one place I’ve
felt safe for the last four years hasn’t been the sanctuary I thought it was.
As usual, Brendan’s managed to make my feelings of safety and freedom nothing
but a pretty illusion. I didn’t think my heart could sink any further than it
already has in this situation, but this revelation completely knocks the wind
out of my sails.
Brendan laughs at my
appalled expression, his eyes filling with enjoyment when he sees the situation
become clear to me. Even though I know rationally that it's the wrong move, I
can't stop myself from losing my temper. Rising to my feet, I swing on my heel
to face him.
“What is wrong with
you?” I question, pushing him as hard as I can in the chest with both hands. He
staggers backward a couple of steps in surprise at my attack. “Why won't you
just leave me alone? You need to go away. You’re completely crazy. I’m not
yours, and I never will be. I hate you!”
I swing at him,
hitting him in the chest and the stomach as I unleash my fears and
frustrations. Pulling my right arm back, I punch him as hard as I can in the
mouth. Blood bursts from the corner upon impact. I shake my fist out, and swing
again.
Five years of fear,
anger, and hurt are finally finding the correct outlet.
I’m out of control,
and ready to kill him with my bare hands.
I want to hit him,
choke him, and humiliate him.
I want him to feel everything he made me feel.
Brendan ducks my
follow-up punch and grasps me by the throat, subduing me with little effort. He
forces me backward on my tiptoes until my back hits the wall. Then he lifts me
until my feet are no longer touching the ground. A sick sense of déjà vu
engulfs me as my consciousness recognises the position I’m in.
I scratch at the hand
he has around my neck with both of mine; two of my fingernails snap as I try to
pull free. Kicking at him with my legs, I attempt to head butt him. I’m
fighting for breath, black spots floating through my vision, but I don’t give
up. Even lost in my anger, the only thought in my head is that I’m not going to
let him hurt me without a fight this time.
He licks the blood
from his split lip, before leaning down, and whispering in my ear, “I’ll let
you hit me once without punishment, Lainey, because I know I hurt you in the
past. Just this once, though. Every time you step out of line from now on, I’m
going to punish you or one of your family.”
He licks the shell of
my ear before he continues with calm menace. “Is Lachie still catching the bus
to practice by himself?”
Shocked, my body falls
still at his mention of my youngest brother. Brendan must be watching all of my
family—not just me—to know that my fifteen-year-old brother is living in
Brisbane now and catches the bus to football practice. My entire beautiful,
crazy family moved down here after he hurt me for the final time.
I refused to move
home, not only due to the terrifying memories they knew nothing about, but
because I was determined Brendan wasn’t going to derail my plans for my future
entirely.
My mind quickly
dismisses his words, and I calm myself. He doesn’t realise that one of the
Club’s enforcers escorts Lachie everywhere for this exact reason. Everyone was
worried Brendan would try to use my family against me when he was freed from
jail, so Mik has used the MC to put multiple layers of safety precautions in
place. Lachie doesn’t know he’s being protected because of me. He’s just been
told “Club business”, which is our dad’s go-to excuse when he doesn’t want to
explain something.
Brendan squeezes his
hand tighter around my neck and continues to torment me with his words.
“Do you understand
what I’m saying, Lainey? You're mine, and you're going to stay with me this time. The people you love are
going to get hurt, one by one, every
time you try to leave me.” He leans down and stares at me with feral, glazed
eyes. “Now nod if you get what I’m telling you. I’ll let you go when you show
that you understand me.”
I stay still, fixing
unblinking eyes on his, ignoring his demand. The strong, defiant, and wilful
parts of my personality that Mik’s spent the last four years helping me put
back together won’t let me bow down to this monster again. He can threaten my
brothers as much as he wants because I know that they’re safe this time.
There’s nothing he can do. Mik’s going to put this madman in the ground for
daring to touch me again. I can feel it in my soul that my wild and unyielding
fiancé is going to rescue me.
I continue staring at
Brendan. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of making me nod.
He regards me
steadily, a smile curling his lips when I continue refusing to give him the
reaction he seeks.
“This is what I love
about you, Lainey. You challenge me like no one else.”
Nuzzling my ear, his
free hand closes around my breast. Vomit rises in my throat.
He knows exactly how to get to me.
Brendan lets go of my
breast. He rips the last of the buttons off my shirt with his free hand. It
falls open, exposing my bra. Touching me again, the asshole tweaks my nipple
until it goes hard, then he pinches it until I whimper.
“Nod if you understand
me, darling,” His voice is tender, loving. A contradiction to his nasty touch.
I shake my head, not
only at his request, but also to clear the pain. Killing me isn’t going to give
him what he wants. I know that I just need to wait him out. I can take any pain
he throws at me. I proved that last time.
Licking the inside of
my ear, he sinks his teeth into my lobe with enough force to cause maximum pain
without breaking the skin. I can't help myself as I scream as much as my
closed-up throat will allow me.
“Nod if you
understand.” He repeats after removing his teeth from my earlobe.
As the pain recedes, I
regain my will to fight. I pull against the hand around my throat, stomping on
his foot with as much force as I can manage. He barely acknowledges my attack,
except to slam me back against the wall when I try to knee him in the groin. My
bare foot has little effect against his boot.
His body is shaking
with rage. He slams me against the wall twice more, not with his full strength,
but enough to hurt and make me rethink my bravado.
Maybe I should nod, just to get him to let me
go.
Black spots dance
across my eyesight when he squeezes my throat once more and shoves me against
the wall for the fourth time. My head bounces off the wall. Brendan pushes up
my skirt, wedging his thigh between mine. I squirm, trying to keep my legs
shut, but he’s incessant, and manages to get his thigh not only between my legs
but against my panties. I hoarsely scream at him to stop, head-butting him as
hard as I can when he doesn’t.
All I achieve is
hurting my own head because he doesn’t stop.
Not even for a second.
When I head-butt him
again, he slaps me across the face. As I fall still from the impact, his hand
slides to the apex of my thighs. Using the considerable weight of his body to
pin me against the wall, he finally releases my throat. I draw much-needed
gasps of air, hoping this is over.
Instead of letting me
go as I'd expected, he rips my panties off of my body with one harsh tug, and
throws them on the floor behind him. My constant struggling achieves nothing as
Brendan pins me with apparent ease against the wall. He strokes between my legs
with surprising softness, rubbing his hand back and forth, from my clit to my
ass. Continuing his circuit as my entire body shudders in disgust, my mind
trying to shut down to block out his vile touch. He grins at my reaction.
I thought I could defy
him, but I can’t go through this particular form of torture again.
I mentally admit
defeat, my head sagging against him. I mouth against his shoulder that I get
him, furiously nodding my head as tears stream down my face. He leans away from
me and smiles down at me, gloating. He knows he’s broken me and won this round.
“Too little, too late,
my darling,” he admonishes, using two fingers to penetrate me with clinical
precision. I scream in pain, fighting to get away as he pumps his fingers into
me again.
MAKING
CHOICES, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #2
PROLOGUE
“In the end, we only
regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have,
and the decisions we waited too long to make.” ~Lewis Carroll~
Everything in life comes down to choices. Big
choices, little choices, choices that seem insignificant at the time yet end up
having a significant impact on our life, and choices that we know are going to
change things for us in the biggest way.
Smart people—educated, well-raised people—like
me make choices with rationality. We make choices by weighing up the pros and
cons, by analyzing every potential outcome, and by removing emotion and fear
from the equation.
Is love a choice?
Can you make a choice whether or not to love
someone? Or is it a decision that’s taken out of our hands by a combination of
hormonal fluctuations and our addiction to them, emotion-led instinct, and a micro-moment
of positive resonance that transcends all logic and common sense?
I was certain that as a logical, educated, and
composed woman, I would eventually love the person who was the best fit for my
career aspirations. The person who would complement my vision for my life. The
person who would meet my parent’s exacting expectations.
As a logical, educated, and composed person, I
didn’t believe that I would ever regret my choices. If I was honest, I thought
I was too smart to end up with significant regrets.
How wrong was I.
CHAPTER ONE
LUCAS
“I knew it!” A small, angry voice interrupts me as I’m watching Maddi walk down the hallway to her bedroom and the—potentially unwanted—surprise that awaits her.
“I knew it!” A small, angry voice interrupts me as I’m watching Maddi walk down the hallway to her bedroom and the—potentially unwanted—surprise that awaits her.
Swinging from my spot on the couch to face the
French doors that lead to the alfresco area, I’m greeted by an irate JJ. She’s
staring at me with her hands on her tiny hips, her ruby-red lips pressed
together tight. The fury that emanates from her makes her dark-red hair appear
more intense than usual, her ire helping her appear taller than her just over
five feet.
“You know what?” My heart’s thudding in my
chest. Fuck. I hope she doesn’t say what I think she’s going to say.
I don’t want to deal with this tonight—or any bloody night.
Clenching her hands into fists when I rise
from the couch and walk toward her, she spits her answer at me through gritted
teeth. “That you’re in love with Maddi, Lucas. I’ve been watching you with her
for months. Ever since she moved in with you when Mad Dog dumped her perfect
ass, you’ve pined after her like a bloody, love-sick fool hoping she’ll give
you her attention.”
“You know nothing. It’s not like that.”
I want to defend myself further, but I can’t.
I’m not guilty of everything she’s
assuming, but I am guilty. What JJ doesn’t
understand is her place in the convoluted mess of my fucking emotions.
“Why do you care anyway? We’ve been playing
this cat-and-mouse game that you love so fucking much for the last six months.
Didn’t you tell me we were finished last night?”
Shuffling on the spot, she drops her gaze from
my eyes and studies the cream tiles on the kitchen floor as if they hold the
answer to my questions.
“I came over to apologise. I didn’t expect to
find you with Maddi on your lap. And
I didn’t expect to hear you tell her that you’d love a shot with her. Damn,
Lucas, she called you my dirty little secret. Is that how you feel?”
“It is. You fucking know it is.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve told you why…”
“Yeah, thanks for the warning. You’re a true
friend!” My best female friend’s pissed-off voice interrupts JJ’s attempted
justifications when she yells from her room. I hold up one finger to silence
the seething woman in front of me and yell in response, “Anytime, Princess!”
Even in the face of JJ’s anger, I can’t help the
booming laughter that rumbles from my chest. She’s obviously found Mad Dog
waiting in her bedroom, ready to ambush her and finally talk her into taking
him back. As much as I wish otherwise, she’s made for him, and he’s perfect for
her. They just needed someone to give them a push to sort out their shit once
and for all—a push I’m happy to provide.
Maybe happy is the wrong word.
It’s more like a push I feel obliged to
provide.
“What the hell is that about?” JJ asks in a
frosty tone once my laughter dies down.
“That was about the surprise waiting for her
in her room.”
Raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me,
she sneers. “The surprise being Mad Dog?”
“Yep.”
Turning my back to her, I walk to the fridge
and pull out a beer. Cracking the top, I drink half of it down in one go. I’m
confused as fuck. I don’t know how I feel about this whole situation. I’m happy
that Maddi hasn’t sent him packing yet, but the part that will always wonder if
we would’ve stood a chance won’t shut up.
How I feel about JJ isn’t helping matters, and
neither are her bloody hang-ups.
“You’re a piece of work, you know? A real
fucked-up individual.”
Straightening my shoulders, I face her.
“Jesus, tell me how you really feel, Doll. You’re fucking awesome at telling me
how I’m wrong about everything, so let’s lay it all out. Let’s sort this shit
out once and for all.”
As she stands there swallowing hard in the
face of my ferocity, I continue. “You don’t get to barge into my house after you threw my feelings for you in my fucking face last night and then cuss
me out for looking out for my best
friends. Whatever it is you think is going on here, you’re fucking wrong. All
I’ve done is put everyone else’s happiness in front of mine, and I’m fucking
over it. Princess and Mad Dog will sort their shit out, so how about you sort
yours out. You gonna tell Daddy about us, or are we over and fucking done for
good? Those are the options here. All or
nothing.”
As I come to the crux of our problems, JJ
bites her bottom lip so hard that I’m worried she’s going to draw blood. She
can throw all the shit she wants at me about my feelings for Maddi, but I’ve
done fuck all wrong. I’ve chased this woman for six months—breaking every
fucking one of my rules along the way. I’ve kept quiet about us, even going as
far as pretending that we aren’t fucking six ways to Sunday when we’re in front
of anyone she knows.
Fuck, I’ve even hidden in her bedroom when her
parents have turned up at her place unexpectedly. In return, I’ve introduced
her to my Club, and they’ve all taken her into our family. She’s even been to
my parents’ for our monthly Sunday roast lunch.
A place I’ve only ever taken one other woman.
All I asked last night was that she finally
acknowledge we’re more than a fucking fling. That went down well, resulting in
a temper tantrum about me pushing her too fucking fast. Instead of listening to
what I had to say like a bloody adult, she told me it was too hard and that we
couldn’t see each other anymore.
Then she stormed off.
I’d decided then and there that I wasn’t
chasing her anymore, so I’d left her alone today and was planning to do so from
now on. There are only so many times I’m willing to bang my head against a
brick wall before I give up. Throughout the day, I’d slowly wrapped my head
around the end of whatever the fuck it was that we had, only to have her come
here tonight to fuck with my head again, jumping to conclusions that weren’t
hers to make anymore.
Finishing my beer, I throw the empty bottle in
the recycle bin before verbally prodding her again. “You gonna stand there all
night chewing on that luscious lip of yours? Or am I gonna get a straight
answer?”
Sighing, she removes her teeth from her lip.
“I need to think, Lucas. I came here to apologise, even though nothing’s really
changed. You want serious, and I can’t give you that…yet.”
“Bullshit. You can, but you won’t. Too scared
of what everyone else thinks—that’s what you are.”
Approaching me as if I’m a wild animal she’s
unsure of, JJ lifts herself up onto her tiptoes, and grabs me by the front of
my shirt. She tugs hard, and after a moment’s hesitation, I lean down to her.
“I need time.” She breathes her words over my face before she touches her lips
to mine. It takes every ounce of control I have not to pick her up, push her
against the wall, and kiss her back before planting myself inside of her warm
body.
Instead of giving in to my growing need, I
pull back from her mouth. “Six months is plenty of time.”
Her pretty, hope-filled face shuts down, and
the professional mask she wears at work drops into place. Awesome. Here comes cold, calculating JJ.
“No, it’s not. I’ve told you it’s not. I need
more time.”
Shaking my head at her, I gently push her away
from me, and toward the French doors that she entered through. She doesn’t even
attempt to struggle to stay with me, heightening my doubts of the success of
what I’m about to offer.
“One week, Doll. That’s it.” This ultimatum is
going to bite me in the ass—I can feel it—but I need to do this. I’ve been
burned before. Actually, I was more than burned—I was fucking incinerated.
I need upfront promises before I go down this
road with another woman with daddy issues.
“You’ve got one week. I’ll leave you alone for
one week. So go home now, JJ, and think about how it felt when we met. Think
about how good we are together. Think
about how you feel when we’re apart. And when your week’s up, I’ll come find
you. Then you can tell me if those feelings outweigh your Daddy being upset
with you.” When I emphasise the word “Daddy” she winces. It’s a low blow, but
she’s supposed to be a grown woman. I need to know if she’ll ever be all in
with me.
“All right, Lucas. I will. But you need to do
one thing for me during this week.”
Fuck knows what else she wants from me. I’ve
done everything she’s asked of me, even when it’s chafed against my need to be
straightforward.
“Anything, Doll.”
Walking to the French doors, she pauses with
her hand on the door handle. “I want you to figure out if I’m more important to
you than Maddi. If I have to deal with the fall-out from my family for you,
then I refuse to play second fiddle to her.”
JJ doesn’t wait for my answer. She simply
walks out the door, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
Fuck.
SEEKING
REDMEPTION, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #3
PROLOGUE
“The day misspent,
the love misplaced, has inside it the seed of redemption. Nothing is exempt
from resurrection.”
~Kay Ryan~
There comes a time when you have to admit
defeat, when the only thing left to do is throw your hands in the air, and say
“That’s it! I’m done.”
You realize that you’ve reached that point,
when no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that your life is going to get
better, you know deep down that you’ll need a miracle for things to improve.
And since I don’t believe in miracles anymore; I know I’m fucked. Right now,
it’s just a matter of when, not if.
In my former life as the pin-up girl for
wholesomeness, I couldn’t have imagined that I’d ever reach this point. I was
the girl with the nice house, the worthwhile career, the supportive parents,
and the hot bad-boy biker boyfriend who was really a teddy bear underneath it
all. I volunteered. I played competitive hockey. I helped old people carry
their groceries to their car.
I can pin-point the exact moment my life
started to spiral out-of-control. When his fist connected with my cheek that
first time, when I accepted his sobbing apology instead of walking away like
I’d always said I would if it happened to me—that was when everything was set
in motion.
Forgiveness, deliverance, salvation—I’ve
always believed that everyone was entitled to a second chance. I might not have
faith in my own worthiness, but the broken man who has joined me in my descent
into the darkness, I know he warrants another opportunity to pull himself back
from the brink.
For me, I know there isn’t a way out of this
bleak, black hole we currently call a life, yet before I admit defeat, maybe I
can help him find the redemption he so desperately seeks?
CHAPTER ONE
BENJI
My mouth is dry, my fucking head pounds, and
the throbbing in my right arm is almost unbearable. Actually, every part of me
aches in some way—the constant beeping and the bright, overhead light shining
in my eyes is not helping matters—and that makes me wonder how hard I partied
last night.
Bloody hell, I’ve gotta lay off the meth. The comedowns are hitting harder and lasting longer. This one looks
like it’s gearing up to be a real motherfucker. Even trying to swallow is near
impossible. I need something to drink, something to at least wet my mouth.
Opening my eyes to search for the bottle of water I keep next to my bed, I
regret that decision when the pain in my temples kicks up a notch. My need for
something wet overrides my desire for total darkness, so I close the eye that
hurts the most, and peer around the room with my good one.
This isn’t my room. I’m in a goddamn hospital
room. The annoying beeping is coming from the monitors hooked to my left arm,
the ache in my right arm is explained by the plaster covering it. Raising what
I assume is a broken arm, I peer at it in confusion. Flashes of Maddi screaming
at me flit across my mind, followed by glimpses of Lacey staring at me with
hurt, tear-filled eyes. I grab my head with my left hand and squeeze my eyes
shut as a bolt of pain tries to split my head in half.
Why were my sister and Lacey at my house
together? How did I end up in the hospital? What the hell happened?
“About time you woke the fuck up.”
Shit. I feel like death warmed up and he’s the
last person I want to deal with.
Dropping my arm back onto the bed and feigning
sleep, I lie still and concentrate on keeping my breathing regular. So far,
I’ve been able to keep him from working out how much I use. If he sees me like
this, he’s going to figure it out pretty, fucking quickly.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy. I’m not in the
fucking mood. Shit’s hit the roof today. Finding out you’re a lying junkie is
the least of my bloody problems.”
I thought my mouth was dry before but
listening to my dad spit his venomous words at me turns it into the Sahara.
Sighing in defeat, I turn my head in the direction his voice is coming from.
Cracking one eye enough to see him, I attempt to speak. My voice is croaky and
just about inaudible.
“Turn the lights down. Get me water.”
Dad shakes his head at me, huffing like I’ve
asked him if I could take his antique Harley for a ride, before hauling his
mammoth frame out of the green visitor’s chair. His shoulders are slumped as he
moves to the light switch and dims the room. Grabbing a plastic cup with a
straw, he shoves it at me once I’ve raised the hospital bed so I’m upright. He
drops back into his seat with a loud exhalation, making my eyes roll of their
own accord.
Ouch. Dumb move.
Holding the cup as if it contains liquid gold,
I suck ice-cold water through the short straw as I regard him over the rim. He
looks tired. Deep lines bracket his blue eyes—the same ones that stare back at
me whenever I look in a mirror—and he looks a decade older than he did when I
last saw him a week ago. Returning my gaze through bleak eyes, he scares the
shit out of me. I’ve never seen him look so defeated.
“Well, what’s up?”
I break the heavy silence filling the room.
The atmosphere feels like it’s trying to squash me like an irritating bug.
Serious discussions with my father are something I avoid like the plague; not
that they occur often. I’m normally invisible to him, unless I’m running around
a football field in a futile attempt to live up to his footy legend status.
Looking at the closed door to my room before
he leans closer to me, Dad asks, “You know how I’ve been looking for the body?”
Fuck. I don’t want to get into this shit again.
Sucking some more water through the straw, I try to ignore the guilt that’s
knocking on my mind seeking admittance. My fuck-up has left my family’s
motorcycle club with a big problem to deal with. It’s left my twin sister in an
even bigger predicament if the body is found by someone outside of the Club. So
far, Dad’s kept it from everyone else, but I’ve always known it was only a
matter of time before they found out.
“Yeah. Did you find him?” I hold my breath,
hoping like hell that he’s about to say that he’s finally found him.
“Doesn’t matter no more. The Shamrocks know
about it. They reckon they’re gonna find him themselves, which is bullshit.
Ain’t nothing nobody can do…I’m out of the Club anyway. They can go fuck
themselves.”
I can’t follow a word of what he’s saying. My
mouth drops open as I stare at him. Dad’s a bigger fucking mess than I
originally thought. It takes a moment but I find my voice again. “What the hell
are you talking about, Dad? What do you mean, you’re out of the…” Trailing off
as I realize that he’s not wearing his President’s cut, I shake my head, and
grimace when shards of pain ricochet through my skull. I can count on one hand
the number of times in my life that I’ve seen him without his cut on. None of
them have been in public.
“They voted you out because of my fuck up?”
The question tumbles from my lips and my heart falls with them. Disbelief grips
me, even as I interrogate him. There’s no way my mistake was bad enough to get
Dad booted as President. Not from a Club my family founded.
There’s something he’s not telling me.
“What the fuck’s going on?” I demand with as
much volume as I can muster. Confusion doesn’t sit well with me, something I
inherited from the man who’s sitting in front of me, refusing to meet my eyes.
My rough and tough father—the father who
alternates between scaring the shit out of me and inspiring awe within me, even
as a twenty-three-year-old grown man—visibly gulps. Shrugging, he shakes
himself, then straightens his shoulders and meets my eyes with the trademark
O’Brien don’t-fuck-with-me glare that my three brothers, sister, and I all got
from him.
“I had some schemes in action. Had hoped that
I’d pull off everything without anyone putting two and two together. None of
the balls I had in the air fell in my favour. Fucking Mad Dog fucked everything
up for us.”
“Us?”
The pain in my head fades into a secondary annoyance as my confusion grows at
Dad’s mention of Mad Dog. I haven’t had much to do with him over the last six
months since he’s always busting my balls about my so-called addiction, although I’m aware that he’s been at
loggerheads with Dad since the shit went down with Maddi and her ex. Fuck knows
why Mad Dog’s copped the blame for everything that happened with my father, but
if it keeps him off my back, I’m not going out of my way to set Dad straight.
“Bloody hell, you’re not making any sense.
You’re saying that you haven’t found Brendan’s body and that it’s not a problem
anymore. If that’s right, why have the Shamrocks voted you out? What schemes
are you talking about? What does any of this have to do with me and Mad Dog?”
Leaning forward, Dad laces his fingers
together and leans his chin on them. A strange glint lights up his eyes, making
my pulse spike. “It is what it is, Benji. I’m sure you’ll hear all the details
soon enough. I’m out, but your ass is covered. Right now, we need to
concentrate on making sure you end up in your rightful role. He might’ve fucked
everything else up for me, but if the Shamrocks survive the war that’s coming,
there’s no way he’ll be leading my club. The presidency belongs to the
O’Brien’s. It’ll be a cold day in hell before a Kennedy is anything more than a
fill-in.”
Please, Lord, don’t let him be hinting at what I fucking think he is.
“Dad, I’m not—” I begin to tell him that I’m
not on board with this, but as usual, I’m ignored. Sitting upright, his
expression’s fierce as he talks over me. “I have a plan in place to guarantee
you the presidency. All you need to do is follow my instructions. Call time on
your footy, get your junkie self fucking clean, and get your sorry ass
prospecting. It’ll be a fucking formality and in a year or two, you’ll be
Prez.”
My racing heartbeat becomes a roar in my ears
as his words about finishing my football career sink in. No fucking way. I
thought I had a few more years before we had to have this conversation. I’ve
never said I wanted to join the Club. That’s always been Maddi’s thing—even
though she’s a girl, she’s much more than suitable. It’ll be even better once
her and Mad Dog sort their shit out and get married. An O’Brien and a Kennedy,
the dynasty will be intact, and I’ll be free to live my own life.
“I’m not quitting footy. I’m rehabbing my knee
so I can play next year.” I argue.
“Highly fucking unlikely that’ll happen
considering baby girl just broke your arm for you. You’re never gonna play
footy again. Wake up and smell the roses, son. You’ve wasted the talent I gave
you. Squandered it and fucked me over in the process.” Dad spits his words at
me. Pure loathing covers his face, his top lip curling on one side as he snarls
at me. “You owe me. You owe your twin. You owe Joel. Each of us have paid the
price for your fuck-ups.”
My stomach churns as his accusations hit me.
He’s one-hundred percent right. I’m a fuck up and my family has paid the price.
My guilt travels up my throat, making me gag. After my bender, there’s nothing
in my stomach to puke, yet that doesn’t stop my body from trying. My mouth
waters, and I start shaking. A cold shiver shoots through me and my body breaks
out in goose bumps.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I ride out
the sickness by slowly letting the air out through my clenched teeth. Once I
feel somewhat better, I turn my attention to my father. He watched me battle
through the sickness with hard eyes, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
“Coming down, are we?”
Dropping his accusing glare, I stare at my
plastered arm without answering him. Dad’s words about Maddi breaking my arm
tumble around my head and I struggle to piece together when that might have
happened. Last thing I remember was calling Lacey and sweet talking her into
coming over and sharing the meth I’d just got my hands on. She came over,
helped me shoot up since I’m still hopeless at hitting my vein, and then we’d
fucked. A typical night between the two of us. I don’t know why Maddi would be
there at the same time as Lacey since we’re keeping the fact we’re fucking to
ourselves—Maddi being Lacey’s best friend is a complication I’m not thrilled
about. My bossy-ass twin doesn’t need any further reason to stick her nose into
my shit.
“Did
you hear what I said?” Dad pulls me from my thoughts with his terse question. I
hadn’t realized that he was speaking again.
Giving him a sheepish smile, I shake my head.
He snorts at me.
“I said that you need to ask to prospect the day
you get the fuck out of here.” He waves his hand around, indicating my hospital
room. “I’ll get Lenny to nominate you. You can deal with your footy club
later.”
“Dad.” I interrupt him. “I’m not—”
Pointing his huge fucking finger in my face
after he jumps to his feet and strides to my bedside, saliva showers my face
when he yells at me, “You’ll do as you’re fucking told. I have plans in place
for this to go down tomorrow. Fuck this up for me and I’ll make sure you have
nothing left. You think everyone’s pissed with you, now? That’ll be nothing to
how much they’ll hate you by the time I’m done.”
I recoil at his vehemence. His eyes glitter
with fury and he looks one step away from completely losing it. Watching his
shoulders shake and his fists clench and unclench, I stay quiet so I don’t push
him over the edge. My father’s a volatile man, prone to temper tantrums when he
thinks you’re not going to meet his demands, yet until this moment, I’ve never
been scared that he was going to deck me. Right now, it’s a genuine worry.
Summoning every ounce of spine I possess, I
force down my nausea, straighten my back, and meet his eyes.
“You’re losing the fucking plot, old man.”
Swallowing hard, every part of me revolts at what I’m about to say. This is the
last thing I ever wanted to do. “But I’ll prospect.”
Lifting my broken arm, I point at my fucked
right knee with the fingers protruding from the cast, and laugh. It’s a hollow
laugh, not the least bit happy. “We both know I’m never playing footy again so
I might as well pay you back for the fall you’ve just taken for me.”
I watch as my father blinks in rapid
succession. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was fighting tears. The
moment passes as if it never happened, his features hardening as his expression
shuts down.
“What if I am losing it?” he asks, without any
heat to his tone. “Would that make you fucking well listen to me?” Dad doesn’t
wait for me to answer him before he continues in the same monotone. “All I’m
trying to do is make sure you kids are taken care of. You mightn’t agree with
my plans, but they’re what I think is for the best, so just do as you’re told
for once.”
Even though he says this evenly, it still gets
my back up. My own temper sparks. Do as I’m told? He’s got to be kidding me?
“Jesus Christ. I don’t have a clue what you’re
on about. Fuck you and fuck your cryptic bullshit. I’m a grown fucking man.” My
nostrils flare as my breathing picks up pace. “You’re a bit late to become a
caring father now. Maybe Matty and Lachie will welcome your sudden concern, but
me, Joel, and Maddi don’t need you.”
I want to say so much more. I want to yell
every grievance I’ve had with him since my mum died but I force myself to stop.
It’s too late. He’ll never listen.
Bull-headed cunt that he is.
“I said I’ll prospect. That’s it. I’m not
making a play for the president’s patch unless I’m wanted. If that means Mad
Dog ends up as Prez, then that’s too fucking bad—”
For the first time, I’m ready to admit my lack
of desire to join the Shamrocks, but I’m forced to shut up when he hurtles
forward and grabs me by the front of my hospital gown. Pulling my face to his,
he glares at me, running his feral eyes over my face as if I’m a puzzle he’s
trying to solve. Shaking me twice, he throws me back against the bed. There’s nothing
left of the father I know in his eyes when he snarls his ultimatum at me.
“You don’t get a say in fuck all. Everything’s
already in motion. You either get with the program or you get the fuck out of
this family…” His words trail off as he turns his back on me and walks to the
door. “Since we both know you’re a junkie loser who can’t survive without his
twin saving his ass, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. Considering I
didn’t tell the Club about you hiding Connor and his whore at your house after
they fucked-up their takeover attempt.”
Every ounce of oxygen is sucked from my lungs
at his veiled threat. I’m gasping for breath when the door slams behind him,
making me jump in shock.
How the fuck does he know?
Anyone else finds out what I did, I’m dead.
Literally.
CONQUERING
CIRCUMSTANCES, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #3.5
CHAPTER ONE
“It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then
the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons,
heaven or hell.” ~Buddha~
“The biopsy showed Invasive Lobular Carcinoma
Breast Cancer. I’m sorry, but it appears that it’s already spread to a degree.”
I cross
myself as the official diagnosis is delivered in measured tones that are meant
to be reassuring. It’s possibly futile—this effort to keep my rapidly failing
faith alive—but I say a prayer to my Lord for good measure. To be honest, in my
heart of hearts, I already knew the truth which is why I didn’t tell anyone
about my suspicions. Or that I had an appointment today.
With Mikhail’s release from prison this
morning, my children were needed elsewhere. If they knew what I had planned for
today, after the urgent phone call from my specialist’s receptionist yesterday
afternoon, all five of them would be here trying their hardest to be
supportive. As much as the thought of my daughter cross-examining the doctor
and the boys cracking jokes to lighten the mood makes me smile, I’d much rather
that they attend a happy event.
Shaking away thoughts of the children, a wry
smile crosses my face at the reaction I’d receive from them if they knew I
still called them children. The twins, Madeleine, and Benjamin, are
twenty-three while Joel is almost twenty-two. Rounding out the siblings is
Matthew at seventeen, and the baby, Lachlan, who recently turned fifteen.
Hardly children anymore, although they always will be in my heart.
“Ms. Markham,” the sympathetic voice of my
specialist cuts into my musing. Crossing his hands and resting them on his
desk, he regards me with a serious expression. “The options are not pretty, but
I’m confident that you are facing good odds. Due to this being your second
occurrence, I must stress the need for a double mastectomy and a full
hysterectomy, in addition to the chemotherapy. You’re only forty-six. Life-saving
and preventative measures are
needed.”
He doesn’t have the sentence completed before
I’m shaking my head. It might be a life-ending decision, but I can’t face
losing my breasts and my most feminine of female body parts. Every woman has a
limit to what they can handle. I know mine with absolute certainty. The
decision I made twenty years ago stills stands—strong and true, and I’m as
resolute today as I was back then. Life may have dealt me cruel blows with the
loss of my only biological child, followed quickly by my first brush with
cancer, yet even with the subsequent loss of my ability to have other children
because of the treatment options available back then, I will not be persuaded
otherwise.
Dr. Jenkins presses his lips together at my
vehement, albeit silent denial. “Wendy, if you want to live then you’re left
with no other options. With a second occurrence, one that’s already spread to
the lymph nodes, chemotherapy followed by surgery is your best chance for
survival.”
Internally, I’m screaming with frustration at
his stern, disapproving words, although I’m sure on the outside I appear to be
listening with appropriate gravity. I’ve always been a master at hiding my true
emotions. It’s held me in good stead, and I hope it continues to do so because
after the last few months, this is the last thing I need to deal with. Patrick
is slowly driving me crazy with worry, and the children all have varying issues
for which they require my ongoing support.
I don’t have the energy to fight cancer on top of it all.
“I’ll think about it,” I reply in a
non-committal tone, reaching into my handbag where it rests on the floor next
to my seat to pull out my beeping mobile. “I need information about the effects
of the chemotherapy. Recovery times, if it’s needed weekly or fortnightly,
potential side effects, the long-term effects on my health…those type of
figures.”
While Dr. Jenkins busies himself with
gathering the documents that answer my questions, I quickly check my phone.
MADELAINE: He’s
FREEEEE!!! Come to the club and say hello xx
MADELAINE: Oh, and
Dad’s in town. He was hiding in the prison carpark, but rode off before anyone
could say anything to him
At the mention of Patrick, the butterflies
that only he can set off take flight in my lower belly. Lust. Unadulterated,
pure, orgasm inducing lust flows through my suddenly taut body. I place my
palms together and slide them between my thighs until they rest against my
throbbing core. Then I press my legs together in an attempt to calm myself. Now
is not the time to remember that it’s been over five months since he touched me
last.
Summoning every ounce of willpower I possess,
I relax my tensed body and reply to Madelaine’s text message.
ME: Thank
you, sweetheart. I’ll try to get there.
As I bend down to slip my mobile back into my
handbag, it beeps again. Seeing that the doctor is still occupied with sliding
leaflets out of folders, I pull it back out to see what Madelaine has to say to
my evasive answer. She’s likely to be unhappy, as determined as she is to pull
me out of the funk she feels I’ve fallen into since my split with her father.
PATRICK: I’m in
Brisbane for the day. I need to see you. Please answer me, little lady.
My stupid heart—the one that still beats only
for him, even after all he’s done—skips a beat. Warmth spreads through me at
the effort he’s put into contacting me after I’ve continued to ignore his phone
calls. It wouldn’t seem like much coming from anyone else, but I know how much
he hates texting. His fingers are three times the size of a normal man’s,
making it hard for him to hit the right letter. Patience not being one of his
few virtues; continued mistakes usually results in his phone flying into the
closest wall.
Running my eyes over his message, savouring
each word as if it’s the last I’ll ever read, tears well in my eyes when I read
his endearment. “Little lady” were the first words he ever said to me. We literally ran into each other in the
only bakery to grace the one-horse town I called home; the town that he had
moved to that very day. With loaves of bread and fresh rolls to feed his five
children piled high in his huge arms, Patrick hadn’t seen me when I’d walked in
front of him, engrossed in my paperback. Walking while reading is one of my
quirks; one that’s resulted in more than a few accidents. Although, none have
ever been as life-changing as walking into Patrick that day.
ME: Leave
me alone. Please. I beg you.
I type the words, delete them, then type them
again and press send before I can talk myself out of it. It kills me to be so
blunt with him, although it’s unavoidable. My diagnosis is the final nail in
our always doomed relationship. There is zero chance of Patrick coping with
what’s to come. Not after watching his first wife perish from the same disease.
“Wendy,” Dr. Jenkin’s voice cuts into my
thoughts. “This should answer any questions you have.”
Looking up from my phone with sightless eyes,
I blink in rapid succession. My vision clears after a moment, and the tears
that were welling retreat … for now.
“Thank you,” I reach across the table to grab
the leaflets. Shuffling them in my hands, the sheer volume makes my mouth run
dry. There’s so much information to take in. Waving them at him, I laugh as I
try to brazen my way through the solemn silence that’s gripping the room. “A
little light reading to get—”
“I’m
going to give you the same advice I’d give my wife. Please get the surgery,” I
purse my lips as he says this solemnly, cutting me off to make an obvious play
on my emotions. “A lumpectomy is not going to stop the spread. It’s already in
your lymph nodes and the surrounding tissue. Your breasts can be reconstructed,
and hormone therapy will help you through menopause.”
Standing, I stuff the leaflets into my
handbag. I need to get out of here. It feels as if the walls are closing in on
me. His words are sucking all of the oxygen out of the room as I flee without
another word, two thoughts circling my mind while I run for the car.
I don’t want fake breasts. I want the originals.
The breasts that fed my child for the glorious
two hours that I had her in my life.
The breasts that cradled the head of Patrick’s
five children when they cried.
The breasts that Patrick worshipped for almost
thirteen agonizingly trying, yet blissfully happy years.
TEMPTING
FATE, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC #4
PROLOGUE
“It matters not how
strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my
fate: I am the captain of my soul.”
~William Ernest
Henley~
Revenge. The vindictive pleasure it brings has been
many a man’s downfall. Its seductive nature, the power it imbues, the
satisfaction that settles in your bones knowing that you’ve settled the score,
is a craving that’s hard to resist.
My man is strong. Stronger than any I’ve ever
known yet I fear his need for retribution is going to beat him. The Club needs
a leader they can trust, a man who sticks to his word, a champion of their code
of honour. Me, well, I need my lover, my partner, my soul mate to put me first.
He needs to be the master of our destiny, the keeper of our fate, while I’m
lost in my grief and confusion.
It’s not fair. I know it’s not. Yet, even
knowing how much he needs to avenge the wrongs that were brought down on our
head—the deception that threatened to tear the Shamrocks apart—I can’t give him
what he’s asking for.
My blessing.
To kill my father.
Every fibre of my being accepts that he’s my
soul mate. My matching half. The yin to my yang. We both acknowledge that our
destiny was sealed when I was just a girl. However, if he continues with his
pursuit of vengeance, I fear the outcome will do more than tempt our fate.
It’ll destroy our future.
CHAPTER
ONE
MIK
The wind and my woman at my back.
There’s no better feeling.
Gripping my ape-hangers, I manoeuvre my Harley
to the head of the pack and accelerate. Fuck riding behind Timber right now.
Fuck riding with anyone but Lainey. She’s the only person who matters to me, my
sole reason for breathing.
I’m finally fucking free. The
jail is nothing but a receding reflection in my side mirror. We’ve survived our
latest betrayal. Five months of fucking hell it cost us; leaving my woman to
struggle on her own and me locked in a manmade hell-hole. Every fucker who
conspired against us is gonna pay. I don’t give a shit whether they call
themselves family or friend.
Mik was who they locked up. He was stabbed and
beaten; bent and almost broken by a corrupt system and a plan put in place by a
man he once loved like a second father.
Mad Dog is who emerged. Spiteful, nasty,
bitter, and resentful. He’s hell bent on revenge; bound and determined to rid
the world of every cockhead who’s ever done us wrong.
Starting with Beast. Father of the love of my life or not, he’s
going to die.
It’s with that resolution sitting in the
forefront of my mind that I decide where me and Lainey are heading first. The
party at the Compound can wait—the Club will still be there no matter how long
our detour takes. I need to get properly reacquainted with my woman before I
deal with the celebrations they have planned. Why the Shamrocks would think I
want to share a beer in remembrance of the deception that saw me lose my
freedom for five months alludes me. The last thing I want to do is examine the
damage caused.
No, I wanna spend my first night balls deep in
my woman—reminding myself of how well our bodies fit together. I need her to
ground me before I put into action the plan I formulated while I was locked up.
Her beauty, her innocence, the way she needs me to complete her. They’re the
perfect antidote to the darkness that threatens to spill free anytime I think
about Beast, about Thomas Taylor, or the corrupt fucking legal system that they
manipulated to keep me away from her.
Patting Lainey’s hands where they sit snuggly
around my waist, I wait until she looks at me in the side mirror before I
gesture with my thumb at the left-hand side of the road. Slowing my bike, I
round a sharp corner and then come to a halt in front of a huge two-story
house.
Bracing my Harley with my feet, I lock my
knees so the perfectly balanced machine doesn’t tilt and pull off my helmet.
Patting the inside pocket of my cut, first the left side then the right, I pull
out the packet of smokes I stashed there on my way out of the prison. Lighting
one, I inhale deeply, holding it in my lungs as I watch Lainey look at the
house, then at the sold sticker sitting proudly across the “For Sale” sign, and
then back at me.
Pulling
her helmet off in a rush, she stares at me with wide, bright blue eyes. “Mik.
You didn’t?”
Her tone makes it obvious that she’s hoping
that I did. Twisting as much as I can, I nod proudly as the smoke I was holding
billows from my nose. Her delicate little nose twitches, her disdain apparent.
I don’t usually smoke around her unless I’m drinking, being what you’d call a
part-time smoker—that was until I was incarcerated and had nothing else to do.
As of now, I have a habit. It’s just one of the many things that have changed
in our time apart.
“I can’t believe—” She stops speaking and
looks back at the house. Her delighted expression makes all the headaches
caused by trying to purchase a house while I was locked up worth it. I was
determined that I wasn’t coming home to my dad’s spare room, our room in the
Compound, or the house that Lainey had rented in my absence. “My God, it’s
huge. How much was it?”
Throwing my cigarette onto the ground near my
front tyre, I grab Lainey’s closest hand and pull her toward me. It’s not easy,
but I manage to silence her with my mouth. Slipping my tongue between her
easily parted lips, I explore the recesses of her mouth as we kiss. Frustration
takes hold when my hands try to touch her without success; our positions making
it impossible. Pulling away from her alluring mouth, I grin when she pouts.
“Hop off, Angel. Let me show you your new home.”
We walk hand-in-hand up the drive to the front
door. Reaching up, I grab the key from the top of the door frame where Joel
left it for me, and unlock the house. With an extended arm, I usher Lainey in
before me, my eyes firmly planted on her ass that’s displayed in all its glory
in her tight jeans. She comes to a stop in front of me and only my quick
reflexes stop me from ploughing into her back.
Spinning to face me, she wraps her arms around
my neck and plants kisses all over my face. I pull her body into mine, my
eyebrows lifting as I realize how much weight she’s lost since I held her last.
I knew she was struggling without me; the light in her eyes was dimming with
each visit to see me in jail, yet, I hadn’t a clue she was this bad.
Placing my hands on either side of her face, I
pull her away from me, ready to ask her about her much-smaller frame. Lainey
mistakes my intentions, instead taking a step back and pulling her shirt over
her head. When her tits come into view, pushed high in a sexy red bra, all of
my questions fly out of my head. Fuck, I’ve missed her. Seeing her almost every
day was torture when I couldn’t even hold her hand without running the risk of
getting her visitation rights revoked.
Her shirt has barely slipped from her fingers
to the floor before I’m walking her backward in search of the closest wall to
lift her against while I unsnap her bra and free her breasts. We come to a stop
when Lainey’s back hits the wall behind us. Mouths pressed together, tongues
duelling, my fingers are nimble as I pop open the button to her jeans and yank
them and her panties down past her knees. I hold them so she can step out of
them, planting a kiss on her smooth mound as I straighten. Lainey starts
fumbling with my pants button. My frantic movements make it hard for her so I
undo it for her. Tugging my zipper down, I pull my jeans down far enough to
free my cock. Her slender fingers are wrapped around me before I’m fully
exposed, working my dick up and down with the finesse of a woman who’s had her
hand around it many times before.
Impatient to be inside her, I knock her hand
aside, push her hard against the wall and lift her with one arm under her ass.
With my free hand, I guide my cock inside her tight body, burying myself to the
hilt in her hot cunt with one forceful stroke. Lainey’s resulting gasp is music
to my ears, as is her instinctive response to wind her fingers through my hair
and tug at it.
Drawing back, I drive myself into her again.
She feels fucking exquisite, gripping me with her pulsing walls, pulling me
further into her beautiful body. I push my cock into her pussy, over and over,
each stroke harder than the last until I’m lifting her up the wall with each
thrust.
“Mik…God…Missed this.” Lainey’s words are
barely audible; broken and breathless. When her legs wrap around my hips
tighter, I know she’s close to the edge. I make enough space between us so I
can reach her clit and still maintain my pace. Grinding my thumb against the
sensitive bundle of nerves, I feel her pussy clamp around my cock as I send her
over the edge into the first orgasm I’ve been able to give her in months. The
tightening of her walls pushes me past the point of no return, my release
spilling into her while she’s still riding her own climax.
“Fuck. Yes.” I groan as I come. My orgasm
feels like it goes on and on. I’m like a boy getting his first taste of how
good a woman feels around his dick. It doesn’t matter how many times you pull
yourself, nothing will beat spilling your cum into a tight cunt. It’s even
better when that pussy belongs to the woman you love.
Lainey slumps forward, her head coming to rest
on my shoulder as the final spasms of my hips die down. She’s done for, while
getting a taste of her after so long has me barely softening. It’s not gonna
take much for me to be ready for round two.
I’m still buried in her, enjoying the feel of
her pussy holding me inside, when the difference in her weight pushes its way
back into my head. She’s always been tall and curvy—not heavy but her body was
lush in all the right places. The woman I’m holding in my arms is frail. Too
slender and nothing like her normal self. It’s fucking scary.
Standing straight so she’s not leaning against
the wall, I walk into the kitchen and place her on the island that separates
the kitchen from the dining area. Pulling my softening cock out of her, I shrug
off my cut and then my T-shirt. Putting my cut on over the ribbed tee I was
wearing under my T-shirt, I pass it to her so she can clean up. While she’s
doing that, I zip up my jeans and have a proper look at her.
“Fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
My comment can be taken two ways. Her jutting
collarbones look sharp enough to cut, the natural tone in her arms is gone and
so is some of the fullness from her perky tits. The tattoo of St. Michael on a
Harley on her hip and the rose tattoo that runs down her right side almost look
too big for her now. I’m gonna smash Benji and Joel’s heads together for
letting her get like this. They both promised me that they’d look after her.
Fine fucking job they’ve done.
Lainey’s cheeks flush, making me realize that
she understood what I meant with my observation. She wraps her arms around
herself, trying to hide her body from my prying eyes, and it’s then that I spy
the white bandage on her right thigh. I’ve seen that before—a long time ago—and
its presence makes my mouth run dry.
Heart pounding in my ears, I reach a suddenly
shaky hand toward her leg. She sees me coming, reads my intentions in one
glance, and scrambles backward on the countertop to get out of my reach. Her
evasive tactics don’t stop me. I grab hold of her ankle and slide her in my
direction.
“No. Mik. It’s not what you think, I promise.”
The timid delivery of her protest, coupled with her continued fight to get away
from me, confirm what I already suspect.
Holding her leg straight, I peel the edge of
the bandage back. I find three thin cuts across the fleshiest part of her
thigh. Across flesh that bears evidence that this isn’t the first fucking time.
They’re not shallow because they’re done with a practised hand—a hand that
belongs to the squirming woman in front of me. The bloody woman who swore on
her little brothers life that she’d never do this to herself again.
“You promised.” She flinches and I watch
Lainey’s blue eyes become brighter as tears well. Pulling her into my arms, I
pick her up with one arm behind her back and the other under her knees and hold
her to my chest.
“I’m sorry, Mik. It won’t do it anymore. Not
now I have you back—” She breaks off, sobbing softly as she snuggles into me.
“You’re all I need. When I have you, I feel safe. In control.”
My heart fractures in my chest for my broken
woman, although, anger rises within me at the same time. Not at Lainey; at the
cunts who’ve caused her to get to the point where she feels like she needs to
cut her own flesh with a fucking razor in order to feel some control over her
life. My body’s vibrating with rage at the cockheads behind my incarceration.
They’re the reason she’s back to square one. The shit she’d already been
through nearly killed her, yet, they saw fit to bring more down on her
head.
“Shhhh.” I try my best to soothe her, all the
while the plans I made in prison go round and round in my mind. Tonight is about me and Lainey. Tomorrow, I’m
taking the President’s patch from Timber and beginning to right the wrongs done
to us. Starting with my fucking father-in-law-to-be. He’s gonna learn that the
Black Shamrocks MC is now mine and anyone who disputes that will join him in
Hell.
FINDING NIRVANA, BLACK SHAMROCKS MC
#5
PROLOGUE
“A great battle is a terrible thing,” the old knight
said, “but in the midst of blood and carnage, there is sometimes also beauty,
beauty that could break your heart.” ~ George R. R. Martin ~
Beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, or so it’s said. The day he walked—limped—into my clinic,
there was no beauty to be found. Instead, a gigantic dark mass of rage hid his
soulful blue eyes, perfectly symmetrical features, and full lips under a cloak of
misery so dense that it stole the breath from my lungs. I took down his name,
and he took a piece of my heart.
My mum always says
that I’m too quick to trust, too fast to give away my feelings. I can’t help
it. Pain and suffering calls to me. It whispers my name, begging me to act as a
salve to the unbearable ache that I can see them crumbling under.
From the first moment
I can remember, my touch has brought comfort. Whether it was my puppy when he
injured his leg, my little sister when she grazed her knees, or my daughter who
still looks to her mummy to kiss away the hurt—I’m the person who makes
everything better.
Until him. He
confounded me; shook off my desire to care for him with an angry shrug that
should have scared me into leaving him alone. It didn’t work, though. Because
beneath his veneer of hostility, there’s a glimmer of something deeper. It’s
easily identifiable to those who are adept at finding it.
Hope. That’s what I see when he lets his guard drop.
And, it’s what stops
me from walking away when he begins snarling at the world.
Life let me taste the
sweetness it can offer—one time, long ago. The spark of interest that colours
his cheeks when he looks at me. The hint of jealousy that narrows his eyes when
I talk to his friends. The way he angles his body closer to mine when I’m near.
They tell me two things.
One. I’m responsible for the hope that’s growing in his
gaze with each furtive glance in my direction.
Two. This man is my last chance to grab the fleeting
goodness that life has to offer.
Because, together, we
could do more than fall in love.
We might find nirvana.
CHAPTER ONE
JOEL
A sharp bolt of agony travels from my knees to
my hips. Thankfully, I broke nothing when I dropped to the ground next to my
bleeding sister. Although my relief is short-lived when she screams as I prod
her in an effort to find the source of the dark, red liquid that’s pooling on
the ground beneath her. Shifting so I can get out of her way when she reaches
for Mad Dog’s hand, the sheer fury in the words that Maddi yells freezes the
beating of my heart in my chest. It stops. Dead in its tracks. Unable to cope
with the bloodbath that surrounds us.
“This is wrong. It’s my goddamned wedding day.
It’s not supposed to end like this.”
The unfairness of the situation is clear. What
I can do to help is not. The hand she’s holding belongs to her
more-than-likely, close-to-death—or dead—husband of fifteen minutes, not even
two metres away, her best friend lies unmoving over his family, while just
beyond him our cousin lays dead. What used to be his chest is sprayed over the
ground in front of him; the knees of his sobbing father—my uncle—kneeling in
the remnants of his only child. Around him, the rest of the Shamrocks women
scream, and the few men who are still standing search the yard for clues to
whether the attack is over.
Lacey falls to the ground beside me, finally
able to come in answer to my wild beckoning. Her eyes are wide, filled with the
same emotions that I know she’ll find reflected in mine.
Disbelief. Urgency. Sorrow.
“Are they alive?” Lacey shoots the question at
me, then ducks her head to brace herself for the answer. The couple in front of
us aren’t moving, except for the minute rise and fall of their chests.
“I think s—”
My reply is cut off when another explosion
erupts. The row of Harley’s that line the front fence lift off the ground and
then burst into flames, sending everyone scattering. This time we have no
leadership to tell us what to do, and that fact becomes apparent as everyone
takes off in different directions.
We are sitting ducks.
And the snipers who have us in their sight
know this.
“Get down,” I growl at Lacey, pushing her by
the shoulders until she’s on the ground next to Maddi. “Play dead.”
Sparing my suddenly cooperative hands a quick
glance, I force myself to my feet. I need a weapon and I need to find out who’s
left to form some sort of a defence with me. No sooner has that thought taken
hold in my mind when it’s sent spiralling to the dark recesses of my brain.
I spot three men, all dressed in black. One is
positioned on top of the Clubhouse, the second partially hidden in one of the
alcoves built into the eight-foot-tall concrete fence that surrounds the
compound. That’s bad enough. But, it’s the third guy, who turns my blood to
ice.
He has his rifle pointed at Benji. My brother
is distracted; his attention focussed on Viking and our younger brothers. He’s
frantically gesturing for Matty and Lachie to help Mad Dog’s ailing father into
the workshop. Over the shrill cries, and the gruff voices that are trying to
take control, I can hear my brother taking charge of that trio—all the while,
oblivious to the threat that’s bearing down on him.
“Get in the shed, and, get the fuck down.
Don’t even look out the windows.” My feet have a mind of their own, heading in
my brother’s direction before I decide to. The limp that normally slows me is
curiously absent as I watch the third sniper lean closer to his scope and line
Benji up. My brother’s still yelling orders as I close the distance between us.
My throat has seized up, the warning that I
need to provide not coming. One step. Two steps. I open my mouth and yell
louder than I ever have in my life. “BENJI! SNIPER!”
He spins toward me, turning his back on our little
brothers. His mouth—the one that’s been responsible for some of the greatest
one-liners I’ve ever heard—drops open when he sees me gaining on him. My right
arm lifts in an attempt to show him where the sniper is, only to fall uselessly
to my side when the sound of a shot being fired rings out and a perfectly
round, bright red circle appears in the dead centre of his forehead.
Benji drops to his knees. The surprise that
was on his face disappearing as his expression turns blank and his life comes
to an end. He slumps forward, falling face first on the concrete driveway. I
stumble over my own feet and land next to him. My hands raise just in time for
me to brace for impact, then I roll onto my side next to my dead brother and
look up at the cloudless, blue sky.
For a second I close my eyes and hope to hell
that this is all a dream. Opening them, I’m met with the shocked faces of my
two little brothers and Kyle leaning over me. Matty begins to speak, only to be
drowned out by the staccato sound of an automatic rifle echoing off the
surrounding buildings.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One. Two. Three.
Matty. Lachie. Kyle.
One by one, my blood brothers and our adopted
brother fall to the ground beside me.
Everyone I love. My sister. My cousin. My
brothers. Gone.
The shooting stops, a deathly silence taking
its place. I turn on my side, determined to find another survivor. Instead, I
see nothing but rivers of red. The blood of my family runs down the concrete
driveway, pooling together as a manmade tribute to the carnage to which I just
played witness.
I lower my eyelids again.
Please God, let this be a dream.
I lift them, only to be greeted by the same
sight.
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About the author:
Kylie Hillman is the Australian author of the Internationally Bestselling Black Shamrocks MC series, Amazon #1 Bestselling NA/Sports novel, Brawl (Black Hearts MMA #1), and the recently completed Centrifuge Duet. She's currently working on the highly anticipated spin-offs to the Black Shamrocks MC series, writing the rest of the Black Hearts MMA series, and plotting her upcoming psychological thriller, Blood Oath.
She's also wife to a Harley-riding, boating and fishing, four-wheel driving, quintessential Aussie bloke and mum to two crazy, adorable, and eccentric kids. A Crohn's Disease sufferer and awareness campaigner, as well as an avid tea drinker, metal head, and math nerd, Kylie is known for lacing everything she says with sarcasm and inappropriate innuendo.
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1 comment:
Sounds like a read that will put you on the edge of your seat!
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