Craving Control (Black Shamrocks MC Book 6)

by Kylie Hillman

For a second, I can’t understand why, until it hits me.

  Her lips are the wrong shade of pink.

  Her eyes the wrong blue.

  Her skin too dark.

  Closing my eyes, I block Thora from my view. It doesn’t work. Screwing my eyes shut harder, I bring visions of Maddi to the forefront of my mind. She comes willingly. My favourite sight in the world. An angelic heart-shaped face, plump pink lips perfect for puncturing with my teeth, bright blue eyes the colour of the sky at the height of summer, smooth skin that’s the perfect balance between alabaster and tan, and lush curves that beg for my hands to trace them.

  The beast inside me pokes his head back outside his cage.

  He’s nodding his approval.

  Maddi is the only woman my monster wants.

  “Fuck!” I lift my head high and shout at the ceiling as I left the thought of doing this to Maddi take control. Grabbing Thora by her hips, I lift her ass from the floor and piston my cock into her, each stroke more ferocious than the next. Screaming, she slaps at my hands and tries to escape my clutches.

  Her fight should satisfy me.

  It does nothing.

  Letting go of her hips, I pound my fist into her stomach. Slapping her face with all the viciousness cascading through me right now, I wrap both hands around her neck and choke her. Thora struggles beneath me for a while before she falls still, and her body goes lifeless.

  “Jesus Christ,” I curse.

  When I remove my hands from her throat, she opens her eyes and drags in half a dozen scratchy breaths.

  “Fucking faking bitch.” I glare down at her, unsure if I’m angry that she played me or because she’s still not Maddi.

  My mind freezes. I can’t look at her any longer. With a rough grip that’s designed to hurt, I toss her on her stomach and force her ass in the air. Spreading her legs, I shuffle in between them, then line up her ass and thrust home with one brutal pump of my hips.

  Thora screams to holy hell, but I am unrelenting. Her muscles grip me so tight that I swear she’s about to snap my cock. My hands pull her hips back to match my movements, thrust for thrust, pump for pump, until my balls are drawing up tight and the delicious tingle of ecstasy begins to form at the base of my spine.

  By this stage, she’s limp. A rag doll that I can move in any way I please. It’s not enough. My orgasm refuses to peak. I shove her chest against the floor, laying my whole weight on her while I violate her. Wrapping my hands around her neck from behind, I yank her head back and squeeze tight.

  She coughs and splutters until I reposition my hands and resume crushing her throat. While she struggles, her muscles spasming around me, I chase my release. Pulling forth images of Maddi, I close my eyes and lean back. The woman beneath me ceases to exist and, in my mind’s eye, Madelaine O’Brien takes her place.

  “Yes. Yes.” I shout as my mind finds the right imagery to satisfy my monster. “Fuck, yes.”

  My rhythm deserts me and I slump over the warm body beneath me as I finally come. After emptying my balls into her, I let go of her neck. Reality returns, my mind giving up the illusion of Maddi as soon as my orgasm is finished, and I pull my bloodied cock free from Thora. She falls to the ground without a sound, and I slap her ass.

  “That wasn’t so bad, after all,” I quip. “Seems you might have found your calling.’

  I stand, rearranging my cock and re-zipping my denim.

  “Thora?” I say, prodding her with my toe.

  She doesn’t move.

  “Get up, bitch. This isn’t a sleepover.”

  She doesn’t reply. I roll her over with my foot, and she flops to her back. Her eyes are open, burst blood vessels covering her slightly blue face and the tip of her tongue pokes between her greying lips.

  “Fuck.”

  My feet lead me to my phone on the counter before I’ve consciously decided my next move. Pressing speed dial, I jam the device between my shoulder and my ear and hope like hell that he’ll answer.

  “Brendan,” Dad answers. It’s clear from the way he says my name that he’s expecting my gratitude. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  I give Thora another glance, then drag in a ragged breath to steady myself before I confess my latest sin.

  “Dad,” I keep my voice even, aiming for nonchalant and ending up somewhere between ice cold and uncaring. “The hooker’s dead. I need you to send a clean-up crew.”

  “To the villa?” he asks, seemingly undisturbed by my middle of the night request.

  “Yeah.” I end the call.

  With one final look at Thora, I shrug and shake my head. Her demise is a complete waste of viable pussy. Sierra isn’t going to be pleased, however I’m sure she knows the potential costs of doing business with the Taylor family and has already factored in hazard pay, to mitigate such an occurrence.

  “Thems the breaks, baby,” I mutter, gathering my shoes and socks and scooping the rest of my clothes from the floor.

  Pulling the door shut behind me, I head back to the main house. As I near the front entrance, I press the screen on my phone to light it up and type out a quick text message to Maddi.

  ME: I can’t stop thinking about you. Sweet dreams, angel face. I know mine will be particularly precious now my ring sits on your finger xo

  I’m half way up the stairs before she replies. It brings an instant frown to my face and send my beast spiralling back into red-hot rage.

  MADDI: You too. See you Monday :)

  Her answer sets my teeth on edge and brings my need to own her bubbling back to the surface. My time with Thora has achieved nothing. I’m back to square one, still stuck dealing with an insolent little bitch who needs to learn her place, quick smart.

  FOURTEEN

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  The side of my face explodes with pain and I’m knocked on my ass before I have a chance to answer the question. Twisting from my spot tucked in the outer corner of the yard that houses the Black Shamrocks MC’s clubhouse, I grab my throbbing eye and stand up tall in an awkward attempt to face the man who’s caught me.

  Unfortunately, I underestimate his height which forces me to take two steps backwards—pressing my back against the chain-link fence behind me—so I can look him in the eyes. Well, one eye as the case may be. My injured eye is swelling shut fast.

  “I won’t ask you again,” he barks. Apparently, unhappy with my inability to give him the answer he seeks in the two point five seconds he allows me, he pulls a handgun from his back and points it in my face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Despite the damage to my face, I have to bite my tongue, so I don’t point out that the blonde giant did indeed ask again. It takes more effort than it should to refrain from making the situation worse, but I eventually manage to form an excuse.

  “To be quite honest,” I reply as evenly as I can. “I’m lost. I haven’t a clue how to get out of this yard without going past all that…” Trailing off, I wave my hand at the party that’s raging on not twenty metres from us.

  Mikhail “Mad Dog” Kennedy’s birthday party. The one I asked my girlfriend to not attend. The same girlfriend I can see climbing onto the back of a motorcycle with the aforementioned birthday boy.

  The blonde guy lets out a gruff laugh. “What you’re scared?”

  As much as I’d like to disabuse him of that notion, I think it’s in the best interests of my straight nose and perfect teeth to play along with his incorrect assumption. My eye will heal without a trace; the other injuries will leave more permanent damage.

  “Ah, maybe,” I hedge. Shuffling on the spot, I attempt to calculate how hard I’d have to hit him to knock him out. With a head the size of this long-haired lout, I decide that the use of a steel bar would be prudent.

  It’s unfortunate that I didn’t come here tonight equipped with one.

  Nope, this situation calls for a less risky course of action.

  The motorcycle that Maddi is perched on roars to life, dragging our a
ttention from each other to the couple preparing to depart. Two younger men in black vests run to open the gates, and the birthday boy and my bloody girlfriend roar out of the yard. The sight of Maddi curled into his back with her arms securely wrapped around his waist sets my teeth on edge. My hand curls into a fist and I take a step forward.

  The giant shoves me in the chest. “Stay put, motherfucker. I haven’t decided what to do with you.”

  Bearing my teeth at him, I narrow my eyes and prepare to return the shove.

  Common sense prevails and I back down when I spy two men approaching, both of them almost as big as the blonde guy.

  “Timber,” the biggest one calls out once they’re in ear shot. “What’s this?”

  I recognise that voice instantly and I’d be lying if his arrival didn’t set a tiny spark of rage flaring in my gut.

  “Dunno,” the guy called Timber replies with laughter in his voice. “Found this civilian hiding in the corner of the yard, too scared to walk past the big bad bikers, and I’ve been tryin’ to get sense out of him ever since. He doesn’t have much useful to say, despite the fancy clothes and his hundred-dollar hairdo. All that money and they still can’t manage to equip these muppets with basic conversational skills.”

  The three men chuckle, apparently enjoying his assessment of the situation.

  I decide that it’s time to take matters into my own hands. Stepping forward, I hold out my hand.

  “Mr. O’Brien,” I state, calmly. “It’s been a while.”

  Beast rolls his eyes and ignores my outstretched hand. He gestures at me and then the other two men and drawls, “Timber, Viking, this is the pansy who’s been panting after baby girl for the past few months. Brendan Taylor, meet my VP and my head Enforcer.”

  As ridiculous as his description of the two men sounds, I can see that they’re aptly named. Both men drip with uncouth violence, their leather vests and dirty denim the perfect uniform to tell the world exactly where they fit in the scheme of things.

  Bottom feeders. The scum my father works around the clock to keep from spilling blood on his streets in their eternal quest to protect the most primitive form of masculine loyalty—their brotherhood. I’ve heard dad discussing the Black Shamrocks MC and I know he rates them as the worst of the worst.

  An outlaw motorcycle gang who actually believes they’re bringing something other than cheap pussy and easy access to drugs to the streets of Queensland.

  “Is he mute?” the man Beast introduced as Viking asks with a wheeze.

  “Nah,” Beast replies. “He’s just slow on the uptake, a bit like his old man, Thomas Taylor.”

  “The fuck?” Timber drags his long hair into a bun on his head and twists an elastic band around it. “You’re letting Princess hang around with the Police Commissioner’s kid? I should pound his fucking face into the dirt for breathing the same air as her.”

  Viking shakes his head, but Beast simply grins smugly.

  “It’s better than the alternative,” he says with a pointed look at his VP. “At least, this one knows his place.”

  Timber looks confused while Viking shakes his head again, this time with a snort.

  “One day, you’re gonna have to let go of that old shit.”

  Maddi’s father ignores his VP. He keeps his attention firmly on me. His gaze is assessing, I can almost see the cogs at work in his nascent mind, as he appears to work through whatever plan my presence has set swirling in his skull.

  “You should go, Timber,” Beast commands. “Mad Dog will be waiting for you to catch up. You know he won’t be keen to start the after party without you.”

  The blonde giant looks off in the direction the motorcycle took, then he looks back and me and Beast.

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure, boy,” Beast snaps. “Now go—preferably without wasting my time with further fucking questions.”

  Timber blanches then walks off, his posture rigid with the effort to bite back on his retort I can see he wants to let loose. His long legs eat up the distance. It’s not long before his bike starts, and he’s departed through the same gates Maddi left through not long ago.

  “Go get your oxygen, Vic. You sound like shit.”

  Beast’s Vice President moves in front of him and raises his hands, palms out, to chest level. “Whatever you’re thinking of doing here, I hope you’ll reconsider. There’s a lot of water under the bridge—that shit’ll become a tsunami if you insist of reopening old wounds. It’s been festering too long for you to open the levee gates. Think before you set something stupid in motion and drown us all... even the innocent.”

  “Fuck off inside.” Beast side steps Viking, effectively dismissing him. “I know you’re thick as fuck, Vic, but you had to know that I’d never watch my baby girl make the same mistakes as her mother.”

  Viking snorts. “That girl is ten times smarter than the lot of us were back then. She’ll see straight through your bullshit and you’ll lose her in the process. Mark my words.”

  Without another word, Beast swings around and seizes Viking by the arm. He raises his fist like he’s going to hit the other man, only to see something in his face that makes him drop his arm back to his side.

  “Just go. Your old wounds will stay patched up,” Beast replies. “What I want to say to Brendan has nothing to do with past betrayals and illegitimate legacies. It’s about the here and now.”

  God, I thought my father was the King of Riddles. Turns out, the leaders of the Black Shamrocks MC could rival Shakespeare with their melodrama. Old men and their defensive need to avenge any perceived slights—it’s a tale as old as time.

  Viking walks away, wheezing. There’s a rattle in his chest that I’ve heard before. My maternal grandmother died of lung cancer about five years ago, and she sounded exactly the same back when she was first diagnosed.

  When he’s out of ear shot, Beast grabs the front of my shirt and hauls me close enough for me to feel his spittle land on my face when he speaks.

  “I’ll only ask you once… what are you doing here?”

  Put on the spot and lacking an appropriate explanation, I decide to bluff my way out of this. Taking my time to mull over the options, I answer him with a shrug.

  “The same thing as you, I suspect.” I wrench my shirt free of his grip.

  Beast arches a thick black eyebrow and regards me like I’ve grown a second head. “Yeah, and what do you think that is?”

  “Making sure Mikhail Kennedy doesn’t get his dirty hands on Maddi.” I stop and wait for his denial. When it doesn’t come, I take it as a sign to continue. “You and I both know she’s destined for better than this.”

  I gesture at the clubhouse. It’s a bunch of adjoined rectangular, cinder block constructions that appear to have been built onto one another at whim. None of the design flows. It’s a hodgepodge, mishmash of mismatched structures—an ugly eyesore that doesn’t have a patch on the beautiful home I can offer Maddi.

  After a moment, his eyebrow returns to its natural position. He takes a step back from me and cocks his head to the side. Glee swirls in my stomach, my intestines starting a victory jig when Beast gives me the in-road with his Club that I seek.

  “Go on. I’m listening.”

  FIFTEEN

  Six months later

  “Jesus, Mik,” I hear Maddi whisper as I approach her bedroom. “Getting you to answer your phone lately is harder than whistling with two fingers in my mouth.”

  She giggles, and I tamp down on my need to storm into the room and rip the phone out of her hand. I thought she’d given up on the ridiculous belief that Mikhail Kennedy is her best friend. Between my not-so subtle complaints about the time she spent away from me whenever she visited him and Beast’s assistance in keeping him run off his feet with Black Shamrocks business, I was positive Maddi was over her infatuation with him and, in turn, fully immersed in our relationship.

  “Although,” she continues with humour in her voice. “We both know I’
m the only one who can’t actually whistle. It’s one of your many talents… anyway, I just wanted to make sure you received your invitation to mine and Benji’s birthday party tomorrow night. I haven’t heard from you in so long and I just wanted to check. Would love to see you there. Miss you.”

  A fire that could scorch the entire earth catches alight in my veins. I push the door open. It slams into the wall behind it with a bang, then bounces off and almost hits me. With a vicious jab, I jam it against the wall and hold it there until it stops moving.

  Maddi squeals and jumps. She presses the screen of her phone then cradles it to her chest. Fear creates a worry line between her eyes as she draws her eyebrows together before she shakes it off and regards me with anger. At the sight of her obvious disapproval, the fire in my veins dies down and is partially replaced with conceit.

  I’m still angry but I can contain it because I know that as long as I continue to get under her skin, she’s mine.

  Affection or anger. It doesn’t matter. They’re both life-affirming to me where Maddi is concerned. She’s still the only person who can question me head on and get away with it.

  It’s her eventual apathy that I’m fighting to avoid.

  “What the hell, Brendan?” she asks. “Why are you busting into my room like this?”

  It’s not the right move, yet I can’t stop myself. Slamming the door shut behind me, I flip the lock before I turn to glare at her. I advance with slow, menacing steps. Straightaway, Maddi backs up until her thighs hit the back of her bed. When I bump her with my body, she drops her phone and tumbles onto her ass on the bed. I follow her onto the mattress, pushing her down and covering her frame with mine. Before she can verbalise a protest, I snake my arms around her and hold her tight. Beneath me, Maddi stiffens and tries to buck me off.

  Ignoring her struggle, I ask. “Who was on the phone?”

  She doesn’t know it, but she has one chance to be honest.

  If she lies this is going to go a hell of a lot worse for her.