Craving Control (Black Shamrocks MC Book 6)

by Kylie Hillman

  I thought he’d at least lose a finger before he started spilling his guts.

  Instead all it takes is the threat of a meeting with Blake the Butcher for him to start running at the mouth like a drunk sorority girl.

  “I’m just a new patch. I was ordered to snatch and deliver your girl because I’m ex-army reconnaissance. I don’t know what he paid, and I don’t know anything about your son.” He points at Lainey. “After she escaped, I was told to take him to his parents’ house, so they could get him private medical assistance. That's all I know. I swear. I swear.”

  He’s mostly telling the truth. Bloody turncoat. He’s going on the second list as well.

  Beast seems less stressed after Stu’s confession. He grabs him around the throat and slams him against the back of the chair, then leaves him to head over to me.

  Ripping the rag from my face, a large vein straining visibly in his forehead, he demands the full truth.

  “Where the fuck’s Joel?”

  I smirk. This is where I take control of the situation and bargain my way to safety.

  “Beast, I’ve let you have your fun, but I’m in charge now.”

  Of course, he can’t let go gracefully.

  He unnecessarily headbutts me, then gets back in my face. “Tell me where my son is, or you’re gonna end up more fucked up than your friend over there.”

  As if on cue, Stu grunts in pain before squealing. “I don’t know nothing else, I swear.”

  I feign exhaustion and let my head hang down like I’m on the cusp of giving up. The blood from my broken nose runs down my chin and over my chest, and my three bullet wounds throb.

  The pain doesn’t worry me anymore.

  It invigorates me.

  I feel more alive than I have in years.

  “As I said,” I state this with methodical precision. They’ve all proven to be quite thick, so I dumb it down as much as I can and speak slower. “I’m in charge now, and I have some demands.”

  Beast scoffs. I pretend I didn’t hear him and eyeball Mik instead. “Get your hands off her, biker scum.”

  “Fuck you,” Mik barks, not moving a muscle.

  “No, fuck you. Get your filthy hands off her. She’ll be leaving with me shortly, and I don't need her smelling like trash. We have an exchange to organise.” My pride in my plan finally runs over. I have defeated them and they’re too stupid to realise yet. “My new friends have Joel and will deliver him to you after I let them know that Lainey and I are safe.”

  “Yeah, no fucking chance of that,” Mik answers.

  I expected as much from him. He never was one to see sense quickly.

  Lainey walks to her dad, capitulation written all over her face.

  Beast shrugs her off. He points at Stu. “Timber. Bring him outside.”

  His dogged determination to find a way around me should piss me off.

  It doesn’t.

  Because I know that the longer they hold onto their hope, the more it’ll hurt when they discover that they had already lost right from the start.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Over thirty minutes later—I know because I kept track on the watch my sole guard is wearing—the sound of motorcycles fills the air and the bikers that originally caught us on the way home come back inside.

  None of the members from Brisbane are with them.

  They must be leaving.

  They shouldn’t be leaving.

  Immediately, I feel the shift in their demeanour. The atmosphere in the shed was tense when they all left. I could have cut it with a knife if I had one. Now, it’s much lighter. The bikers are even holding themselves differently. There’s no more slumped shoulders and angry muttering. No more dirty looks being sent my way. They aren’t crushed. They have hope. They’re too calm. Too focused.

  Something’s changed.

  “Get him down,” the one with the President’s patch orders, pointing at me. “Stuff them both in the back of their shit box.”

  I’m carried out of the shed and thrown into the back of the wagon. A different biker tosses a barely conscious Stu in with me. He ties us together, then slams the back of the vehicle shut.

  “What happened?” I ask Stu once they’re out of ear shot. When he doesn’t move, I head butt him to wake him up. “Where’s Lainey?”

  He grumbles and groans, shuffling awkwardly to put some distance between us. Despite our differing reasons for doing so, I appreciate his efforts. We’re both naked, and our faces are so close together that we could kiss if either of us was that way inclined.

  Once he has made some space, he lifts his head and looks out the window.

  “I don’t know what play you have going,” he hisses. “But it’s over. You’ve been taken off the field.”

  “Bullshit. I have not.”

  There is no way I came this far to accept defeat now.

  There’s only one person who can take me out of the game—and that’s me.

  “Wizard sold you out,” Stu snaps. “He’s swapping us for the O’Brien kid. I heard him with my own ears. He told Beast he wouldn’t touch his girl. He swore on his patch. That means he’ll keep his word.”

  I don’t get time to question him further. One of the younger Black Shamrocks climbs in the front seat of the wagon. He starts the car and drives off without saying a word to us. The sound of motorcycles surrounds us. We travel over gravel for a way then turn right onto an asphalt road.

  A road to where? I don’t know.

  What I do know is that my plan was perfect, and someone—maybe Wizard, maybe someone he takes orders from—changed the outcome. That someone shouldn’t have meddled in matters they didn’t understand, and when I prove who it was, I’m going to exact the violent kind of revenge that even Shakespeare’s imagination couldn’t conjure.

  My mind whirls with wild thoughts of storming the Black Shamrocks clubhouse and taking Lainey at gun point. I let revenge distract me from the trouble I in, until I can’t ignore it any longer. The wagon has stopped. I wait to be dragged out the back and tossed on the ground in an undignified heap. Instead the biker silently exits the car and the motorbikes that accompanied us roar away.

  We’re on our own. In a location we don’t know. Naked and tied together.

  “Shit,” Stu curses. He tries to lift himself enough to look out the windows, but he falls back down next to me before he manages it. “This isn’t right. There should be someone to meet us.”

  “Nothing about this is right.” I strain to see out the window.

  My shoulder wound pulls tight. It opens up further and more blood runs out. I don’t let the pain deter me. Finding a way to safety is more important than keeping my blood inside my body right now. If we end up in the wrong hands, it won’t matter how much blood I have remaining, I’ll be gutted like a pig and left to bleed out.

  Gritting my teeth, I lift myself higher, searching our surroundings until I see something I recognise.

  A garish orange building stands in the middle distance.

  “We’re on the Mavericks end of Leeds Parade,” I inform Stu.

  His face loses the pinched look of worry it’s had since we were tossed in this vehicle. The middle of Leeds Parade denotes the end of Black Shamrocks MC territory and the beginning of Mavericks of Mayhem turf.

  Stu relaxes, and I try to follow suit.

  We’re on allied turf.

  Someone will come and get us soon.

  It takes longer than expected.

  By the time someone arrives, Stu has long lost his fight with unconsciousness and passed out next to me. My body is wracked with tremors that have my teeth chattering. I can’t feel my arms and my face is a fiery mess that refuses to stop throbbing. I’ve lost hope that we’re going to be picked up when the back door of the wagon is finally opened, and I’m lifted out and strapped to a gurney.

  I don’t see what happens to Stu because I’m rolled inside an ambulance. The doors close, and the ambulance speeds off.

  “This will help eas
e the pain.” A paramedic appears beside me.

  They pull my arm straight and inject something into the vein in the crook of my elbow. I immediately feel woozy, then all the pain that’s been tormenting me for the past few hours is gone. The relief is immediate; my body slackens, and I feel like I can breathe properly again.

  I close my eyes, grateful for the reprieve, and let the rocking of the ambulance as it takes me to safety send me to sleep.

  When I wake up—who knows how many hours later—I’m in my bed at the mansion. There is darkness outside my window, although someone has left a lamp on for me. Feeling around next to the lamp, I find the internal intercom button that will summon Stanley to my side. Pressing it with my thumb, I become aware of the various bandages that cover my face and body.

  I lift the blanket, touching the leg that Lainey shot, and press against the wound. I find the telltale ridges of stitches under the bandaging. Repeating the procedure with my other injuries, I’m happy to find that I’ve been patched up, put back together, and safely ensconced in my wing of the house—all while I was unconscious.

  In the crook of my arm—the same arm the paramedic used to numb me for the drive—is a canula that’s hooked up to an IV. Something that looks like blood, plus a couple of other bags of fluid hang from a tall stand. My room has been turned into a makeshift hospital, complete with uncomfortable hospital gown, and beeping machines.

  My parents have spared no expense to heal their only son.

  Maybe the lectures and insults will be delayed as well?

  I doubt it.

  I force myself to look on the bright side.

  My pain is gone.

  My mind is clear.

  Whatever pain relief they have me on has taken away my pain but left me with my faculties. That’s a blessing in itself. I’m going to need all of my wits to explain this away.

  The door to my bedroom opens, and my grandfather enters my room with my father. They move as one united force, their collective disappointment in me radiating from them. Despite my attempt at optimism, this is the reception I’d expected.

  I let their disapproval float over me and maintain a neutral expression. There’s no need to show them how apprehensive I am, just yet. The time will come soon enough.

  It’s all a bit shocking. I never expected was to see my grandad back in this house, or my mother trailing behind him like a lost lamb. The day she married my father, granddad made it clear that she was no longer his burden. He turned the mansion over to her, and as far as I know, he’s hasn’t set foot in it since.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad,” I answer my father. “How long have I been out for?”

  “Four days,” my mother replies.

  I blink at the sound of her voice. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t sound drunk or on her way toward it. Her makeup is perfect and she’s standing upright without leaning on anything.

  Grandad follows my gaze. “There’s been some changes around here.”

  “I see that.”

  He smiles at me. It’s not friendly. It’s all teeth and torment.

  Sitting on the side of my bed, he leans closer to me. “No, I don’t think you do.”

  If power had a scent, it would smell like my grandfather. His musky cologne mingles with his own sense of self-importance and creates an aroma that addles your mind. When he looks at you, ensnaring you with his icy blue eyes and trapping you with his scent, you feel fear.

  Real fear.

  The kind of fear that keeps you awake at night.

  “You will leave her alone,” he says. His expression is benign. His assured tone telling me that he’s confident in my compliance.

  I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

  There is only one person who matters.

  And I will never agree to stay away from her.

  I don’t care what he threatens me with.

  “I can’t.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” He grins, then beckons my father closer. “Thomas, it’s up to you to make him see sense. I will not have him ruining my deal with the Black Shamrocks MC because he can’t keep his dick under control.

  My father comes to the other side of my bed. Picking up the pillow that’s in his way, he matches my grandfather’s position and sits at my other side. He places his hand on my arm and pats me. It’s false affection. All for grandad’s benefit. Any other time, he’d use violence or threats to get me to comply with his wishes.

  Thinking about Lainey, a little flutter of recognition grows in my gut.

  That’s what I do to her.

  I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in this family.

  “Brendan, son,” Dad addresses me with warmth in his voice and affection on his face. I almost buy it until I see through the thin veneer of humanity he uses as to mask the devil that lives inside him. “There are more important things at stake than a girl. We need your cooperation in this. The Mavericks are not suitable business partners. They have proven to be too volatile to take risk on. They can’t be trusted. Beast O’Brien is who we need to run things. His club is stable. He holds the head of his table and a majority of the votes, plus he’s keen to make as much money as he can before he goes.”

  My forehead furrow in confusion at his use of the word goes.

  Where is Beast going?

  “Do you understand?” my mum asks from across the room.

  I glance at her and shake my head. “No, I don’t. Work with Beast, I don’t care. He’s already said that I can have Maddi—I mean, Lainey—so she has nothing to do with your business. If he’s pissed about Joel, then that’s his problem. I make no apologies for that. I did what I had to.”

  My Freudian slip stings. Maddi is who I want back. Lainey is who I have to ruin to get her.

  Grandad stands. He leans over me, getting right in my face before he speaks. “Oh, how glad I am that none of my blood runs through your veins. It would kill me to know that I had two weak links in my bloodline.”

  He turns his back on me, pushing past my mother on his way out. She watches him go, her hand extending as if to touch him, before she pulls it back and claps it over her mouth.

  I see her eyes fill with tears, then she runs from my room sobbing.

  Headed back to her beloved gin, no doubt.

  Well, that was a quick return to form. Grandad’s pissed at someone and my mothers about to get drunk.

  “Listen to me,” my father snarls at me like a wild animal. He reverts to his true form now my grandfather is gone and seizes me by the front of my hospital gown. Shaking me, his spittle lands on my face when he whisper-yells at me, sneering right in my face. “I’ve come too far to allow you to fuck this up for me. You’ll either get on board or I’ll put you out on the street like I should have when you were born.”

  With that he releases me. Picking up the pillow that he had on his lap, he holds it over my face. It’s less than an inch from my nose. His intent is clear, but he gives into his constant need for theatrics and revels in his own evil by verbalising his threat as well.

  “Or maybe, I should end you permanently? That would fix all my problems.”

  I refuse to move. I will not give him my fear. It’s what he wants.

  Well, that, and for me to give up the only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself.

  Dropping the pillow onto the bed next to me, he sneers at me one more time before he turns to leave. He’s almost at the door before I find the courage to ask him the question that’s bouncing around my skull.

  “What did he mean by none of my blood runs through him?”

  Dad stops in his tracks. Laying a hand on the door frame, his shoulders slump, and he leans his weight on the wall.

  “Your mother didn’t give birth to you,” he replies in a tired voice. “She can’t have children.”

  “So, who then?” My heart pounds in my ears, and adrenaline surges through me.

  Has my entire life been a lie?
/>   He turns back to me, and for once I see the real man inside him. It’s not a monster like I assumed. Underneath all the façades is a broken man. He wears his pain and misery on his face for me to see. It coats his features, sucking all colour out of him.

  The man before me is a stranger.

  “Your mother is the only woman I have ever loved.” His voice cracks as he speaks, and he appears to shrink further into himself the longer he talks. “She’s the woman I gave up for this obscene wealth and a lifetime of servitude to the devil known as Samael Fitzgerald. She’s the woman I still miss every day. She’s the woman I will go to my death bed wishing I could have kept.”

  There is no further explanation needed. He knows that. I know that. He is giving me his blessing.

  Without so much as another glance my way, dad heads out of my room. I watch him leave while my world falls down around my ears. It takes him less than ten steps, yet by the time he crosses the threshold to the main part of the house, he has regained his rigid bearing and the mask he wears to hide his true self has been slipped back in place.

  I grab the pillow and hug it to my chest. My stitches protest the movement, but I power through. What’s a little extra physical pain on top of the emotional torment just heaped upon me.

  Staring at the wall, I rock back and forth, all the while telling myself that it won’t be real until I say her name. It takes longer than it should, and it hurts my ears when I finally acknowledge the woman who gave birth to me out loud.

  “Wendy.” I swallow the lump in my throat and speak again. This time it’s easier to say. “Wendy Markham is my real mother.”

  Acknowledging that I’m not a true Fitzgerald makes me dizzy. It also gives me strength.

  I am the next generation. A new generation. My blood is pure and free from the restrictions foisted upon me by the false circumstances of my birth. I no longer have to capitulate my desires for the greater good of my family.

  I don’t have to follow my father down the path to ruin.

  My dream is still within reach.