Viking (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 2)

by Kylie Hillman

  “Okay,” she replies happily after a long moment. “Now, I’m sure you girls have some ideas about where we should shop, but I think I’ve found the perfect place. There’s dozens of wedding dress options and lots of choices for bridesmaids as well.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  Mrs. Blake dismisses Colleen’s query with a flick of her hand. “Don’t you worry yourself about that. Quinn has given me carte blanche with his credit card. We’re set.”

  Colleen opens her mouth to protest, but I lay my hand on her belly. She stiffens, then glares at me. I glare right back. Whether Colleen likes it or not, she has no one else but the Blake’s to look out for her. Colleen and her little sister already live with them and she’s marrying their son. I think it’s safe to say that the Blake’s have accepted that she’s in their life for the long haul.

  My natural inclination would normally be to be a bit suspicious about their easy acceptance, but it helps that their adoration of my pretty red-headed friend is clear to see. I don’t think the pregnancy bombshell is going to be as explosive as Cole might think. I think they’ll take it in their easy-going stride.

  We head toward the city in silence, pulling into the parking lot of one of the most exclusive wedding boutiques in Brisbane, and I realise that this isn’t a random choice. To secure a fitting, Mrs. Blake would have had to book about ten seconds after they were engaged.

  “Wow,” Colleen says. Mrs. Blake rings the doorbell, and we wait for the doors to be opened. “This place is crazy fancy.”

  “It’s nothing,” Mrs. Blake replies with a smile.

  Once we’re inside, the fitting starts almost immediately. Question after question is thrown at Colleen and she seems to be about to wilt under the pressure. While Mrs. Blake is talking to the head consultant, I pull her aside and try to talk some sense into her.

  “Colleen, you need to tell her that you’re pregnant.” I gesture at the rows of dresses that surround us. “This is major. You can’t let them do this for you, and then spring a baby on them.”

  Colleen’s eyes are huge. She’s overwhelmed, scared and on the cusp of running. Cole’s mum finishes talking to the consultant. She beckons Colleen forward, waiting at the door to the changing room for my reluctant friend to come to her like requested.

  I grab her hand and try to bring her over to Mrs. Blake. Colleen resists for a second, but I continue tugging, and she realises that it’s easier if she moves on her own volition. I will tow her if required. I don’t give a shit about the scene it will make. Apparently, Colleen knows that.

  “Is there something wrong, girls?” Mrs. Blake asks.

  Shari sniggers. I silence her with a hard look. Colleen drops her gaze to the ground and Mrs. Blake steps forward. She places a gentle hand under Colleen’s chin and makes her look at her. Instinctively, I place myself behind Colleen because I know she’s going to try to back away. My move is vindicated when Colleen backs into me a second later.

  Mrs. Blake clears her throat. She meets Colleen’s eyes, head on. “I’ll ask this once more. Is there something wrong?”

  “It’s, um,” Colleen tries to drop her head, but Mrs. Blake won’t let her. Scuffing her shoe on the plush carpet, Colleen straightens her shoulders and holds her head high. Defiance drips from her short frame, then she speaks. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Mrs. Blake simply raises an eyebrow. Her face is free from judgement, the perfect blank canvas that shouldn’t spook Colleen while she confesses. Her demeanour is suspiciously calm for a woman who’s just been told that a teenager who lives under her roof needs to tell her something. If she was my mum, I would have had twenty questions thrown at me already.

  It makes me wonder how much Mrs. Blake already knows.

  Colleen cradles her belly and stammers her way through another two sentences. “Please understand that I am completely grateful for everything that you and Mr. Blake have done for me and Kerry. I know how much of an imposition we are, taking over your house and, um, you know…”

  When she trails off, Mrs. Blake laughs. “Oh, Colleen. There is no need for us to understand anything. We love having you and Kerry living with us. It’s about time I had some girls to balance out all the testosterone.”

  Me, Shari, and Collen all laugh. Mrs. Blake smiles widely. Stepping forward until she’s close enough to touch Colleen, she lays her hands on my friend’s little belly. “Is this your delightful way of telling me that I’m going to be a grandma?”

  “What?” Colleen exclaims. She jams her hands over her mouth, then starts to cry. I bunch myself into her side, wrapping my arms awkwardly around her and hugging her into me. Colleen looks at me then at Mrs. Blake and back again before she babbles in nearly incoherent spurts. “Oh, my God…She already knew…we thought we kept it…secret.”

  With each statement of disbelief from colleen, Mrs. Blake smiles wider. She shakes her head and holds her arms open wide. I prod Colleen until she steps forward and accepts the love that’s on offer. Mrs. Blake envelopes her in a huge hug—one that Colleen returns with as much feeling.

  “No, my beautiful girl. You and my silly son didn’t manage to keep this secret longer than a day. Quinn and I figured it out pretty quickly once we saw how much more protective Colin had become of you, seemingly overnight. There’s only one thing that turns a Blake male into an even fiercer defender and that is the love of their life carrying their child. We knew you’d come to us when the time was right.”

  The way she placidly explains everything from her point-of-view is beautiful. To be so trusting in her son and the care he would take of Colleen, even though it’s so easy for men to wipe their hands of the situation tells me that she’s solid in her belief that she raised him right. The small mistrust I had that Cole would eventually get sick of playing house evaporates. Maybe Colleen won’t need me as much as I thought?

  Before I can wrap my head around my mini-epiphany, the dress consultant comes back into the fitting area. She’s holding a big, white dress. It looks like an explosion of lace and satin until she hangs it on the hook nearest the change room we’re huddled in front of.

  “Is this the type of design you’d pictured?” the consultant asks Mrs. Blake.

  Cole’s mum lets go of Collen and points at the dress. I follow Colleen’s gaze and take in the dress in its entirety. It’s not as over the top as I first thought. The slightly puffy, capped lace sleeves are in right now, but the rest of the design is timeless. The high, empire waist will be able to accommodate Colleen’s growing belly while the sweetheart neckline makes the most of her amble bust. The material gathers under her breasts, then flows flawlessly into a small train.

  The dress is perfect for Colleen’s shape—pregnant or not.

  “It’s stunning, Mrs. Blake. Absolutely perfect,” Colleen whispers. She presses her hands to her heart and bites her bottom lip. Plump tears run down her cheeks, but I know these ones are from happiness. For once, Colleen sees how beautiful she is to the rest of us, instead of the fat, ugly girl she constantly calls herself.

  “Now, I think you need to start calling me Ava,” Mrs. Blake chides. “The mother of my first grandbaby needs to be on first name basis with me, at least, I should think.”

  She moves Colleen into the change room. “I think you should try this on before we start declaring it perfect.”

  I move to join Colleen in the dressing room. Mrs. Blake stops me. “Do you mind? I think I’d like to button her up.”

  A moment elapses where the selfish desire to tell her no seeps into my mind. I push it away. I’m leaving at the end of the year, Mrs. Blake should have the honour of buttoning Colleen into the dress that she chose for her. With a nod, I let her past. When the door closes behind them, shutting me and Shari out, it gives the impression of the end of an era. I guess it’s only fitting that I feel like I’m passing the mantle of role protecting Colleen over to Mrs. Blake when that’s exactly what’s happening.

  “Wow, that was intense,” Shari
states.

  “Yeah.”

  The sounds of the two women laughing in the change room take away some of the awkwardness that grows between me and Shari during the silence that follows my terse reply. I don’t know what I feel about Shari. Part of me can sympathise with her—it would kill me to lose my career to an injury that could have been prevented. It’s the bigger part—the angrier part—that usually dominates my dealings with her. I would like to think that I’d get over my disappointment and make new plans. Not drown my sorrow in drink and drugs and tie my future to someone as unstable as Brian.

  Bottom line, Shari’s making dumb choices and it pisses me off.

  As if she’s reading my thoughts, Shari grabs my hand and squeezes. “I wanted to apologise for being such a narky bitch. I guess, part of me is jealous that Colleen is getting everything she ever wanted when she should be the one who was hurt and had her life changed for the worse.”

  “She has been hurt and she has had her life changed for the worse,” I say. Her blasé excuses for her behaviour sends swirls of rage spiralling through my veins. I know it won’t do any good and I don’t want to ruin Colleen’s day, so I swallow down as much of my anger as I can.

  Staring at Shari with a carefully neutral expression on my face, I try to make her see sense. “Colleen’s getting everything she ever wanted after she survived shit worse than a busted knee. She lost her parents, her home, and her innocence before she found Cole and his family. Her uncle was a bastard who tried to sell her to pay his drug debt. I don’t understand how you think that even compares to your knee.”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I hiss the rest of my tirade at her. “If you want to blame anyone for your knee, blame me. I was the one who organised for you to babysit Kerry. I was the one who kept Colleen from leaving early to hide away from her feelings for Cole.”

  Shari’s eyes widen, and her face turns white.

  I guess I’m not doing such a good job of controlling my rage, after all.

  “And, while you’re at it.” I demand, jabbing a finger in her direction to emphasise my points. “Place some of that blame on your-fucking-self. You agreed to watch Kerry. You chose to stay at the house instead of taking her to the pizza parlour. And, you decided to leave that room and get a drink while there were a bunch of junkies in the house. If we’re going to play the blame game, let’s play it properly. We’re both to blame—me and you. Two girls who chose to disobey their parents’ rules because they loved their friend. If I had to give up my dancing career to get Colleen out of that shitty house, I would have done it in a—”

  “I’ve got to go,” Shari interrupts. She turns away from me immediately, wiping her face with her hands. I hadn’t even realised she way crying.

  “Shari,” I call after her.

  She ignores me.

  With helpless uncertainty paralysing me, I watch her open the door to the boutique and leave without another word. I get one last glimpse of her when she passes the large window and that’s when it hits me, I pushed too far. Shari is more broken than I assumed, and I’ve only added to her pain with my no-holds categorisation of her motives for being angry about her knee injury.

  Because Shari’s not angry at Colleen.

  Hell, she’s not even jealous of Colleen marrying Cole.

  No, Shari’s jealous of my ability to dance and my obstinate refusal to see her side of everything.

  With my steadfast defence of our other friend, I’ve managed to do to Shari what I’ve accused her of doing to Colleen.

  I’ve pushed away one of my best friend’s over something that’s not truly her fault.

  NINE

  Victor

  “What’s doing?” I ask Bri as I head toward the entrance to the Black Shamrocks Compound.

  He’s carting a heap of broken metals outsides. Scraps of what appears to be our barstools. The seats were in their normal condition when I left in the early hours of today, so something’s happened to them between then and now—eleven a.m. the same morning.

  “Fucking Paddy and Lenny is what’s doing,” Brian replies. He tosses the stools inside the rubbish skip and heads back to me. Leaning against the rough concrete wall of the clubhouse, he lights up a smoke and takes a long drag.

  “Did they fight again?”

  “Yeah,” he answers with a shake of his head. “Prez told them to work point on a distribution job. The dumb fuckers didn’t even make it outside before they started punching on about who was the lead point. Me and Cole tried to separate them, but Grinder told us to leave ‘em to it, then Prez kicked them both out. Seems like me and Cole are being sent instead once we’ve cleaned up their mess.”

  While I’m a little pissed that I wasn’t asked to be here for the job this morning while everyone else was, I try to wrap my head around the carnage the two O’Brien boys are causing within the club. Their rivalry is getting out of control if they’re arguing over things that don’t exist.

  “There’s no such thing as a lead point,’ I say.

  “No shit. Try telling those idiots though.”

  The door next to us opens. Cole sticks his head out. He looks around, then beckons us to him.

  “Listen, I just heard something I wasn’t supposed to,” he whispers. Me and Bri motion for him to continue. “Looks like Lenny’s being overlooked. Grinder’s wild about it. Same as my dad and yours.”

  Brian nods. “My dad thinks Paddy’s a liability.”

  “What did my dad say?”

  Cole regards me with sympathy on his face. “He’s, um, otherwise occupied.”

  Since that could only mean that he’s balls deep in a Club slut, elbow deep in cheap whiskey, or sleeping off the excesses of both, I simply incline my head. My old man isn’t being overlooked. He’s basically signing his own death warrant—the only way out of the Club—with his behaviour. A meeting to discuss the first generation of sons is something is should have been present for if he was serious about pushing me forth as his heir.

  Unfortunately, as much as my mum grinds my gears for being a Black Shamrock, my father is going to be the one who cements my role as a foot soldier and never a leader.

  “Conan,” a booming voice yells in our direction. “Get yer arse back inside and bring Viking and Butch with you.”

  “Sprung,” I joke. Vic and Cole smile, but they don’t speak. Seems like things are more serious than I suspected.

  We follow Cole inside. The front bar is a mess. One of the slate pool tables is on its edge, a chunk of the doorway that leads to the sleeping quarters has been pulled free, and there’s enough blood on the wall next to the busted hallway to make me think that one of the O’Brien’s pulled a knife during their fight.

  “Paddy,” Brian tells me out the corner of his mouth. “Lenny’s okay. He held his own.”

  I figured it would have been Paddy who used a weapon. His big brother might be smaller, but he’s wily and wiry. A thinker. Something Paddy will never be accused of being.

  I should feel more angst than I do about being called in front of the hierarchy. It’s hard to muster any real worry when my relationship with Paddy has been strained for almost two months and he’s made sure that everyone’s picked up on it. Previously, our foursome was punished as a group for the transgressions of the individual. Since Paddy’s declaration of war between us, Bri and Cole have spent more time by my side than Paddy’s and it’s become apparent that he’s a lone wolf nowadays.

  I’m not worried about being punished for his fight with his brother.

  I’m concerned about the reasoning behind my later call to duty than the other three guys.

  “Conan and Butch,” our Prez addresses my two friends by their road names. I still can’t bring myself to use our new labels outside the Clubhouse, but it seems to be sticking inside. “You need to get going. The delivery is ready. Your task is to sit point and learn the ropes while our guys deliver.”

  “Consider it done.” Brian promises our President. They head out with Grinder, Cole’
s dad, and his enforcers on their tail.

  The door slams shut. I wait with baited breath. I stand straight with my arms clasp behind my back. My Prez and Brian’s dad, my VP stand in front of me. They haven’t acknowledged me yet, instead they’re holding a whispered conversation between them.

  It’s not my place to remind them that I’m still here, but fuck if I don’t want to clear my throat or something. I’m being let behind. Paddy is off being groomed for the presidency. Cole and Bri are out doing an actual job that makes money for the MC, yet I’m standing here with my dick in my hand waiting to be acknowledged.

  Time drags. My temper begins to spike. I’m barely a second from slamming my fist into the closest wall and asking them what their fuckin deal is when there’s movement in front of me. I keep my hands behind me and stand tall.

  “Viking,” my VP says my name like a curse.

  “Yes?”

  “We would like to speak to you privately,” Prez poses his demand like a question.

  “Of course,” I reply immediately. My voice is steady, although my body is vibrating with stress.

  Brian’s dad points to the Prez’s office. I follow them inside and take the seat that I’m directed toward.

  “Viking, we’re concerned that your head and heart aren’t entirely with the Black Shamrocks MC.”

  My mouth drops open. I’m sure I resemble a goldfish with my reaction, but I can’t help it. This is so far out of left field that I’m left speechless. My body is paralysed—my mouth hanging like a guppy and my arse stuck in the seat like a boulder.

  They wait, patience clear in their expressions, like they know they’ve just dropped a bombshell on me that’s rendered me shell-shocked.

  It takes three goes to swallow down the lump that’s taken up residence in my throat. “Please? I don’t understand.”

  “Your parents have issues with the way this club is run,” Prez states. I nod. “We’ve noticed that you are holding yourself separate to the rest of the new patches. Those boys are our world’s version of your colleagues. You prospected together. You patched in together. You should be finding your feet together.”