Viking (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 2)

by Kylie Hillman

  It’s a sobering thought.

  Slowly, I become conscious of someone’s gaze on me. The second I recognise it, I know who it belongs to. I lift my eyes from Cole and look at Vic. He gives me a half-smile, an apology of sorts, and I try my damnedest to smile back at him. I’d say, by the empathy that clouds his expression, that I manage a horrified grimace at best. At least, it appears to mirror Vic’s thoughts about the day.

  If I really get down to the nitty-gritty, Vic is the same as me. While I was born world-weary, he was made that way by his parents. In the end, it creates the same outcome—an almost adult who can be happy for their friends, yet never quite understand how they can be content with the risk they’re taking by placing their heart in another’s hands.

  A round of clapping that feels like someone is hitting me in the head with an axe takes hold of the room. It booms, echoing off the walls, and clanging around in my skull like an emergency beacon. Cole leans Colleen backward and kisses the living daylights out of her.

  I watch with growing disenchantment as they stare into each other’s souls. Cole drops to his knees and places a gentle kiss on her round belly. It hurts to see their devotion, so I do the only thing that makes sense to my addled mind and walk over to Vic.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he replies.

  We stare at each other for a long minute, then I turn my back to him and watch the crowd. Shari and the other boys are in the thick of the celebrations. Brian has his arm slung over her shoulder and she’s leaning into him.

  “I guess, they’re back on?” Vic asks.

  “I wouldn’t know. She hasn’t spoken to me since the first dress fitting.”

  “Shit. That sucks.”

  I turn and look at him. Stepping forward, I lean my forehead against his chest and slide my arms around his waist. He returns my embrace immediately. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit,” Vic responds.

  We both know that we’re not talking about Bri and Shari any longer. The shit is us—our inability to say what we really feel about each other. Blind Freddie could see that we are more than fuck buddies, but I think we’ll both go to our graves before we admit it in anything that even resembles words.

  “Wanna get out of here?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Vic replies. He takes me by the hand and leads me to the sleeping quarters.

  Pushing open the door at the end of the hallway, he gestures for me to enter in front of him. I walk in the room, only to find myself almost driven back out the door by a fluffy cream ball of canine aggression.

  “Down, Angus,” Vic says, clicking his fingers. The dog refuses to listen. He bares his teeth at me even further and yaps. Vic snaps his fingers again. “Come on, in the bathroom boy.”

  Once the dog is shut inside, Vic turns back to me with a rueful smile. “Thought he was getting over his thing about women, turns out he still hates most of you.”

  “Whatever,” I say, quirking my eyebrow because his statement doesn’t make sense.

  Vic doesn’t elaborate. He gestures toward the bed. “Take a seat. Make yourself comfy.”

  Shaking my head, I take hold of each side of his cut with one of my hands and twist him until his back is facing the bed. With easy grace, I push him onto his back, then crawl over him until I’m straddling his thighs. The purple dress that Colleen had me and Shari wear has a loose, flowing skirt, so my movements aren’t restricted. I use quick movements to unbutton his dress pants, before I yank his shirt free.

  “Bonnie?”

  “Ssshh,” I purr. “I’ll look after you.”

  Pulling his cock free, I’m momentarily surprised to find that he’s not completely hard yet. I take the head between my lips and work him up and down with my mouth. He grows with each suck until he’s standing fully erect. When Vic’s hands land on the back of my head, I stop what I’m doing and shuffle out of his reach.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I reply. That’s not necessarily true, however I can’t be bothered with pleasantries, explanations, or anything remotely resembling them at the moment. All I want is a hard fuck that’s conducted at my pace. It doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s a simple home remedy for the confusion that’s fucking with my head.

  Making my way back up his body until I’m sitting over his straining cock, I pull my panties to one side and lower myself until he’s fully seated within me.

  “Fucking hell, Bon,” Vic groans. He jack-knifes upward. I thwart his attempt to take control, laying my hands on his chest and pushing him back down with all my bodyweight.

  My dancer’s legs are strong. I use every bit of strength I possess to lift myself up and down at a pace that has my heart racing and my thighs shaking. Vic is thrusting his hips up to meet me, a groan escaping his lips when he bottoms out within me. Every time he tries to reach for me, I push his arms away, until he gets the hint and settles for gripping the bed covers at his sides.

  My climax is building, but my legs are tiring. Gritting my teeth, I power through the lactic acid build up. The pinnacle is within reach, so I balance myself with one hand on Vic’s chest and use the other to rub my clit in a figure-eight.

  “Come with me,” I command Vic through gritted teeth when my orgasm hits.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chants.

  My legs are shaking too much for me to move. I lean over his chest, the fingers on my clit wringing the last of my climax from me, while Vic lifts me with strong hands on my hips to meet his frantic thrusts.

  A second, smaller orgasm is building. It takes me by surprise when it peaks just as Vic shouts, “I’m coming. Fuck, Bonnie. I’m coming.”

  The second he finishes, I lift myself off him. My plan to duck into the bathroom becomes an issue when the damn dog starts barking, but Vic fixes the problem by sitting up and calling the dog over to him. I close the door behind myself, leaving Vic to deal with his cranky animal and any mess I’ve left behind.

  “You’re a sick woman,” I tell the thoroughly fucked reflection that greets me in the mirror. My hair is mussed, even though I didn’t spend any time on my back, and my makeup is streaked from the tiny beads of perspiration that broke out over my body when I came the second time.

  Someone knocks on Vic’s door. His dog growls. He shushes it, then I hear him moving around. He opens the door.

  “Oh, hi,” I hear Alanah greet him in that perky voice of hers. Personally, I think it sounds like nails down a chalkboard, however Colleen has told me that I’m being a bitch when I say that out aloud. “I didn’t realise you were in here. I just wanted to check on Angus to make sure he was coping with all the noise. Bri said it was the first real party that the Club’s had since you moved in.”

  It’s stupid, but the fact that she knows Vic’s dog and that he lives in the Clubhouse now when I didn’t, gets my back up. An anger that is completely misplaced takes hold of me. I turn on the tap to wash my face, then quickly turn it off when I hear Vic laughing. The tension that is always part of our interactions is missing from his humour, the sound of them laughing together is a dagger to my heart.

  Like a ninja spy, I tip toe to the door and listen.

  “I still can’t believe that he lets you hold him,” Vic says. “He hates every other woman he’s ever met.”

  The confusing statement Vic made when he locked the dog up in the bathroom for me now makes sense. That damn animal is picking a side in a battle I didn’t realise I was a part of until just now. It’s a battle that I’m losing to a fifteen-year-old. A battle I didn’t know I wanted to win until I discovered two seconds ago that I’d already lost it.

  I step back in front of the mirror and take a hard look at myself. The person who stares back at me is not happy—truthfully, the bleakness in my eyes has always been clear to see if I looked hard enough. Smoothing my dress down, I run a mental inventory and decide that I’ve left nothing in Vic’s room. My dress is on. My heels are still on my feet. Hell, I even have my panties left in one piece for once.


  After careful testing that it will hold my weight, I stand on the edge of the toilet and wind the handle that opens the window. I hold my breath while the window creaks and groans, then let it go with a rush when the window opens. Once it’s fully ajar, I poke my head outside and check the ground.

  Cracked asphalt greets my perusal. It’s a bit rocky, but nothing that I can’t handle, so I push forward with my planned escape. Draping one leg over the window sill, I propel myself using the toilet rim, and land with easy grace on the rough ground.

  “Are you all right?” Vic calls. He knocks on the door, then opens it.

  Gathering the skirt of my dress in my hands, I spin on my heel and run. There is nothing good in that Clubhouse for me. Colleen is in safe hands. Shari is suffering, but she has Brian to look after her. And Vic—headstrong, broken Vic—holds the key to my stagnation and, to me, that’s a fate worse than death.

  We’re too much alike. Capable only of dragging each other down.

  I need to live my best life.

  I want to dance all over the world to the applause of millions.

  And, as much as Victor Kennedy is the same as me, his needs are different. Vic’s heart belongs to the Black Shamrocks MC. He needs to stay here and find his salvation in eclipsing the constraints of his family name. He needs to find his applause in the love of a bright and bubbly soul like Alanah Kelly.

  THIRTEEN

  Victor

  Three months later

  Cole’s never been the fastest in our group. Dude’s too big for that. But, watching him sprint into the hospital with Colleen in his arms, I’m pretty sure that he’d beat Usain Bolt in the hundred metres race. Brian is our sprinter and he’s pumping his arms like we’re back in school, racing each other to the back of the oval to share a joint before the bell goes.

  “Nurse, nurse,” Cole shouts.

  The lady in blue scrubs looks at us advancing on her and backs away behind the counter. She moves her hand to press the red button that calls security. I imagine that we look pretty intimidating, four big guys in Club leathers running toward her with a tiny girl held aloft in the arms of the biggest one, but seriously, she’s overacting just a little bit. It’s not like we have weapons drawn.

  “No!” I shout, waving my hands like a goal umpire. “She’s in labour. Don’t press the alarm. She’s in labour.”

  It doesn’t work. The nurses mouth forms into an apologetic “O”, however it’s already too late. The alarms engage, red lights at each corner spinning in time with the screeching, and half a dozen burly men dressed in matching black uniforms round the corner with their weapons drawn.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Bri curses. He places his hands behind his head, linking his fingers, and turns to face the wall. Me and Paddy follow suit. Cole, on the other hand, is stuck. He’s holding Colleen, who’s screwing her face up with pain, and it’s sending him a little crazy. The cords in his neck are straining and I’m worried that when the security guards get to him, his going to take his frustrations out on them.

  “He’s gonna blow,” I tell Paddy and Brian. The look we exchange is calculating—we know at least one of us is going cop a baton around the head—and we’re basically mentally rock, paper, scissoring it to see who breaks first.

  “Somebody needs to help her or I’m going to start smashing fuckers.”

  “Fuck it,” Paddy says.

  I smile. He’s usually the first to break—probably why he looks like he was dropped on his head at birth. He turns and the security guards pounce. Me and Brian head for Cole. He’s turning in a circle, alternating between dropping his head to soothe his wife and screaming at someone to help her.

  “Come on,” I tell Cole. “If you stay calm, someone will help her.”

  My belied in my own assurances is shaken when Colleen grabs Cole’s shirt in her hand, twists it into a knot, and screams. The sound fills the hospital corridor and everyone—security guard, nurse, and Shamrock—stops what they’re doing and stares at her.

  “What’s going on here?” some dude in a police uniform asks.

  We all re-direct our attention from Colleen to cop. Shari is standing at his side with fear in her eyes. Brian eyes her up and down, then looks away. I’m mildly curious about his reaction since I thought they were firing along on all cylinders once more.

  “Well? I’m waiting,” the cop asks again.

  “Colleen’s in labour so we brought her to emergency,” I reply with a hint of smartarse in my voice. “The nurse called security on us and that led us to where we are now.”

  “Is that correct?”

  The nurse he directed his question toward turns red. It’s the same bitch that pressed the alarm, so I have zero sympathy for the judgemental cow. He narrows his eyes when she doesn’t answer straightaway, and she whimpers.

  “Yea-yes, that’s correct,” the nurse finally replies. “But they were running at me and I thought—”

  “I don’t care what you thought,” the cop cuts her off. He gestures at Cole. “This young couple have come here seeking assistance and you’ve treated them deplorably. Instead of offering me your excuses, I think it fitting that you apologise and see how you can help. That is your job, is it not?”

  For a man who wears a uniform for a living, dude’s got balls. My respect for the police force increases marginally. The nurse approaches Cole like he’s a wild animal and gingerly touches his arm. I’ll give my friend his due, he resists the urge to go off on her for causing this situation.

  “Can you follow me, sir,” she stammers. “I’ll find a bed for your girlfriend—”

  “Wife,” Cole interjects.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the nurse says.

  Colleen twists Cole’s shirt again and wails. A puddle of water seems to gush from Cole’s arms, but I know that it’s Colleen’s water breaking.

  “Oh, my,” the nurses fusses, suddenly business-like. “We better get you back to see the midwife.”

  Rolling my eyes at her pathetic reaction to be this close to a bunch of guys in leather, I watch her finally take Colleen’s situation seriously. She ushers Cole forward, apparently no longer afraid of him, and they disappear through the swinging doors that separates the emergency waiting room from the actual emergency department.

  “Now that’s out of the way,” the cop breaks the silence. “We should find somewhere comfortable. If Colleen’s first labour is anything like my wife’s, we could be here for a while.”

  Brian is now glaring at Shari. Paddy looks between them, then asks the questions that’s on everyone’s lips, “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Sergeant Lucian,” the cop replies.

  “Yeah?’ Paddy asks. “And that means?”

  “I’m Shari’s father. We’ve known Colleen since she was six months old.”

  While Paddy seems satisfied with the answers he receives, Brian glares harder at Shari. His girlfriend—ex-girlfriend? —appears to be going out of her way to avoid meeting his eyes. Paddy wanders off, apparently in search of a snack machine, and that’s when I put two and two together.

  “You have a seriously thick hide showing up here?”

  Sergeant Lucian meets my eyes and nods. “Yes, I do.”

  “

  TO BE CONTINUED.

  Thank you so much for reading Viking, Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation #2. I hope you enjoyed it and will consider leaving a review on your retailer of choice. Now, turn the page for a sneak peek of Butch, Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation #3.

  BECOME AN INSIDER TODAY!

  Become an Insider by subscribing to my VIP reader list. When you agree to receive my monthly Bibliomaniacs Bulletin, you’ll be officially in the loop and able to keep up-to-date with my latest book news, catch an Insiders glimpse into my crazy life, and be the first to know about everything "Kylie Hillman" related.

  And, best of all, you'll receive a copy of Soothing Suffering, a Black Shamrocks MC introductory novella plus free access to my subscriber-exclusiv
e weekly serial once you've confirmed your membership. In addition, you get instant access to other exclusive content, advance notice of my pre-orders, releases, and sales, and regular giveaways held especially for my Insiders.

  Not interested in having another email clogging up your inbox? Join my Facebook Reader Group, Kylie’s Kollective to hang out online in a less formal and more relaxed environment.

  PLAYLIST

  Music is my main inspiration.

  You can follow Conan’s playlist:

  SPOTIFY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This year has been quite a journey for me. I’ve battled early stage cervical cancer, had further bowel surgeries, organised an interstate move all by myself, and failed another Crohn’s med. While it’s been challenging, it’s also been a learning process. I’ve discovered who I can rely on and who will be there for me when I have nothing to offer.

  Philena Heaney-Allen, Bonnie Mancuso, Nik Tyneshia Brewer, Jenna Strickhouser, Jennifer McClean, Lauren McClean, Kaye Springett, Elaine Holcomb, Erica Cunningham, Melissa Gray, Tara Sloane, Angela Nutley, JoJo Reeves, Robyn Corcoran. Plus, anyone I’ve forgotten because I know I’ll end up doing it. Every single one of you have in some way made the past eight months easier for me. Whether it was non-stop pimping to keep my name out there, messages of support, Get Well cards, or random posts of Avenged Sevenfold and Tom Hardy, you all went out of your way to help me. I can’t put into words how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me. You ladies are my tribe. Love you guys to the bloody moon and back xx

  To my kids, Dylan and Mickayla. Without your Minecraft obsession, commandeering of my desktop, and blatant thievery of my laptop, I’d write much faster. My life would also be less full and a hell of a lot more boring. Love you two more than you’ll ever know <3