I hear a door open then slam shut. A voice that I’d know anywhere booms in my ears. “I fucking told you it’d take more than three of you. I didn’t name him Mad Dog for nothing. Fucking good help is hard to find nowadays.” Disbelief renders me mute. I lay on the floor while he kicks the asshole’s I knocked out until they come to. “Fucking move. We got shit to do. Shift change is less than ten fucking minutes away.”
The others are slow-moving, but after a wrestling match with each of my limbs, they manage to pin me spread-eagle on the floor. The fucker who had the knife the last time is holding my feet down while my worst nightmare is straddling me, ready to wield the blade in his hand to deliver a message he never wants me to forget.
“This could have gone down easy, Mad Dog.” Beast muses above me. “All you had to do was keep your fucking nose outta my business. If you’d just let her go, baby girl could’ve put an end to everything. No more Thomas Taylor on my fucking ass. The Mavericks under the Shamrocks banner. Benji succeeding me as President, like he was fucking supposed to. It was the perfect plan. I had all my fucking pieces lined up, ready to checkmate this fucking game.”
He leans down, pulling the blunt end of the blade across my cheek bone. Flipping it over, he purposely nicks my ear. “But, along comes one bloody. Mad. Dog. Another dirty fucking Kennedy trying to get his hands on something of mine.”
Sitting up straight he laughs. I don’t understand a fucking thing he’s going on about—except for his admission that he wanted Benji as President, not me. He already admitted to that months ago. “She’s my daughter. Fruit of my loins. I wanted her with anyone but you. Even Brendan Taylor was a better option than you. What’s better than a bent politician in your back pocket? Especially one who runs the goddamn police.”
He slices down my left shoulder blade. I fucking almost swallow my tongue trying not give into the urge to scream. “That’s the first of many. I’m going to leave you with an eternal reminder to never stick your fucking nose where it shouldn’t be. When—if—you get out of here alive, this’ll be your little love note from me to remind you to leave my daughter alone. I’ll give you time to let her down, a month or so. If you haven’t done it by then, I’m not coming for you.”
Beast pauses, then makes another cut. This one starts at a right angle to the top of the first one before swooping down and joining at the bottom of his initial cut. The pain is fucking ridiculous—this time I have to let some sound out. He’s not simply slicing; he’s fucking carving his message into me. “Can you guess what that letter is? It’s the first letter of what you’re going to have on your hands if you don’t listen to me. This is who I’m coming for, instead of you.”
Fighting with all I have against the bodies that are holding me down, my desperation kicks up a notch when I see the blade of the knife heading toward me again. It’s a last ditch effort, and in the back of my mind I know it’s fucking futile, but I use my free arm to pat the hard floor next to me. Laying as I am, pinned on my stomach by four heavy fuckers, my disadvantage is obvious. I need a weapon—anything; big or fucking small—to put the odds more in my favour.
I come up empty. My fucking heart stops. This is it. This is how I die. Pinned on the floor of a fucking prison infirmary by my own godfather. As I embrace the end, I pretend that I don’t have a knife carving into my back. Instead of concentrating on the blood that’s pooling beneath me from my reopened gut wounds and the new cuts that Beast’s decorating my back with, I picture Lainey. Her blue eyes are filled with love. The smile she bestows on me is full of happiness. And in her hands, she holds a bleeding, beating heart. Emptiness floods my chest. It’s my heart she’s holding. Because, it doesn’t matter what Beast does to me, if he kills me right now; my woman knows she has my heart forever—just like I have hers. And, the fucker sitting on top of me can’t do a fucking thing about that.
The small amount of light I can see with my face pushed against the concrete dims. My eyes roll back in my head, and I seek out the sweet fucking relief that the beckoning darkness promises. It lulls me into a world devoid of pain, keeping its word, and letting me slip away with ease. I float off. Safe for once. No one left to fight. It’d feel good, except the matching half of my soul is missing.
Of course, my death can’t be that easy. Loud rattling disturbs my peace, then bright lights flare. I scream when I’m turned onto my back. The face of one of the screws that the Shamrocks paid to keep me from getting hurt looks down at me. “Bloody hell. It’s Mad Dog. Someone call Timber.”
He moves away from me, shouting more orders. With the remaining strength I possess, I grab his arm to stop him. Curious eyes peer down at me. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. Clearing my throat, I grind my teeth when the flames of hell start burning through my torso. “No Shamrocks. Call my dad. Victor Kennedy.”
The darkness wants me again and I want it. Nothing hurts when it’s pitch black. As the light is snuffed, I repeat my request one last time. “My dad. Get. My. Dad.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MADDI
The drive back to the Shamrocks Clubhouse is completed in silence. Benji and I are caught up in our individual thoughts. Dad’s words about Joel keep running through my head. And, I’m stuck between letting it go—swearing Benji to eternal silence—or seeking out Viking and asking him. Do I let sleeping dogs lie or do I kick them in the gut and wake them up?
Speaking of dogs, I’m going to have one very angry Mad Dog on my hands when I get back. A note on his pillow is not going to get me out of trouble and the news I come bearing is not going to soften the blow either. Mik is one person I’m going to have to tell the truth. Joel, on the other hand, is up for discussion. He’s had too much to deal with. This could be the thing that pushes him past the point of no return and into the dark cloud of misery that’s been trying to consume him since he was crippled.
“Mads,” Benji speaks up as we pull though the Compound’s gates. “You can’t tell anyone what Beast said. He’s just trying to drive a fucking wedge between us all. Joel’s our brother—different dad or not.”
Stopping my car in what is known around the Club as “my space”, I cut the engine and turn to my upset twin. If this pushes him into a relapse, I’ll hunt our dad down and shoot him myself. “Benj. It’s not just our decision. The Shamrocks are about to go to war with Brendan’s dad and the Mavericks. They need to know everything. We can’t send them in blind.” Pointing at the cut he’s wearing, I drive my point home. “They’ll probably decide not to tell Joel anyway. But, it’s the Club’s decision.”
Smoke raps his knuckles on my window, making me jump out of my skin. Opening the door, I slam it into him, then smile when he groans. “Oh, sorry, dear cousin. Didn’t see you there.”
He rubs his leg while he walks with me and Benji toward the entrance. “Laugh it up now. You won’t be laughing once you get inside.”
Halting, I join his groaning. “Mik’s shitty at me?”
“Maddi, he’s more than shitty. He’s fucking psycho. I think he’s officially lost it. He was never the most stable. What. With the growling and shit, but this is—”
I don’t wait to hear the rest of Smoke’s grumbling. Dropping my bag, I run into the bar. I don’t find Mik, instead, I stumble into a disaster zone. A bar stool is embedded into the wall next to the door. The tables are all upended. Furniture is scattered everywhere. I stand in the middle of the room and turn in a circle. Pressing my hand against my mouth, I try to mask the cry that leaves me when I spy Timber sitting on the only lounge that’s upright. Doc’s working on his face, and even from this distance I can see that he’s a mess.
I fall to my knees in front of him, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. I was so mad at him when I left, not understanding his reasons for keeping me in the dark. The damage in the room explains it all to me. He was protecting me. Mik didn’t want me to know about anything. Not about his back. Not about anything that happened in prison. I’m afraid that Smoke is right. Has M
ik lost it? Does he have PTSD like JJ thinks? Or, is this just one of Mik’s episode’s that we’re all going to sweep under the rug?
If it’s not, am I the right person to deal with this?
“What happened?” I feel like I’ve been asking that question too many times today. “Is this all Mik?”
Timber pushes Doc’s hand away. He tries to speak, grimacing and holding his jaw when he does. With obvious effort, he grinds out a few sentences. “He read your note. Realized you knew about his back and came after me for answers.”
When Timber trails off, Smoke takes over. Laying a hand on my shoulder, he doesn’t sugar coat what happened. “Timber didn’t have the answers he wanted because you didn’t tell him where you were going. He laid into him, thinking he was hiding shit for you. It wasn’t a fair fight, Timber was trying to calm him down, not hurt him.”
Benji snorts behind me, making his feelings known. It’s been an ongoing joke that the only person Timber can’t beat in a fight is Mik. Timber’s sadistic; having earned the nickname “Blake the Butcher” from his exploits in the Shamrocks basement. However, as dangerous as he is, he doesn’t possess the untamed cruelty that Mik does. My man is bloodthirsty. He was the Shamrocks Sergeant-at-Arms for six years, and I know his hands were stained permanently red during that time. What none of them know is the toll it takes on him or the trouble he has letting go of the savage side of himself and embracing his human half again. I’ve been on the receiving end of his feralness in bed when he’s used my body to subdue the machine-like intensity that can overcome his psyche.
I’m worried—more than that—I’m scared. What if this is the episode that he can’t come back from? Is this the day I’ve always feared would come—my ticking time bomb has exploded?
“Where did he go?”
“You’re not going after him,” Benji, Smoke, and Timber all tell me off at the same time.
“Yes, I am. He needs me.” I narrow my eyes at the three of them. Doc chuckles when they all stare at me without saying another word. “Would he let any of you down if this happened to you?”
A chorus of “no’s” are mumbled. “Well, you either come with me and help or you can sit here and shut up while I go. There’s no ifs, buts, and maybe’s in this situation. Mik’s not only your president now; he’s your brother. How many times have I had to listen to you all preach about Club before Blood when you want to keep me in the dark? Now’s the time to put your money where your mouth is.”
Timber hisses when he tries to talk. “Princess, my fucking jaw’s broken. I’m gonna be no help. Take Benji and Smoke. I’ll get someone to get hold of Viking, see if he knows where he is.”
Smoke hazards a guess. “He’s either with Beast or Thomas Taylor.”
Benji and I exchange a look. Nodding, we both speak in unison. “He’s with Beast. That’s where we were. He’s the one who organised the attack.”
“He didn’t organise it,” Viking’s strained voice cuts into the conversation. Conan helps him wheel his oxygen tank into the bar. He looks around the room, smirks and nods. “My boy’s still got it. Good to see you haven’t tried to tame the animal completely, kiddo.”
I snort at his blunt assessment. “There’s no taming him. You know that better than I do.”
Once Conan has Viking seated, I get them back on topic. There’s a raw urgency filling me—it’s screaming that I need to find Mik before he does something stupid. “Dad admitted to organising it, Viking. Mik must have lied to you as well.”
Viking coughs then laughs. “My boy didn’t lie to me. He lied to all of you. I was the one he wanted after it happened. Beast didn’t just organise it. He did it.”
Conan stands up and walks over to check out his son. Checking Timber’s jaw, he lifts a shoulder as if his injury is nothing. “You’ll live. Wouldn’t hurt if you learned how to take a punch one day. That runt’s been handing you your ass your entire bloody life.”
All the men laugh. I don’t. How can they sit around joking about this? It’s serious. My dad didn’t just have a warning carved into my man’s back; he held the knife and did it.
“He’s not small. You Blake’s are goddamn giants.” Viking defends his son.
I’ve had enough. With my hands on my hips, I glare at all of them. “What the hell is wrong with you? Mik’s out there. Somewhere. In, God knows, what sort of state. And, you’re all sitting around here cracking jokes.”
“Did you give him your blessing?” Viking asks.
“Yes, I did.”
“Then, let him do what he needs to do.”
Holding my hands out, I let out a scream of frustration. “He thinks I only gave it to him because I saw his back.”
Conan and Viking look at each other, smirking like a pair of naughty children. Viking crooks his finger and beckons me to him. The last thing I want to do is buy into the fun that they’re having at our expense, but my feet disagree. They’re heading in his direction before I’ve decided to move. When I get close, Viking crooks his finger again. I bend down near his mouth. “Kiddo, my boy came by after his meltdown. I set him straight.”
Typical cryptic Viking. As usual, he makes no sense. Grinding my teeth together, I clench them so I don’t give in to my desire to scream at a dying man. When I speak, my lips barely move. I’m hanging onto my last shred of sanity by virtue of sheer willpower. “You’re driving me insane, Viking. What did you set him straight about?”
“What happened with Alanah. Why Beast targeted him instead of me.”
The room spins. So dad was telling the truth about part of it. Thank God, he was mistaken about Joel. “You had an affair with my mother?”
Viking holds his stomach and guffaws with laughter. “Is that what he told you?’
“Yes.” I answer. My mind joins the room; both of them spinning in circles.
Viking moves away from me and addresses our audience. “Let me put it out there right now. I did not have an affair with Alanah.”
Benji and I are the only people in the room who understand what he’s talking about.
Conan snorts, “No, you certainly didn’t.” Relief kicks in, lifting the weight that I’ve been crumbling under. Benji lets out a deep sigh of liberation. We smile at each, lifting our eyebrows to acknowledge the bullet Joel just dodged. “The poor woman wasn’t silly enough to come back for seconds.”
My world comes crashing back down. Confusion doesn’t sit well with me, so I snap at Viking. “Stop speaking in riddles for once.”
“Your mother and I slept together one time. She did it to get back at your father for sleeping with Club whores. I loved her so I took what I could get, even though I knew she’d never pick me over Beast.” He starts to wheeze. Lifting his nasal cannula to his nose, he breathes in some pure oxygen while we all wait for him to speak again. “The fact that she ended up pregnant with my child, wasn’t something either of us saw coming.”
Benji kicks a fallen barstool away from him. “So what he said was true? Joel’s your son?”
Viking nods. Conan mimics his movement. And, Doc joins in for good measure; proving this secret has only been kept from my generation. My twin finds his voice before I do. “You people are sick. Do you realize that you’re playing with real people’s lives here? Do you understand that this means my brother is my half-brother and my sister is dating her half-brother’s fucking half-brother? There has to be a hidden camera somewhere because this shit is too far-fetched to be fucking true.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MIK
The news that Dad just dumped on my head is enough to drive a man to drink. Joel’s my brother. Lainey’s my half-brother’s half-sister. This Club is a fucking joke. Our parents need their fucking heads read, bunch of cheating frauds. They’ve spent years lauding their “epic” love stories over our heads—turns out they’ve been full of shit the whole time.
Massaging my right hand, I walk around the inside of the shed at the back of my father’s house. I came here to get my favourite ha
ndgun; not for a lesson in bloody genealogy. Rubbing my busted knuckles once more, I groan. Fucking Timber’s bull head is even harder than it looks. Well, it was either his head, or the wall, or the bar that I broke my hand on. I wouldn’t know which one it was; I was beyond pissed off. Waking up to a note from Lainey professing her love for me and giving me her blessing was the last thing I’d expected. Finding myself naked in our bed with my back uncovered for everyone to see was second-to-last. I can’t remember fuck-all of last night—except that I punched Joel in the face when he got between my fist and Lainey.
It’s kinda poetic. Hey, little brother. Welcome to the family. Here; eat a knuckle sandwich. Family bonding at its best—Shamrocks style.
“Goddamn it,” I yell into the empty space. “Fuck you all.”
My mind’s clouded, and it’s affecting my ability to make a decision about Beast. I have Lainey’s blessing now. So, what’s stopping me from hunting him down and putting a bullet in his head? My gun’s still locked up in the box on top of the steel locker, even as my fingers itch to wrap around the hand-grip, and squeeze the trigger.
My mobile phone vibrates again in my pocket. I don’t bother pulling it out to check it. I know who it is. Lainey. And, she’s probably ready to rip me a new one for ignoring her. I’d feel bad—except, I’d rather poke my own eyes out with a sharp stick than head back to the Clubhouse right now. Too many fucking people there who think they have the right to tell me how to act. Not fucking likely. For the first time in my life, I don’t even want to see Lainey. Not because my feelings have changed for her. I haven’t a clue what my next move is, and she’s gonna be full of questions. How the fuck do I explain my back to her?
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