We’re at the end of the aisle in the blink of an eye. Joel and Benji have a squabble over who’s giving my hand to Mik, which makes everyone laugh as it gets louder and louder the longer it goes on. My man settles it by knocking them both out of the way and pulling me into line with him. “Neither of you are giving her to me. She’s already mine.”
Benji snorts, while Joel growls his displeasure. My heart skips a beat when he does it and I see Mik have a similar reaction. Ever since the truth came out, I’ve noticed so many more similarities between Mik and Joel. That’d be okay, except no one’s let Joel in on the secret yet. His previously occasional black mood has become his dominant personality trait more recently, so we’re all afraid the news will push him over the edge.
“Uh hum,” The pastor clears his throat. “Shall we begin?’
“Let’s get it done,” Smoke heckles from the crowd. “There’s beer to drink.”
Mik nudges Timber, who turns to look at his dad. I twist slightly so I can see what they’re up to. Conan shifts spots, standing next to my cousin and laying a huge arm across Smoke’s shoulders. He leans down and whispers something in his ear, which drains all the colour from my cousin’s face.
The pastor draws our attention back to him when he starts the ceremony. What he’s saying barely registers with me—I’m too busy looking at Mik, who’s staring at me as if he’s never seen me before.
“Repeat after me,” the pastor tells Mik. He recites the usual standard vows then signals that it’s Mik’s turn. My man looks me straight in the eye and makes the eternal promise that binds me to him for life in his own words.
“I, Mikhail Kennedy, take you, Madelaine O’Brien, to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to keep you safe. To put you before everything and everyone. I’ll take care of you. I’m gonna love you forever. I’ll cherish every moment we have together and I’ll tear the head off any motherfucker who tries to separate us. I call on the people here today to witness my vow to you and believe every goddamn word I’ve said.
His vows come from his heart; they are so quintessentially Mik that nobody laughs at his diversion from the words the pastor asked him to repeat. The pastor doesn’t know us—he’s a friend of Doc, who called in a favour to get him here today—and it takes him a second to regain his composure. He gestures Timber forward who passes Mik my wedding band so he can slide it on my finger.
My hand feels heavier than it should once the simple gold band is in place. It’s a good weight, a bulk that fits the gravity of what we’re doing. Promising to love each other forever. My eyes have dried; I’m no longer overwhelmed by the ceremony because it’s right. It’s so right that it’s beyond perfect.
“Now, it’s your turn.” The pastor directs me. He follows the same process as he did with Mik, which is pointless because I’ve decided to speak from my heart as well.
“I, Madelaine O’Brien, take you, Mik ‘Mad Dog’ Kennedy, to be my lawfully wedded husband. I promise to be the person you can lean on when your burdens become too heavy to carry on your own. To love you the way you deserve. To never give anyone the power to come between us. I’m going to give you children, a happy home, and a warm, loving bed to come home to every day. In sickness and in health, in bad times and good. Even when you’ve annoyed me so much that I want to hit you, I’m going to cherish every moment because you are my man and I love you. That’s my promise to you. Forever.”
Mik’s hazel eyes are glassy. I can see his jaw working as he fights back his emotions. Holding my hand out to JJ, I hold his wedding ring in my hand for a second, feeling its weight and trying my hardest to infuse the cold gold with my love, before I take hold of his left hand and push the ring onto his finger.
The pastor claps his hands. “I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
My husband doesn’t need telling twice. He takes hold of me, bends me backward and kisses me with more passion than he ever has. It’s indescribable; the feeling of knowing that I officially belong to him. I’m no longer Maddi O’Brien; broken girl, perpetual victim, and someone who’s barely hanging on some days. I am now Lainey Kennedy. Mik’s wife. Partner in life. And, his backbone. Someone he can lean on without question. Halfway through our kiss, the bar erupts into cheers. They reverberate around the room, proclaiming a new beginning, not just for us, but for the Club.
Standing me up, Mik pulls me into his side. “I love you, Angel. We’re gonna rock this marriage thing fucking hard-core.”
“I love you, too.”
People start to crowd around us. Congratulations surround us, echoed over and over. Benji stands in front of us, sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out an ear-splitting whistle. “People, give me your attention for one minute. I have something to give the groom on behalf of the bride.”
Mik looks at me then down at the card my twin is holding out to him. He takes it from Benji, who leans in and gives him a hug that ends with a loud slap on the back. “Congratulations, Dad.”
My brother puts his arm around me, squeezing my shoulders. The minute what Benji said registers with Mik coincides with his second glance at the message he was handed. He lets the card flutter to the floor. Grabbing my hands, he bounces on the spot. “No fucking way? You’re pregnant? I’m gonna be a dad?”
His reaction is more than I expected; all I can do is nod my head up and down like a lunatic. If I open my mouth, I’m going to cry. It takes me a moment, but I finally find the composure to speak. “Yes, you—”
An explosion rocks the Clubhouse. People start screaming and smoke fills the air. Mik grabs me, pulling me behind him while he attempts to get a handle on what’s going down. Benji is standing next to us, shock on his face. My husband grabs him by his shirt and shouts in his face. “Get my dad out of here. Let’s clear the bar.”
My brother nods, then heads off to do what he’s been instructed. Mik shouts as loud as he can, “Evacuate. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Enforcer’s lead the way, shield the women and kids. This might be an ambush.”
Smoke leads the way out, with the other Enforcers close behind. They all have some form of weapon in their hands—rifles, handguns, hunting knives. My cousin kicks the door open then runs outside. Moments later, he yells. “It’s clear. Bring them out.”
Raising his hand in the air, Mik motions people to start leaving. Once everyone else has gone, including Benji who’s carrying Viking, he gives the word for Timber and JJ to walk out with us. Timber goes first. JJ’s holding Kaden close to her chest, in between her body and Timber’s. Mik follows JJ, shielding Kaden from the rear. He has me tucked in behind his back. I’m gripping the leather of his cut so tightly that it’s hurting my hand. We emerge into the early evening, blinking as our eyes adjust to brighter light. Fresh air enters my lungs, making me cough when it mingles with the smoke I’ve inhaled.
“Is everyone all right?” Mik asks.
Before he can get a clear answer, Smoke turns back to us and shouts with a never-before-heard urgency. “Get down. Get down. We have a fucking sniper.”
I watch in horror when a gunshot rings out. The bullet hits my cousin in the back then explodes out the front of his chest. Horror fills me when he lands face down on the concrete driveway. Another shot sounds; this one striking Timber in the stomach. He bellows in pain but stays standing. Twisting his body so he can drag JJ and Kaden to the ground, my best friend throws himself over his family like a human shield.
Everything is happening in a split second, no one has time to react properly; yet, to me, it seems as if I’m watching it all in slow motion. The screams sound like they’re muted, the expressions I can see ranging from surprise to shock to horror. Swinging around when I hear another shot, I scream when Mik jerks next to me. He sinks to the ground, a gigantic red patch blooming right over his heart, staining his blue shirt. I hit the ground next to him, pressing hard on his chest to stop his blood from leaking from him. A burning pain sparks in my back, almost knocking me off balance. I ignore it, inten
t on stopping my husband from bleeding out. “Don’t you die on me,” I plead with him. “I need you. We need you.”
The agony in my back spreads until I can’t stand it anymore. It’s not only in my back now; having travelled from my shoulder to my chest and then my stomach in seconds. I look down at my tummy, worried for our baby. Dark red liquid is running from the top of my dress where my upper body throbs with excruciating intensity down to my lap where it pools like a puddle. With one hand, I press down on Mik’s chest. Using my other, I touch my breastbone. White-hot torture spreads through me. I pull my hand away and look at my fingers. They’re covered with blood. Shaking takes hold of my body. Joel falls down beside me. He has blood splatter on his face; his eyes wild. “Maddi. You’ve been shot. Let me look after Mad Dog. Lacey needs to take a look at you.”
My brother’s features start to blur. My eyesight dulls, fading in and out. Joel knocks my hand off Mik. I try to protest. It doesn’t work because I can’t remember how to use my mouth. When the world starts spinning, I lay down next to my husband. Feeling along the ground, I take hold of his hand. Squeezing it, I feel his wedding band on his finger.
Crying out when someone touches my chest, I kick out at the person who’s making my pain increase. Momentary control of my body returns, my adrenaline returning along with the renewed agony in my back. I open my mouth and scream my protests to the heavens. “This is wrong. It’s my goddamned wedding day. It’s not supposed to end like this.”
To be continued…
SNEAK PEEK of SOOTHING SUFFERING, Black Shamrocks MC #1.5
PREORDER NOW
This novella details more from the beginning of Mad Dog and Maddi’s relationship.
It is set after her release from hospital after the end of her relationship with Brendan, and before the beginning of Seizing Control. It is best read after Seizing Control.
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ― Kahlil Gibran
CHAPTER ONE
MADDI
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. Lost as I am in my own world—a world filled with painful memories that make the fear that is now my constant companion kick up a notch—I don’t recognise the owner until I’ve flinched away from their touch, putting space between myself and the person I perceive to be my newest attacker. Swinging around with a looping punch that would have my self-defence instructor shaking his head, I follow with an ear-splitting shriek that makes me cringe.
“Fuck. Lainey. It’s me.” Mik holds his hands out in front of himself. He looks me dead in the eye and waves his hands as if he’s trying to settle a spooked horse. Even his mouth is shaped in a circle as if he’s about to tell me to “whoa”. My heart’s trying to pound out of my chest, fearful trembling seizing control of my body, while heat rises up my neck and warms my cheeks. I feel like a damn idiot, but I can’t seem to stop overreacting to the smallest thing. “I thought you heard me coming, Angel. I’m sorry.”
His apology makes me feel worse. Adding his slumped shoulders and strained expression into the mix only drives home how much he’s suffering because of me. The green flecks in his hazel eyes have been dulled by the pain he carries. Every time I flinch away from him, the light in them—that cheeky spark that used to illuminate his face—dims a little bit more.
“It’s all good, I was daydreaming,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound nearly as breezy as it did in my head. Forcing my stiff, shaking body to loosen, I fake my best smile and close the distance between us in three steps. Ignoring how my hands shake, I press my breasts against his hard chest and wrap my arms around his neck.
Bringing his head down to mine, I press my lips against his and initiate a kiss that’s deeper than the quick pecks that we’ve exchanged since I was released from the hospital five weeks ago. Mik was rigid when I put my arms around him, yet he manages to take it to another level altogether at my touch. His arms hang at his side and he doesn’t return my kiss past allowing me the initial joining of our mouths. Feeling like I’m trying to make out with a statue, I pull back an inch and sink my teeth into his bottom lip with deliberate viciousness.
“Ouch,” he growls, the blank expression on his face changing to one of annoyance. Gripping me with infinite gentleness by the tops of my arms, he moves me back so that he can look down at me. “Why’d you fucking do that?”
Pushing down the embarrassment that’s threatening to overwhelm me—first from my reaction to his innocent touch and secondly from his refusal to kiss me back—I shake my head at him. Wrenching out of his grasp, I sit on the dining table in the same spot I was before he interrupted me.
“Why did I do that?” I mimic his confused tone. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because my boyfriend refuses to kiss me.”
The aggravation leaves his rugged features, sympathy taking its place. It’s the one emotion I can’t deal with; one that he should know better than to send in my direction. The small amount of spirit left in my psyche—the tiny part that survived Brendan’s onslaught—flares to life, heating my indignation, and giving me the ability to lash out at him.
“You know, if being with me is too much for you to handle, the doors that way.” I spit the words at him with a certainty that doesn’t reflect my inner fear that he’ll take me up on my offer. Pointing in the direction of the front door, I continue. “Don’t let it hit you on your fine ass on the way out.”
Swinging back to my feet, I step up into his personal space and glare at him through narrowed eyes. “We both know I’m damaged. Hell, nobody’d blame you if you walked. Nobody wants a woman as scarred as me.”
Putting space between us, I wave my right hand over my abdomen. “Inside and out.”
Turning my back to him, I make my way to our bedroom. Slamming the door shut behind me, I flick the lock before throwing myself face down on our king-sized bed. The tears that are constantly trying to escape from my eyes—the tears that I have to fight everyday—run down my cheeks. The only time I let them fall is when no one else can see them. When I’m alone, they’re stronger than me. So much so, that I should be out of tears to cry since it feels like it’s all I do lately.
Keeping my anguish to myself is becoming too much. It’s making me treat Mik like shit, when he’s the only one who has a chance of understanding how I feel because he’s the only one who knows the full truth of what happened to me. The guilt that my behaviour brings just adds another layer to what I’m already struggling with.
If I’d listened to him, none of this would have happened. If I’d gone to him after the first time Brendan hurt me, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad. If I’d listened to the voice in the back of my mind that told me to tell him the truth, I wouldn’t be broken now.
The handle rattles as Mik tries to open the door, interrupting my mental blame game. He raps his knuckles against the hard wood. “Lainey, let me in. Fuck me dead, I’m trying my best here. If I try to touch you, it makes you freak out. When you kissed me I didn’t have a fucking clue how to react.”
I hear a soft thud, and I can picture him resting his forehead against the door. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I sit up and stare at the door. Wiping my face, I press my lips together so they’ll stop trembling while I breathe deeply through my nose, letting my lungs expand before letting the air out slowly. It’s a technique my therapist reckons will calm me, although it hasn’t worked for me so far.
“Angel. Talk to me. Tell me how to help you. I’ll do anything you want.”
He pauses, a loud sigh coming from the other side of the door, telling me that he’s not only confused—he’s hurt and frustrated with me for shutting him out. I open my mouth, unsure of what words are going to leave my mouth when I speak, when he interrupts me with the words that are the main reason why I can’t confide in him. “Fucking hell, Mo Ghrá. I know this is my fault and I’m fucking sorry. More than you’ll ever know.”
My mouth closes of its own volition. I throw myself backward on the be
d, landing on my back as the tears call an end to the brief reprieve they’d granted me. Flailing my hand toward the head of the bed, I reach for a pillow. Jamming it over my face, I open my mouth and scream … and scream and scream. My mind joins in, shrieking two sentences at me over and over in a matching rhythm to the cries that my pillow is muffling.
It’s not your fault. It’s mine.
Mik must mistake my silence for agreement. A louder thud makes the door shake—I’m not sure if he’s hit it with his head or his fist—before I hear him walk away from the door, his heavy biker boots sounding against the jarrah floorboards. My attention is drawn from my screams as I listen to see if he’s leaving the house.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. After the thirteenth step, there’s a resounding bang as the front door is thrown open, hitting the wall behind it. I jump when a louder boom echoes through the house as Mik slams the door shut behind him.
Barely five seconds later, I hear his Harley roar to life before the squealing of a tyre heralds his departure from our street. With straining ears, I listen as the rumbling engine gets further away, the sound receding until I can’t hear it anymore.
Tempting Fate Page 18
