I stand and adjust my clothing. As I smooth down my shirt and pat down my ruffled hair, my hands shake, and I’m forced to admit the stark truth.
I grossly underestimated Madelaine O’Brien.
When I turn my back to her, she shuffles into a sitting position. I pay her no mind. I have bigger concerns than the viper I’ve let under my skin attacking me from behind as I exit the room.
The time has come for me to humble myself at the altar of Thomas Taylor.
My father will demand payment for his advice with a pound of my flesh.
It’s a price I must pay if I’m to consolidate my losses and regain the upper hand in the war Maddi just declared... the war I thought I’d already won.
TWENTY-THREE
My father’s offices in the city are a stunning testament to his position in this state. As the Minister for Police, dad controls all of Queensland’s legal and not so legal activities. And, while the Premier might be the official figurehead, it’s well known that in this current government, at least, it’s my father who runs the behind-the-scenes dealings.
It’s been a blessing to have his protection, especially when your tastes are outside the norm, like mine.
“Afternoon, Thelma,” I greet the receptionist. “You’re looking lovely today.
The old battle-axe visibly preens after my compliment.
Smiling, she presses the button on the intercom. “Minister. Your son is here.”
“Send him in.”
With a flourish, she buzzes me through the door. I wave goodbye and head for dad’s office.
I’ve barely taken a step inside when he’s chiding me for my late arrival.
“I told you three,” he scolds me. “Not half past three.”
Settling into the leather chair furthest from his desk, I push my hands together and trap them between my thighs. They refuse to cease shaking. I can’t take the risk of him seeing how rattled I am until after we discuss why he’s summoned me to his office. After he’s laid his cards on the table, I’ll throw myself at his mercy and beg him to help me bring Maddi back under control.
“Your grandfather is ill.” Dad delivers the news like he’s telling me what he wants for dinner. “This little vacation of yours is over. I expect you to be back home within the week. He is commencing treatment immediately, and I need you to help me pick up the slack with the business.”
My stomach lurches then sinks into my boots. He can’t be talking about what I think he is?
I like having clean hands, so I have refused, so far, to have my name linked to the dirty element of the Fitzgerald fortune. I’ll take the money it generates without hesitation, however I’m not willing to participate in the activities that makes it.
From my perspective, my grandfather’s ill health shouldn’t change any of that.
Surely, he has minions who can keep things running?
My granddad is a conundrum. On one hand, he has his legitimate enterprises. It’s on which he initially built his empire. Through them, he demands respect, loyalty, deference, and complete obedience. Yet, once my father took office and added a completely respectable façade to his name, granddad expanded into more lucrative ventures without so much as a second thought.
In that realm, he breaks his own rules in the pursuit of the power and the enjoyment of adding another dollar to his already overflowing coffers. Those lucrative ventures go by labels that aren’t mentioned in polite society.
Namely methamphetamines, weapons running, and prostitution.
There’s no way I’m sullying my hands with that. It’s a dangerous game to play, even with the Minister for Police on your side.
“I can’t—”
Dad dismisses me with a flick of his hand. “You will. And, Madelaine O’Brien is to return with you.”
What he’s asking is impossible. She’s likely to laugh at me if I told her we’re going back home after our showdown this afternoon.
“She has classes,” I mumble. Dropping my focus from his face to my lap, I continue. “I don’t think she’ll come with me.”
He leans back in his chair and swings gently from side to side.
“Make her,” he tells me, acting like it’s the easiest thing in the world to achieve. “If she gives you any trouble, escalate the threat. Tell her I’ll have her brother tossed in prison.”
“Okay.” His suggestion silences my main doubts. Although, I’m still not sold on her cooperation. “I’ll try.”
My father slaps his hands on his desk and pushes to his feet. He leans over the oak surface, his contempt for me making him screw up his face with disgust. I sit up straighter, and brace for the explosion.
“You will have her back at the farm by the end of the week or I’ll have your granddad sign over your portion of the trust to me.” He sneers, then points at the door. “Now, get out. I don’t have the time to listen to your excuses. Either succeed or disappear, you will not be the reason I fail to execute this deal.”
Without another word, I hurry out of his office. He stalks after me and slams the door shut. I pretend not to see Thelma when she watches me leave with a frown on her face, keeping my head down and my strides long until I’m safely ensconced in the elevator.
The door pings and opens. I step out into the foyer, immersed in my thoughts. I’m not watching where I’m going, and it ends badly. I walk into someone—a gigantic someone—and they nearly knock me off my feet. They walk straight past me, without stopping to help. Windmilling with my arms, I regain my balance, then spin around to tell them what I think of their rudeness.
“Hey,” I yell after them. Everyone else in the foyer turns to look at me, except for the.
I’m ready to chase after them, when they turn the corner in the direction of the elevators and I catch a glimpse of their side profile.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Quickly retracing my steps, I get close enough to confirm my suspicions without letting them see me. As I thought, it is Beast O’Brien. He’s dressed in normal, street clothes—his leather and dirty denim curiously absent. When the doors to the elevator close, with Beast as the sole occupant, I watch what floor it stops at.
Level Twenty-Three. Same floor as my father’s office.
Why would a notorious biker be meeting with the Minister for Police in broad daylight? It just doesn’t sit right with me.
There isn’t a readily-discernible answer, so I file this coincidence away to mention to my father next time I see him. If Beast isn’t meeting with him, then I’m sure my dad will appreciate the heads-up that he’s meeting someone else on the same floor.
Side-mission concluded, I return to my vehicle in the underground parking lot.
My phone beeps. I yank it out of my pocket, jabbing at the screen as the absurd hope that it’s Maddi texting to apologise grows in my chest. I’m left feeling hollow when I see that it’s only Hugo inviting us to the opening of his newest night club.
My home screen is a picture of Maddi that I took one night while she was sleeping. Her eyelashes fan out over the top of her cheeks, her lips slightly ajar, her body relaxed, and all the signs of usual strain are absent from her face.
She is beautiful.
An angel.
My angel.
I will do anything to keep her by my side.
Decision made, my hands stop shaking for the first time since she shredded me with her tongue. I open the new message screen and attach the pictures of Benji at the bonfire party. A little reminder about what is at stake never hurt anyone.
The added incentive I type above the pictures is purely for my benefit. I need to take back my power—from my father and Maddi—and the best way to do that is to annihilate whatever satisfaction she took from tearing me down and then drag her home. It’ll get her away from Benji again and will re-instate me in dad’s good graces, all at the same time.
ME: Just taking a quick walk down memory lane. It’s been an interesting day... I have all sorts of thoughts running through my
head. AFL draft week. Smart-mouthed boys from the wrong side. Judges who hate bikers. How much do you think your little tirade would cost him? I’m betting on at least 3 to 5 xo
Tossing my phone into the centre console, I back out of the parking space and head for home. Now that I’ve taken action, I’m amped for what’s to come. Maddi will be coming home with me before the end of the week. I can feel it in my bones.
Her outburst was simply a symptom of the strain she’s been under with moving to a new city, starting university, and worrying about getting a job. She’s entitled to let off a little steam every now and then.
I’m going to make it my personal mission to remove all stress from her life going forward.
It’s my duty as a good boyfriend to protect her from everything—even her own selfish overactions.
TWENTY-FOUR
Maddi greets me at the front door. She’s cowed. The anger that had hold of her earlier has fled. I close the door behind me and beckon her to follow. Stalking through the house, I check for any signs of Benji. Finding none, I decide it’s safe to proceed.
“Did you get my message?”
She nods. “I did.”
“And?” I arch my eyebrow and wait for her response.
“I’m sorry,” Maddi says in a rush. She steps toward me, reaching out to touch me, but I hold a hand up. “Please, Brendan. Don’t take my mistake out on Benji. I was stupid, and I’m so sorry.”
The words are right. Her tone is right. So, why don’t I believe she’s sincere?
“It’s too late for apologies,” I reply. The colour drains from her face. “But you know I’ll make an exception for you, if you can prove to me that you mean what you’re saying.”
I toy with her emotions, sending her hopes plummeting then building them back up. Maddi offers me a timid smile. I return the sentiment. Searching my face with her blue gaze, her nerves appear to increase. Perverse delight invades me, pushing away the final traces of the blow she dealt to my ego earlier. Maddi is uncertain, and I am back in control.
The natural rhythm of our universe has been restored.
I’m almost back to my normal self, already.
Maddi ducks into the kitchen and returns with her handbag. She holds out her hand to me and I take it.
“Are you ready,” she asks.
“For what?”
“Dinner with Benji.”
I yank my hand away from hers with a huff. “We’re still going? After what you said today?”
She, at least, has the good grace to blush. “Well, yes. I agreed to drop them at the airport after dinner. It will save on the cost of a cab.”
Her lack of concern for my evening is astounding. How can one woman be so self-centred?
“What if I had other plans?”
“I didn’t think—”
With menace in my step, I close the distance between us and take hold of her throat. Lifting her until her tip toes are only grazing the floor, I glare directly into her eyes.
“That’s your biggest problem,” I pause and shake her like a ragdoll. She drops her handbag, most of the contents spilling out onto the floor. “You don’t think about anyone other than yourself.”
Maddi grabs my wrist with both of her hands and tugs at my arm. I shake her once more then lower her back to the floor. She clutches her neck and gasps for air.
“Please, don’t be angry,” she begs. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first. I’ll make it up to you. Forgive me.”
“I can’t make any promises,” I reply. “I guess, we’ll see have to see how dinner goes before I make any decisions about your punishment.”
Relief invades her flushed face. It stops me in my tracks. Why is she relieved that we’re still going to dinner. I don’t get time to gauge her intent because Maddi distracts me when she almost falls as she tries to get back to her feet.
“Here.” I hold my hand out to her. She hesitates to take it. “I won’t bite.”
After she places her hand in mine, I help her upright. Maddi gathers her spilled belongings and leads me to the front door. I watch her ass move while she walks, walking faster so I can reach between her legs and run my hand up her inner thigh. My ire returns when I discover that she’s wearing baggy shorts, even though I’ve explicitly requested that she wear skirts—which she was wearing when I left.
“Why can’t you listen?” My fingers bite into her skin when I take hold of her upper arm and pull her to a stop. Her frightened gasp is music to my ears, but it’s not enough to dampen my reaction to her deliberate provocation. “How many times do I need to tell you that it’s not lady-like to wear shorts to a restaurant? I don’t know what it is that drives you to defy me. What I do know is that you need to stop before I do something, we’ll both regret.”
Our neighbours across the road pull into their driveaway. My grip loosens, and Maddi pulls her arm out of my grip. She walks off without another word, knowing full well that I won’t chase her while there’s an audience. I let her get away with her little act of defiance, although I do tuck it away in my mind for future reference.
As her offences add up, I begin to look forward to having her alone tonight. Taking Benji to the airport won’t be such a hardship if it leaves me certain that he’s gone and I’m free to take my frustrations out on his wayward sister.
“Buckle up,” I suggest.
Maddi clips in her seatbelt and flops back in her seat. Her eyes close. I hear her deep and even breathing, a calming technique she uses quite frequently, and take the opportunity to drive in silence for a bit. I promised myself that I would remove the stress from her life—so far, I’ve failed miserably.
We’re almost at the head of the line for valet parking at the restaurant when I remember what dad wants me to organise. I have less than a week to achieve the impossible, which means it’s imperative that I start warming her up to the idea right now.
“My granddad is seriously ill.” I break the awkward quiet that’s taken hold during our drive here. “He needs treatment, so I’ll be heading home regularly to help him.”
She opens her eyes and sits up straight. “For how long?”
“I’ll probably spend half the week at home and the other half here with you until he gets the all-clear.”
I’m feeding her bullshit. It’s necessary if I want to wear her down into coming home with me. In her current mood, gaining small concessions, one at a time, from her is my best bet.
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Maddi places her hand on the back of mine. “I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
Apparently, my approach was too subtle. She was supposed to volunteer to accompany me.
Before I can broach the miscommunication, the valet taps on my window. I open my door, hand him the keys, then head around to the other side to open Maddi’s door. The car speeds off, and I lead Maddi inside.
“Taylor, table for three,” I tell the hostess.
Maddi steps in front of me. “It’s actually O’Brien, table for four.”
“Right this way.”
As we follow the hostess, I drag Maddi in close and question her. “Why four?”
“Benji’s taking a support person to Melbourne with him. It’s pretty standard nowadays when a player has multiple offers on the table,” she replies in a rush. “Since he’s heading to the airport straight after dinner it made sense to bring them with him.”
Her deliberate evasion makes sense when we reach our table and find Benji and Mik Kennedy waiting for us. They both stand and greet Maddi with a hug. Mik slyly gives her a kiss on the cheek when Benji reaches across the table and shakes my hand.
Since he moved in with us, he’s been on his best behaviour. It’s nothing short of a miracle—one that leaves me watching him like a hawk. His true motivations will surface soon.
“Benji.” My voice is gruff when I speak. I lift my chin in Mik’s direction. “Strange choice for a dinner date.”
“Figured he’d be good to have at the negotiating ta
ble,” Benji replies with a laugh.
I run my gaze over Mik. He’s dressed in his usual clothing. Leather Black Shamrocks MC vest over a short-sleeve T-shirt that shows his tattooed arms, dirty jeans that have definitely seen better days, and heavy, black lace up boots that need tossing in the bin.
“Nice to see he cleaned up for the occasion.”
All pretence of social etiquette disappears from Benji’s face, and he snaps at me, “Yeah, well he is who he is. Unlike some people who like to pretend they’re upper class when they’re really lower than a snake’s belly.”
With a chuckle, I pull out Maddi’s seat and urge her to sit with a hard hand on her nearest shoulder. Mik and Benji take their seats, and I follow suit. After a quick look at the menu, we all place our orders. An awkward silence ensues until Benji leans across the table in front of me and monopolises Maddi’s attention.
Taking Maddi’s closest hand in mine, I lean back in my chair, and wait for the ambush to commence. I don’t think Maddi had a hand in this set-up, however it is obvious that Benji and Mik are up to something. It is not an act of fate that we’re having dinner with them both tonight.
Nothing happens. Mik just stares at me, his unblinking eyes filled with malice. After a bit, I glare back with my own hatred on display.
He smirks. I grin at him.
Our meals are delivered to our table, and we barely break eye contact while we eat.
Maddi is tense, the hand I’m holding twitches every so often, a solid indicator of her nerves, even as she feigns preoccupation with Benji’s tales. Her twin seems oblivious to anything other than his food and making his sister laugh. Mik is an open book, his pages filled with jealousy, desire, and a little bit of guilt. And, I’m having the time of my life.
There’s nothing I enjoy more than watching people try to pretend that I’m not affecting them. The more awkward I can make things, the further I can push them, the better. I relish moments like these—having been taught by the master how to use silence as a weapon.
Craving Control Page 21
