Craving Control

by Kylie Hillman

  None of the members from Brisbane are with them.

  They must be leaving.

  They shouldn’t be leaving.

  Immediately, I feel the shift in their demeanour. The atmosphere in the shed was tense when they all left. I could have cut it with a knife if I had one. Now, it’s much lighter. The bikers are even holding themselves differently. There’s no more slumped shoulders and angry muttering. No more dirty looks being sent my way. They aren’t crushed. They have hope. They’re too calm. Too focused.

  Something’s changed.

  “Get him down,” the one with the President’s patch orders, pointing at me. “Stuff them both in the back of their shit box.”

  I’m carried out of the shed and thrown into the back of the wagon. A different biker tosses a barely conscious Stu in with me. He ties us together, then slams the back of the vehicle shut.

  “What happened?” I ask Stu once they’re out of ear shot. When he doesn’t move, I head butt him to wake him up. “Where’s Lainey?”

  He grumbles and groans, shuffling awkwardly to put some distance between us. Despite our differing reasons for doing so, I appreciate his efforts. We’re both naked, and our faces are so close together that we could kiss if either of us was that way inclined.

  Once he has made some space, he lifts his head and looks out the window.

  “I don’t know what play you have going,” he hisses. “But it’s over. You’ve been taken off the field.”

  “Bullshit. I have not.”

  There is no way I came this far to accept defeat now.

  There’s only one person who can take me out of the game—and that’s me.

  “Wizard sold you out,” Stu snaps. “He’s swapping us for the O’Brien kid. I heard him with my own ears. He told Beast he wouldn’t touch his girl. He swore on his patch. That means he’ll keep his word.”

  I don’t get time to question him further. One of the younger Black Shamrocks climbs in the front seat of the wagon. He starts the car and drives off without saying a word to us. The sound of motorcycles surrounds us. We travel over gravel for a way then turn right onto an asphalt road.

  A road to where? I don’t know.

  What I do know is that my plan was perfect, and someone—maybe Wizard, maybe someone he takes orders from—changed the outcome. That someone shouldn’t have meddled in matters they didn’t understand, and when I prove who it was, I’m going to exact the violent kind of revenge that even Shakespeare’s imagination couldn’t conjure.

  My mind whirls with wild thoughts of storming the Black Shamrocks clubhouse and taking Lainey at gun point. I let revenge distract me from the trouble I in, until I can’t ignore it any longer. The wagon has stopped. I wait to be dragged out the back and tossed on the ground in an undignified heap. Instead the biker silently exits the car and the motorbikes that accompanied us roar away.

  We’re on our own. In a location we don’t know. Naked and tied together.

  “Shit,” Stu curses. He tries to lift himself enough to look out the windows, but he falls back down next to me before he manages it. “This isn’t right. There should be someone to meet us.”

  “Nothing about this is right.” I strain to see out the window.

  My shoulder wound pulls tight. It opens up further and more blood runs out. I don’t let the pain deter me. Finding a way to safety is more important than keeping my blood inside my body right now. If we end up in the wrong hands, it won’t matter how much blood I have remaining, I’ll be gutted like a pig and left to bleed out.

  Gritting my teeth, I lift myself higher, searching our surroundings until I see something I recognise.

  A garish orange building stands in the middle distance.

  “We’re on the Mavericks end of Leeds Parade,” I inform Stu.

  His face loses the pinched look of worry it’s had since we were tossed in this vehicle. The middle of Leeds Parade denotes the end of Black Shamrocks MC territory and the beginning of Mavericks of Mayhem turf.

  Stu relaxes, and I try to follow suit.

  We’re on allied turf.

  Someone will come and get us soon.

  It takes longer than expected.

  By the time someone arrives, Stu has long lost his fight with unconsciousness and passed out next to me. My body is wracked with tremors that have my teeth chattering. I can’t feel my arms and my face is a fiery mess that refuses to stop throbbing. I’ve lost hope that we’re going to be picked up when the back door of the wagon is finally opened, and I’m lifted out and strapped to a gurney.

  I don’t see what happens to Stu because I’m rolled inside an ambulance. The doors close, and the ambulance speeds off.

  “This will help ease the pain.” A paramedic appears beside me.

  They pull my arm straight and inject something into the vein in the crook of my elbow. I immediately feel woozy, then all the pain that’s been tormenting me for the past few hours is gone. The relief is immediate; my body slackens, and I feel like I can breathe properly again.

  I close my eyes, grateful for the reprieve, and let the rocking of the ambulance as it takes me to safety send me to sleep.

  When I wake up—who knows how many hours later—I’m in my bed at the mansion. There is darkness outside my window, although someone has left a lamp on for me. Feeling around next to the lamp, I find the internal intercom button that will summon Stanley to my side. Pressing it with my thumb, I become aware of the various bandages that cover my face and body.

  I lift the blanket, touching the leg that Lainey shot, and press against the wound. I find the telltale ridges of stitches under the bandaging. Repeating the procedure with my other injuries, I’m happy to find that I’ve been patched up, put back together, and safely ensconced in my wing of the house—all while I was unconscious.

  In the crook of my arm—the same arm the paramedic used to numb me for the drive—is a canula that’s hooked up to an IV. Something that looks like blood, plus a couple of other bags of fluid hang from a tall stand. My room has been turned into a makeshift hospital, complete with uncomfortable hospital gown, and beeping machines.

  My parents have spared no expense to heal their only son.

  Maybe the lectures and insults will be delayed as well?

  I doubt it.

  I force myself to look on the bright side.

  My pain is gone.

  My mind is clear.

  Whatever pain relief they have me on has taken away my pain but left me with my faculties. That’s a blessing in itself. I’m going to need all of my wits to explain this away.

  The door to my bedroom opens, and my grandfather enters my room with my father. They move as one united force, their collective disappointment in me radiating from them. Despite my attempt at optimism, this is the reception I’d expected.

  I let their disapproval float over me and maintain a neutral expression. There’s no need to show them how apprehensive I am, just yet. The time will come soon enough.

  It’s all a bit shocking. I never expected was to see my grandad back in this house, or my mother trailing behind him like a lost lamb. The day she married my father, granddad made it clear that she was no longer his burden. He turned the mansion over to her, and as far as I know, he’s hasn’t set foot in it since.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad,” I answer my father. “How long have I been out for?”

  “Four days,” my mother replies.

  I blink at the sound of her voice. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t sound drunk or on her way toward it. Her makeup is perfect and she’s standing upright without leaning on anything.

  Grandad follows my gaze. “There’s been some changes around here.”

  “I see that.”

  He smiles at me. It’s not friendly. It’s all teeth and torment.

  Sitting on the side of my bed, he leans closer to me. “No, I don’t think you do.”

  If power had a scent, it would smell like my grandfather. H
is musky cologne mingles with his own sense of self-importance and creates an aroma that addles your mind. When he looks at you, ensnaring you with his icy blue eyes and trapping you with his scent, you feel fear.

  Real fear.

  The kind of fear that keeps you awake at night.

  “You will leave her alone,” he says. His expression is benign. His assured tone telling me that he’s confident in my compliance.

  I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

  There is only one person who matters.

  And I will never agree to stay away from her.

  I don’t care what he threatens me with.

  “I can’t.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” He grins, then beckons my father closer. “Thomas, it’s up to you to make him see sense. I will not have him ruining my deal with the Black Shamrocks MC because he can’t keep his dick under control.

  My father comes to the other side of my bed. Picking up the pillow that’s in his way, he matches my grandfather’s position and sits at my other side. He places his hand on my arm and pats me. It’s false affection. All for grandad’s benefit. Any other time, he’d use violence or threats to get me to comply with his wishes.

  Thinking about Lainey, a little flutter of recognition grows in my gut.

  That’s what I do to her.

  I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in this family.

  “Brendan, son,” Dad addresses me with warmth in his voice and affection on his face. I almost buy it until I see through the thin veneer of humanity he uses as to mask the devil that lives inside him. “There are more important things at stake than a girl. We need your cooperation in this. The Mavericks are not suitable business partners. They have proven to be too volatile to take risk on. They can’t be trusted. Beast O’Brien is who we need to run things. His club is stable. He holds the head of his table and a majority of the votes, plus he’s keen to make as much money as he can before he goes.”

  My forehead furrow in confusion at his use of the word goes.

  Where is Beast going?

  “Do you understand?” my mum asks from across the room.

  I glance at her and shake my head. “No, I don’t. Work with Beast, I don’t care. He’s already said that I can have Maddi—I mean, Lainey—so she has nothing to do with your business. If he’s pissed about Joel, then that’s his problem. I make no apologies for that. I did what I had to.”

  My Freudian slip stings. Maddi is who I want back. Lainey is who I have to ruin to get her.

  Grandad stands. He leans over me, getting right in my face before he speaks. “Oh, how glad I am that none of my blood runs through your veins. It would kill me to know that I had two weak links in my bloodline.”

  He turns his back on me, pushing past my mother on his way out. She watches him go, her hand extending as if to touch him, before she pulls it back and claps it over her mouth.

  I see her eyes fill with tears, then she runs from my room sobbing.

  Headed back to her beloved gin, no doubt.

  Well, that was a quick return to form. Grandad’s pissed at someone and my mothers about to get drunk.

  “Listen to me,” my father snarls at me like a wild animal. He reverts to his true form now my grandfather is gone and seizes me by the front of my hospital gown. Shaking me, his spittle lands on my face when he whisper-yells at me, sneering right in my face. “I’ve come too far to allow you to fuck this up for me. You’ll either get on board or I’ll put you out on the street like I should have when you were born.”

  With that he releases me. Picking up the pillow that he had on his lap, he holds it over my face. It’s less than an inch from my nose. His intent is clear, but he gives into his constant need for theatrics and revels in his own evil by verbalising his threat as well.

  “Or maybe, I should end you permanently? That would fix all my problems.”

  I refuse to move. I will not give him my fear. It’s what he wants.

  Well, that, and for me to give up the only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself.

  Dropping the pillow onto the bed next to me, he sneers at me one more time before he turns to leave. He’s almost at the door before I find the courage to ask him the question that’s bouncing around my skull.

  “What did he mean by none of my blood runs through him?”

  Dad stops in his tracks. Laying a hand on the door frame, his shoulders slump, and he leans his weight on the wall.

  “Your mother didn’t give birth to you,” he replies in a tired voice. “She can’t have children.”

  “So, who then?” My heart pounds in my ears, and adrenaline surges through me.

  Has my entire life been a lie?

  He turns back to me, and for once I see the real man inside him. It’s not a monster like I assumed. Underneath all the façades is a broken man. He wears his pain and misery on his face for me to see. It coats his features, sucking all colour out of him.

  The man before me is a stranger.

  “Your mother is the only woman I have ever loved.” His voice cracks as he speaks, and he appears to shrink further into himself the longer he talks. “She’s the woman I gave up for this obscene wealth and a lifetime of servitude to the devil known as Samael Fitzgerald. She’s the woman I still miss every day. She’s the woman I will go to my death bed wishing I could have kept.”

  There is no further explanation needed. He knows that. I know that. He is giving me his blessing.

  Without so much as another glance my way, dad heads out of my room. I watch him leave while my world falls down around my ears. It takes him less than ten steps, yet by the time he crosses the threshold to the main part of the house, he has regained his rigid bearing and the mask he wears to hide his true self has been slipped back in place.

  I grab the pillow and hug it to my chest. My stitches protest the movement, but I power through. What’s a little extra physical pain on top of the emotional torment just heaped upon me.

  Staring at the wall, I rock back and forth, all the while telling myself that it won’t be real until I say her name. It takes longer than it should, and it hurts my ears when I finally acknowledge the woman who gave birth to me out loud.

  “Wendy.” I swallow the lump in my throat and speak again. This time it’s easier to say. “Wendy Markham is my real mother.”

  Acknowledging that I’m not a true Fitzgerald makes me dizzy. It also gives me strength.

  I am the next generation. A new generation. My blood is pure and free from the restrictions foisted upon me by the false circumstances of my birth. I no longer have to capitulate my desires for the greater good of my family.

  I don’t have to follow my father down the path to ruin.

  My dream is still within reach.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Two weeks later

  From my position crouched low under the front patio, Lainey’s sweet voice is music to my ears when it echoes in the crisp night air.

  “Have a good night, Murray,” she says.

  On the surface, she sounds happy. Underneath the pretence, I hear her pain.

  The door closes behind her and the Black Shamrock that her idiotic boyfriend has stationed on the door thunders down the stairs to take a piss. I could set my watch by his elderly bladder. His need to urinate is a regular as clock work, but he always holds it until he’s completed handover with the shift before him and Lainey is safely locked inside.

  What a gentleman.

  It’s a pity that he’s about to learn why they say nice guys finish last.

  Once he has his cock out, I emerge from under the stairs. Wrapping one arm around his neck, I pull him backward, exposing his jugular to the blade I’m holding in my free hand. One slice is all it takes. His blood spurts from his slit throat like a geyser—apparently horror movies have that right at least—and he falls to his knees.

  I knock him on his back, standing over him with my feet on either side of his torso. With all my weight behind the knife, I
plunge it into his chest. Over and over, I stab him. Not because he deserves it, simply because I’m sick of leaving behind loose ends that come back to bite me in the ass.

  Checking my watch, I smile. There’s plenty of time to play inside the house. Beast is over on the other side of the state. Mik Kennedy is busy cosying up to my decoys—a fellow Black Shamrocks MC member turned rat and his ex-hooker girlfriend, and my father is sleeping peacefully in his bed knowing that I’m not going to make the same mistake he did twenty-seven-years ago.

  My biggest nemesis. The man I believed was my grandfather. He’s been taken care of. Currently hooked up to a bunch of machines while the doctors wait for my mother to give them the okay to switch them off after he suffered a severe heart attack, he can no longer control me. Old age and Fentanyl-lace cocaine don’t mix well. Especially when it’s slipped into your morning coffee by the butler your step-grandson paid off with your own dirty money.

  It was poetic. His own product and the wealth he horded so hard had brought about his downfall.

  The Fitzgerald’s have been defeated. The Taylor name now rules supreme.

  “It wasn’t personal,” I explain to Murray’s dead corpse as I drag him back up the steps and hide his body behind the railing. From there, he can’t be accidentally found by a member of the public.

  The key that my inside informant slipped me slides easily into the lock in the front door. I hear a sound that makes me pause. Pressing my ear to the door, I wait to see if I can hear anything else. When the coast seems like it’s clear, I turn the key and let myself into Lainey’s home.

  She’s nowhere to be found. Locking the door behind myself, I pocket the key. There will be no more carelessly tossed keys to provide Lainey an easy escape.

  A startled gasp emanates from the direction of the main. It looks like Lainey has found the present I had left for her earlier this evening.

  I grin and wait for the fireworks to begin.

  As usual, she doesn’t disappoint.

  Lainey comes noisily into the kitchen, hopping on one leg while she tries to pull her jeans on and walk at the same time. I tut to myself when she manages to get her legs in her pants—now I going to have to waste precious time peeling them back off her.