That was an outright lie. He knew who the third illegitimate kid his father had was but he wouldn’t ever tell her. He couldn’t risk the loss of his daughter.
Brianna on a vengeful spree was a frightening sight indeed and if she knew she had any leverage over Cillian at all, she’d use it just to get back at him. She would also end up a dead bitch because Dizzy didn’t believe in those kind of games and would kill anyone who threatened the Club.
He wanted to divorce his old lady but he also wanted her to have access to their children. What he didn’t want was her cold, dead body on a slab. He was a lot of things but he would never want her murdered no matter how much they’d hurt one another in the past.
“I don’t believe you.” She shook her head and the tears slid down her cheeks in black stains from her mascara and eyeliner. “Cillian, we can work this out. I’ll stop fookin’ around with other men but you have to promise the same to me. You have got to stop your whoring ways with other women.”
Cillian wasn’t made of stone and although he didn’t love his wife any longer, it still hurt him to see her in pain. “Brianna, I’m in love with another woman and I’ll always be in love with her. Do you really want to be with some douchebag who can’t be faithful to you because he wants someone he can’t have? Listen to yourself and what you’re asking from me and you’ll understand how ridiculous you sound.”
“Why? Why did you save me at all? Why did we have children and get married if you knew you’ve been in love with that…that cunt all along? Why didn’t you just leave me where you found me? Do you know how fookin’ unfair you sound?”
“Yeah, I do. I’m an asshole and I’m fucked in the head, babe. I should have left you where I found you but I couldn’t in good conscience do that and live with myself.” He dragged from his cigarette before he stubbed it out in an oversized ashtray. “Just…drop the kids off at my parents’ house, okay? You can stay here as long as you want and where ever you decide to move, I’ll get you set up. You’ll never want for anything and I’ll take care of ya…but ya gotta give me what I want and what I desire right now is freedom.
“Shit is about to kick off and if you’re not with me then you’re in danger if you stay here. Go to Vegas, L.A., but just agree that within a week, you’ll be ready to get the fuck outta dodge and stay put where ever I place ya. The important part is you go where there’s a Saints’ chapter. The one in Glendale and the one in Vegas pack a lot of manpower and firepower. The first hint you think you’re being followed, you let a brother know and they’ll put protection on youse, okay?”
Brianna breathed deeply as she continued to smoke her cigarette. “This is all so fookin’ unfair…how I have to uproot me life—”
“—yeah, you’re worthless fuckin’ life because the kids are staying behind. What are you so upset about? You get a nice place, a nice car to drive and you’re no longer saddled with a life you never wanted in the first place. You can stay out as late as ya want every night and fuck whoever you want to and don’t even have to worry about PTA meetings and fuckin’ kids you never wanted in in the first place. Boo motherfuckin’ hoo. I’m not gonna feel sorry for you.”
Brianna was calm for a moment as she finished her cigarette and extinguished it in the ashtray before she suddenly ran towards Cillian, and began to attack him.
“You arsehole. You fookin’ no good, can’t-keep-it-in-your-pants prick! You fookin’ ruined me life and I fookin’ hate youse for what ya did! I wish we’d never met, Cillian Cox. I wish I’d never laid eyes on youse!”
“Back the fuck up, woman. You don’t wanna see my bad side so you best get control of that temper before I do somethin’ we’ll both regret. The kids will be up soon and I said I would take them to school. Sleep that shit off—whatever the fuck drug is pumpin’ through your system and get a hold of yourself. It’s over. The. Motherfucking. End. Get that through your thick skull, you stupid mick bitch, and if you ever put your hands on me like that again, I will knock you the fuck out, so help me God.”
She slumped to the floor and continued to sob as both Declan and Caitlin ran down the stairs. Cillian looked at the clock and realized it was time to take them to school.
Declan, a mixture of both parents with his good looking features, gray eyes and brown hair looked from his mother to his father and back again. “Dad, is Mom okay?”
“Your mother is gonna be fine, son. She’s just a bit upset and had too much to drink last night, that’s all.”
“Okay.” His son walked towards the kitchen as Caitlin approached Brianna and knelt down.
“Mommy, are you going to be okay?”
His wife embraced their daughter and stroked her dark auburn hair. “Mommy’s gonna be fine but…guess what? You and your brother get to stay with Grandma and Grandpa for a while. Won’t that be fun?”
“Not really. We have to hang out at the Clubhouse with all the other kids and some of their parents are really messed up. They get lousy grades in school and they call Declan and I names because we do our schoolwork.” Caitlin’s hazel-green eyes turned toward Cillian. “Daddy, do we have to go to the Clubhouse?”
“Baby, that’s where I’m gonna be stayin’ for a while so I’ll make sure none of those little bastards talk down to your or Declan.”
His daughter abandoned her mother and walked over to him. “Why are you staying at the Clubhouse, Daddy? Did you and Mommy have another fight?”
“No—actually, yes, we did but…Mommy is gonna go away for a while but she will come back to see you and Declan. She’s picking you up from school so you can say goodbye to her then, okay?”
Caitlin nodded her head, her creamy skin so much like Brianna’s but her complexion was healthy and she glowed with the abundance of youth.
“Okay.”
“Who wants to ride in Daddy’s Ford F-15o?”
“I do!” Declan yelled from the kitchen.
“So do I, Daddy!” Caitlin exclaimed.
He smiled at his daughter and ruffled her hair before both kids followed him to the garage and they all got in his 2014 Ford F-150.
Cillian knew in his heart that sometimes, the hardest issues to overcome were the ones a person never saw coming. He knew he had to end it with Brianna but he wished to God it hadn’t been so fucking hard and he didn’t feel so confused about it.
Twelve years and some change was a long time to spend with anyone, let alone someone you could marginally stand most of the time and other times, felt sorry for, but he couldn’t go back.
This time, Brianna would have to learn how to stand on her own two feet.
Cillian arrived at the Clubhouse shortly after he dropped his kids off at St. Francis, a private Catholic grammar school which spanned from Kindergarten to Eighth grade. For high school, they would attend St. Joseph’s, another private Catholic high school.
Yes, he came from a long lineage of outlaws but that didn’t mean they didn’t believe in God or justice. The public schools in Birch Tree were just fine but his kids only received the best. Plus, he and Gisela’s son attended a private Catholic high school.
Their son, Conan, was extremely intelligent and a computer whiz, not to mention he’d skipped a grade and was a freshman at the ripe age of thirteen. He was a straight-A student who was popular with jocks, geeks, cool kids, and the teenage girls. However, due to who his parents were, he focused solely on schoolwork, sports, and not much else.
Cillian was determined not to make a difference between any of his children and had followed in his aunt and uncle’s footsteps where his own two children were concerned.
He arrived at the Clubhouse shortly after nine. He’d had to swing back to his place and load his Harley onto the flatbed of his truck before he drove back to Cox Towing and Auto Repair.
Their legitimate business was towing vehicles, specifically for the local law enforcement. They towed and stowed every car that was taken from a particular driver due to insurance lapses, drunk driving and every other offense where it meant
a person had their vehicle impounded. Most were never claimed again but they still kept them for the requisite thirty days before they sold them in bulk up to a car dealership in Portland, Oregon.
The vehicles were removed from the State because it was important the owners were never able to track their vehicles down. They usually settled with the finance company for pennies on the dollar and they made good money with the arrangement they had with various used car lots in Portland.
However, it was a needed and necessary front.
Their real money came from the restoration of antique vehicles and motorcycles. Bookie, Cricket and Kink weren’t members just because they looked hot on a Harley and had tat sleeves; they knew their automotive shit in and out. The same way Loire, his half-sister and the club tat artist, knew how to draw on the canvas of human flesh. She was a natural and had done everyone’s work in the club.
It didn’t matter she lived in L.A. When Dizzy called her, she ran and her partner, Nil Delvecchio, would pick up the slack while she was off on her tat jobs up here in Northern Nevada.
Cillian liked to think he was a great mechanic but his true love was car and motorcycle restoration. Every upgrade he had on his Harley had been done by his own hands personally. His bike wasn’t just a machine but a mean bitch who was an extension of him. She’d saved his ass more times than he could count and he took care of her with precision and a fine eye for detail.
He used the remote he had in the truck to open the heavily armed gates at the Clubhouse and compound.
They were in the middle of a restoration project and therefore builders came and went. There was a panic room that would be able to withstand a C-4 bomb. Every room, including the main area, game room, chapel, and bedrooms for Club members were being upgraded. The whole place would be completely modernized by the time the restorations were completed.
All the club members were getting new beds, and completely remodeled bathrooms while their chapel had already been redesigned. The glass was bulletproof and the place could withstand a lot of damage if the assailants got past the brand new fence that had barbed wire on top and could be electrified at the switch of a button.
Every door into the compound had a different code and codes were changed weekly.
The place would be a great place for a lockdown when all the work was finished in approximately four months.
That meant the crew had to work through wintertime but there would be a major bonus if they finished on time.
Cillian climbed out of his truck and walked toward the front door where he tapped in that week’s four digit code on the keypad but before he could finish, there was a buzz from the inside. A camera was placed in a strategic position above the double front doors and one could be buzzed in if they didn’t know the combo; a definite must for the Saint Slappers, who would never be trusted with the code to their Clubhouse.
He walked inside and looked around the dim area. The air ventilation worked because the usually hazy Clubhouse smelled of smoke but it wasn’t abrasive and a bluish haze hadn’t been left behind as the sun streaked light through one of the windows and directly onto the bar area.
A prospect, O’Neal, tended the bar area while he cleaned the area and emptied ashtrays. He was a hard worker, sponsored by Quinn, although everyone called him Cell because he had the fortunate habit of being able to wipe compromised cell phones and replace them with completely clean numbers and histories.
He was also a former Air Force member who served four duties in Afghanistan before he was honorably discharged after a bullet shattered his shoulder. He’d had it re-broken and a competent Club doctor had operated on him. He would be fine and it was almost a guarantee he would be the next to be patched in when they got past that night and the whole “Riley” situation.
It was a pity too because his father didn’t want to do much of anything until Riley was taken care of; Cillian understood why but that didn’t make his job any easier.
“Want a beer?” O’Neal questioned as he pulled up to the bar and took a seat.
“Nah, a shot of Bushmills should go a long way though.” Cillian lit a Camel and blew smoke from his nostrils in frustration. “The old man around?”
“In the chapel. He’s speaking informally to all the old school members.”
Cillian grabbed his Bushmills Irish whiskey, stood and walked toward the oak double doors, which led to chapel. He knocked before his father finally said, “Come on in.”
He walked inside and found his father, Dizzy, inside with Brendan and Sean. All three of them were the founding members of Lucifer’s Saints and their sons were also members of the club.
Kink was Sean’s son and Cricket belonged to Brendan. Both their mothers had been Saint Slappers because unlike Dizzy, neither man wanted the stability of an old lady or a family; the Club was their family.
They’d come over to the States during the whole Northern Irish conflict with the English and really respected the Hell’s Angels and what they’d done for the biker community. It was also the perfect cover for several men who had active IRA records in the UK while they could be protected by powerful Irish relatives here in the States.
They’d decided to name their MC Lucifer’s Saints because although the work they did was dirty, it was for a greater good.
The charter club moved from Boston to their current location where they knew there was no major biker presence since the Italian Mafia and Raymond Jackson controlled most of the crime. Granted, Raymond was several years’ younger than his father but he’d already been a young and very determined man who had no choice but to make it.
The White Knights were the only MC in Northern Nevada at the time and were not respected by anyone who’d counted. They were also a nightmare for local law enforcement until the Demon’s Bastards founded their charter club in Pine Bluff.
Pine Bluff’s Sheriff, Nathaniel Briggs, was married to Lorna Hughes’ cousin and her husband, Tom “Jonesy” Hughes, was President of the Demon’s Bastards. The Bastards had started off as a family MC that, unofficially, became outlaw due to their various dealings with Raymond Jackson and the Italian Mafia.
Even though there was a friendly rivalry between the two clubs, there was no pure hatred or animosity. They were both trying to earn; Jonesy liked a sure bet and preferred dealing with the Italians and Jackson. Both shared a certain code of honor and avoided disputes at all costs. They also earned most of their money running women, gaming, and loan sharking along with several huge arms’ deals each year but not enough to bring any real heat to their organizations.
Dizzy had always been reckless, and a gambling man. He dealt with Aztecas Infierno and the Koslakov Mafia—one of the infamous oligarchy families who ruled Russia with an iron fist and instructed the President of Russia what to do—because they were unpredictable, animalistic and more brutal than his MC was capable of becoming.
For instance, Dimitri Koslakov and his sister, Zusha Koslakova, were absolutely brutal in the way they dispensed punishment to their enemies and insubordinates. They would have taken great pride in handling Riley. Quinn had, unfortunately, vouched for him instead of allowing the Russians to do a background check, and it fell on the Club to take care of the situation.
That’s where Cillian came into the picture, and the precise reason why he would be responsible for murdering the traitor in their midst.
The three men looked at him as he walked inside the room and he met each pair of eyes, from the pale gray-green eyes of Brendan with his typical ginger hair peppered with gray, and mostly gray beard.
Sean’s bright aquamarine eyes, pale gray-blond hair and tanned, weather-beaten yet handsome face had aged with time but he was still sharp as a tack.
However it was the crystal blue eyes of his father and his healthy head of brown hair, close-cut brown beard and still sexy good looks who commanded the attention of all in the room.
Cillian was a carbon copy of his father; there was no mistaking them being father and son. Not to mentio
n he had just as much charisma and a physical presence like his father but he chose to play his talents down. Dizzy didn’t like to share and he had no intention of a fight with his son for attention or authority. It was the reason why Cillian made the perfect VP. He knew his father wasn’t ready to hand over the gavel yet but when he did, it wouldn’t be a moment before he knew his son would be capable of running the Club; that included having a competent old lady because a Club President was only as good as the woman behind him.
There was no way Cillian would ever have become Club President with Brianna at his side. She wasn’t strong enough and her whorish behavior did not endear herself to her soon-to-be-ex father-in-law. Now that he’d gotten rid of her, he had no idea how long she would be around but it was obvious he wouldn’t be able to divorce her at the moment, not when everything was about to go down. It would be too risky.
Dizzy smiled at his son before he motioned him to take a seat. “So, you left Brianna and you are ready for tonight, yes?”
“Do I have a choice?” Cillian raised curious eyebrows in his direction. “Riley has to be eliminated and I said I would do it.”
Dizzy nodded at Sean, their former Sergeant-at-Arms turned co-Treasurer with Quinn. Cillian’s youngest brother was also the computer expert of the Club; he wasn’t nearly as good as Trey Lennon, the Saints’ computer expert, but he was adequate enough.
Sean had a wooden box in front of him and he slid the box in Cillian’s direction. He opened up the box and was faced with a silver Desert Eagle nine millimeter with a full clip next to the gun.
“They are hollow points. Collect the shells when you’re done. This gun is untraceable and it has always been the official gun we have used when taking down Fed agents. Without a weapon then part of their case falls apart. I am the only person who knows where this gun is kept so bring it back when you finish with it. Is that understand?” Sean explained in his rough Irish brogue.
Cillian smoked his cigarette and turned the gun over and over, admiring the beauty of the piece of weaponry.
A Ride or Die Kind of Love Page 25
