Butch (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 3)

by Kylie Hillman

  Desperate times call for desperate measures—and since this is my fault, it’s my job to fix it. My distaste for the man in front of me makes itself known when bile-like bitterness floods my mouth. I swallow it down and commit to repairing the damage I’ve done.

  “It is.”

  Grabbing the front of his shirt again, I turn him in the opposite direction to where he was headed and drag him back to the middle of the dance floor. Everyone parts for us, and I quickly have his full attention when I shimmy against the front of his body. When his big hands come down to grip my hips and he takes control of my movements, I allow myself to sigh.

  I’ve done it. He’s no longer thinking about Alanah.

  “What’s your name?” Paddy asks during a lull in the music.

  “Anita,” I reply.

  Recognition dawns in his eyes, light crinkles appearing at the outer edges when he narrows them and really looks at me. For a second, I’m worried that he knows who I am, then he goes and proves that I was right about him all along.

  “You’re the chick Butch had the hots for,” he announces with a damning chuckle. I wince. The way he describes Brian’s feelings using past tense is a dagger to my heart. “I have heard all about you.”

  It takes every skerrick of willpower I possess not to storm away from him so I can find somewhere to hide and lick the wounds he just reopened. Rather than give into my pain, I smile widely, lifting my face so he gets the full force, then I giggle.

  “Now, that was a very long time ago and it was nothing.”

  He smirks back at me, the coloured lights that flicker around the room casting an ominous glow over his smug face.

  “A piece of arse like you is never nothing,” he states in a flat voice.

  A tall man catches my eye over Paddy’s shoulder. It’s Brian. I watch him, my breath caught in my throat when a silly thought enters my head. Is he going to come over here and stake his claim?

  That ridiculous notion dies a speedy death.

  With horrified eyes, I see the only person to have ever given me butterflies stalk over to one of the older girls in my graduating class and strike up a conversation. She visibly preens at his attention, making a mockery of the way I’ve just acted when she does the same things.

  Hair flip. Too big smile. Hand on chest. Leaning close enough to touch.

  Everything that I just did to Paddy plays out in front of my eyes. Only this time the man I can’t seem to banish from my brain is the recipient, and I’m not the one delivering it.

  “Wanna find a bedroom?” Paddy drags my gaze back to him by pinching my chin and tilting my face upward. “I’d really like to get to know you better.”

  The innuendo is clear. Any other time, I wouldn’t have considered it. I’ve never had a boyfriend and I’ve kissed one person in my life. As much as I mentally sneer at Alanah and the stick she has up her arse, I’m not much better.

  Any objections I have are squashed by what happens next.

  Brian makes the decision for me when he tangles his fingers in the girl’s hair, tilts her head to the side, and kisses her. Her eyes close. His don’t. He turns her so her back is to me. Our eyes lock. One of his hand’s drops from her hair to her arse and he uses it to grind her against him.

  The nail in our coffin is hammered home when he pulls his mouth from hers. He smirks at me, the darkness of the room adding a sinister tint to his face, then blows me a kiss. I look away, my stomach churning and nausea threatening.

  “Let’s go,” I tell Paddy when I’m sure I’m not going to throw up.

  He doesn’t need telling twice. I take hold of his hand and lead him out of the living room. Trotting behind me, his hands circle my waist and he pulls my back against his stomach.

  “I’mma ‘bout to rock your world, Anita,” he promises, moving his bulge across my arse. My body stiffens, then I force my feet back into motion. Paddy swings me into his side, sliding his arm over my shoulders. “You’re not gonna regret this.”

  Digging into my skirt pocket, I pull out another pill and swallow it dry.

  As we walk down the cramped hallway, side by side, I pray the pill hits quick.

  Total obliteration of my common sense is required to go through with this, although I know deep in my heart that I’m not going to regret this because I won’t allow myself to indulge in pity.

  If Brian doesn’t care, then why should I?

  We enter a bedroom and to my surprise I realise that it’s Alanah’s. I’d expected him to take me to his room. When Paddy sits on the edge of the bed and pulls the covers back, he exposes my sleeping best friend, who’s curled up in a ball on the side of the bed that’s closest to the wall.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him. He grins, patting the mattress beside him. Beckoning me forward with the crook of a finger, Paddy seems to be enjoying my reluctance. Jamming my hands on my hips, I glare at him and shake my head. “No. I’m not doing this in her bed while she’s sleeping.”

  Paddy gives me a look that sets my teeth on edge. He’s a dog with a bunny rabbit cornered. “Don’t worry, Alanah knows how this goes.”

  The implication behind his words is too much. What is it with these people? First Brian, now Alanah. They act so innocent; like they truly care. The entire time they’ve been playing me—and beating me—at my own game.

  I guess, the choice is mine now.

  And I’m a firm believer that if you can’t beat them, it’s wiser to join them.

  Sweeping my hair to one side, I reach behind my neck and unclasp the clip holding my halter-style bralette top in place. The two pieces separate, and I pull them down my chest.

  “Fuck yeah.” Paddy’s voice is filled with victory as he verbally applauds me when I let the material fall to expose my breasts. “Like I said, I’m gonna blow your mind. There’s no way you’ll regret this.”

  As certain as he sounds—as sardonically as he chuckles—he’s dead wrong.

  Because even as I make my way to him and let him lay me down on the bed next to Alanah, it’s clear…

  I already regret it.

  FIFTEEN

  Brian

  I can’t feel the top of my head and half my face. All the blood in my body is rushing through my veins with the speed of an underground freight train. My eyeballs are twitching in my skull.

  It doesn’t matter how hard I try to focus on anything else, all I can see is her.

  Anita. In my home. Breathing the same air as me. Dancing with my sister.

  She has her body on display in a teeny skirt and top combo that catches the attention of every red-blooded person with a penis, and a few without. The former follows her every move with hungry eyes while the latter shreds her with their judgemental tongues.

  I don’t know who I want to hurt more. The ones who want her or the ones who deride her as not enough?

  Either way, one thing is apparent.

  She still has me by the balls.

  Her presence broke my tenuous hold on my sobriety within the first fifteen minutes. The large bump of coke I had in the laundry with a bunch of kids I barely know is acting like a mortar blast to my brain. Cutting back your use does that. Every ounce of tolerance that’s been built up disappears—a fact you don’t grasp until you overdo it when you start again.

  A fact I’m learning the hard way.

  Stumbling through the living room, I try to ignore Anita and look at anyone but her.

  It’s a battle I can’t win.

  My eyes are drawn to her. They’re heat seeking missiles. Anita is the hot target and I am the dangerous weapon hellbent on destroying her.

  The last time I left the room, she was acting the fool with Alanah. Both girls were the center of attention, dancing and gyrating, squealing as they spun each other around. As much as it satisfied me to see my sister so happy, enjoying herself with her friend like a girl her age should, I couldn’t get past the joy radiating from Anita.

  Her happiness was a slap in the face.

  It made m
e want to hurt her.

  Giving up the fight, I let my gaze find her. When I do, I wish I hadn’t.

  Anita is in Paddy’s arms. Willingly. She smiles up at him, her tits pushed against him, and he regards her with the smug countenance of a man who knows he’s landed the attention of the hottest chick in the room.

  My heart shatters. I feel it splinter inside my chest; shards piercing muscle, sinew, blood vessels, and skin without discrimination. Shock overwhelms me. It takes hold of my coke fried brain before it morphs into anger.

  Seconds later that rage turns into desire.

  Desire for revenge.

  The daughter of one of the Black Shamrocks hang-abouts has crashed the party. I approach her without preamble, flirtatious intentions clearly showing on my face if the widening of her eyes is an accurate indication, and she gives me the opening I need.

  “Brian,” she purrs my name like we’re already lovers. “I was hoping you’d come see me.”

  “Me, too, Olivia. Me, too.” I wink at her when I finish speaking.

  Her face sparkles with delight, but I couldn’t care less. The only face I want to see is Anita’s so I can gauge her reaction to my female companion. A quick glance confirms my deepest fear.

  She doesn’t care.

  Anita is wrapped up in Paddy’s arms, and she’s barely looked my way since I entered the room.

  Olivia prattles on, growing bolder even as I reward her incessant yammering with barely audible responses. She lays her hands on me, stroking my chest and stomach, one hand deliberately brushing my cock when she inches lower.

  “Oh, sorry,” she murmurs, standing on her tip toes to get closer to my ear. “I’m so clumsy, sometimes.”

  “No worries,” I reply without hesitation.

  As sick as it sounds, she has little effect on me. I’ve been celibate for over eighteen months. The last person I slept with was Shari and that was weeks before me and Anita kissed and she ran away from me, taking my heart, my dreams, my future, and my sex drive with her.

  Paddy would piss himself laughing if he knew. Vic and Cole would offer their sympathies. But they wouldn’t truly understand. Cole has a wife who adores him and two sons who are the spitting image of him. Vic, as desolate as he is right now, also had a wife, who gave him a beautiful son before she left.

  They have something tangible to lose.

  It would be impossible for them to comprehend the depth of my mourning over a girl I never really had.

  Hell, I can barely wrap my own head around it. Instead, I offer excuses about being tired and try to play off my lack of interest in the women at the clubhouse as a matter of taste rather than disinterest.

  Movement from Anita’s direction catches my eye. They’re about to make out.

  With devastation of a magnitude that I’ve never felt before coursing through my body, I smile at Olivia, then take hold of her face and kiss her. Turning her so I have an unimpeded view of Anita and Paddy, I let my eyes lock with Anita’s and relish the pain that fleetingly flits over her face before she shuts down her expression and stares at me like I’m a stranger.

  Olivia melts in my arms, seemingly unaware of my splintered attention.

  In a cruel twist of fate, my hands and mouth re-enact the kiss I shared with Anita all those months ago. My hands tug at Olivia’s hair like it’s Anita’s. My mouth devours hers in the same way I tasted Anita. When I realise what I’m doing, I shake some sense into myself and change tact, and grab Olivia’s arse instead.

  Eyeing Anita over Olivia’s shoulder, the final whisper of hope I’d been holding that we would find our way back to each other—a wish I’d never allowed myself to take root in my mind until now—floats away like the residual ash of a wildfire after the inferno has been snuffed out.

  I can’t find one sign in her flushed face that she gives a shit what I’m doing. She hasn’t moved out of Paddy’s embrace the entire time I’ve been kissing Olivia, although she has watched our shenanigans like a hawk.

  Her lack of care murders my coke buzz.

  Desire to hurt her in any way I can, I pull my lips from Olivia’s and blow Anita a kiss.

  The colour drains from her face. She drops my eyes immediately, then says something to Paddy. Without another glance my way, Anita leads him out of the living room that’s been rearranged into a makeshift dance floor toward the bedrooms.

  I watch them go. I see Paddy lay his hands on her. I witness her easy acceptance of his touch.

  Olivia speaks to me, but I wave her away.

  “Brian,” she calls after me as I stomp out of the living room and head for the back yard where the more-hardcore segment of the party rages. “Wait up.”

  “Fuck off,” I snap, picking up the pace until I’m running from the house like my arse is on fire.

  With no idea whether she heard me or not, I let the back door slam shut behind me. Some guy I don’t know is holding a mirrored piece of glass on his lap that’s covered with already cut lines of blow. Snatching the rolled up twenty-dollar bill from his hand, I snort two lines, then flip the board onto the ground. The mirror shatters and the powder flies everywhere.

  “Hey, motherfucker. That was our coke,” one of them exclaims.

  “So?” I scream at him. “So fucking what.”

  Punching my chest, I open my arms in the universal “come and get me” signal and wait for the first one to throw a punch at me. I need to feel something other than the pain and humiliation that’s currently holding me hostage.

  A fist to the face. A jab to the gut. A boot to the head. Anything is preferable to what I’m feeling right now.

  “Come on!” I shout. “Hit me, you stupid pricks.”

  A group of five or six circles me. Their eyes are narrowed, and their expressions are fierce, yet they refuse to engage.

  “Do it.”

  “Hold off,” the biggest guy orders. “He’s a Black Shamrock. We don’t need that kinda trouble.”

  His pronouncement brings subdued mutterings to the assembled crowd. They disperse in dribs and drabs until I’m left by myself.

  Dropping to my knees, I cradle my pounding head in my hands. The coke is surging through my system, but it’s not doing its job properly. Every time I close my eyes, I can still see her. Each blink becomes longer until my eyes refuse to open. I feel myself falling, although I don’t register the pain that should come when my face hits the ground in front of me.

  Instead I lie there, the earthy stench of the dirt smothering my attempts to breathe and laugh to myself.

  There’s no humour in my thoughts—they’re dark and mocking.

  This is the final straw.

  The proof I need that I can’t do anything right.

  I mean, fuck me dead and use my body for a door stop, I can’t even get my arse kicked properly.

  SIXTEEN

  Anita

  Paddy kisses me. He’s good, treating me with a tenderness that speaks of his experience with girls. It doesn’t matter what he does, though, I can’t seem to get into the right headspace to enjoy it.

  He smells wrong. Like expensive cologne instead of motorbike oil, cigarettes, and musk. He feels wrong. Too tall and wide. He even tastes wrong.

  “Fuck you’re sexy,” he mutters against my lips. One of his hands is pawing at my breasts while the other is working its way under my skirt. “Just know you’re gonna be tight.”

  There’s nothing sexy in the way he talks about sex. The clinical, cold tone he uses is the equivalent of a bucket of cold water being tipped over me. I start to struggle underneath him, determined to put an end to this before he goes any further.

  “Settle down, bitch.”

  A shudder runs the length of my body when the change in his demeanour registers in my mind.

  The charm is gone.

  The evil I knew lurked beneath his thin veneer of civilisation has pushed its way to the surface.

  He pins me in place, moulding his mouth over mine again, and forcing his tongue between my
lips when I open them to scream. Lifting my knees, I hit his ribs. I bite his bottom lip, drawing blood.

  Paddy pulls away from me just far enough to give me a full view of his face when he laughs at me.

  “You’re a prick tease,” he says with a chuckle. “I love breaking bitches like you.”

  I hadn’t been scared until this moment. Now, I’m afraid for my life.

  “Paddy…” I venture in a soft voice.

  “Paddy,” he mimics me.

  One of my hands has come free so I use it to slap him across the face, then I scream. His eyes narrow to laser-thin slits and he jams a hand over my mouth. We lie there like this; his body deliberately motionless, his heavy weight pinning me while I writhe below him futilely.

  When it becomes apparent that he’s not going to let me go, I fall still beneath him. My chest heaves as I try to breathe properly. Tears dampen my face as they silently slide free of my eyes.

  Maybe if I let him think I’m giving in, he’ll let down his guard?

  I think I have a good plan. I’m almost certain I can get myself out of this stupid mistake if I keep my wits about me.

  Then everything goes from bad to worse.

  Alanah wakes up.

  She sits up, shock covering her face when she sees me and Paddy laying next to her, then she scrambles away from us, stopping once her back is firmly pressed against the wall behind her.

  “Get out of my room, Paddy. I’ve told you to leave me alone. I don’t want to deal with this tonight,” she demands. Horror vies with betrayal for dominance on her face when Paddy moves, and she discovers that I’m the girl with him. “Oh, my God, Anita. Not you.”

  Blinking fast, I fight back tears. When she’d said earlier that Paddy would take the whole shebang if she gave him an inch, I thought she was talking about a stolen kiss or pinch on the arse. Coupled with Paddy’s comment about Alanah knowing how this goes, what’s happening right now finally makes sense.

  Paddy O’Brien fucks girls in front of Alanah regularly. I don’t know why he does this; however, I now understand that I was wrong earlier.