She rides on the back of Leo’s bike whenever his wife isn’t around.
I keep a wide berth from her so I don’t give into my desire to see her dead and buried.
A lot has changed, but most days it feels like nothing is different. My club remains splintered into two factions—one hellbent on dragging us into the illegal drug trade and taking all the profits for themselves and the other, my side, determined to bring the club back to its original ethos.
Brotherhood.
Slowly but surely, the right side is winning. Every day we gain back the ground we lost to the O’Brien’s—unbeknownst to them, of course.
It’ll take time, but I’m confident we’ll prevail.
My family comes first, like it always should have.
I was in two minds about throwing a party for Sam’s second birthday. He’s still not speaking, and he seems to have pulled further into himself since Anita left.
It’s hard without her, but I know she’s safe and that helps.
Thankfully, when I returned from meeting with my cousin, Cole and Vic had laid the ground work needed to make the rest of the club believe that she was dead. Paddy had sowed his seeds of dissension in my absence, but enough non-biased people had seen me with what they believed to be her dead body to corroborate my story.
Leo believes I’m on his team.
Paddy has his doubts, even after I showed him her grave.
Me and Vic are mending broken fences.
Alanah is the only other person outside of Vic and Cole who knows Anita is actually alive.
“Time for the birthday boy to blow out his candles,” Alanah cheers. She places the cake on the table in front of us and claps her hands. Sam mimics her, clapping his chubby fingers together, and laughing his sweet little chuckle.
“Ready to blow?” I ask him.
He nods, and giggles. We lean forward together and blow at the two blue candles in the middle of his cake until they’re extinguished. Well, to be honest, I blow, and Sam kinda erupts with a wet sounding raspberry.
“Well done,” I tell him. He claps his hands and smiles. Alanah serves up pieces of cake and everyone digs in.
Once the cake has been eaten and the table has been cleared, I make my excuses. Me and my son have an important meeting this afternoon. One I refuse to be late for.
“Just gonna go clean him up,” I tell the party-goers.
Everyone accepts my explanation. They’re all engrossed in the poker game happening in my living room, so no one really pays me much attention, except Alanah who shoots me a knowing look that tells me to get a move on. Bundling Sam into his jacket, I sneak out the back door and exit through the gate that leads to the alley.
Three blocks down from my home is a park. It’s filled with trees, has two exits, and a secluded picnic table that has become one of my favourite places in the world.
I make my way through the green grass over to the bench.
No one is here yet. I stand Sam on the table and hold my hands in front of his face. Using slow, precise movements, I sign the word “mum” to him while saying it out loud. He copies me like a professional, clapping when I plaster kisses all over his face. We’ve been working on this for the past three weeks, ready to make this little surprise happen.
“Hey, handsome man,” Anita greets us as she emerges from the opposite side of the park to the one that we entered through.
“Hey, yourself, beautiful.” I plant a kiss on her lips and move in for a hug.
She side-steps me with a huge grin, scooping Sam from the table and cuddling him to her.
“The birthday boy gets kisses first,” Anita tells me with a quick laugh. She smothers our son with kisses, then sits him on the edge of the table so he can rip open the present she’s brought for him.
Rustling in the bushes alerts me to someone’s approach. I pull my handgun from the holster inside my cut and flick off the safety.
“Who’s there?” I demand.
Anita’s uncle reveals himself. He walks out from the trees with his hands in the air and a shit-eating grin on his face. Angelo Carlucci has been a Godsend since we managed to track him down. A native Sydney-sider and professional fighter, he was more than happy to take in his new-found niece and promised to protect her like he would his own daughter—if he had one.
It’s been good for Anita to find some family of her own. It’s helped her get through our separation and it’s given her someone to lean on when I couldn’t be there. It’s just a pity her mother and the rest of her family aren’t quite so accommodating.
“Just testing you,” he quips. I re-holster my gun and walk back to Anita and Sam. Angelo trails, sniffing with disappointment when the table comes into view. “I was told there would be cake.”
“Sorry, dude.” I bump his shoulder. “It’s all gone.”
He sits down next to Anita and starts talking to Sam. He brawny body takes up three quarters of the bench, pushing Anita back to her feet. My girl comes over to my side and slips her arms around my waist. I clutch her to me; my body vibrating with the need to have her.
“Calm down, big fella,” she tells me with a smile. I see the need in her eyes. It matches mine—she just has more decorum. “There will be plenty of time for that tonight.”
This little meeting in the park is for Sam’s birthday. It’s only the second time he’s been able to see her since the explosion. I’ve seen her three times—once at the New South Wales border where we tried to speak to her mother and twice in this park with my son.
Alanah and Vic are going to watch Sam so I can spend the night two towns over with my girl. This will be our first night together in three months. To say I’m excited would be an understatement.
The rumbling sound of a Harley echoes through the neighbourhood.
“I guess that’s my cue,” I remark, my disappointment clear. Anita pats my face. “Short but sweet, it seems.”
Louder revving—the warning signal I devised with my sister for today—reminds me that I have one thing to do before we head back to the house.
“Sam,” I call to my son where he sits with Angelo. He looks at me and I make the hand motions I showed him earlier.
He scrambles to his feet, standing on the table. Angelo anchors him with his hands on his hips, but I’m not worried. There’s nothing physically wrong with Sam—he simply won’t speak. His therapist isn’t sure if it’s because he was neglected so badly when he was born, and his neurological pathways just didn’t develop properly. He’s been through test after test, and we still don’t have an answer. They’ve tossed around words like autism which sound scary but change nothing at the end of the day.
Some days, I believe that he’ll talk when he has something he wants to say.
Other days, I worry that I’m letting him down.
Ultimately, it is what it is. We’ll deal with his diagnosis when it comes.
For now, Sam is happy. He understands us and he gets his point across.
And, as long as he’s happy, I’m happy.
Anything more than that is simply icing as far as I’m concerned.
“You ready, little man?”
I make the sign again. He nods, then turns to Anita with a beaming smile.
Moving his hands, he signs “mum” to Anita. She slaps her hands over her mouth, recognising the word because she’s been learning how to sign while she’s been in Sydney, and gasps.
Sam claps, then makes the sign again, except this time he goes one step further.
As he moves his hands, he opens his mouth, and says, “M-um.”
Anita bursts into tears. I scoop my boy off the table and grab my girl as well. We stand huddled together, arms around each other. A family. My family. Just the three of us.
The Harley engine is revved again. This time it sounds urgent. I kiss Anita, lingering on her lips for a few extra seconds, then shake Angelo’s hand.
“I’ll see you soon,” she tells Sam before she kisses his cheek.
“M-um,�
�� he says, clapping his hands and blowing her a kiss.
“Well,” I state, deadpan. “I believe we’ve got a talker on our hands.”
“That we do,” she replies through the happy tears that begin to run down her face again.
Standing on her tip-toes, Anita lifts her mouth to mine. I stoop down to meet her, touching the tip of my tongue to hers when she parts her pouty lips to let me deepen our kiss.
The engine roars again, forcing us apart.
“I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Anita inclines her head, then follows Angelo back through the trees they came through. I walk home with Sam, my heart beginning to thump in my chest when the Harley keeps revving.
What if someone’s seen Anita?
Half-jogging the rest of the way, I burst through the back gates and mount the back stairs, two at a time. The house is empty. The front door is wide open. Putting Sam down in his play pen, I unholster my handgun and edge my way out the front door.
Vic sits on his Harley, his helmet on his head, revving the shit out of his bike. My sister stands next to him, crying her eyes out, holding her helmet in her hand. Cole and Colleen are behind Alanah. Cole’s mother is holding Vic’s son, Mik. Paddy and the rest of the Black Shamrocks have formed a half circle behind Vic which cuts off my view of whoever it is that stands in front of his bike and won’t let him leave.
Seeing that no one else has a weapon drawn, I put mine away and push my way through the crowd, stopping once I’m next to Alanah. She takes hold of my hand and leans into me. It takes me a second to recognise the person who arrived while I was gone, but when I do my heart sinks into my stomach and my gut falls into my shoes.
I guess, I won’t be seeing Anita until this situation is sorted out.
Because standing in front of Vic’s Harley, with her legs spread wide, and her hands on the lower part of his ape-hangers is a ghost from the past that none of us thought we’d ever see again.
I don’t think anyone wanted to see her again.
Not after the stunt she pulled.
“About time you joined us, Bri. Maybe you can talk some sense into these idiots and make them understand that I have a right to see my son. I am his mother,” she addresses me like I’m on her side.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I blink, then shrug. “I don’t know why you think I’d help you? Any woman who runs from her kid isn’t a mother in my book.”
“Well, fuck you, too,” she replies.
All hell breaks loose when Colleen breaks ranks and hugs the intruder. The men start swearing. Cole looks like he’s going to have a stroke. Alanah turns away and heads back inside my house. Vic dismounts his bike, takes his son from Ava, and follows her.
I watch a bunch of people with too much to say and not enough sense to bite their tongues take a bad situation and make it worse. Hardly a person in this yard has a dog in this race, yet they all air their thoughts like theirs are the only ones that matter.
“Every time I think I have things back on track, something else turns to shit,” Quinn observes when he comes to stand next to me. “Never saw this coming. Not for one fucking minute.”
“Hmmm,” I say with a disbelieving chuckle. “I don’t think anyone did.”
I still can’t believe my eyes.
Bonnie’s back.
TO BE CONTINUED
Thank you so much for reading Butch, Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation #3. I hope you enjoyed it and will consider leaving a review on your retailer of choice. Alanah, Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation | Book Four is coming soon. If you enjoyed Butch and want to know when my next book comes out, sign up for my newsletter.
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To tide you over in the meantime, I’ve included a sneak peek of the free introductory novella for my dark and gritty International Bestselling MC romance series.
Soothing Suffering is a free, introductory novella designed to give you a taste of the dark, raw, and gritty Internationally Bestselling Black Shamrocks MC series.
BLURB: With the woman he loves—the woman he failed— fading away before his eyes, Mikhail “Mad Dog” Kennedy knows he needs to do something drastic to save her. To save himself. If she flinches away from his touch one more time, his guilt-ridden heart is going to shatter into a million pieces.
Madelaine O’Brien knows she’s drowning. The after effects of what happened to her are slowly killing her will to live; yet, she can’t find the strength to stop it. Keeping everything a secret is the only option. Her internal battle to fight off her feelings of contamination and shame is hard enough without needing to explain to the Black Shamrocks MC what really happened with her crazy ex-boyfriend.
When Mik comes home and tosses her motorcycle helmet into her hands, declaring that they’re going to ride for as long as it takes for Maddi to open up to him, she realizes this is make-or-break. The trip is either going to push their relationship past the point of no return or it’s going to be their chance to set about soothing suffering.
Flip the page to read the first two chapters of Soothing Suffering.
PROLOGUE
Lainey
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” ~Kahlil Gibran~
Turns out that there is a fate worse than death. After watching my mother fade away before my eyes, I decided that I would do everything in my power to live a long life.
Death is scary.
Death is the end.
Now, every time I look at my scarred and broken body, I close my eyes and I pray for death. It doesn’t scare me anymore; if anything, I look forward to the day that I can close my eyes for the final time and never have to think about Brendan Taylor and what he did to me, ever again. The sweet respite from the voices in my head—the ones that keep telling me that I’m still Brendan’s slut—can only be achieved by embracing the end of my life.
That final barrier, the one that stops me from following through on my desire to die, is getting thinner by the day. With every memory that masquerades as a nightmare, with each flinch away from Mik’s gentle touch, with every single glance he sends my way that’s filled with guilt and regret; I edge one step closer to finishing it all.
No-one knows. I refuse to let them see just how close I am to giving up. There’s nothing they can do anyway. My bed was made when I chose to let my pride get in the way of admitting my mistakes. If I’d spoken up, none of this would have happened.
I should find it ironic that the person I hurt the most is the only one stopping me from taking my life. Except, I don’t. He’s always been the one. Even when I was too stupid to realise it. If it wasn’t for that loving glimmer I glimpse in his gaze when he looks at me, I’d do it.
Instead, I hold onto that love and push through another day.
For how much longer? I don’t know.
All I know is that today isn’t the day I put an end to my pain.
ONE
Lainey
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 recognize 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 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 arms 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 overacting 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 with 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 tremble, 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 hospital eight 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 the initial joining of our mouths. Feeling like I trying to make out with a statue, I pull back an inch and sink my teeth into his bottom lip with deliberate viciousness.
“Fuck!” He yelps, 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 away the embarrassment that’s threatening to overwhelm me—first from my overreaction 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 my ex-boyfriend’s onslaught—flares to life, heating my indignation, and giving me the ability to lash out at him.
Butch (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 3) Page 18
