Seeking Redemption

by Kylie Hillman

  Everything’s going to work out in the Shamrocks favor for once.

  I’m positive this is a new beginning for everyone.

  EPILOGUE

  BENJI

  Present Day

  The roar of the bikes as we make our way into the prison carpark is exhilarating. I now understand what Dad meant when he talked about brotherhood and the ecstasy of riding together as one. I played footy for a tight-knit team, yet the closeness of that has nothing on what the Shamrocks offer. I always felt like an outsider; the son of the outlaw biker, the brother of the girl who made the newspapers when she was attacked by the politician’s son. I don’t have those feelings when I’m with the Club.

  When I was asked to fill the rest of the brothers in on what went down yesterday, I was thrown for a fucking loop by the forgiveness and gratitude that was sent my way. One triumph doesn’t outweigh the damage I’ve done, in my opinion, and I was sure they’d feel the same way. I’d expected to be asked to leave, instead I was given a cut of my own with my prospect patch, and asked to ride along with the convoy that was riding to the prison to ride home with Mad Dog after his release.

  Proving myself would take time, I was warned, and I accepted that. When I mentioned that I couldn’t prospect because I wanted to go to rehab, Timber had spoken up and said that they expected nothing less than a clean Prospect. They were going to task Smoke with the job of keeping me clean without the need to go to a facility, but were happy to postpone everything until I finished an inpatient program.

  On the whole it was a successful day for me. One of many to come, I hope.

  With Lacey riding on the back of the Harley Mad Dog gave me for my birthday all those years ago, I feel like a new person. Someone who belongs somewhere for once. Watching Maddi maneuver Mad Dog’s favorite bike to the head of the pack, I push away the prick of premonition that the face she’s presenting to the world is nothing more than a mask. At the moment, she’s the only dark cloud on my horizon—well her, and surviving rehab.

  Waiting until the last bike has come to a stop, we look forward and rev our engines in unison when Timber lifts his fist in the air. The rumbling fills the air, bouncing off the walls of the buildings that surround us, and makes our presence known. It’s our way of letting Mad Dog know that we’re here, ready to take him home.

  Whooping and hollering breaks out among the prisoners gathered in the exercise yard. We ignore them, intent on the wide green doors that should open and reveal Mad Dog’s first steps as a free man some time soon.

  Feeling someone’s eyes on me, I scan our perimeter. I nearly don’t see him. He’s hidden himself between two vans, but just enough of his bike is visible for me to know he’s there.

  It appears Dad’s come to see the last vestiges of his plotting come to an end. I fucking hope like hell that this is the end, and not a temporary reprieve granted by a man still desperate to take back the place he forfeited by his own actions.

  Lacey must follow my gaze because she leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Is that your Dad?”

  I shrug. I don’t know if you’d call him our dad anymore. He hasn’t contacted any of us for weeks. The last time I saw him was when I handed him my gun and he promised to dispose of Sherri properly. I’ve heard nothing from the cops and nobody has mentioned her since, so I’m hoping he followed through on his promise.

  The doors open, and out walks Mad Dog.

  Fucking finally.

  He stands, tall and proud, dressed in his typical baggy jeans, T-shirt, and Shamrocks cut. Flanked by two guards, he has laser vision that’s intent only on Maddi. I’m too busy watching them to immediately recognize the third person walking with the group.

  Thomas fucking Taylor in the flesh. Why he’s here, I don’t know, but it sends a boulder-sized chunk of anxiety into the pit of my gut. I feel ill just looking at him. He’s not going to give up, the deliberate sneer he sends in my direction making that clear.

  “Come here, Angel,” Mad Dog greets Maddi.

  She kicks down the stand of his bike, and slides off the seat. Without a seconds hesitation, she runs to him and launches herself into his arms. He catches her, just like he has since we were kids, before crushing her lips to his and kissing the life out of her. With her legs around his waist and arms around his neck, I witness the remerging of their souls as their bodies become reacquainted with each other. It sounds daft, but when we were little our Mom and Mad Dog’s said that those two would end up together, so it feels like the cosmos may finally be on their side. I’m an overemotional pussy for thinking it, but I know that me and Lacey are a match made in heaven—a match made by Mom—to give me someone for my own now that my twin has found her other half.

  Why else would the universe have put us through all this to find each other?

  “This isn’t over,” Thomas Taylor states as he walks past me. With the guards on either side of him, he doesn’t appear half as menacing as he’d like to believe. The other Shamrocks who hear him turn and laugh in his direction.

  Little does he know the shit that this Club has already survived.

  He means nothing in the grand scheme of things.

  “Bring it on,” I tell him.

  My sentiments are echoed within the group, causing Thomas to make an abrupt U-turn, and head for the safety of the prison. The closing of the doors behind him is met with jeers, before everyone climbs off their bikes and crowds around Maddi and Mad Dog to welcome him home. After numerous slaps on the back and bear hugs, it’s finally my turn.

  “Look at you,” he smirks his trademark half-grin at me. “The only biker I know with fucking gel in his hair. I hear you pulled off some real Hollywood, movie-style shit to get me out of here?”

  I nod in answer to his question, unsure if I should go into details in front of Maddi.

  “Recording confessions and blackmailing a Police Commisioner. Fuck me dead, Hollywood. I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

  My gut sinks when he says “Hollywood” for the second time. I think I’m about to be given my road name, and I don’t like it one bit. I keep my face impassive, hoping that the lack of response will deter him from making it stick.

  Smoke pipes up from his position to Mad Dog’s left, “Hollywood. I like it. It fits you, pretty boy.”

  Closing my eyes, I pretend that I can’t feel Lacey laughing as she comes up behind me and puts her arms around my waist for a quick hug.

  Mad Dog moves closer, still carrying Maddi in his arms, and tells me in a voice meant just for the three of us, “I’m still going to kick your ass for hurting her. But I’ll take it easier than I would have, because you came through for me.”

  He’s referring to when Maddi broke my arm after I tried to choke her to death in a drug-induced rage. If I could go back and change it without losing Lacey, I would. But I can’t. It was the catalyst for our beginning. Looking down at Lacey, I grin, “It was worth it.”

  Jostling Maddi into a position that frees up one of his arms, he beckons me to him. We embrace, for the first time in a long time, and I slip an arm around my twin as well. We haven’t connected like this since the night we found Brendan trying to kill Maddi over five years ago, and it kills me that I’m the reason for it.

  “Dead fucking right, it’s worth it,” he vows.

  He looks at Maddi, with love lighting his eyes. And I realize he’s not just alluding to me and Lacey. He’s talking about the five months he just did in prison for Maddi; the years he’s spent helping her fight her demons; and the risks that face us in the future when Thomas Taylor tries to follow through with his threats.

  “Now that you have a woman of your own, that one person who means more to you than anyone else in the world, you’ll discover that any amount of suffering is fucking worth it.”

  TO BE CONTINUED...

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  This design was submitted by Andi Joy Pletcher, a member of my street team, Kylie’s Koncubines. It was the winning entry as voted by the members of my reader group, Kylie’s Kollective. Part of Andi’s prize was having a character based on her written into this book. You’ll have noticed that she was a pretty kick-ass woman in the story—that’s because the real-life Andi is a purple-haired, pocket rocket with a heart of gold. She gave me so many brilliant traits to work with which made writing her part so much fun for me.

  Andi: I absolutely adore you. I hope you love your character and the impact she had on the story xx

  SNEAK PEEK of my medical suspense serial, AMNESIA.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Baby blue walls.

  I don’t have baby blue walls.

  Why that’s my first thought I wouldn’t have a clue, considering there’s a warm, hard body wrapped around my naked form when I’m positive that I usually sleep alone.

  Throbbing pain greets me when I crack first one eye and then the other. The pain is just bearable so I persevere. Opening my eyes all the way as I slowly roll to face the person snuggled into my back, I take in the luscious dark and wavy hair that tops their head. Piercing dark, brown eyes meet mine when I lower my gaze and I flinch.

  “Good morning Amber. How are you feeling today, baby?”

  Even with his voice sleep-roughened, the stranger sounds like sex on a stick. It’s ridiculous but my core clenches at his words, warmth flooding my lower belly as my nipples furl into tight buds.

  “Roll over, baby.”

  Not waiting for an answer he gently nudges me onto my back and I obey him without further thought.

  Moving between my legs, he prods my pussy with his hot erection. I gasp as he slides his length between my wet lower lips, from my throbbing clit to my entrance and back again. A slow, precise torture that accelerates my heartrate and spikes my desire.

  “Oh, Amber. Baby. Two more days. I can’t wait.” He groans against my mouth as he seeks my lips with his own. Belatedly, thoughts of stopping this stranger from touching me—kissing me—enter my mind but it’s as if he has me under a spell. As soon as the idea of resistance enters my mind, it disappears like a puff of smoke. Replaced by a craving to please him—to make him happy.

  “Two days until what?” I force the question from my throat when he falls away from me onto his side. Staring down at me with intense, lust filled eyes, he shakes his head. His expression changes from sexual to upset in a heartbeat, the corners of his full lips drooping as he drops his gaze from my eyes.

  Panic at disappointing him fills me and an apology makes its way to the tip of my tongue.

  “I’m...” I begin, but he cuts me off by softly laying a finger against my lips.

  “Baby, don’t say sorry.” An obviously fake smile lifts his lips, causing my pulse to rise in panic again. “We have two days until we can make love again. Two days until we get the all-clear after your accident. You remember, don’t you?”

  He runs a finger gently down the side of my head. I jerk away from his touch with surprise when his finger meets bare skin where there should be hair. Scowling, he looks at me through hurt eyes. I smile tentatively, feeling bad for hurting him.

  Lifting my own hand, I gingerly touch the same spot he did. The raised lump of a long scar runs from my forehead in an arc. It ends behind my ear. The scar doesn’t hurt, however it feels new. Still slightly swollen and a tiny bit tender.

  Scrambling from the bed, I pay no mind to my nakedness as I move towards the mirror that I spotted attached to one of the doors of the walk-in wardrobe.

  Standing in front on it on wobbly legs, I stare at the unknown woman who greets me.

  A short woman with black shoulder length hair with a large part shaved bald near her right ear, big brown eyes, and pale skin looks back at me. I don’t recognise her at all.

  “Who am I?” I breathe the question as I touch the cool glass with a shaking hand. Lifting my eyes to his as he approaches, I ask. “Who are you?”

  Coming to a stop behind me, the man wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me to him tightly. He’s naked as well, his erection still standing tall and proud, poking against the middle of my back. He regards me over the top of my head, our eyes meeting in the mirror, and I run my eyes over what I can see of his tall, rangy form. Athletically built, tanned and lightly muscled, he’s extremely good looking.

  Tall, dark and handsome just about sums him up.

  Holding himself with an autocratic, self-assured air, he’s intimidating yet it feels right to be in his arms. A complete contradiction in emotions since I’m certain I don’t know him. I can’t explain it, but I’m overwhelmed with the need to please this man, almost as if his needs supersede my own.

  “Baby, calm down.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms, leaving goose bumps in his wake. “You’re Amber St George. My beautiful, thirty-year-old fiancée.”

  Smiling, he points at himself. “I’m Jax. Jaxon Ray. I’m almost thirty-five. This is our home. We’ve been together since you finished high school. We were due to meet with our wedding planner when you were hit by a car crossing the street four months ago. You nearly died and you’ve had memory problems ever since. It was the worst day of my life, baby. I was running late for our meeting so I didn’t have a clue you were hurt until you were brought into the hospital.”

  My legs tremble as his explanation takes shape. Jax notices, and leads me to the edge of the bed. Pushing me gently by the shoulders until I’m sitting, I allow him to pull me into his side when he sits next to me.

  “You work at a hospital?” My voice sounds hesitant to my ears. He holds the answers I seek, yet I’m unsure if I want to know them. Why? I don’t know, but something feels wrong.

  “Yes. I’m a neurosurgeon.” Jax’s tone conveys his pride in his profession, his chest puffing as he continues. “I operated on you once they stabilised your other injuries. I’m the reason you’re alive without any signs of brain damage. I’m the reason you’re regaining your memories one at a time. My techniques are working, baby.”

  Bounding to his feet, his excitement fills the room. The enthusiasm Jax exudes is contagious, bringing a smile to my face even though I don’t entirely follow what he’s saying.

  “You and me Amber, we’re the perfect couple. Baby, we’re going to have it all. My techniques will fix you. Your recovery will put me on the map and make my career. And you are...”

  “A teacher.” I cut him off, the words falling from my mouth without conscious thought but with utmost certainty.

  Staring at Jax blankly, all I can see in my mind’s eye is a woman who looks like a healthy version of the one I just saw in the mirror addressing a classroom of children who appear to be five or six years old. The woman—me—looks happy, a large grin covering her face as she reads to the children who are sitting quietly on a threadbare carpet. I’m mentally comparing the expensive looking bedroom I’m sitting in with the cheap furnishings of the classroom in my vision when I’m startled by Jax’s outburst.

  “NO!” He yells. “You are not a teacher. You are my fiancée.”

  Seizing me by the shoulders as he drops to his knees in front of me, Jax peers into my face—deep into my eyes—and shakes me like a disobedient child. His dark eyes radiate his fury at my assertion, as if the mere mention of teaching is a personal insult to him. The panic that gripped me earlier takes hold once more, and my heart pounds in my chest as my mouth becomes dry.

  “Yes,” I croak, the need to placate him threatening to overwhelm me. “I am your fiancée.”

  If I hadn’t seen how angry he was with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed the change in him. At my acquiescence, the fury melts from his features. He lets go of my shoulders and hugs me to him.

  “That’s right, baby. You’re my fiancée. Your career is to support mine. You’re my backbone.”

  Rel
ief courses through me at his calm response. Letting go of me, Jax stands and pulls me to my feet by each hand. His hold is gentle, although his tone leaves no room for argument when he speaks, “That’s enough talking for today, baby. I don’t want you to overdo it.”

  Nodding, I smile when he kisses me, running his fingers down my sides before cupping my ass and grinding me against him. His touch creates an instantaneous reaction within me, stoking my libido and spreading warmth through my limbs. My reaction is bizarre, almost an ingrained response, and it unsettles me that I’d respond with such potency to a man who was menacing me, not even two minutes ago.

  “Have a shower and get dressed, Amber. I’ll head downstairs and make some coffee.”

  In silence, I watch as he dresses in a dark business suit, knotting his tie as he moves to leave the room. I blow a kiss in response to the one Jax blows my way as he exits, simply because I know he expects it.

  The moment the bedroom door shuts behind him, I breathe a sigh of relief at finally being alone.

  My eyebrows drawn together, tongue poking from the corner of my mouth, I rifle through all of the drawers before heading into the walk-in robe. With one ear listening for Jax, I quickly scan the contents of the closet. Nothing looks familiar, yet everything appears to be my size. None of it strikes me as being my style, yet try as I might I can’t picture my style.

  Searching Jax’s side, I don’t find anything of interest. The bedroom and closet appears to belong to a well-off couple in their early thirties. Which is exactly how Jax described us. Shaking my head at my irrational suspicions, I give up my exploration and head for the bathroom to shower and dress as requested. As I’m showering, my predominate thought is about poor Jax and the stress he must be under trying to help me regain my memories, especially in face of the paranoia I seem to be suffering as a side effect.