Making Choices (Black Shamrocks MC Book 2)

by Kylie Hillman

  “I said—clean this mess up. And then get out of my sight. I don’t want to lay eyes on you until you’ve decided that you’re going to do the name I gave you justice. Learn to control your daughters, and be a decent mother, before I lose all patience with you and file for divorce. Without me, you’ll have nothing. You’ll be nothing.”

  Daddy says this all the time to Mother, but for the first time, I find myself hoping that he’ll do it. He’s getting scarier and angrier—the nice Daddy I can remember from when I was little is a distant memory. Even though Mother hates me, it would still be better to live with my sisters and her by ourselves, than with an always angry Daddy.

  “Juliette.” His sharp, angry tone snaps me out of my thoughts.

  “Yes, Daddy.” My voice quakes, the trembling from before becoming full-blown shaking.

  “Come with me. It’s time for your punishment.”

  Grabbing my hand in one of his, he picks his belt up from where it lays on the table and walks past Mother, who’s now kneeling on the floor sorting through the broken pieces. He pats her on the head as we pass.

  “I hate nights like this, Carmen. I hope you understand the lesson I’m trying to teach you all tonight.”

  Raising her tear-streaked face toward us, Mother nods. “I do, Dmitri. I’ll fix this mess and put the twins to bed. Once you’re finished disciplining Juliette, I’ll be ready to make this all up to you.”

  Letting go of my hand, Daddy turns back and runs a finger down Mother’s face. “I love you, Carmen. You’re the only woman who’ll ever understand me.”

  “I love you, too.” Her tired, but happier voice follows us out of the dining room as Daddy pulls me behind him on wobbly legs towards my bedroom and my punishment.

  ***

  “Eleven.”

  I wince as the sting of Daddy’s belt radiates across the back of my thighs, although I’m grateful that since I started high school I don’t have to pull my school dress all the way up to be smacked on the backside. The back of the thighs might sting and burn more, but at least I maintain my modesty.

  Bracing for the next strike, I count again as instructed.

  “Twelve.”

  The last one is always the worst so I prepare myself by sucking in a deep breath.

  Whack.

  “Thirteen.”

  I can’t help the cry that leaves my mouth as I say thirteen, and I stiffen waiting for the extra whipping I’ll receive for breaking Daddy’s “no crying” rule. It doesn’t come, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “One smack for every year you’ve been on this earth, Juliette. One smack for every year you’ve brought dishonor to the Patrice name.”

  I don’t understand what Daddy is saying. I’ve only been a Patrice since I was three. I open my mouth to ask him what he means, but I don’t get to because he pulls me upright by the top of my arm, spinning me to face him. Saliva lands on my face as Daddy scolds me for messing up today, but I don’t dare wipe it away.

  “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Your actions forced me to punish not only you, but your little sisters and your mother as well. I hate disciplining you, but what you all received tonight is what you deserved. I can’t let you get away with embarrassing me and not doing as you’re told. You bear my name, and you will fulfil its legacy. I’ll make sure you do. You will be a good girl, a true Patrice, and you will not let me down again. Do you understand?”

  I’m lost in the pulsing pain shooting through my legs so I miss my cue to agree with him. Slapping me across the face, Daddy jerks me closer to him.

  “Do you understand, Juliette?”

  Nodding my head as fast as I can, I answer him in a rush, desperate to get the words out before he hits me again. “I do, Daddy. I promise. I won’t embarrass you and I’ll do everything you say. I’ll be good.”

  He stares into my eyes and I widen them, trying to make him see that I mean what I’m saying. I don’t want to be punished again. I don’t want my little sisters to be disciplined because of me, and I don’t want to see Mother hurt like she was tonight.

  I’m never going to mess up again.

  I’m never, ever going to let Daddy down.

  I’ll be the perfect daughter from now on.

  Tonight was all my fault and I will never forget that.

  LUCAS

  Present Day

  I’m close to snapping.

  I know it.

  Mad Dog knows it.

  The fucker whose fingernails I’ve just pulled off with pliers knows it.

  Yet instead of giving up the answers we’re looking for—like someone with half a functioning fucking brain cell would—he’s still swinging from the roof, whining like a little bitch with a puddle of his piss on the floor beneath his feet.

  “We know you fucking well know where they are. Just tell us, and we’ll let you go.”

  I have no intentions of letting him go, and he more than likely already knows that, but you’d be amazed how often just saying the words will get one of my targets to talk.

  “I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me,” he moans, a bloody tooth dribbling down his chin when he spits blood and saliva from his mouth so he can speak. I’d like to take the credit but any missing teeth are courtesy of Mad Dog and his fists.

  I was magnanimous enough to let him work over our captive before I started with my tools.

  Grabbing my scalpel from my open tool kit, I drag it down the side of his face. A sliver of his flesh falls away, slapping wetly against the floor when it lands, and he screams as I rub the handful of salt I’m holding in my other hand into the newly exposed wound.

  Mad Dog winces at the noise. It hurts my head too as it reverberates around the concrete room.

  I’ve always had an affinity for torture, something that became apparent when I took over from Mad Dog when he moved up to the Vice President position. I enjoy hurting people who’ve hurt mine, and I make no apologies for it. I take my Sergeant-At-Arms position seriously.

  Every time one of my brothers or one of our family gets hurt, it reflects on me.

  I know I’m not God, so I can’t always stop bad shit from happening—a fact I’d love Mad Dog to wrap his fucking head around since he seems to blame himself for everything that ever happens—but I’d be a piss poor SAA if I didn’t make it my mission to hurt every cunt who crosses us.

  The enjoyment I derive is purely a bonus.

  After leaving JJ’s house, we met up with Smoke and our other brothers, but they had no information for us at the time. They’d been out canvassing our contacts and calling in favors, and running into nothing but dead ends until Smoke called us about one of the local drug dealers and his strange reaction to their house call.

  Two-Ton Tony is a small time dealer who’s supposed to keep an ear out for us in exchange for bargain-priced weed and protection of his dealing turf. The fat fuck had run away when the brothers turned up at his house. He’d taken one look at them, panicked, and bolted.

  Seemed like a good sign to us that he was hiding something.

  Mad Dog had ordered Smoke to grab his fat ass and deliver him to the bunker at the Compound. Since Smoke is one of the brothers who’s pissed at Beast’s ongoing vendetta against Mad Dog, he’d agreed easily when we’d told him not to let Beast know until we said so.

  It was a risky move, but one Mad Dog and I both felt we needed to make in light of our suspicions.

  Meeting them at the Compound, and getting the heavy-ass motherfucker firmly secured to the rails hanging from the roof in our underground bunker, had taken more time than we’d liked.

  Mad Dog had been at the end of his rope, so after telling our brothers to head back to the hospital and say nothing, he’d taken his frustrations out on Tony’s face.

  Since we weren’t certain about anyone but Smoke keeping their mouth shut when they saw Beast, time was of the essence. Tony’s continuing refusal to talk was a delay we didn’t need, so it was time to up the ante.

  Time for me to
have a more in-depth play with him.

  That thought in mind, I step up to the piece of shit swinging like a beached whale from the roof, and take another swipe down his face with my scalpel. JJ would kill me if she could see the damage I’m inflicting with one of her beloved surgical instruments.

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you. But you gotta keep me safe. They’re gonna kill me.” Tony squeals.

  About fucking time.

  If I wasn’t on a schedule, I’d be mildly impressed.

  The fucker’s tougher than he looks.

  It’d taken a serious beating from Mad Dog, resulting in the loss of most of his teeth, plus the removal of his finger and toenails—slowly, I might add—in addition to some nice gouges out of his face to get him to cave.

  Most men falter quicker, particularly low-life losers like this scum.

  “Mad Dog?”

  “Yeah, we’ll look after him,” he promises, crossing his arms across his bare chest.

  We’re both naked apart from our boxers. There’s nothing homoerotic about torture. That’s not why we are unclothed; it just makes sense to minimize the amount of clothing that could implicate us. Plus it’s less mess.

  I’m not burning a pair of jeans every time I need to fuck someone up. I have to get my mama to order them online for me since none of the normal shops sell any big enough for me. I try to avoid her unsubtle questioning about what happened to the other pairs as much as I can.

  “Okay, that’s good.”

  I fight to hide my smile at the relief in Tony’s voice.

  I know Mad Dog’s full of shit. He’s not gonna let this cockhead walk out of here.

  Circling my scalpel in the air near his face, I prompt him to continue.

  “So tell us—”

  “They’re at the Mavericks’ safe house.”

  “Bullshit.” Mad Dog explodes, striding forward and punching Tony in his flabby gut.

  The Mavericks of Mayhem were involved with the attempted takeover of the Club. They’d organized the kidnapping of Maddi for her ex on the proviso he bankrolled their expansion once they’d taken us out. They’re also responsible for crippling her little brother Joel.

  Needless to say, they’re a sore spot for Mad Dog since Beast refuses to sanction official payback for the shit they caused.

  “Tell the fucking truth.”

  Tony fights to regain his breath. I grab Mad Dog to stop him laying into him again. I can see his patience running out. If he keeps hitting him, we’ll never get any answers.

  “I’m telling the truth,” he wheezes.

  I tighten my hold on Mad Dog when he moves to punch him again.

  “You straight up?” I ask Tony. He bobs his head, swallowing in fear. “Doesn’t make sense, Tony. The Mavericks have no backbone left. They know we’re watching them.”

  Tony’s face turns red, his eyes widening as he implores me to believe him. “It’s the truth, Timber. Word on the street is they’ve taken your women as a way of forcing peace between your Clubs.”

  Spitting on the floor at Tony’s feet, Mad Dog shrugs me off.

  “How would taking Lainey and JJ force peace?” he questions me, his eyes wild as they bore into mine.

  “Fucked if I know, brother. It’ll just ramp up the animosity between them and our allies. They’re not that fucking stupid.”

  Any mutual allies the Black Shamrocks and the Mavericks had at the time the shit went down with Maddi and Joel removed their support for the Mavericks as punishment for involving women and children in their beef with us. Even outlaws have rules they abide by—the number one being that families are kept out of any conflict.

  When the Mavericks pissed all over the code, they declared themselves enemy number one in Australian outlaw circles and had been tossed into biker wilderness. All deals suspended. All support for their trade routes removed.

  “I swear that’s the word on the street, Mad Dog. I wouldn’t fuck the Shamrocks over. I’m a friend of the Club. I only ran because I was scared they’d kill me. I’m not supposed to know about your women,” Tony pleads, his expression frantic as he tries to crab crawl on his tiptoes away from an advancing Mad Dog.

  I know my childhood best friend almost as well as I know myself, so I don’t need to see his face to know that Tony’s now looking at Mad Dog, not Mik Kennedy.

  We may call him Mad Dog all the time, but he’s not always him. He has two distinct sides to him. One side being the cheeky little fucker who shit stirs constantly; the second is dark, violent, and volatile. Considering Maddi’s the only one who can talk him down when he’s Mad Dog, Tony’s right to be shit scared.

  “So tell me then, friend, why you didn’t come to us when you heard this? Tell me why the fuck a friend of the Shamrocks knows information like this, and doesn’t fucking warn us.” Mad Dog grabs Tony by his fat face and glares into his eyes.

  “Tell me how you heard this since you say you’re the Shamrocks’ friend, which should make you an enemy of the fucking Mavericks?”

  He pushes Tony’s face away, stalking over to the table where our clothes are piled.

  “I’m waiting, Tony. Enlighten me.”

  Tony’s mouth opens and closes, his grotesque body shaking as he tries to find the answers Mad Dog wants without implicating himself. I shake my head when his bladder lets go—again—in fear.

  Thank fuck for Prospects. I’m not cleaning up this fucking mess.

  “I’ve been dealing some ice on the side. The Mavericks hooked me up with it, and I heard them talking about forcing your Club to broker peace when I was there for a pick-up last week.”

  Reaching into his pile of clothes, Mad Dog grabs his 9mm, and walks back to Tony.

  Once he’s facing him, he places the barrel between his eyes.

  “Thank you for telling us the truth, friend,” he sneers at Tony, who turns white and shakes harder when he grasps what’s coming. “But we don’t need friends like you.”

  “Mad Dog, please,” Tony stutters.

  “Have fun in hell.”

  He pulls the trigger.

  Tony’s body jerks wildly as the bullet rips through his head, his brain matter splattering from the back of his head due to the point-blank trajectory.

  Fuck, yeah. That’s how it’s done.

  My best friend stares at the mess in front of him for a long moment before he turns to me.

  His normally bright eyes are dark, his face filled with violence that needs an outlet.

  “Call in Smoke and his men. Get hold of Kid and Butch as well. We have a visit to pay.”

  He names the three officers we know will agree to a side job without questions—or letting Beast know what’s up. Smoke’s my right-hand Enforcer, Kid’s our Information Officer, and Butch is our Road Captain. He also happens to be Maddi’s maternal uncle. Smoke is his son, while Kid grew up with her and her brothers. Maddi being missing is much more personal for them than our usual Club business.

  I make the calls and arrange a place to meet.

  All three agree without hesitation.

  Once we’re dressed, we flick off the lights in the bunker, and head for our bikes.

  Mad Dog holds his fist out to me as we start our bikes, and I bump it with mine.

  Grinning like a maniac at the vengeance I find in his eyes, my pulse spikes.

  I’m thinking more than one traitor is gonna die tonight.

  JJ

  Present Day

  “Honestly! There’s no need to be so rough,” I protest as I’m shoved into the back of a vehicle. My legs are wobbly which makes me clumsy and slow to move how they want me to. An anxiety attack is stalking me, brought on by my memory of the last time my Daddy used his belt on me. If only I had listened to him, then I wouldn’t be in this situation now.

  “Ouch.” I wince as I hit my elbow on something hard. In addition to my jelly legs, I can’t see a thing because they tied a length of rough material around my face before they led me from the house I was being held in.


  The house that Maddi’s still being held in.

  Part of me feels as if I should refuse to leave her on her own, but the bigger—more selfish—part refuses to let it win. I’m out of here, and I’m ecstatic. I’ll find Mad Dog and Lucas and pass on Maddi’s message, but after that, I’ve decided that I’m done. Heading to the police station to report the maniacs who grabbed us is next on my itinerary, and once that’s done, I’m booking an appointment with the clinic to confirm my pregnancy and make the necessary arrangements.

  Then I’m putting this whole sorry saga behind me.

  All of it.

  The pregnancy.

  The ridiculous notion that I’m in love with Lucas.

  And Lucas.

  I’m putting him so far behind me that he’ll be barely a blip in my memory; merely a distant remembrance of the one time I let my hormones and emotions rule my common sense.

  “Stop your whining.” A male voice—I think it is Connor—snaps at me, pushing me across the back seat, and then crowding me heavily against the door. The vehicle lurches forward, and I grab for the arm rest on the door as the vehicle turns sharply and accelerates at speed.

  I’m not a religious person, but I mutter a quick prayer that I’ll survive this ride.

  We aren’t driving for long when the sound of throbbing, pulsing motorcycles circles us.

  Someone curses. “It’s the fucking Shamrocks.”

  My heart jumps at the mention of Lucas’s Club. Help has finally arrived.

  The vehicle accelerates, and I’m thrown against the door when the wheels screech as we take a sharp corner. Worry begins to flood through me that we’re going to outrun the motorbikes, my fear alleviated when the thunder of the motorcycles keeps pace with us.

  To my excitement, I think it’s becoming louder.

  Metal sliding against metal erupts near my ear. I’ve watched enough television to recognize the sound. It’s a handgun being loaded.

  Twisting away from the sinister sound, I decide that I need my eyes.

  Gathering my courage, I reach behind me and untie the blindfold, letting it drop into my lap.