“Two. They said I had too much scar tissue to see your thirtieth. Aren’t you nearly thirty-three now?” I nod, and Lainey bites down on my hand to stop herself from laughing. “Three. They told Conan that I was gone before they managed to resuscitate me while you were locked up.”
My woman turns into a statue on my lap and I realize that I’ve just been let in on a secret they’ve all been keeping from me. Dad narrows his eyes at me when I begin to question the now-muted woman. “What happened—”
“Shut up. I’m speaking.” I roll my eyes at him, settling for pinching Lainey’s inner thigh to let her know that I’ll be continuing my questions later. She squirms away from me and whispers, “Asshole.”
“Leave her alone,” the grumpy lump on the bed tells me. “Where was I? That’s right. Number four. They told me today that the scar tissue is too bad for any more balloon dilation. The young buck in the E.R. had Maddi in tears when he announced, to all and sundry, that I’ll be lucky if I see out the month.”
I mentally calculate how many days are left in the month. My runs dry, when the answers hits. Thirteen fucking days. Less than two goddamn weeks. My right leg starts again and my arms tighten around the only person I’ll have left in the entire bloody world once Dad goes. My stomach begins to agitate like a washing machine and the room spins.
“Mik,” Lainey calls out to me, struggling out of my constricting hold. She sounds as if she’s underwater. Blinking rapidly, I try to make the room stop rotating. “God. Viking I think he’s about to pass out.”
Her hands are cold when she runs them down my face, goose bumps breaking out all over me. “Thirteen days. Fuck, Dad. No way.”
“Mik,” Dad tries real hard to be gruff with me. It fails when he ends up wheezing.
“Mik,” Lainey hauls off and slaps me. My vision returns when my head jerks to the side, the world righting itself in time for me to see her pulling her arm back to have a second go at my face. I catch her arm, mid-swing, and pull her into me.
“That fucking hurt.” I growl through gritted teeth. “You’re not getting a second hit in.”
Her face turns white, then relief kicks in and returns the colour to her face. She throws her head back and laughs at me. Putting her arms around my shoulders, she pulls my head into her chest and laughs louder. Digging my fingers into her hips, I pull the crazy woman off me and drag in a deep breath. I love her tits; I just don’t have any plans to suffocate to death in them. Just yet.
“Back in the land of the living, son?”
My face gets hot; from my neck all the way to my hair. I glance at Dad and give him a thin smile. “Yeah. Just having a fucking prima-donna moment.”
He snorts, laying back against his pillow. “I’m tired. You can go. Tell the rest of the Club that I don’t want any visitors tonight.”
Dismissed, and still flooded with embarrassment, I push Lainey to her feet and toward the door. Passing Dad, I squeeze his forearm, enough to let him know that I’ll be thinking of him. He places his hand over mine and I stop. “Tell Conan that I’m not joking. He always tries to push his way in after everyone leaves.”
Pulling my hand from under his, I salute. “You’ve got it, boss man.”
Sliding my hand up the back of Lainey’s shirt, I grasp her around the waist and pull her into my side as we pull the door shut behind us.
“Mik,” my father calls out, then coughs.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not this month or the next. I’ll be around to see my grandchildren. Ain’t missing that.”
My woman lets out a heart-breaking sob and buries her face in her hands. Forcing down the lump in my throat—I think it might be my heart trying to escape all the drama—I pretend that my eyes aren’t pricking as I answer him. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You do that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MADDI
Two Weeks Later
Rolling onto my stomach so I can reach my bloody alarm, a big grin cracks through my normal morning grumpiness when I land on a lump in the middle of my bed. I was hoping he would stay the night with me, for the first time in weeks. It had taken the promise of an epic blowjob—if I do say so myself—and a vow that I wouldn’t let him fall asleep beside me to get him to agree to stay after we made love. My success is going to come with a lecture about safety this morning, however, I honestly couldn’t give a crap.
Swatting at the button until the beeping shuts up, I nudge Mik; then jump to my feet at the side of the bed in case he wakes up swinging punches. He doesn’t. Instead, he surprises me by rolling onto his back and grabbing my hand to pull me on top of him. One of my boobs pops out of my tank top and he helps himself to a taste. I try to work my hands under his T-shirt, but can’t because it’s caught between our bodies. Sighing, I twist my body until I’m lying back on the bed next to him. Mik rolls on his side, then crosses his eyes and pokes his tongue out at me. I’m too annoyed to smile. “What’s up your ass?”
I yank on the material of his tee. “This. I hate it.”
Mik says nothing, flipping to his side, then pushing to his feet and stomping into the bathroom. The door slams and I raise my middle finger at it. I’m over his weirdness about getting naked with me. He’s acting like I’ve never seen his body before—when I probably know every inch of it better than he does. I miss touching him freely, running my fingers over his muscles, and digging my nails into his back. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even seen his back since he was released.
Viking’s words from a couple of weeks ago come back to me. When I asked him for help getting my head around Mik’s need to kill my father, his answer had seemed like a typical Viking riddle. Telling me nothing at the time; only to make sense when I worked out the answer.
“You need to look closer. The answer to your question is right under your nose, in fact, it practically has its back to you. You’ll find it buried under a shitload of pride.” That’s what he’d told me at the time. After Mik’s latest tantrum over me grumbling about him coming to bed fully dressed, I have a theory about what Viking meant.
“Screw you and your stupid T-shirt,” I mutter to myself, sidling up to the bathroom door quietly. With a stealth that makes me feel a bit stupid, I try to turn the handle and barge into the bathroom without warning. All I end up doing is bending my wrist painfully and hitting my forehead on the freaking locked door. “Argh! You’re impossible,” I yell at Mik.
Holding my wrist, I stalk toward the hallway, managing to trip over one of his boots before I get there. Picking it up, I throw it as hard as I can with my uninjured hand against the wall. Feeling slightly better, I head for the kitchen to make breakfast. Today’s a massive day for my brothers and me. We’ve agreed to meet our father at the hospital after lunch and I’m equal parts anxious and pissed off. Why couldn’t he just tell us why he needs to see us? Why the secrecy and his demand that he will only tell us face-to-face?
“Rough morning?” Matty asks me when he wanders into the kitchen while I’m beating a batch of scrambled eggs to death. I plonk the bowl on the counter. My whisk falls into the mixture. Groaning, I drop my head into my hands, leaning on my elbows next to the stove top.
“More like rough bloody life,” I mumble. “I swear everything I touch turns to crap.”
My brother starts laughing, “I’m starving. Can you have your meltdown after breakfast?”
I drop my hands, then roll my eyes at him. “Thanks for the support.”
The little shit just laughs harder, “You’ll be all right. Two more mugs of coffee and everything’ll be rosy.”
Flicking on an element, I begin to heat some butter in the frying pan. The more I think about what Matty just said, the harder it becomes not to laugh with him. Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I concentrate on making perfect scrambled eggs—and ignoring my brother who obviously thinks he’s the next Conan O’Brien.
After setting Matty to work buttering the toast, I take his cheeky advice and po
ur myself another cup of coffee. Resting my backside against the counter, I’m savouring the bitter nectar from the Gods when Mik comes striding into the kitchen. He gives me a kiss on the cheek, then grabs the frying pan and starts dolling out serves of eggs onto freshly buttered toast. The delicious aroma brings Joel and Lachie into the kitchen. From my position, I watch four of my five favourite men dig into the food I prepared and my grumpiness starts to dissipate.
This is life. It makes my issue with a piece of material feel stupid and petty. The man sitting at the table, surrounded by my brothers, happily chatting away as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s what I want. Scratch that. He’s who I need.
My father. Not so much. The loyalty I feel toward him isn’t based on current events. It comes from being the ultimate Daddy’s Girl; from spending my childhood believing that he could slay any monster that threatened our family with one big arm tied around his back. Only, he didn’t turn out to be the Knight in Shining armour that I thought he was. My dad became the mastermind behind my latest taste of hell on earth, his actions forcing me to relive the inferno I survived when I was eighteen. If I’m honest, it’s getting harder and harder to ignore that he worked with the father of my tormentor to have the man sitting at the table in front of me taken away from me.
For what? For what he considered his Club. To salvage his ego. To preserve his legacy. Everything he did was for him. Whereas everything Mik does is for me. Apart from the one thing he’s ever asked of me. For my blessing. To kill my father for what he’s done to Mik—and me.
My mug slips from my fingers. While the hot, brown liquid splatters, then spreads all over the white Italian tiles of my kitchen floor, my mind is struck by a realization.
Mik has my blessing. He always did; I just couldn’t let myself admit it.
***
“Hey, Mads. Wait for us.” Benji’s raised voice drifts across the hospital parking lot. My brothers, Mik, and I all turn and wait for my chronically late sibling to run to catch up. Plastering a smile on my face, I pretend that I don’t see how Joel’s expression turns dark at the long-legged stride that Benji uses to close the distance between us with improbable speed. My twin might’ve been the star footballer, but Joel was always a better runner, so to see Benji running with ease, despite his knee reconstruction, must be a horrible reminder of what he’s lost.
Three days out of rehab, and he seems to be doing well. His face is flushed when he comes to a stop near us, contentment radiating from each pore. He holds up his hand to high-five Lachie, and it’s then that I see he was dragging poor Lacey behind him. She folds in half, hands on her knees, and tries to catch her breath.
“That was an epic dash you made there,” I laugh, rubbing her back. “Although, I’d consider some time in the gym if you want to keep up with Mr. Athlete over there.”
Jerking my thumb toward Benji, I catch a glimpse of a serious conversation between Mik, Joel, and Benji going down. Lacey distracts me with a finger to the belly, “We can’t all be lean, mean, fighting machines.”
Rolling my eyes at her, I strain to overhear what’s being said. I can barely make out anything, except for Thomas Taylor, Maverick’s, and war. My subtle eavesdropping is ruined when Matty and Lachie start roughhousing and Mik stops talking to intervene.
“Let’s head inside,” he proclaims. Turning to the two annoyances he has just separated, he growls. “You two give us any trouble in there, I’m gonna kick your ass. Hear me?”
“Yeah,” they mumble in unison. Joel becomes overly interested in the ground beneath his feet, however, I can see him trying not to laugh. His reaction sets me off, my need to giggle made worse when I make eye contact with Lacey, who’s also barely holding on.
Benji, of course, has no such worry. Filter-less and feckless, he nudges Mik with his shoulder and teases him. “Yes, Dad. Whatever you say, Dad.”
Mik fixes him with a glare that means business and this time I do laugh. I know this look; the narrowed gaze, the thinned out, tightly pressed together lips, and the way he runs one hand through his hair all mean one thing. Benji’s about to be put in his place.
“See that cut you’re wearing?” Mik enquires in a flat tone. Benji looks down at the piece of leather that’s adorning him, then meets Mik’s eyes with a questioning gaze and nods. “That means that I’m not your childhood friend at the moment. Hell, I’m not even a bloody acquaintance. That cut means that I’m your fucking President and my word is gospel and above sanction unless I’m breaking our constitution. Most of all, it means that your dumbass need to wisecrack isn’t appreciated. Either show me the fucking respect my patch means I’m due or prepare yourself for a fuck-tonne of bathroom duty, Prospect.”
Herding Matty and Lachie, Mik leaves Benji standing there, rooted to the spot with his mouth open. I walk past him, my chin lowered so neither of them can hear my snickering, and follow them inside. As I pass, Lacey puts her arm through his and whispers, “I told you to tone it down, babe.”
Joel’s not quite as easy on Benji as Lacey. Coming up on the opposite side as Lacey, he elbows Benji as hard as he can with his best arm. When Benji bellows, I stop and turn, watching them with my hands on my hips. Joel reaches a shaky hand up and points in Benji’s face. “I don’t care about the Shamrock’s and their hierarchy, but I agree with Mad Dog. I’m a goddamn cripple; you’re an addict who got out of rehab three days ago. Who do you think stepped up and took over raising our brothers?”
Benji shuffles his feet, “All right. I fucking get it.”
He makes a zipping motion over his lips, throwing the imaginary key at me when he sees that I’ve stopped to listen. I catch it and pretend to slide it inside my bra. My brothers groan, and Benji quips, “That’s fucking gross.”
I shrug. “At least, I know you won’t be trying to steal it back.”
Affecting a bow, I wave them through in front of me—flicking Benji’s ear when he passes—and powerwalk so we can catch up with the rest of them. They’re waiting impatiently outside the waiting room where we’re supposed to meet our father. Coming to a stop next to Mik, I lean against him. It takes three steadying breaths before I’m ready to enter the room. Looking at my siblings, I check to see if one of them is going to take the initiative. None of them meet my eyes, all of a sudden mesmerised by the ceiling, the floor, or their fingernails.
Rolling my eyes, I push the door open and lead the way inside. Our dad is sitting in one on the chairs, his head in his hands, looking lost and lonely. I find myself at his side with my hand on his shoulder patting it before I know what I’m doing.
“Dad,” I speak to grab his attention, then snatch my hand back when he looks at me with pain-filled eyes. His gaze—so much like mine and my brothers—is too familiar, too painful to meet for long, especially when he smiles at me.
“Baby girl, I’m so thankful you came.”
Mik held back when I rushed to my father’s side; his disappointment in me strong enough to cover the distance between us. When he hears Dad use his lifelong nickname for me, I hear him growling as he pushes through my brothers and comes to a stop at my side.
“Beast,” Mik greets my dad. I watch Dad’s gaze drop down to the President’s patch where it sits proudly on my man’s cut. Ignoring the look of intense hatred that covers my father’s face, I look at Mik and try to transmit the decision I made this morning to him with just my eyes. I don’t think it works because Mik steps forward with his shoulders straight and matching hatred in his gaze. “Cut to the fucking chase before I decide that your time’s up.”
“Fuck you.” Dad stands and spits his words in Mik’s face. “I never asked for you to come. This is family business.”
Every muscle in my body tenses when my father emphasises the word family. I steel myself for Mik’s—warranted—explosion. My body turns to liquid relief when he throws his head back and laughs. “Family? What the fuck do you know about family? Me and Lainey are raising your boys for you. I’m running your Club and—�
�
I’m torn. Do I step up and shut Mik down so we can get on with finding out why we’re here or do I let him have his say? Benji solves my dilemma by cutting in the middle of them. He still has Lacey by his side—seeming to draw strength from her. “How about you both put your dicks away, and we find out what’s wrong with Wendy?” He shoots me a look filled with exasperation, then winks to let me know he’s about to be a smartass. “I’m three days clear of rehab. Listening to you two fuckers fight over who’s got the bigger cock will send me back there.”
When Dad turns to face Benji, I set free the smile I’m trying to stop. Mik shakes his head at me, apparently not finding my twin as funny as I did. Lacey shrinks under my father’s gaze and I take a step forward to shield her.
“Wendy’s having surgery.” Dad’s voice booms around the room. He swings around to look at me, his intense stare making it feel as if he’s only talking to me. “That’s why I wanted you to come. She didn’t want you to know but I felt you should. She finished chemo for breast cancer two weeks ago, and today she’s having the cancer removed.”
The room stops when he says breast cancer. That’s what my mum died from—what I watched her waste away from until she was skin and bones and utterly defeated. The vision of her frail frame, hairless except for a thin layer of fuzz, comes unbidden to my mind. I search for Mik’s hand. I need his strength right now.
“How did you find out she was sick?” Joel sounds like it’s taking every ounce of energy he has to speak. I search his body for clues to how he’s feeling; knowing how hard it is on him when his limbs start to seize for no reason. His gait is jerky as he makes his way to a chair close to our dad. The look of hatred he shoots Dad’s way is his way of telling him that he’s not sitting near him because he wants to; it’s because he needs to.
“Well?” Lachie picks up where Joel left off. He’s presenting a united front with Matty standing right next to him, although my big sister antennae picks up on the nervousness hidden under his bravado. “How did you know? I thought you ditched her when you ditched us?”
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