Craving Control

by Kylie Hillman

  “We think the Black Shamrocks are expecting us to make a move,” he ventures in a tight voice. “She’s heavily guarded and they change her routine regularly. It’s making it hard for us to nail down a location.”

  Now, I understand why he moved away from me before he answered my question. He wanted to get out of my arm’s reach. Smart decision, although unnecessary. As much as I want to hit someone right now, I temper the inclination and focus on fixing the problem.

  Pointing at the photo of her house, I raise my eyebrows and ask, “Why can’t it be here? She was by herself for, at least, ten minutes this afternoon. That’s plenty of time, if we change the plan to take her out of state for a month and bring her straight back here instead. We’d need five minutes, tops.”

  When I was in prison, I thought it prudent to remove Lainey from Queensland for a few weeks to minimise the chances of anyone stumbling upon us. Having seen the house and approved Stu’s renovations, I believe it will be safer and easier to take her one location and keep her there.

  Holding her right under their nose does hold a certain allure. Being able to watch them lose their minds when they can’t find her plays into the depraved delight I expect to get out of taking her back from them.

  “He normally comes home with her. On rare occasions, it’s one of the others from the club,” Stu replies, careful not to set me off by speaking Mik Kennedy’s name out loud. “We’ve only spotted her at home by herself once before, and there’s was hell to pay when he found out.”

  “How did it happen?”

  Duke rifles through the paperwork on the counter until he extracts a report. He passes it to Stu, who looks it over.

  “Seems there was a meeting at the Black Shamrocks clubhouse that every member had to attend. Church, they call it,” he fills us in as he continues reading. “She was supposed to stay at work and wait for him—as you know they have blood ties to the lawyers she works for—except the message didn’t get to her.”

  With his explanation, my confidence in our problem solving becomes a little less brittle.

  “How do we replicate their mistake?”

  “I don’t know,” Stu replies. His eyes narrow, then he continues. “We need to find out when their next church meeting will be and plan around that.”

  Pushing to my feet, I walk around the counter and snatch the piece of paper from Stu’s hand. I devour the typed words, my mind whirling as it tries to fit all the pieces of this puzzle together. Once they’ve all snapped into place, I tug my burner phone out of my back pocket and hit speed dial.

  “It’s me,” I state in a tone that brooks no arguments. “When’s your next Church?”

  “Monday arvo, four weeks’ time,” he answers. “Why?”

  “I asked, that’s why.” He lapses into silence and I run the days through my head. “Push it to the Thursday after.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s the day your daughter will go missing.”

  He hangs up without another word. I toss my phone on the counter and meet my accomplices’ interested gazes. My confidence is no longer at risk of splintering. Instead, I feel omnipotent, unstoppable, like I could take them all down singlehandedly. The final ingredient in my recipe for retribution has been found.

  I will have my cake and eat it too.

  “We’ll need to call in a bomb threat during their meeting,” I announce. My assurance must be contagious since they all swing into motion. “Send the bomb squad to their Clubhouse and the workshop. That will buy us all the time we need.”

  “How will we stop him from ringing her? He could tell her to stay put, then we won’t be able to get our hands on her,” the blonde-haired man asks.

  My brain spits free the solution before he’s even finished asking the question. “My granddad’s associates infiltrated her firm—just in case we had to go that avenue. I’ll get them to set up a meeting for the time of the raid. They’ll specifically request her attendance and jam her phone with one of those portal blockers. Since it’s so close to her normal finishing time, I’ll have him offer to walk her to her car. That’ll keep her away from the receptionist in case they leave a message.”

  Stu nods his agreement, then turns to the blonde man. “Cain, can you think of anywhere else this could go wrong?”

  He thinks for a minute, then replies. “Yeah. How will we snatch her? Grabbing someone from an underground parking lot is a hell of a lot easier than snatching them in broad daylight from their front yard.”

  “That’s easy,” Duke speaks up. “Get a tradie’s van. No one will question that.”

  The grin that lifts my lips is genuine. I’m ecstatic at the progress we’ve made and can’t wait for the next thirty-four days to be over.

  My phone beeps on the counter-top. I pick it up and read the text message.

  “Sorry, fellas,” I mutter. “My dad just sent me a heads-up. A parole office will be at our house first thing in the morning. It’s time for me to head home.”

  “No worries,” Stu replies. “I think we can handle the rest.”

  Clicking my fingers at Si since he’s the closest, I motion for him to lead the way into the garage. I can’t afford to be spotted outside of my designated parole location this close to my official release, so I’ll have to get out of the city by laying on the backseat of the car. It’s a rather degrading way to travel, but it sure beats the alternative.

  Going back to prison.

  “Right away, boss.”

  Walking behind him, I run the plan over in my head one last time. It’s unlikely that I’ll be able to return until the day we take Lainey—the media focus on my upcoming freedom and an overzealous parole officer are two obstacles I cannot escape at this time. I need to ensure that everything is in place. The small details, Stu can handle. The overall picture is mine to control.

  I’m satisfied, except for one final loose end.

  “Madelaine O’Brien is not to be touched. I want her sedated and kept from harm until I arrive,” I order, my voice assuring zero mercy for anyone who steps outside my demands. Si stops walking and the other three men focus their attention on me. My top lip is lifts in a snarl, and my eyes fill with the promise of a painful death as I continue, “I know you might be accustomed to taking certain liberties with your guests. That will not happen in this case. Lainey will be turned over to me unharmed in mind, body, and soul, or I will ensure the offender finds himself running from the law and my grandfather’s associates. I’ll let you all decide which one you’d rather catch you first.”

  With that off my chest, I settled myself in the back of my escape vehicle and lie back on the seat. I pull forth my most salacious memories of Lainey O’Brien to keep me company during the drive home. The images play out like a home video—the good, the bad, and the carnal.

  As always, remembering our relationship is a double-edged sword—on one hand, it’s a reminder of the bitter defeat I was handed, yet the agony is dulled by recognition of the serenity I have only ever felt with her. I’m looking forward to her presence removing the final remnants of malaise from my soul.

  Reminiscing over our time together is the only way to get through the next thirty-four days. Thinking about her gives me the resolve I need to follow this through to the very end. She empowers me. Validates me. Resurrects me.

  Despite his ongoing support, my granddad believes it would be better for me to move on and find someone else. I disagree. Yet, I know he’ll recognise why I feel this way unless he found a Lainey of his own.

  I’m addicted—there is no one else on this planet for me, regardless of my grandfather’s arguments against my foolishness. He hasn’t tasted her blood. He hasn’t co-opted her defiance. He hasn’t basked in her angelic glow.

  He hasn’t felt her fear.

  Until he has been through what I have, it’s impossible for him to understand.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  One month later

  “Sign here,” the parole officer requests. “And here.”


  I scribble my signature on the line, then repeat it on the next set of paperwork. He folds the first bundle and hands it to me, before sliding the other sheath under the clip on his clipboard. It snaps shut with a decisive thud that sets my nerves on end.

  The waiting is killing me.

  I need him gone. I have plans for today.

  Regarding me with the same air of judgement that he has since the first day we met, he holds out his hand to me. I grit my teeth and shake his hand, a more genuine smile covering my face when he begrudgingly announces the end of my sentence.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Taylor. You’re now a free man. I hope you’ve grown from your mistakes and we—as a society—can rely on you to make better choices in the future. I wish you the best of luck. Please reach out to me if you need any assistance adjusting to your new life outside this house.”

  He drones on and I listen with one ear. I don’t need his help. What can a man who sees rape and assault as a bad choice possibly offer me anyhow? It’s not like I could ask him to hold Lainey down while I strip her bare and inspect her body for any changes that have occurred in the past four years. The simpering pansy would vomit at the request.

  “Thank you,” I reply to his monologue when he finally stops speaking. “I’ll definitely reach out if I need advice.”

  He gives me a brilliant smile, then shakes dad’s hand. My mother is hiding in her quarters, no doubt drowning her sorrows at losing me as a captive in her favourite gin, so she escapes his clutches for once.

  Our butler quickly escorts him out the front door, closing it behind him with a barely concealed sigh.

  “I feel your pain.”

  Stanley regards me with wide eyes before he gives a little chuckle. “I will admit his presence has been an exercise in frustration at times.”

  “Well, that’s all over now,” Dad interjects. He claps me on the shoulder. “I hope you enjoy your first day of freedom. Keep your nose out of trouble—don’t get up to anything I wouldn’t.”

  He finishes his speech with a laugh. I join him. Considering my father’s interests range from blackmail to sexual deviancy to cold-blooded murder on occasion, I think it’s safe to say that my possibilities are unlimited. I could undertake an American-style school shooting and there would still be skeleton in my dad’s closet that would put my sin to shame.

  Once he’s headed up the stairs, I jump into action.

  It’s go time.

  “Stanley,” I call after the butler. “Can you bring down my bags. My ride will be here shortly.”

  “Certainly, Sir.”

  Hugo arrives before Stanley has returned. I meet him outside and he bounds out of his truck to greet me with a half-hug and a back slap.

  “BT,” he crows. “It’s fucking good to see you.”

  I acknowledge him with a nod, staying silent while Stanley loads my bags into the back of the truck. Within minutes we’ve pulled out of the long drive and turned onto the main road to Brisbane in silence.

  “Why so quiet?”

  I stretch in my seat, cracking my knuckles and smoothing down my hair. All of a sudden, I’m unable to contain the adrenaline that’s surging through my veins.

  “I keep going over the plan, trying to see where it could fail.”

  Hugo takes his eyes off the road, long enough to flash a grin filled with malevolence at me. “It’s foolproof. They’re not going to know what’s hit them. I wish I could stick around and watch her break down when she realises that you’re back.”

  Part of me would like his company. The smarter half knows he’s better off out of it.

  “I need you to alibi me in the slim chance they go to the Police. You know, since you’re now an upstanding business man and all.”

  He howls with laughter, slapping the steering wheel and shaking his head. “If only they could see what goes on in the back rooms. The Mavericks provide ample pussy for me to sell and your dad makes sure the cops stay off my back. If that makes me upstanding, then I’m happy to be of service.”

  While my arrest and subsequent incarceration had dimmed some of my grandfather’s business opportunities while he sought treatment for early-stage colon cancer, Hugo had been able to step up in my absence and keep most of his expansion plans running smoothly. Under the protection of the Police my father controls and using his chain of night clubs as a front, my best friend is now a card-carrying member of the Queensland underworld with ties to organised crime and the outlaw motorcycle gang, the Mavericks of Mayhem.

  “I can’t wait for life to go back to normal,” I tell him once he’s finished laughing. “This shit is wearing thin.”

  Hugo clears his throat. “Don’t you think that maybe this is your new normal? I mean, you’re never going to be able to walk down the street holding her hand like you used to.”

  He glances at me, sympathy stripping all humour from his face. “She sent you to jail.”

  Doubt invades the atmosphere of the truck. I twist in my seat, giving him my back, while I stare out the window. I barely register the trees that whoosh past at the side of the road. My head is churning, my stomach resembling a washing machine on the spin cycle. I didn’t need him to point out the negatives—they’ve been rattling around at the edge of my mind since I first stepped foot out of the prison.

  I simply refused to acknowledge them.

  We drive in silence. The scenery changes from dry countryside to suburban sprawl until it becomes a more familiar cityscape. We pass the heritage listed Central train station and I sit up straight in my seat when the niggle in my gut becomes a full-flown warning.

  “Stop,” I shout. “Right here.”

  The tyres squeal and I’m thrown forward in my seat as he kamikaze’s his way to the side of the street. Launching out of the vehicle before it’s at a complete stop, I grab my smallest bag from the tray of the truck and throw it on the sidewalk. People step around me, some muttering angrily about my rudeness, but I ignore them. Searching through my bag, I find what I’m looking for.

  “Rookie mistake,” I grumble to myself as I head for the closest bin and throw my personal phone into it. Making my way back to Hugo, I rezip my bag and toss it back into the truck. “You can go now.”

  “Righto,” he quips. Once we’re moving again, he speaks. “Do I want to know what that was all about?”

  “I was correcting my own stupidity.” He looks at me with his eyebrows drawn together and I elaborate. “Forgot to get rid of my phone. They could have been tracking it.”

  “Okay.” Hugo sounds anything but.

  “I have my burner, so I’m covered, plus they’ll think I caught the train into the city if they’re even bothering to keep tabs on me.” I throw myself back in my seat, visions of Lainey kissing Mik at the front of her house a month ago assaulting my mind. “Not that I think they will until it’s already too late. It looked like everything was just dandy in their neck of the woods last time I checked in.”

  Hugo stays silent, probably suspecting that I’m on the verge of losing it. He’d be right. The closer we get, the more I realise what’s at stake. If I mess this up—if Lainey doesn’t come around to my side of this fight—this could all be for naught. I want to bask in her light. Instead, I could end up spending my life hiding in the shadows with a woman who doesn’t want me.

  That’s why you’re going in hard and making her see who’s boss from the get-go. The monster in my head rarely speaks now. That fateful night when we became one showed him that I was every bit as capable of raining punishment down on those who deserve it as he was. When I woke in the hospital days later, he was hibernating. Fat with her blood and content with the destruction I’d wrought.

  “Park next to that bike,” I direct Hugo into the secluded parking lot in the southern industrial area.

  He follows my directions. We get out and make quick work of stowing my bags in the leather panniers that hang over the Triumph like saddles. I tie the smallest one to the back seat and slip my backpack over m
y shoulders.

  Hugo pulls me in for a hug. “Everything will work out the way it should. Just have faith. You have some of the most powerful people in the country at your back. We will see you prevail because your success cements our position in this state.”

  “Thanks,” I return his embrace. “It’s good to have you back.”

  He nods, looking at our dingy surroundings. Rubbish blows past us when the wind from the nearby port kicks up. “I think it’s time for me to head back to my side of this city. Ring me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  Jamming the helmet over my head, I tighten it under my chin and straddle the motorcycle. A quick flick of the ignition button has the motor roaring to life. I pull out of the parking lot and begin my journey back to the safe house where Stu and his team should have Lainey safely stashed by now.

  The raid by the bomb squad on all properties owned by the Black Shamrocks MC should be well-underway and my use of a motorcycle to travel should prevent any detection by anyone keeping an eye on her house. Riding isn’t my preferred method of transport—I find it an uncultured pursuit enjoyed by philistines—however I can’t exactly drive a vehicle while wearing a helmet.

  Thanks to the media, I’m rather infamous at the moment.

  Not that it matters, I’m happy to do whatever it takes to get the job done.

  Out of sheer bloody-mindedness, I detour past the Black Shamrocks clubhouse. They’re standing out the front arguing with the Police while a robot searches the buildings.

  I spy Mik and his big blonde friend, Timber. I see Viking. I even spot Wendy Markham.

  They’re oblivious to devil riding past them, too caught up in their current drama to realise that something much bigger is on the horizon.

  As I rev the throttle to pick up speed, Beast O’Brien turns toward the source of the noise. His mouth is hard. His posture is antagonistic. Deep lines crease the skin around his eyes. Standing away from his club by himself, he looks like he’s aged ten years since I last saw him six months ago.

  That’s what comes from selling your soul to the Devil.