Conan (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 1)

by Kylie Hillman

  CONAN (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book One)

  Copyright © 2017 Kylie Hillman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licenced for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: DyMi Ink Pty Ltd

  Cover Design: Dana Lamothe at Designs by Dana

  Editing: Rose Vaden

  Images in Manuscript: Adobe Stock

  Cover Images: Eric Battershell Photography

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  CONTENTS

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Newsletter Signup

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Contact Kylie

  Also by Kylie

  DISCLAIMER

  This story contains graphic depictions of potentially triggering events.

  Please consider yourself warned.

  However, if you chose to delve into this story, you will find that all issues are approached with sensitivity and real-life reflections.

  This is the first book in the brand-new Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation series—a spin off, prequel series to the International Bestselling Black Shamrocks MC Series. It is set in the early 1980’s and progresses through to the mid 1990’s and tells the tale of the proceedings that became the catalyst for the catastrophic events in the original series.

  The original Black Shamrocks MC series does not need to be read first to understand this story—although I can’t promise that you won’t end up completely addicted to the Black Shamrocks MC and feel an overwhelming urge to meet the next generation as well.

  PLEASE NOTE

  As this story is set in Australia, it is written in UK English.

  DEDICATION

  To chronic illnesses.

  Because you weed out the wankers and shine a spotlight of those willing to support.

  PLAYLIST

  Music is my main inspiration.

  You can follow Conan’s playlist:

  SPOTIFY

  PROLOGUE

  Colin

  “Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things.” ~Ken Segall~

  During my life, the whole nineteen years I’ve graced this earth, I’ve learnt one thing. Rules are for other people. I’m a Blake; prospect for the Black Shamrocks MC, son of the Sergeant-At-Arms. The dictates of society that everyone else is forced to live by don’t apply to me.

  I can do what I want when I want.

  As long as it doesn’t affect the Club, I’m golden.

  My days as a Prospect are numbered, I know that. It’s a no-brainer. The first generation of sons born in Australia are ready to patch in and learn what they need to do to continue our Club’s legacy. The granting of my membership into the brotherhood that binds the Shamrocks is guaranteed.

  At least, I thought so.

  Until I found myself on the wrong end of their oath.

  Brotherhood before blood. Brotherhood before everything. They wanted me to put the brotherhood before her ... and I wasn’t sure if I could.

  Colleen McCormack called to the very thing inside me that was accountable for my change from a boy into a man. In her green eyes, dark strawberry-blonde hair, and hips that curved for days, I saw my future. I saw kids. I saw a responsibility for her happiness that made my soul sing with pride.

  I saw the pair of us—old and grey, and still in love.

  Too bad she was about to become one of our Club sluts.

  According to my father, you shouldn’t give a second thought about the sluts. You fuck ‘em, you share ‘em, you laugh at ‘em when they keep trying to come back for more.

  You don’t fall in love with them.

  You definitely don’t ask them to marry you.

  And you don’t use your position with the Shamrocks to exact revenge on the fucker responsible for whoring her out in the first place—especially without taking it to Church.

  I’d spent my life thinking that the rules didn’t apply to me.

  Turns out that they did.

  Because once the Shamrocks are done putting out the fire I started with the still-smoking end of my gun, I’m going to feel the full-force of those rules.

  Thankfully, she’s more than worth it.

  ONE

  Colin

  “Jesus. Fuck.” my best friend, partner-in-crime, and fellow prospect whistles as the entertainment for the night begins to funnel into the bar of the Clubhouse. “Tonight’s gonna be fucking awesome.”

  Paddy grabs his dick and moves it up and down. I exchange a look with my other best-friend, Vic, and shake my head. This is the first brothers-only party that we’ve been allowed to attend since we began prospecting. We’re usually stuck behind the bar serving the brothers and watching the action go down with hard dicks that we have to fix with our own hands once they’ve bedded down for the night. Tonight, I want to sample some of the delights. I want to be on the fun side of the bar. Except I know if Paddy makes a scene, we’re all out on our ass. It won’t matter who his father is.

  “Keep him under control, would ya?” The eldest son of our Prez rolls his eyes at Paddy when he passes us. “If he fucks up tonight, he’ll take the lot of you down with him. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Vic answers before I can tell Lenny to go fuck himself. While our Prez is a reasonable man, his oldest son has a giant stick up his ass. Thankfully, Paddy is too busy ogling the half-dressed chicks who keep wandering past to bother with his big brother. Which is a bigger blessing than I can ever explain since those two are poison to each other.

  “I’m gonna mess with his pretty boy face one day very bloody soon if he keeps going.”
I state my threat at a level that only the three of us can hear.

  “Bro, cut him some slack. He wants to be Prez one day and he’d be a fucking good one. Except we all know Paddy’s gonna be chosen. You’d be a cunt too if you knew that—”

  “True.” I cut the conversation short when I see Paddy’s eyes turning a darker shade of blue. He’s working himself up over something—who knows what—and it doesn’t bode well for our night. We three—plus Brian who’s missing for some reason—have a blood pact.

  Doesn’t matter who starts the shit, we have each other’s back while we end it.

  If I’d known back in grade three that my then-sane friend would grow up to have a screw lose, I’d have found a way out of it. His moods change without rhyme or reason, dragging all of us into shit we’d otherwise avoid.

  When Paddy lunges forward, I grab the back of his cut, and halt his movements. He’s a big fucker so it takes some effort. Thankfully, I stand at six foot eight and have a bulk to match. Vic steps in front of him. He widens his eyes and glares at Paddy until he stops fighting me. Once our friend is still, Vic puts his hands on his shoulders and leans in close. “What the fuck is your problem? You’re gonna get us booted if you don’t calm the fuck down.”

  “Her,” Paddy mutters. He stares over at the entrance. I follow his gaze, my breath catching in my throat when I take in the full sight of the beauty who’s caught his attention.

  Vic turns and shrugs. “What about her? She’s just one of the sluts.”

  “I call dibs,” Paddy crows. He pulls out of my grip, pushing past Vic, and heading for the three girls standing at the door looking lost.

  “We’re never getting our patches with him around.” Vic pushes his hands into his hair and snorts. “He knows we’re not supposed to touch the sluts until the brothers have had their fill. He’s gonna get us killed.”

  I can’t speak to agree with his more-than-likely correct assumption of the situation. My tongue is immobile because my eyes are too busy watching my best friend barrelling toward the young women. The curvy-as-fuck redhead looks scared, her jade-green eyes bright as fear billows from her like an invisible cloak. My feet itch to go to her and smooth the lines I can see creasing the sides of her eyes as she takes in the debauchery going down in the bar and appears to find it too much to handle.

  But, I don’t. Because like Vic said, we’re not allowed to touch the sluts until the brothers have finished with them. As much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, she wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t been tried and tested by them and found to meet their requirements.

  Warm. Wet. Willing.

  That, and the ability to keep their mouth shut, was about all it took to become a slut for the Black Shamrocks MC. Four specific conditions that every female in this room met with abandon.

  Paddy comes to a stop in front of the redhead. My heart stops, waiting for him to claim the first woman to grab my attention in this parade of willing pussy. It flips in my chest, restarting with a jolt, and a smile curls my lips when he holds out his hand to the skinny blonde standing next to her. My redhead looks relieved. The frosty brunette on the other side appears pissed at his behaviour.

  Before he can make his move, our VP comes up behind him and slaps him on the back of the head. It sends Paddy reeling. He stumbles in front of the girls and they laugh at him.

  Vic growls, stealing my attention from my idiot friend.

  “What?” I ask out the corner of my mouth.

  “We’ve been summoned.” Vic points toward the table where his father sits with mine and our glaring President. The three of them look like someone’s pissed in their cornflakes. My dad lifts a blonde eyebrow that frames icy-blue eyes that match mine, and he beckons us to them again.

  “Fuck.”

  Our wayward comrade returns just in time to see the second signal. He skids to a stop, muttering under his breath. “Stupid fucking bitches.”

  As our trio moves toward the leadership of the Shamrocks, I nudge him with my shoulder. “You’re the stupid bitch. We’re gonna get our asses chewed out because of you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Cole. My old man ain’t gonna punish me for fucking with the sluts. That’s what they’re here for.” I wish I had his confidence. My gut tells me that the three of us are on bathroom duty for the foreseeable future. Obviously, Paddy doesn’t share my worry. He hits me with a broad grin. “Don’t give a fuck anyway. I’m still gonna nail the blonde.”

  “Knock yourself out.” My mouth is in gear before my brain. “As long as you stay away from the redhead.”

  Vic and Paddy skid to a stop. They turn and look at me with disbelief on their faces. Of course, Paddy recovers first, and he can’t resist the urge to vocalise his thoughts about the gauntlet I just laid down. “The redhead? Why her? She’s fucking fat.”

  There’s a saying that my father embodies, and I’m coming to learn that it’s the same with me. On the outside, we both appear placid and easy-going. A big friendly teddy bear are the words normally used to describe us—and, that’s the case most of the time. Except, people don’t realise that underneath our calm surface a temper to rival Mount Vesuvius bubbles ... and like a volcano, it explodes with little warning, for an apparently benign reason.

  “Shut your fucking mouth,” I yell at my best friend seconds before my fist connects with his bull-head. “She’s not fat. She’s fucking perfect.”

  Paddy hits the floor and I lay my foot into his midsection. He rolls away from my steel-capped boot when I pull it back to drive it into his ribs a second time. Vic grabs hold of me, wrestling my arms to my sides, and pinning them. I fall still. My chest heaves, rage ringing in my ears.

  The silence in the room is broken when a loud whistle breaks the hush. A bellow of laughter follows—one that I easily recognise as my dad’s. It’s joined by more chuckles, until all the leadership and then the other brothers have joined in.

  “We’re really fucking dead now,” Vic says in my ear.

  I nod. “Tell me about it.”

  Paddy gets to his feet and I brace for his retaliation. None comes, proving once again how unpredictable he is. Instead, he bumps my shoulder. “She’s all yours, bro.”

  With the amount of trouble that’s about to come down on our head, looming large in front of me in the form of our unamused hierarchy, I should be shitting myself.

  I’m not.

  Because across the room, grateful green eyes have locked with mine. A plump grin has curled her ruby-red lips, illuminating her gorgeous face, and elevating her beauty to another realm. The redhead holds my gaze and mouths “thank you”. She continues to smile at me until her brunette friend drags her attention away with an urgent tug on her arm.

  Her appreciative approval has me floating toward the table that holds our furious president, unperturbed by the fact that I’m about to have weeks of punishment brought down on my head. My stinging knuckles and the corresponding swelling around Paddy’s eye are outward signs of my lack of control. If my heart wasn’t singing, I’d be pissed at myself for losing the tight grip I usually have on my temper.

  I can’t muster a single emotion other than happiness.

  She heard what I said, and she liked it.

  Hell, she even smiled at me.

  Now I need to find out her name.

  TWO

  Colleen

  My uncle said that I shouldn’t be scared to meet the Black Shamrocks. He said that the Club would look after me because I was collateral.

  Whatever that means.

  Having learnt the hard way over the past eight months that my uncle’s word means nothing, I’d begged my two best friends from my old neighbourhood to come with me. Shari is the daughter of a police officer, which might stop the Shamrocks from being too mean to me, and Bonnie is so damn beautiful that she always has everyone looking at her instead of me. I figured the less attention I receive the better.

  Well, all that had gone to hell within seconds. My entrance with my friends into th
e Clubhouse had caused a fight, and now I’m being summoned to the head table filled with big men wearing black leather vests.

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper to Bonnie as I grab her hand. “They’re going to kill me.”

  “I doubt it,” Shari deadpans from the other side of Bonnie. “Didn’t you say they’re more interested in your body than your brain? It’d be a waste of your double D’s if they just killed you.”

  A fit of giggles breaks out between the three of us at her response, and my confidence is lifted a tiny bit when the huge, blonde boy looks back over his shoulder at us as we follow them to the table. He’s cute—like really cute—and I still can’t believe that he hit his friend for calling me fat.

  “Explain yourself?” We come to a stop behind the boys when the question is barked with an abrupt authority. I link arms with my girlfriends and wait to see how they respond.

  “Got a bit carried away, is all.” The black-haired boy one who tried to hit on Shari answers the question. Because we’re behind them, I can’t see his face, but his tone sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Won’t happen again, Dad.”

  “You’re damn fucking right it won’t.” The guy who he called Dad snaps back at him. “And, how many fucking times do I need to tell you that I’m your President in here and not your bloody dad?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  There’s an aura of discomfort building around the three boys. It kicks up a notch when the black-haired boy’s apology is cut off. They all look down at their feet, shuffling them back and forth.

  I’d find it funny if I wasn’t next in the firing line.

  “You’re gonna be sorry.” The Black Shamrocks President pushes to his feet. He points a big finger in the direction of the bar and snarls. “Two weeks. Bar duty. Bathroom duty. And you’re in charge of getting the shit for Alanah and Grace’s primary school graduation.”