Conan (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 1)

by Kylie Hillman

  “No,” the black-haired boy exclaims.

  “Motherfucker, I knew you’d get us in the shit,” the other blonde boy snaps at his friend.

  “Oh, hell no. I’m not shopping for a bunch crap for a pair of thirteen-year-olds,” my saviour groans.

  The varying degrees of dismay with which they respond to their punishment is hilarious. So is the way that they drop their heads when the other three men at the table stand with the President and point them toward the bar. The biggest one—maybe the father of the blonde boy who called me perfect—smiles wide and then drawls, “Four beers. Post haste, bar bitches.”

  Once the boys leave to do as they’re told, the leaders of the Black Shamrocks MC turn their attention to me. The President runs his eyes the length of my body, dismissing me without making eye contact, and moving on to Bonnie. He moves his gaze over her, a smile curling his lips. The grin gets bigger when he takes in all of Shari’s beauty, and like usual, I’m left feeling like the plain cheddar bites that are always overlooked in favour of the exotic gourmet delights on a cheese platter.

  “Which one of you is Colleen McCormack?”

  I raise my hand, and respond in a quiet voice. “Me.”

  “Figures,” the President mutters. I drop my eyes to the floor and wish that it would open and swallow me up. “Your uncle has nominated you to settle his debt. Did he explain what we need you for?”

  I shake my head. Bonnie leans into my side. She winds her fingers through mine and holds my hand tight. I draw from her strength, and try to steady myself to ask the questions that I need answers to.

  Instead, my best friend beats me to it. Bonnie stands as tall as her height of five feet will allow her, letting go of my hand to place hers on her hips. “Her uncle hasn’t told her a thing. He simply said that she needs to, and I quote, get her ass to the Black Shamrocks MC Clubhouse and do as she’s told. End quote. That’s why we’re here with her. To find out what exactly it is that you want from her.”

  Behind Bonnie’s head, I meet Shari’s eyes. She has a bright red spot in each of her cheeks and shock in her eyes. Confronting the president of a motorcycle gang wasn’t in our plans tonight, but apparently, Bonnie has other ideas.

  “Her uncle owes us money.” The President doesn’t seem too pissed at Bonnie’s attitude. His eyes are dark-blue orbs filled with emptiness. There’s no emotion in them or on his face as he discusses my fate. “And he’s promised that she will work for us until it’s settled. That’s all we want—her service in exchange for the amount we’re owed.”

  Bonnie opens her mouth, but I head her off. This is my problem, not hers, and the last thing I need is for her to get an entire motorcycle club offside with her sassy mouth. “I’ll do anything as long as my little sister isn’t dragged into this.”

  The President walks around the table. He stops when he’s standing in front of me. Once again, he looks me up and down—and finds me lacking. “You’re not exactly what he promised, but you’ll do. What size skirt do you wear?”

  “Uh, uh, I don’t know?”

  He clicks his fingers and a barely dressed woman comes over. She’s heavily made up, her nipples covered by glittery circles with ribbons that sway when she moves, and when she turns to address him, I can see the bottom of her butt cheeks showing beneath her hemline.

  “What can I do for ya, Prez?”

  “Find her a skirt, then get her behind the bar.”

  “On it.”

  The woman takes my hand and tries to drag me off with her. I dig in my heels. “No, I can’t go. What about my friends?”

  The black-haired man turns to the man closest to him—the one I think is the father of the blonde boy. “Have the Enforcers see them out.”

  “No.” I slap the woman’s hands away and run back to my best friends. My pulse is pounding in my ears as it dawns that I’m going to be here alone if he makes Bonnie and Shari leave. “No!”

  “Are they going to help you work your debt off?”

  I shake my head. “Of course not.”

  “Then they have no reason to be here.” The President nods at the man he told to get rid of my friends. He clicks his fingers and three men step forward to usher Bonnie and Shari to the exit.

  Bonnie tries to argue the point, however when I see that Shari is looking a bit scared, I shush her. “It’s okay. Just keep an eye on Kerry for me. I’ll ring when I need a ride home.”

  “If you’re sure?” Bonnie’s voice wavers when she questions me.

  I nod, unable to trust my voice. My unflappable best friend tries to hide her relief, but I see it. I’m doing the right thing, letting her off the hook, even as my brain is screaming at me to run after her.

  My leaden feet are at odds with my frantic mind. The only thing that’s keeping me here is the knowledge that if I don’t go through with my uncle’s promise, he’ll try to force my little sister to fix his problems. That is something that I need to avoid at all costs. Eight months of living under his roof has taught me one thing—Kerry needs to be kept off his radar until I turn eighteen in two months and can get us the hell out of dodge.

  “We’ll come and get you as soon as you call. Promise.” Shari’s shaky vow is punctuated by a thumb’s up from Bonnie.

  A fake smile is all I can manage to give them. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, my hopes of an escape dimming with each step they take away from me. The door to the Clubhouse closes behind them and the men escorting them from the premises, and it becomes final.

  I am stuck here.

  With a motorcycle gang.

  My firmly middle-class parents would be rolling in their graves if my stupid uncle hadn’t had them cremated because “it was cheaper”.

  “Come on,” the topless woman says as she comes up behind me and grabs my hand again. “Let’s get you dressed. These boys are gonna love your titties.”

  THREE

  Colin

  I haven’t a clue what’s going on over at the head table. The redhead is staying, not by choice it seems, while her friends are being led to the exit by my Dad’s enforcers. The brunette one looks ready to spit fire. The blonde appears to be on the verge of shitting herself if someone so much as says “boo” in her direction.

  More fun times in the Shamrocks Clubhouse. I mean, upset women aren’t exactly outside the norm in these four walls. My own mother has been at the centre of her own scenes when my dad has been late home. Then there’s the fights that break out when one of the brothers is caught with his pants down. They’re always fun.

  “What do you make of that?” I question Vic when the redhead is dragged to the backrooms by the head whore, Felicity.

  “She’s a new slut,” he replies with a shrug. “What else would she be doin’ here?”

  Swiping one of the glasses from the bench in front of me, I wipe it dry with sharp strokes. I slam it down in the bench with the other clean glasses and then grab another one. It receives the same treatment, and I’m reaching for a third glass when Vic knocks my hand out of the way.

  “Dude,” he grunts. “You gotta get her the fuck out of your head. Nothing good comes from pining after the whores.”

  I incline my head, without offering any excuses. Vic would know, seeing as how his parent’s split up over his dad’s enjoyment of the club’s sluts. Not that me thinking that the redhead is gorgeous is anything like his parent’s situation. I’m free to fuck who I want—he’s dad wasn’t, at the time.

  Vic opens his mouth to say something else, but Paddy cuts him off.

  “Holy fuck.” He pushes in between us. “Check out the rack on her.”

  My dumbass friend elbows me in the side, turning to me with his mouth hanging open and a leer in his expression. “I take it back. Dibs on the redhead and the blonde.”

  He throws his head back when I flip my middle finger in his face.

  “You know what, Cole? Fuck it, I’m calling dibs on all three. What’s better than the trifecta—a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead? Man, I’
d kick off through the pearly gates with a fucking smile on my face after that.”

  It takes everything I have not to give him the reaction he’s seeking. Instead I concentrate on the girl who’s just re-entered the bar with Felicity. The sight of the redhead in a tiny skirt with pasties covering her nipples is having a contradictory effect on me. One part wants to vault the bar, throw her over my shoulder, and run to the gates with her. She’s beautiful; her soft belly, swaying breasts, and the innocence in her eyes creating a picture that pleads for rescue. The other part—the bigger part—wants to gouge out the eyes of every man in the bar, swing her over my shoulder, and then run out of the bar to one of the bedrooms so I can bury my cock deep inside her and mark her as my own right-fucking-now.

  “Don’t be a dick.” Vic’s quiet warning drags me out of my lust tinged confusion. I look between him and Paddy just in time to see the latter round the end of the bar and stride toward the redhead.

  “I’m gonna kill him,” I growl as I start after my supposed best friend. Vic grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me to a stop.

  “No, you’re not. You’re gonna let him get his ass kicked by the brothers for touching one of the whores again and we’re gonna stay here and do as we’re told. Then you’re going to find a way to speak to her before she leaves tonight.”

  I look between Vic and the girl. “But, you said—”

  “I was wrong.” He shrugs. “She gets under your skin. I figure if you get to know her, you’ll get your head back on straight before you get your patch pulled for re-arranging the heir-apparent’s ugly fucking mug.”

  The tension that was crawling under my skin lessens when we both flick our gaze over to Paddy and begin laughing. He’s the opposite of ugly, but everything else Vic says is true. The redhead is dangerous. This thing I feel when I look at her is risky, seeing as how it sets off a collision course between my bad temper, my fist, and my best friend’s face.

  A commotion fills the bar. The VP has hold of Paddy and he’s dragging him to the front door. Mine and Vic’s dads are roaring with laughter, while the Prez is watching his second son cause another spectacle with a grim expression. His oldest son, Lenny lays a comforting hand on his shoulder before he slides into the seat next to him.

  I watch the door swing shut behind Paddy, then turn my attention back to our President. Usually, me and Vic are next in his firing line when his son pisses him off so I’m expecting the same treatment tonight.

  It doesn’t come. He brings his wrath down on Lenny’s head. An angry exchange ensues, shouted words that don’t quite carry to the bar, before his oldest son is sent in the same direction as his youngest.

  When he passes, Lenny narrows his eyes at us, and issues a threat that I feel all the way to my marrow, “I’m gonna have all your patches before you get your top rocker. Mark my fucking words. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you assholes patch in properly.”

  Slapping my hands down on the bar, I’m ready to let him know what I think of his promise. As always, Vic is the voice of reason. He bumps his shoulder against mine, then ducks his head to offer calm advice, “Leave him be. We both know how it feels to have the Prez take his shittiness out on us. Paddy is a loose cannon, and I, for one, am not keen on going down with him.”

  Lenny slams the door shut behind him. My anger at his vow to have my Prospect’s patch taken before I’m sworn in is still strong, but Vic’s strange statement has dulled its edges. This is the first time I’ve ever heard him be anything less than blindly loyal about our friend and his bad behaviour.

  It’s worrying.

  Could this be the end of our decade old “one for all and all for one” pact?

  “Hey,” a sweet voice interrupts my muddled musing. “The guys at the long table want beers, but I, uh, don’t know how.”

  Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus. The redhead is standing next to me. She has a pretty blush on her cheeks. The scent of strawberries hangs around her. She’s close enough that I can feel the warmth from her skin on my arm when she brushes against me.

  “Heya.” A tanned arm is extended in front of me and the missing fourth of our quartet introduces himself to the redhead. “I’m Brian. And you are?”

  “I’m Colleen.” She shakes Brian’s hand, then turns to me. Green eyes that sparkle under the lights that surround the bar meet mine. “Thank you for what you said earlier.”

  Brian pushes my bottom jaw until my mouth closes. I blink, then shake myself. Behind Colleen, Vic is laughing and I can feel Brian trying to contain his own humour as well.

  Rather than try to speak through my closed throat, I set about pouring the beers she mentioned. I place them onto a tray, then slide it closer to Colleen.

  “Here you go,” my voice is an octave higher than usual so I clear my throat and try again. “Serve them from the left. That way you’ll get the right beer to the right man.”

  “My left or yours?”

  I move behind her, straightening the tray as I reach over her shoulders. “This left.”

  Colleen is so short that her head barely reaches the middle of my chest. Bending until my chin is near the top of her head, I take hold of her hands and place them on the handles of the serving tray. “Take these to the table before they start bellowing about the delay.”

  She takes the weight of the tray from me and steps back from the bar. This brings her hard against me, her naked back against my cotton clad chest. Our connected body warmth mingles, yet a shiver runs the length of my frame, and it’s my turn to take a step back. Without another word, Colleen walks around the edge of the bar. The sway in her hips is hypnotising, and I let them mesmerise me. If I was struck blind right now, I’d lose my sight with a smile on my face.

  “Earth to Cole.” Vic slaps my face. My eyesight wobbles, blurring then becoming focused. Brian and Vic laugh, which snaps me back to reality.

  “I’m an idiot,” I groan.

  “Nah,” Brian remarks. “You were a bit iffy at the start, but you finished off strong. The whole macho man thing with the tray was inspired.”

  Vic snorts. His shoulders shake when he turns his back to me and starts wiping the glasses again.

  “Shut up.” I stand next to Vic and help him with the glasses. Brian moves next to me and the three of us make short work of the glassware.

  “Why were you so late?” I ask Brian. He should have been here when we arrived earlier this afternoon.

  “Had shit to do,” he mumbles.

  “We covered for you, but you know the Prez will want an answer when he sees you.”

  Brian lifts one shoulder then grabs another glass to wipe. I wait for him to expand his response. Nothing comes. Just as I’m about to question him again, Vic pinches my arm and whispers, “Just let it go. I’ll fill you in later.”

  “Righto,” I reply.

  We work the bar, filling drink orders as they come. My gaze keeps straying to Colleen with increasing regularity. She’s been at the main table since the first tray of drinks, and it doesn’t look like they’re planning on letting her come back to me anytime soon.

  “I want to get her by herself,” I announce when the demand for drinks slows down for a moment. “Throw some ideas at me, fellas.”

  FOUR

  Colleen

  The Black Shamrocks aren’t as scary as I first thought. For the past half an hour, they’ve let me sit at their table and listen to the stories of how the Club was started on their return from the Vietnam War. Bloodshed and battles don’t usually interest me, however listening to these big, scary men tell tales of a brotherhood forged by war and a loyalty that was cemented upon their return to Australia as pariahs to the majority of society is kind of inspiring.

  I put my hand in front of my face and attempt to stifle the yawn that’s trying to escape. Eleven on a weeknight is late for me. Especially when I have a midterm waiting for me at school tomorrow.

  “Tired, girlie?” The blonde man—the blonde man sitting closest to me, I should specify sinc
e the really drunk man at the far end of the table is blonde as well—leans closer and flicks my fringe. It’s instinct, an impulse that’s been engrained into me by months of fending off my uncle’s friends, that has me pulling away from him.

  “Yeah, I, uh... long day at school.” Worry tinges my tone and a tremor of fear runs the length of my spine. The hurt in the man’s eyes at my recoil has me fearing backlash, especially when the drunk man at the end of the table seems to be taking a concerted interest in our conversation—and my naked chest.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I attempt to huddle behind the table. I’d forgotten that I was topless—apart from the two circles that Felicity had taught me were called pasties. I guess it’s a testament to how comfortable the leaders of the Black Shamrocks have made me feel.

  “How old are you?” Our silent observer at the end of the table asks his question louder than necessary. It catches the attention of the other men. Complete silence dawns and they all peer at me with expectation.

  For some reason, I feel like this answer is important, and that has my nerves clanging like alarm bells in my ears. A quick glance around the men, and my answer is mumbled with rushed urgency, “Seventeen.”

  The President stands with such speed that his chair makes a screeching sound as it slides across the floor. He marches around the table and grabs me by the top of my arm. I’m yanked to my feet, my toes barely grazing the floor when he stands at his full height and bellows, “Felicity! Where the fuck is Felicity?”

  I’m swung in a half circle when he spins to face the other side of the room, and I get a full-frontal view of Felicity pulling her head out of one of the other biker’s laps. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then pushes her skirt back into place as she approaches the President with tentative steps.

  “Prez?”

  He all but throws me in her direction. “Get her dressed. She needs to get the fuck out of here before we have the cops knocking down the fucking door.”