Conan (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 1)

by Kylie Hillman

Panic rattles through my bones at his declaration. The Police? Why the hell would the Police care if I’m here? I windmill my arms when Felicity digs her fingers into the front of my skirt and uses it to drag me back to the room where I originally changed out of my clothes.

  She slams the door shut behind us, then places her hands on her skinny hips, and scowls at me. I try to glare back at her, but I can see from the way her top lip quirks that I fall short.

  “What is this,” she pauses and waves a hand over the front of my body. “All about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She touches my right boob and I slap her hand away without thinking. I gasp, expecting her to hit me back. I mean, she’s not exactly the friendliest looking woman. A snort is her only response. Instead, she holds out her hand.

  “Give me the pasties.” Once I’ve done as I’m told, Felicity hands me my clothes from the top of the chest of drawers next to me. She bends down and pulls open the bottom drawer. Her words are muffled while she roots around in search of something. “You spooked them. Tell me what y’all were talking about.”

  I pull my top down, tucking it into my jeans and enjoy the feeling of being covered again. “I just told them how old I am, that’s all.”

  Felicity stops. She stands, staring at me with shocked comprehension on her face. “Let me guess, you’re not eighteen yet?”

  “Ah, no. I’m only seventeen.”

  “Well, let’s get you the fuck out of here before all hell breaks loose and it manages to get dumped on my head.”

  Trotting behind her to keep up with the quick pace she sets, I find myself outside in the cold with my shoes in my arms and no way to get home. I’d thought they’d let me use their phone to call my friends to pick me up. I didn’t expect to be unceremoniously dumped outside their gates without warning.

  “God damn it.” I sit on the curb and strap my sandals on. This part of town is deserted—an industrial haven filled with rectangular warehouses that loom over me in the darkness and deserted parking lots covered by shadows. I have no money for a taxi and no way to phone my friends.

  Shoes secured on my feet, I straighten. Wiping my nose with my fingers, I blink back tears. There’s one way out of this. A long walk home along pitch black streets with a very general sense of exactly where I need to go.

  “Yay,” I mutter to myself. My sarcasm is jarring to my own ears. “Nothing bad can come from wandering around here in the dark.”

  Lights brighten the yard behind me, and three tall figures funnel into the yard. I don’t want to run into any trouble with drunk bikers so I sneak off down the road, slowing my stride when I feel like I have enough distance between me and the Black Shamrocks Clubhouse.

  The sound of motorcycles starting breaks the eerie silence of the area. I step back into the shadows and pray that they won’t be able to see me. My prayers are answered. The first two bikes turn in the opposite direction to me when they exit the yard. I blow out a sigh of relief that lifts my fringe from my forehead.

  Unfortunately, it’s short lived when the third motorcycle leaves the Shamrocks’ yard and heads my way. I hold my breath, then send a whispered wish into the night.

  Please, please don’t stop.

  The bike stops in front of me and I curse, half-heartedly.

  I should’ve known better than to hope that something would go my way. My luck hasn’t been the same since the day the Police came to my school and told me that my parents had died in a car accident that morning. Nope, my luck left that day and the chances of it returning anytime soon seem non-existent.

  “Do you need a ride?” The biker shouts over the thunderous pounding of his engine.

  I shrug. Keeping my gaze averted, I scuff my sandal along the ground.

  Maybe if I pretend he doesn’t exist, he’ll get the message and move on?

  His engine revs. I jump—literally. My feet leave the ground. My heart skips a beat, then settles into a fast thud that almost deafens me. I slap my hand over my chest in an attempt to tame it.

  The biker laughs at my reaction. “Look, I need to get home and you look like you need some help getting where you need to be as well. Why don’t we see what we can work out?”

  He sounds reasonable. I raise my head to meet his eyes. Red hot embarrassment flushes my neck, setting fire to my cheeks. It’s the boy who called me perfect—the boy who stole the breath from my lungs when he pressed his chest against my back and showed me which beer belonged to each of the Shamrocks leaders.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. Promise.” He holds up his hands with the palms out like he’s surrendering. I marvel at their gigantic size, then distract myself by checking out his expression. The small amount of his face that’s illuminated by the light of his headlight appears earnest. “But, I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight if I leave you here. Humour me, hey? Let me make sure you get home safely so I can sleep like a baby?”

  The giggle that escapes my lips at the thought of this huge boy swaddled in bed like a baby takes me by surprise. Apparently, it has the same effect on my would-be saviour as well. His ice-blue eyes widen—yeah, yeah, shut up. I remember what colour they are from earlier this evening—and we exchange small grins. He takes off his helmet and passes it to me. I avert my eyes from his handsome face, concentrating on the hard shell I’m holding instead.

  “What’s this?” I let it dangle from my hand by the rough, black strap.

  “It’s a helmet,” he laughs. “I only have one. Figure you’re prettier than me so it’ll do you more good if we happen to eat pavement.”

  Now, I’ve never been on a motorcycle, and I wasn’t planning on ever being on one. It’s hard enough to get in a car after my parent’s accident, let alone consider travelling without the added safety of a tailor-made cage surrounding me. However, the thought of being on the back of this bike with my arms around his waist hadn’t seemed scary until his warning.

  “I’m not sure if—”

  “I’m just joking, Colleen,” he cuts me off and motions me to him. I let the sound of my name on his lips wash over me. It sounds perfect—precious and priceless. My feet close the distance between us before I have a chance to make a conscious decision to do so. “First thing my dad taught me about Harley’s was how to crash one properly.”

  Blind obedience is my default mode, much to my shame, and this situation is no different. I don’t question him when he moves me closer and buckles the helmet onto my head. I’m wordless as he directs me onto the back of his bike and I’m silent when he pulls my arms around his waist. He tugs until I’m hard against his back and pats my hands where they’re linked mere centimetres above that most masculine of bulges.

  “Hold tight, lean with me when I turn, and watch your leg on the pipes when we stop.”

  “Okay.”

  Another tap on my hand is his only answer before we are speeding off down the street. I bury my head between his shoulder blades and close my eyes. The succinct instructions I received echo over and over in my mind as we stop and start and take the corners as they come.

  We’re over ten minutes into the ride when I realise that he has no idea where I live. Despite my fear, I pop my head up over his left shoulder, ready to tell him where I need to go.

  “What the hell?” I mutter.

  The bike slows. I feel his chest vibrate as he counts down the numbers on the letterboxes. We stop when he’s outside number twenty-three—my uncle’s house. He cuts the engine, then looks over his shoulder at me with a cheeky grin.

  “How did you know?” My face is hot and I’m glad there’s not a whole lot of light around to share that fact. When he doesn’t answer, my embarrassment at this obvious setup grows and my face becomes a fiery beacon of my awkwardness.

  Rather than answer me, he jerks his head to the pavement. I dismount the motorcycle and sink my teeth into my bottom lip when he unfolds himself from the machine and stands in front of me. The big hands that I admired earlier are laid on my face, one on each side,
and he dips his head.

  I’m not expecting what happens next.

  Truthfully, in a million years, I wouldn’t have expected what happens next.

  I’m Colleen McCormack, the penniless orphan who lives with her drug dealing uncle, and he’s the gorgeous son of one of the Black Shamrocks MC rulers—the very men my uncle owes money.

  One is not the same as the other.

  Hell, one isn’t even in the same damn league as the other.

  Yet, here I stand. My lips being parted by his tongue so that it can meet mine in a riot of sensation that is my first kiss. His hands grasp my face with a tenderness that makes me feel as if he thinks that I’m made of the finest china. I stand with my arms at my side—unsure and unwilling to move in case he realises what he’s doing and stops.

  When it’s over, I’m elated. My body vibrates with contentment while my mind races to explain what just occurred.

  One impossibly bright moment in a life of bleakness.

  “It was nice to meet you tonight, Colleen.”

  “Same.” My answer is breathless.

  He moves away from me, then points toward the front door of my house.

  “I appreciate you letting me see you home safely.”

  I look to the house that has become my living hell, worry creasing the skin between my eyebrows when I realise that mine and Kerry’s bedroom light is still on. All thoughts of the boy in front of me leave my head as reality hits hard. While I’m out the front being kissed, only God knows what my little sister has been through tonight.

  Pushing past the beautiful blonde boy, I head for my house.

  He follows me, taking hold of my hand and pulling me to a stop.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I hadn’t planned on kissing you tonight, although I can’t say I’m sorry that I did.” He looks so serious that I’m almost prepared to explain to him why I’m running toward the house. That need dies when he speaks again and reminds me why honesty is a stupid idea. “My dad’ll kill me if I bring you back to the Clubhouse, but I’d really like it if you’d let me see you again—somewhere else? Somewhere fun?”

  His statement is the bolt of harsh truth that I need. Tonight, I was topless at his Clubhouse after being sent to settle my uncle’s drug debt. I was discarded without any thought given to my safety once it was decided that I was of no use to them. It was scary, yet I can’t honestly say that tonight was an exceptionally bad time. It was just another blip on the radar that chronicles my nightmarish existence. The truth is that my life sucks and no matter how good I felt when he held me, there is nothing about this situation that screams sane... or safe.

  I am not Brooke Shields.

  He is not Christopher Atkins.

  This is not Blue Lagoon. There is no magical island for me to escape to.

  “I don’t think so,” I enunciate each word as clearly as I can, then shake my hand free. “I’ve had more than enough of your gang tonight and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I choose to see you again.”

  He’s shocked. All messy blonde hair, wide apologetic eyes, and hunched shoulders.

  I feel bad for being so mean until the light in my bedroom shifts. Shadows move near the curtain, just in time to stop me from giving into my guilt and making a huge mistake.

  “Thank you for the ride home. Now please leave—before I tell my uncle that you’re harassing me.”

  FIVE

  Colin

  Even after taking every corner too fast, blowing through every amber light on my route home, and disobeying my mother’s order to stop leaving tread on her driveway, I’m still on the verge of losing my shit when I slam the front door behind me.

  “Colin!” Mum shouts my name from the kitchen. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop riding like a maniac?”

  I ignore her and head for my bedroom. The last person I want to take my anger out on is my mother. Being on the receiving end of her disappointment would just top off this fucked-up night.

  “What’s doin’, my man?” My little brother greets me with an arched eyebrow and one of his wannabe gangster salutes. “All good in the hood?”

  “Seriously, Will?” I kick off my boots and throw myself on my bed. “You’re not fucking a fucking Beastie Boy. You’re a white boy from an Irish family. You live in suburban Australia, not a fucking ghetto. If you ever ran into a real gangster, you’d shit yourself.”

  Will sends a look that could kill in my direction. You know the one—narrowed eyes, curled nose, and thin lips. Total fucking overkill. I try not to laugh at his ridiculousness. He shoves my shoes out of the way with his foot and jumps on his own bed. There’s silence for a minute, a quiet that I take comfort in because I know that he’s not going to be able to contain himself. My little brother is sixteen. A real immature sixteen and a continual pain in my ass.

  He’s also like a dog with a bone.

  “If I ever saw a real gangster, I’d pull my piece and show him who’s really boss. There’d be only one fucker shitting them self and that’d be them. Ain’t no fucker scarier than a Blake—”

  “With a motherfucking gun,” I finish his statement for him. “Except Dad’ll kick your ass if he catches you with a gun.”

  He huffs. I fold my arms behind my head and lay back on my pillow. Our father would smack Will upside the head if he saw him with a weapon. Me, on the other hand, I’m packing right now and have been since the day I received my Prospect’s patch. This is with Dad’s blessing and the threat of an ass kicking if he finds me unarmed hanging over my head.

  Different horses for courses, I guess. I’m the one he sees patching into the Shamrocks. Will isn’t on Dad’s radar just yet. Give it a couple years and that’ll change—if my brother every grows out of his show-off ways. His current obsession with all things American doesn’t go a long way in proving to our father that Will would make a good biker.

  “What’s up your ass, anyhow?” My little brother’s question reminds me about Colleen shutting me down without a second thought. I grunt and shrug. Will laughs, rolling over onto his stomach so he’s facing me. “Mum’s gonna kill ya when she sees your skids. Could smell the rubber through the house.”

  “Shut up,” I say, spitting the words through my teeth.

  “Payback’s a bitch,” Will replies. “I’ll make sure I remind her in the morning.”

  The door to our bedroom flies open before I can smack the little shit. It bounces off the wall behind it and back into place. There’s a thud when our Dad uses his boot to stop it from hitting him in the face, followed by a muffled curse.

  “Fucking door.” He gives us a half smile, then closes it behind him. My drunk dad leans back against the wood, his smile turning into a leering grin when he focuses his attention on me. “Enjoy your ride?”

  “Yeah,” my reply is slow. Uncertainty mixes with anticipation in my veins, making my blood pressure increase. “It was okay.”

  “Seeing as how you left half ya back tire on the drive, I’m gonna assume that she knocked ya back?”

  My father’s position as Sergeant-At-Arms of the Black Shamrocks MC calls for higher than usual observational skills—something which he has in spades. He rarely misses a trick, at home or at the Club, so it was stupid of me to think that he wouldn’t have noticed my behaviour around Colleen.

  “You need to forget about her. She’s underage which means she’s useless. We’re looking at other ways to extract payment from her uncle.”

  I don’t know exactly what he’s talking about. All I know is that his order to forget about her makes my blood boil. I’ve seen her once; yet, the thought of never seeing her again leaves a hollowness in the pit of my gut that’s hard to explain.

  “I don’t follow. What about her uncle?” The question rolls off my tongue before I can stop it. Will grabs his book from his nightstand and turns away from us. He pretends to be engrossed while I brace for a roasting. Club business is not up for discussion unless the Club is gathered for Church. Not by me. Not by my mum.<
br />
  Not by anyone outside the Club.

  Not ever.

  And, I just committed a cardinal sin by querying him in front of a “civilian” in the shape of my little brother.

  “That’s none of your business, Cole.” Dad’s eyes harden. He flicks his gaze between me and Will. “Just do as your fucking told. No girl.”

  “Ever?”

  With my second query, my father bundles his hands into fists and stares at me with his lips pressed together so tight that they form one thin line. I’m not one to push the point. Usually, I don’t have to because Paddy has his ear to the ground for us. But, tonight isn’t normal. Colleen is under my skin. I can literally taste her on my tongue, and being told that she’s off limits is making me crazy.

  Which is stupid considering she’s already told me that she’s not interested.

  Pushing down the memory of Colleen turning me down, I meet Dad’s fury with a steady glare of my own. Expectations of a dressing down grow within me as we engage in our mutual stare off. Then a flicker of something that resembles sympathy breaks through his hard expression and his lips return to their normal state.

  “Not forever, Cole. Just for a while. Her uncle owes us big time. She was supposed to be collateral. Instead she just became a lia-fucking-bility that we don’t need. Let us put an end to this problem with her uncle before you start chasing her pussy again.”

  He turns on his heel, slings the door open, and leaves without another word. I thank my lucky stars for whatever it was that made him choose to take pity on me instead of cuss me out. The knowledge that I don’t have to stay away from Colleen forever helps with the big ball of yearning that’s building in me, and with it comes a plan to wear her resistance down. If I can use the time between now and when the issue with her uncle is sorted to get under her skin as much as she’s gotten under mine, then maybe my being part of the Black Shamrocks MC won’t be a deal breaker for her anymore?

  SIX

  Colleen

  “I gave you one fucking thing to do and you had to fuck it up!” My uncle ambushes me the second I’m through the front door. An engine bursts to life and drowns out the rest of his tirade. The motor revs, tires squeal, and the sound of a motorcycle being ridden too fast down my street fills the air.