Conan (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 1)

by Kylie Hillman

  The sound of Cole’s motorbike echoes in my head. They turned in the opposite direction to us ages ago, yet it still haunts me. A subtle reminder that I was a bitch to the only person—outside of Kerry—who cares about my bruised face. Not one of my teachers asked what happened, neither did any of my classmates.

  Bonnie and Shari would have been furious if they’d been at school, but they were absent because they had to attend a ballet grading that formed part of their application to the dance academy they want to attend next year. Apart from glimpses of Kerry during lunch, I’d spent the day alone with a purple beacon of my shameful living standards shining brightly on my cheek for all the see.

  I poke the bruise with a finger. It still hurts a bit, although not as much as last night, and definitely not as much as my pride does. Visions of hitting my uncle back fill my sight. Revenge and a lust to take back my power overwhelms me, growing stronger until I swallow them down. I’m only kidding myself. I know I’m weak. My ability to protect myself and Kerry is non-existent. I’m nothing but a fat nobody who lacks a spine. There’s nothing I can do until the day I turn eighteen and I can legally take Kerry out of that house.

  And, who knows if I’ll actually have the strength to pull that off? Our parents will was straightforward in its provisions for our dad’s only brother having control of our inheritance and physical custody of us.

  The bus lurches to a stop. The door swings open with a rush of air. Kerry elbows me in the side, reminding me that this is our stop. I grab my bag and move as quickly as I can to exit the bus before we miss our chance. We live on the edge of a bad suburb. If we miss this stop, then we’ll end up heading further than we need to inside what’s commonly known as “The Bronx”. This will put us at the mercy of the local motorcycle gang who runs the area, and that’s a situation to be avoided since the Mavericks of Mayhem aren’t known for helping lost girls.

  “Phew,” Kerry grins when the driver closes the door behind us. “That was close.”

  “Yep,” is all I say.

  We walk along the path, turning left when we come to our street. The closer we get to the house, the slower my feet move. Our uncle hadn’t returned home by the time we left for school this morning which doesn’t bode well for us this afternoon. Chances are that he’s going to be coming down from a big night—which means he’ll be more temperamental than usual.

  “Are you going to tell me why Cole was so angry about your face?” Kerry stops walking and looks to me. She drops her school bag onto the sidewalk, then puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes when I don’t immediately answer because I’m too busy flipping his name over and over in my head, like it’s some kind of miracle that I’m allowed to know it. “Seriously, Colleen! Tell me.”

  “He’s part of the Black Shamrocks MC.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.

  Of course, my sister won’t let sleeping dogs lie. “Well, duh. I read that on his vest as well. I want to know how he knows you?”

  “Look,” my tone is light and breezy. There’s no way I’m going to tell her what really happened. “When I went to do that thing for Uncle Greg last night, he was there. That’s all. No biggie.”

  “You’re hiding something.” Kerry’s eyebrows draw together until they almost touch.

  “No, I’m not,” I quip, grabbing her bag and handing it to her.

  The suspicion on her face doesn’t lessen so I try a new technique. Distraction. Settling my own bag securely on my shoulder, I dance around her in a circle, singing, “Pa-ra-noid. Poor Kerry is pa-ra-noid.”

  It takes a few twirls, but she starts to laugh at my antics. I continue spinning and singing and Kerry joins in. We dance our way up the street, laughing at the way the people we pass stare at us. It’s fun. I feel light and happy, for once. Back when our parents were still alive, me and Kerry were always being silly like this. Our parents, mum especially, encouraged it. Sometimes, they’d even join in with us.

  Our fleeting moment of normality is quickly halted when we arrive home. There are six Harley’s parked out the front of Uncle Greg’s house. My heart drops into my sandals when I recognise the painting on one of the petrol tanks as the Black Shamrocks MC’s logo.

  “When we get inside, I need you to head straight into our room.” I grab Kerry’s hand and make her look at me. My eyes bore into her identical green pair. I widen them, pleading with my gaze and my words for her to listen. “Promise me. You need to go to our bedroom straightaway. Lock the door and put the chair under the handle. I’ll deal with everything else.”

  “What’s going on, Colleen?”

  I push her in front of me as we approach the front door. “I’ll explain when I can. Just go to our room and lock it.”

  When we step into the foyer, I usher Kerry in the direction of the hallway that leads to our bedroom. She goes without argument. I think she’s overcome by the sheer size of the men who fill the front room of the house. They’re all tall and wide, wearing leather and dirty denim, and matching scowls on their faces.

  “Uncle Greg,” I say his name with evident distaste. “What’s going on?”

  “Colleen.” He beckons me to him with a wave of his arm. “These gentlemen would like to speak to you.”

  I stay where I am. The front door is to my back. Direct access to our bedroom is to my left. One way or the other, I have a way out of here. If I step foot into the living room where they are, I’ll be trapped.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I focus on the man who was nice to me last night. The one that I decided was Cole’s father. He’s the least scary. Their black-haired President is the scariest so I ignore him for now.

  “What can I do for you?” He seems taken aback that I’m addressing him.

  The Black Shamrocks President looks between me and him, then clears his throat. The sound is jarring—an accusation stemming from my decision to address anyone other than him.

  “Your uncle owes us,” the President scowls at my uncle as he speaks. “He doesn’t have anything to offer us so we need to work something out before I’m forced to take matters into my own hands.”

  I can feel the lethal promise in his statement. My bottom lip shakes, then the rest of my body follows. Bundling my hands into fists, I dig my fingernails into my palms. It doesn’t work at the start, but slowly but surely, I regain enough control to answer him.

  “I said that I would help last night,” accusation colours my words as I utter them.

  “But, you had me kicked out instead.” The black-haired man inclines his head a tiny bit in agreement when I meet his eyes. I pause, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn’t so I speak again. “So, what’s changed? Why are you here now?”

  “We need someone to cook and clean for us. If you do that for the next three months, we’ll call it square with your uncle,” the President lays the terms out in a tone that tells me that it’s not up for negotiation.

  “How many nights a week?” He might think this is a done deal, but I have school exams coming up. Late nights like last night are going to kill any dream I have of graduating High School. Not that I have any plans past graduation, other than getting me and Kerry the hell out of this house as soon as I can.

  “Every night, except Thursdays and Sundays. Those nights are family nights.”

  That seems doable. There’s only one problem. My run-in with Uncle Greg last night has left me feeling icky. I don’t trust him not to do the same thing to Kerry if she’s left by herself five nights a week. Then, there’s his friends. They’re worse than he is. I’ve had to fend them off myself more times than I can count.

  “I can’t.” I edge toward my bedroom door as I speak. Fingers crossed that Kerry can get me inside before they get to me because I have a feeling that the Shamrocks President isn’t very familiar with being told “no”. “I have school, and my sister, and—”

  “She can come with you,” he interrupts me. “We’ll have a room set aside for you to use. Transport will be arranged to bring you from here to t
he Clubhouse and back.”

  He clicks his fingers. A tall, skinny man steps forward. They exchange quiet words. I strain to listen, but catch nothing. The tall man walks to my uncle and holds out his hand.

  “Keys?” he asks.

  “Why?” my uncle seems nervous.

  “So, we can get the locks changed. The girls aren’t safe here after the robbery.” My ears prick up. What robbery? “Prez wants all current sets of keys destroyed. I’ll replace yours with new ones tomorrow.”

  We have a very basic security system. I make sure that our room is locked up tight every night, but I don’t believe that Uncle Greg bothers to lock the front door most days. This is a well-known party house. People come and go at all hours.

  I wonder if Uncle Greg is lying about there being a robbery to get himself out of trouble with the Black Shamrocks?

  “Okay, girly,” the tall man addresses me next. “Get your stuff. Organise your sister. I’ll have a taxi bring you to the Clubhouse tonight. One of the Prospects will be made available to drive you back and forth from tomorrow.”

  This man sounds too educated to be part of this Club. He’s missing the rough, broad brogue of the other men. Here’s hoping he’s less prone to outbursts than the others, as well.

  “No.”

  Surprise crosses his face. He looks to his president for back up. None comes because my uncle picks that moment to offer his own two cents.

  “Why can’t the girls just go on one of your bikes?” It would seem that my uncle can’t wait to see the back of us, if his eagerness to throw us onto a motorcycle with a stranger is any indication.

  “Because nobody but my Old Lady gets her ass on the back of my bike,” one of the Shamrocks snaps.

  “Get your shit,” the President orders me.

  I open my mouth, then shut it when he snarls at me. “Don’t even try it. This can happen the easy way or the hard way. I don’t give a fucking shit which one you choose.”

  Defeat mingles with the blood that flows through my veins. I spin on my heel and head for my bedroom.

  Rapping my knuckles against the door, I call to Kerry. “It’s safe. Let me in.”

  She opens the door immediately, slamming it shut behind me the second I’m inside, and wedging the chair under the handle once more.

  “Why do they want us to go with them?”

  Seems like someone’s been eavesdropping on what’s been going on.

  I busy myself with stuffing what we’ll need tonight into one of our sport bags. Zipping it shut when I think I have everything we’ll need, I sit on the edge of my bed and pat the mattress next to me.

  “Sit down. We need to talk.”

  My sister perches next to me with a flounce and a huff. She folds her arms across her body and glares at me. “Are you going to tell me the truth or is this going to be another lie where you try to convince me that there’s nothing going on?”

  “The truth,” I reply without hesitation. “We’re about to step foot into the world of outlaw motorcycle gangs, drugs, prostitution, and violence. I think you need to be prepared because what I saw last night seems to be only the tip of the iceberg.”

  I watch her throat work when she swallows. Her expression is a perfect mix of shock, fear, and curiosity, so happy that Kerry seems to be taking this as seriously as I want her to, I begin to fill her in on what I know.

  “Uncle Greg owes the Black Shamrocks money. He doesn’t have any way to pay them back so he’s made a deal where I can work the debt off for him by cooking and cleaning at their Clubhouse. I don’t want to leave you here alone. That’s why you’re coming with me every night that I need to go there. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah,” Kerry tries to smile, but fails. “I guess so.”

  I’m glad she appears to be grasping the situation that we find ourselves in because I haven’t managed to wrap my head all the way around it yet. Maybe the cliff notes version that I offered her is what I should stick with for my own sanity. Thoughts of being dressed in that tiny skirt and pasties again hit me. Visions of Felicity with her head in one of the biker’s laps flood my sight.

  Will they expect me to behave like that?

  “Hurry the fuck up.” Someone pounds on the door. “The taxi’s here.”

  Kerry grabs my closest hand and squeezes it. “We’ll be okay, Colleen. As long as we stick together, we’ll make it through anything they throw at us.”

  The promise that I offered her last night to soothe her worry comes back to bite me on the bum.

  I meant it when I said it and I still believe that it’s true to small degree.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t factored the Black Shamrocks MC into the equation when I made the vow.

  Here’s hoping that I can live up to Kerry’s belief in me.

  NINE

  Colin

  Colleen and Kerry are ushered into the Clubhouse by our Prez’s right-hand man, Grinder. The rest of the hierarchy follows them inside. They head for their usual table and the girls go with them. The atmosphere in the Club has turned sour with their arrival—a stress induced threat of violence hangs around them.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Vic asks.

  We’ve been at the Clubhouse for a couple hours. When me and Paddy finished the impossible task of making sure that Alanah and Grace were happy with their party stuff, we’d picked up Vic and Brian from the workshop and headed back to the club to get ready for another night of being bar bitches.

  Only one problem with that plan. Apart from a few lower ranking members and a couple of hangers-on, there wasn’t a Black Shamrock in sight and no one could tell us when they would be back.

  ‘Haven’t a clue.” I turn to Paddy. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Fuck all.” He shrugs. “Heard something about that copper they had here last night being compromised if they don’t do something about the girl and her uncle, but that means shit to me.”

  Dad’s drunk explanation from last night suddenly makes sense. He mentioned that a problem with Colleen’s uncle was the reason that I couldn’t go near her for the time being.

  I turn to my best friends, ready to spill the beans, when Lenny yells at us. “Oi, bar wenches. Everyone’s dying of thirst over here.”

  Paddy mutters something under his breath. It sounds like a death threat aimed at his big brother.

  I grab enough glasses for everyone at the table and begin filling them.

  “I’ll take them over there.” I swat Brian away when he tries to grab the tray.

  He laughs, “Gee, I wonder why you’re so fucking helpful all of a sudden?”

  “Oh, come on guys,” Vic cuts in, humour in his voice and written all over his face. “You know he’s just a helpful, young lad. He wouldn’t dream of using our fathers thirst to get close to a particular redhead with big tits who happens to be sitting with them.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” I say, biting back my urge to laugh at them. Carrying the tray, I dodge their well-aimed feet as I head for the front side of the bar. “How’s about you just worry about keeping everyone else watered and I’ll worry about who’s at the table?”

  I’m halfway to them when Paddy’s voice rings out across the bar. “I still have dibs, dickhead.”

  Ignoring his reminder—and Vic and Brian’s laughter—I slide the tray onto the table and pass out the beers. Nobody says a word. The dour expressions on all their faces send a bolt of worry through me, and I attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Anyone want a Prozac with their beer?”

  “Now’s not the time for your smartass comments,” my Dad snaps. I take one look at his face and realise that I misjudged the situation. They’re not stressed. They’re pissed off and plotting revenge. I’m not hanging around long enough to get pulled into this shit so I grab my tray and turn for the bar.

  “Actually,” Prez speaks up. “You can do something for us.”

  Fuck. I mentally kick myself for not being quick enough to escape.

  “Take these two
and get them set up in one of the spare rooms. They’re going to be hanging around here a bit so they need their own space.” He points at Colleen and Kerry, who are sitting next to him. The girls haven’t looked up since I’ve been here and they don’t raise their heads now, even when Prez slaps the table in front of them. “Get a move on, we don’t have all night.”

  I’m ready to tell my Prez what I think of his rudeness when my Dad coughs. Once glance at him and I get his warning. Don’t even think about it, his eyes are saying. I offer him a small nod to reassure him that I’m going to behave, then I hold my hand out to Colleen.

  “Let me show where you can put your stuff.”

  “Come back here when you’re done,” Prez demands of me. I nod, then extend my hand closer to Colleen to get her to move.

  She stands, motions Kerry to come with her, and follows me as I lead them to the back rooms. There’s a dozen or so rooms back here. Some are claimed by the single men, while others are used when members have had too much to drink to ride home, or they want to have some one-on-one time with the Club whores. I take Colleen and her sister to the one right down the end. It’s the biggest one, with two beds, and an ensuite, plus it’s the furthest away from the bar so I figure it sees less traffic than the others.

  “Here you go,” I say as I hold the door open for them. They funnel past me. Colleen lifts her nose in the air, seeming to test whether the room is clean or not by the smell of it, before she puts her bag down on the closest bed.

  “Thank you,” she offers a small smile with her words. “You can go now.”

  I don’t need telling twice. Kerry looks on the verge of tears and crying girls aren’t on my list of favorite people to hang around. Instead of sticking around for the bawling, I close the door with a soft snick behind me and return to the main table like I was told.

  They ignore me when I approach. A heated argument is going down, the VP—Brian’s father—and our Prez appear to be on different sides. I pretend that I’m not listening to their discussion by moving around the table and grabbing the empty glasses to load onto my tray.