“She can identify him,” Frankie, our VP, tells the Prez. “That means she needs to go.”
“I think you’re wrong. How the fuck would she know who’s who? She was here for three hours, tops,” my dad pipes up. “There’s no way I’m having my boys work over a teenager on a maybe. I vote that we ask her and then go from there.”
Damn, are they talking about Colleen? I slow down my cleaning and wait to see what our President has to say about it.
“I’m inclined to side with Quinn for now,” Prez jerks his head in my dad’s direction. “She’s scum, but she’s scum that will be missed. We don’t need that kinda heat when we’re trying to expand our routes.”
He flicks his gaze at me—a hot glare that scorches my skin. I drop my head and start grabbing the last of the glasses. When the tray is loaded, I walk as fast as I can without drawing suspicion over to the bar.
“Dudes,” I announce in a stage whisper to Vic, Brian, and Paddy. “They’re talking about killing Colleen because she saw something last night.”
Vic’s eyes widen. Then his attention is dragged away by Felicity’s approach to the bar. While he fills her order, I take the opportunity to grab Paddy and yank him toward the walk-in refrigerator. He struggles for a sec, pulling his arm out of my grip, and exclaiming, “What the fuck?”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “I want to know everything you heard about the cop that was here last night. I think that’s who they’re worried that Colleen can identify.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why do you care? She’s a slut. She means nothing in the scheme of things. Bitches come and bitches go. It is what it is.”
God help me if I ever end up as jaded as him. He’s a fucking maniac—only worried about where his next ride will take him and who’s pussy he’s prodding when he gets there. Me, I’m just about shaking in my bloody boots over the thought of what the Black Shamrocks are capable of if they think that Colleen saw more than she should have.
“Seriously, man,” Paddy speaks a little louder. “I don’t get why you’re so worried about her. You knew shit like this goes down before you pledged. Don’t let a little bit of pussy fuck with your head.”
My arm is jammed over his throat and I have him squashed between me and the heavy door of the cool room before I know what I’m doing. He digs his fingers into my arm, trying to get enough space to breathe. I refuse to relent. Raising myself onto my tiptoes so I can add more pressure, I get right in his face.
“It doesn’t matter why I care. All that matters is that I do care. Now, tell me what you heard about the cop!”
TEN
Colleen
“Hey,” I murmur as I run my fingers over Kerry’s forehead. The moment Cole closed the door when he left, she’d climbed onto the bed, laid her head in my lap, and started weeping. “It’s going to be okay.”
I look around the room and try not to grimace. It’s cleaner than Uncle Greg’s house—just—but it smells kind of musty and the posters of naked women straddling motorcycles that are plastered on the wall aren’t exactly welcoming.
“At least, we’re together.” I try to find a silver lining that will cheer her up.
“Yeah,” Kerry mumbles. She sits up and wipes her face. “They seem nice.”
When you’re comparing them our uncle’s friends, I guess she’s right, but in relation to the rest of the world, the leaders of the Black Shamrocks are scary. The drunk blonde guy from last night—who I worked out is their Vice President—seems like the type who enjoys hurting people. He keeps looking at me with a meanness that strips the breath from my lungs every time I notice his attention. I’m not sure what I did to him to deserve that reaction, however it’s clear that he has it out for me—whether I’m seventeen or eighteen. I doubt it matters to him.
Someone knocks on the door. It swings open and the VP walks in. I push Kerry behind me and stand so I’m not at such an obvious disadvantage. He looks between me and my sister, then settles his gaze on me. The malice that I noticed earlier has kicked up a notch. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“She stays here.” He points at Kerry. “You come with me.”
Before Kerry can object, I lean down and whisper, “Don’t make a fuss. We knew this was going to happen. I put your homework in our bag. Try and get some done so I can check it when I get back.”
She’s going to argue. I can see it in her eyes. To ward it off, I slide the back to her and unzip it. Her homework is on top. I put it on her knees and eyeball her with a no-nonsense expression. “Do it. I’ll check on you when I can.”
My sister is much more wilful than me, but I know how to handle her. Taking the option to argue away from her always strips the wind from her sails and buys me enough time to come up with an alternative she can swallow.
While she’s quiet, I look the Black Shamrocks VP in the eye and try to use the same technique on him. “I’m not wearing that outfit from last night.”
“Nobody wants you to,” he quips. A quick jerk of his head in the direction of the door is the only indication I get to follow him when he leaves.
“Lock it,” I order Kerry on my way out.
The last thing I see before I turn into the hallway is my sister scrambling from the bed to do as I say.
As we cross the threshold from the hallway into the bar, I pause and take in the scene before me. Last night, the bar was packed with drunk men of all shapes and sizes and scantily clad women. It was a party. Tonight, there’s hardly anyone around who’s not wearing a leather vest with a Black Shamrocks MC badge on the back and their name on the front. This isn’t a party. It seems to be a meeting of sorts.
“Move your ass,” the VP says.
I do as I’m told, and follow him back to the table that I was led away from by Cole earlier. Retaking my previous seat, my blood turns to ice when they all turn to look at me with serious expressions on their face.
My stomach turns into a washing machine. It twists and churns, leaving me with the vague feeling of nausea and a dawning sense of impending doom. I think I’m in trouble.
The only person I can think of who might be able to help me is Cole. It’s a stupid thought. I barely know him, yet he is the only friendly face I have in this Clubhouse. A quick glance around the bar and my heart sinks into my shoes.
Cole isn’t here.
“We need to ask you some questions,” the President’s abrupt tone drags my attention back to the table.
“There’s no need to be scared,” Cole’s dad promises with an easy smile on his face.
Looking at the Prez and the VP, I don’t get a warm fuzzy feeling that indicates that they agree with his assessment, so I don’t acknowledge him. It was a nice try, but kind of an obvious lie.
“What questions?” I ask. In my lap, I lace my fingers together and begin twisting them until it hurts.
“Last night, you saw a man here.” The President—Leo, according to the patch on the front of his vest—states. “We believe that you might know him from somewhere else.”
I wrack my brain trying to remember who was at the table last night. The men facing me now were all there. They were telling me stories about the Vietnam War. I count them in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The young guy and the really skinny man sitting at the table now weren’t here last night, but there was one other. He hadn’t been wearing a black vest so I hadn’t paid him much mind.
“I remember the other man, but I don’t think I’ve met him before,” I reply with as much honesty as I can. There’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure unless I saw him again because, try as I might, I can’t seem to recall exactly what he looks like. All I know is that the fluttering in the pit of my stomach is telling me that maybe, just maybe, they’re on to something and I do know him.
Not that I’m sharing my suspicion with the Black Shamrocks. Information is a valuable thing in my world and he—or she—who holds their cards closest to their chest fares the best.
“What about your uncle’s house? Do you thin
k he might have been there before?” The VP questions me.
I shake my head. “Nope, never. I try to stay in my room when Uncle Greg has people over.”
The men at the table exchange glances. The heavy feeling that’s surrounded them all day lifts a little and my stomach settles down a bit.
“Okay,” Leo seems pleased with my answers. “Now, we need to discuss how you’re going to work Greg’s debt off.”
“I’m not wearing that outfit again.” I repeat what I told the VP back in the room.
“Not for two months, you won’t be.” The President smiles and I discover that he’s quite good looking. “While you’re seventeen, you’ll be working the bar, the kitchen, and cleaning the rooms fully clothed. Come your birthday, that all changes.”
It takes a second for me to grasp his meaning. Back at the house, he’d stipulated that I had to work for them for three months to cover Uncle Greg’s debt. Right now, I’m realising that that was a deliberate decision on their behalf. I have two months grace before I’m going to be forced to act like Felicity.
Well, that answers my earlier question—I guess, I will be expected to behave like her.
Rather than examine that problem straightaway, I push it to the back of my mind and concentrate on the issues at hand.
How do I find out why my knowing the man from last night is so important to them?
ELEVEN
Colin
Paddy’s still not talking to me. His deliberate snub every time I pass would piss me off any other time. Right now, I don’t care because his information about the cop who was here last night has answered enough questions for me to get a handle on the situation that Colleen’s in. I have a few more facts to find before I can piece it all together, and that’s where getting my Dad drunk comes into play.
“Go home,” Dad slurs his words when he stumbles to the bar. “Clubhouse is closing.”
Running an assessing gaze over my father tells me that my idea has worked. When the hierarchy switched from beer to spirits, I made sure to top Dad’s glasses off with a little extra. Mum’s going to kill him when he gets home and I plan on making the most of his night in exile on the couch by pestering him for information.
“Take the girls back to their house,” Dad points a wobbly finger at Brian. “Remember their address because you’re on driver duty from now on.”
I almost miss him saying this because I’m busy wiping down the bar and packing away the clean glasses. It’s the perfect opportunity—one I can’t miss.
In my excitement to speak up, I trip over a crate and nearly smash my face on the bar. Sniggering comes at me from all directions, but I ignore it. “I can drive them, Dad.”
He looks at me through narrowed eyes, shaking his head when he replies. “No fucking way. Told you last night. Just nope.”
Scowling at his back as he weaves his way back to the main table, I turn to Brian.
My supposed best friend pre-empts my suggestion.
“No, Cole. I’m not getting in the shit for you.”
“Come on, man,” I plead. Any other time, I’d be embarrassed to do this in public, except I need the ten-minutes trapped in the Club’s van with Colleen more than I need my next breath.
Vic slings an arm over my shoulder. “Dude, give it up. Take your dad home and try again tomorrow when he’s not pissed as a chook.”
“You’re all assholes.” I shake his arm off, then throw my cloth on the bar and stomp off after my father. Their laughter follows me across the room.
Colleen emerges from the back rooms, her hands full of cleaning supplies. This is the first time I’ve been close enough to speak to her since I showed them to their room, but one look at her freckled face tells me that now isn’t the time to try and strike up a conversation. She looks annoyed and ready to snap. I keep walking and instant regret fills me when I hear her sigh after I’m past her.
Maybe she wanted me to acknowledge her?
My dad is holding court at the main table. His scotch and coke is sloshing over the rim of his glass as he spins a yarn about something stupid. He looks at me, love in his eyes when I come to a stop next to him.
“Here’s my boy,” he shouts.
I take his glass from him and pray that he’ll come without too much of a fight.
“Just like your mother. Always getting between a man and his Johnny Walker.”
“Yep,” I agree with ease. Putting an arm around him, I bend my knees and heave. “Up you come. Gotta get you home before Mum comes down here and kicks your ass.”
Thankfully, he comes easily. It takes another ten minutes for him to complete his farewells with every bloke we pass on our way to the door. My patience is at an all-time low by the time we emerge into the floodlight lit parking lot.
Apart from a few bikes and the Club’s van, it’s pretty much deserted. In the back corner is Felicity’s car and that’s where I point my wobbly-assed father. Her car doubles as the drunk mobile for the bikers who get too wasted to ride. I don’t know if she’s even aware of the fact that her car is used for this purpose since she barely leaves the Clubhouse except for family nights when she’s not welcome on the premises.
Tonight, she’s being entertained by three men—none of whom had paused their activities when I’d entered the room to grab her keys. Part of me was happy that I didn’t need to explain while the rest of me was tempted to wash my eyes with bleach.
“Hop in,” I tell my dad once I’ve unlocked the car and opened the passenger door. Like a sack of sand, he falls into the seat. Dude is that wasted that I have to lift his legs in for him. I shut the door and run around to the driver’s side. Speed is of the essence—gotta get my questions answered before he gives into the alcohol and falls asleep.
“Hey, Dad,” I ask once we’re moving along the street. “How much longer do you think I’ll have to prospect?”
I’m hoping that I can lull him into a false sense of security by introducing his favourite subject—outside of reminiscing about Vietnam, that is. He’s proud of me for prospecting straight after I finished High School. I know this because he tells me every time he has a skinful of booze.
“Not long,” he hiccups. “Not long, at all.”
Dad’s fading fast. My need for answers is making my brain thump in my skull.
Think of something, Cole.
Think of something now!
“Frankie seems to be getting grumpier in his old age,” I say with a laugh. My father and Brian’s have an age-old rivalry. It’s supposed to stem from an incident in Vietnam where Frankie claimed a kill shot that my dad swears he made. They’re a bit like me and Paddy—happy to throw shit on each other but willing to murder anyone else who tries the same thing.
“Motherfucker needs some Xanax. Wanting to kill little girls because they have eyes.”
Eureka. We have success.
Now, to keep him talking without looking like I’m prying.
“Yeah, that was pretty hardcore.” Stopping the car at a red light, I push down the indicator ready to make a right turn when it goes green.
“I told him that it’s our fault for not checking her age.” Dad slumps down in his seat. His head droops, his chin nearly coming to a rest on his chest. “Not really our fault, though. Fucking Frankie’s. He agreed for her to start whoring without getting Grinder to check her out first.”
As he speaks, his head falls further forward and the words become more and more muffled.
Fuck. I’m running out of time.
“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. We have plenty of sluts already, we don’t need anymore.”
My father turns to look at me. Suspicion tries to fight the scotch that’s flooding his system. The light goes green and I’m able to avoid his scrutiny by pretending to concentrate extra hard on making the right-hand turn.
“Cole, she’s no good for you.” I look back at my father, ready to argue the point. Guilt at what I’ve done to him tonight eats at me when I spy his sympathetic
expression. He’s sobering up quick and this could get ugly if he decides that I’m breaking my oath to the Shamrocks by sticking my nose into Club business when I’m not an official member yet. “Her uncle is a piece of shit. He lost thirty grands worth of weed and he’s trying to play it off like the cash was stolen after he sold it. Grinder thinks he gave it to the Mavericks so they’ll let him sell heroin on their turf. Shit is about to get ugly and I don’t want you anywhere fucking near.”
I don’t say another word. I mean, what is there to say? I got my answers and they’re not pretty. Normally, I’d listen to Dad. He’s always fair with me—honest, reliable and good to my mum—especially when I compare him to Brian and Paddy’s dads. This time, I can’t do as he wants. Two girls—two innocent girls—are caught in the middle of this shit and nobody seems to care.
Pulling up the handbrake once I’ve brought the car to a stop in our driveway, I try to get out of the vehicle before Dad tries to make me make a promise that I can’t keep. Lying to my father always weighs heavily on my conscience so I try to avoid it when I can.
While I move fast, even drunk he moves faster. I have my door open an inch before he grabs hold of my upper arm in his bear-like paw and pulls me closer to him. He breathes a lungful of whiskey breath over my face, then lays it out straight for me.
“When I tell you to stay away from her, I’m not tryin’ to be an asshole. I’m telling you this for your own fucking good—so you don’t get caught in the middle and do something stupid like lose your patch over a piece of ass. Trust me when I say that she’s gonna be okay. Her and her sister.”
The front light comes on and I see my mum standing in the doorway. Her hands are on her hips and I can tell just from her posture that she’s ready to breathe fire when we get inside. I pull away from him and push against my door again. He yanks me back, and this time, there’s no room for negotiating in the glare that he levels on me.
“I won’t be able to bail you out if you get busted sticking your fucking nose where it shouldn’t be. Promise me that you’re going to stay away from her and let the Shamrocks do what needs to be done?”
Conan (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 1) Page 6