Conan (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 1)

by Kylie Hillman

  My hands curls into fists and for the first time in my life, I genuinely consider punching my dad in the face. He doesn’t grasp the enormity of what he’s asking me. Colleen makes me feel things—things that don’t make sense to me. I might not understand what it all means yet, but I do know one thing.

  “I can’t stay away from her, Dad,” I state this with as much respect as I can muster. He needs to realise that I’m not trying to be a little shit about it. It simply is what it is. “I can’t lie to you and promise you something that I’m not going to do.”

  He lets go of me and opens his own door. When we’re both out of the car, he lays his arms over the roof of the car and addresses me. “I’ll do as much as I can to protect you, but I’m afraid you’re about to learn a big lesson with this. Life isn’t fucking fair, my boy. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you lose anyway.”

  TWELVE

  Colleen

  My stupid hope that Cole would be the one to drive us home dies a quick death when I watch him all but carry his father out of the Clubhouse. I wish I’d had the courage to speak to him before when he walked past me, but I’d chickened out at the last moment.

  Story of my life. Always overthinking. Always scared that my size is a turn off.

  “I’m to drive you home now,” the other blonde boy from last night tells me. “Want me to go get your sister or what?”

  Juggling the cleaning supplies that I’m holding, I lift my shoulder in a half shrug. He takes it as my agreement for him to get Kerry and I don’t bother to stop him when he walks away. She’s going to be full of questions about Uncle Greg and the Black Shamrocks and I don’t think I can face them just yet.

  How the hell do you spin this into a tale that’s not going to scare the living daylights out of her? Our uncle, the drug dealer, owes money to an outlaw motorcycle gang. She knows what the Mavericks of Mayhem are like—I had to warn her when we moved into our uncle’s house after the funeral—so she’s going to have a fair idea what the Black Shamrocks are capable of. Nothing about this situation makes for an uplifting bedtime story.

  “Just dump them over there,” a young woman suggests.

  When my arms are empty, I check her out. She’s maybe a couple of years older than me and dressed the same as Felicity. Bare breasts that don’t sag under their own weight, a toned stomach, and long legs that haven’t a spot of cellulite on them. She’s everything I want to be—well, except for the being a Club whore bit.

  “Thanks for that,” I sound friendlier than I meant to. Apparently, my subconscious is trying to atone for the bitchy comment I made in my head. “I’m so lost here. It’s a maze and no one knows where anything goes.”

  She leans against the table I dropped the cleaning supplies onto and yawns. “Yeah, I guess. I wouldn’t really know either. My interests are more below the belt if you get what I mean.”

  The wink that follows her comment is unneeded. A deaf man could pick up on her innuendo.

  “So, you like it here?” The question shoots out of my mouth without me stopping to think.

  “Of course.” She acts like I’m crazy for even asking. “Hot men, parties nearly every night of the week, and the protection that comes from being known as one of their whores. The Black Shamrocks are the only thing keeping me and my kid off the street.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” I muse out aloud. Her comments have planted the seeds of a plan in my head. “How do they protect you?”

  The girl cocks her head to the side. She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you ask?”

  Thinking on my feet, I offer the first excuse that pops into my head. “Because I was thinking about becoming one as well.”

  My response must tickle her funny bone. Her shoulders shake, then her lips twist, and she bursts into great, big peals of laughter. Tears run down her face and she clutches her stomach. It goes on for so long that I begin to worry that she’s becoming hysterical.

  I place my hand on her back. “Are you okay?”

  She stands straight, gulping in air until she’s regained control of herself. “You’re unbelievable. As if they’d let you become a whore. I mean, look at you.”

  Her insult is thrown at me with all the casualness of an enquiry about the weather. Before I can respond, she walks off. Straight into the arms of one of the bikers, who swings her off her feet and carries her toward the back rooms.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I try my hardest to stop the tears that prick my eyes from falling. I don’t understand why people think it’s okay to point out my weight all the time. It’s as if they think that I don’t already know I’m fat.

  Of course, I do. I live every day stuck in this body, and I don’t need people like her to remind me that it’s bigger than what’s socially acceptable.

  Anyway, how would they like it if I pointed out that they sounded uneducated or I made fun of the way they walked? It’s the same thing, yet everyone who would be horrified if I said that, don’t even blink when someone mentions my weight.

  The tears are still trying to evacuate my eyelids so I concentrate on rearranging the cleaning stuff. It takes my mind off it for a moment, long enough for my spirit to return.

  “Stupid fucking fuckers,” I mutter.

  “Whoa,” the boy who went to get Kerry holds up his hand in surrender. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  Kerry is behind him. She laughs at his comment and quips, “You should hear her when she really gets going. Those freckles might make her look innocent, but she’s really a badass.”

  “Seriously, guys,” I blink back the remnants of my hurt and school my features into a placid mask. Meeting Kerry’s worried gaze, I smile. “Have you got everything? I’m more than ready for bed.”

  “Yep,” she replies and lifts the bag in her hand to show me. “Got everything. Let’s go home.”

  The weariness in her tone matches the tiredness in my bones. My body feels like lead and my pride is hanging from me like a deflated balloon. All I want to do is snuggle in my bed with a good book and forget for a few hours that I’m going to be back here tomorrow night to do this all over again.

  “Well then, ladies,” the blonde boy—Brian, I think his name is—folds his arm in front of him and bows like an old country gentleman. “Your chariot awaits.”

  We follow him out to an old beat up van. Kerry gives me the front seat, climbing into the back with our bag. Brian starts the vehicle and drives out of the Black Shamrocks parking lot. He turns right and heads in the direction of our house without asking for the address exactly—like Cole did last night.

  This time, I’m better prepared. I twist in my seat and ask, “How do you know where we live?”

  His cheeks redden and he stares straight ahead when he answers. “We bribed our Information Officer with top shelf whiskey last night so Cole could take you home on his bike if he found you. He was worried about you walking in the dark so we had to help him out somehow.”

  I sink my teeth into my bottom lip so that the giggle of joy that’s building in my chest doesn’t escape. I knew something was up last night, but hearing it confirmed is something else. It’s validation that I’m not as disgusting as their President made me feel with his assessing gaze or as fat as the Club whore tried to convince me that I am with her nasty words.

  Cole likes me. He likes me enough to bribe members of his Club for information.

  Settling back into my seat, I don’t comment on Brian’s admission. Instead I let the feeling of knowing that someone outside of Kerry, Bonnie, and Shari worries about me wash over me like a gentle wave tumbling its way into the shore. It makes me feel special. Cared for. Precious.

  Relaxed.

  “This is it.” Brian’s voice wakes me. I open my eyes and blink in the harsh light of the van’s interior. I must have fallen asleep during the drive. “Want me to walk you inside?”

  “No,” I reply. “We’ll be right.”

  Kerry jumps out of the back and slams her
door shut. I exit the van with a little more finesse, sending a glance in the direction of her back when she stomps off toward the front door without thanking Brian for driving us home.

  “Thank you,” I say, holding the door ajar so he can hear me.

  “No worries.” He replies with a smile. “I’m on chauffeur duty so I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow after you finish school. What time suits?”

  I really don’t want to think about tomorrow just yet so I lifts my shoulders and my eyebrows in unison and reply, “Whatever works for you.”

  Brian nods. I close my door. He pulls away from the curb, the van blowing a puff of smoke out the exhaust when he drives it harder than necessary.

  When he’s out of sight, I turn back to the house that I’m supposed to call home and left out the dismay I’ve been holding inside all night in a big, long sigh. Just when I thought life couldn’t get any harder, the universe decides to throw me a curveball in the form of an outlaw motorcycle club that my uncle owes money to, a moody little sister whom I’m solely responsible for, and the first boy in the entire world to look at me as something other than Shari and Bonnie’s fat friend.

  “If we just stick together, we can get through anything.”

  “If we just stick together, we can get through anything.”

  “If we just stick together, we can get through anything.”

  I repeat mine and Kerry’s mantra over and over as I walk to the front door. The more I say it, the more I believe it. It gives me the strength I need to step over the threshold and face the party I can hear going on inside.

  THIRTEEN

  Colin

  “Motherfucker,” I throw the wrench onto the cement floor of the workshop and stick my bleeding finger in my mouth.

  Today has been the day from hell. Anything that could go wrong has—starting with me being put on workshop duty all day. Mechanics isn’t a strength of mine, which my father knows quite well. Usually I work the front desk, doing the entrance inspections and helping with the inventory paperwork while my best friends do the mechanical shit. Not today, though. When I arrived this morning, my hungover father put me out in the workshop and no amount of complaining would get him to change his mind.

  “Let me see.” Paddy’s mum holds out her hand to me. She’s the only woman on these premises, by choice or negotiation I don’t know, but she runs the front office like a well-oiled machine. My dad always says that they’d be fucked without her.

  “Earth to Cole.” She clicks her fingers in front of my face and holds her hand closer. I show her my bleeding finger and she clucks her tongue at the damage. “Why are you out here today? I could really use your help up front.”

  I shoot a grumpy glare at my dad, who’s walking into my work bay with a worried expression covering his face. He must have heard the noise and decided to investigate. “Ask him. It was all his bright idea.”

  Mrs. O’Brien turns to my father. “Really Quinn? You know as well as I do that he’s more useful up the front.”

  Dad’s been funny with me all day. I know why and I’m not surprised, but I thought he’d have relented on the punishment by now. Apparently, I was wrong because he glares right back at me, then answers Mrs. O’Brien in a sharp tone. “He goes where I say he goes. If you need some help up the front, get Vic or Paddy to help you.”

  He gives us his back and strides off. I exchange a knowing look with Mrs. O’Brien and she laughs. “What did you do to deserve this?”

  I lift one shoulder and grin. “I wouldn’t promise to stay away from a girl.”

  The humour on her face evaporates. “Not the McCormack girl?”

  “Yeah, her,” my answer is said in a sheepish voice. I was counting on some sympathy from Mrs. O’Brien, not another lecture.

  “Now, Cole, you listen to your dad and do as you’re told. The McCormack’s are nothing but trouble and I would hate for you to find yourself in the middle of it.”

  Snatching back my hand, I jam my finger in my mouth and mutter, “Whatever.”

  My belligerence gets me a slap upside the head.

  “Don’t you whatever me. If I hear about you seeing her, I’ll let your father know myself.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “I’ll also tell Leo and your mother.”

  With the threat to dob me into my Prez and my mum hanging in the air, she leaves my work bay without another word. I grab the first aid kit and plonk my ass on the hard concrete. While I’m wrapping the plaster around my finger, I get another visitor. This time it’s Vic and he looks as happy as a pig in shit.

  “Guess what?” He dances a jig as he asks, then sits down next to me.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a date tomorrow tonight.”

  His personal life is the last thing I want to hear about. Mine is in the toilet. I haven’t been laid in weeks. Plus, the only girl who my dick is remotely interested in, I’m banned from seeing by the powers-that-be.

  “Why would I care?” I push to my feet. He yanks me back down next to him.

  “Because she’s a skinny brunette,” he crows. “You should be kissing my feet for what I pulled off for you.”

  “Yeah, I don’t follow.”

  Vic hold his hand about five feet in the air. “She’s about yay high, toned as fuck, brunette. Hangs around with a really skinny blonde chick.”

  I shake my head. My temper is on simmer. If he keeps this shit up, it’s gonna blow. “Look, I don’t give a fuck if you’re banging Olivia Newton-John tomorrow night. I’m not interested.”

  He holds his hands in front of his chest like he’s cupping a pair of tits.

  “The brunette also hangs around with a redhead who’s built like this.” Vic pulls his hands away from his chest so that the fake boobs grow. “A little short redhead who’s meeting us at the pool parlour at six tomorrow night because it’s family night at the Clubhouse and she doesn’t have to work.”

  “Holy Mother,” I yell, jumping to my feet. “Fuck me. You didn’t?”

  Vic stands up and nods. “I did.”

  I clap him on the back. “I could fucking kiss you.”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t,” he deadpans. “Drinks are on you, though.”

  “Fuck, I’ll pay for your dinner if I have to.”

  Vic smiles. It’s a shit eating grin that sets the hair on the back of my neck on end. I just walked into a well-planned trap.

  “I’d appreciate that, dude. I’m skint and Bonnie looks like she’s got expensive tastes.”

  FOURTEEN

  Colleen

  “I can’t believe you did this to me,” I complain to Bonnie. Another outfit is thrown onto my bed, then I throw myself down on top of the pile of clothes. “I have nothing to wear. He’s going to think I’m disgusting. What if I spill food down my boobs. I can’t do this. Nope, I’m not going.”

  Shari sits next to me. She pushes at my shoulder until I give in and roll over. “You’re being silly. He’s already kissed you. I think it’s fair to say that he likes you.”

  “And if you spill food on your boobs, I’m sure he’ll offer to help you clean up. Cole looks like that kind of gentleman.” Bonnie laughs at her own joke and it’s not long before the rest of us are joining in.

  Pushing myself onto my butt, I sit up and face my best friends. When my laughter dies, I try to smile at them, but I can’t make my lips lift. Deep down in my brain, the voice that tells me that I’m worth nothing is mocking me. It’s sucking out all my joy at seeing Cole outside of the Clubhouse and reminding me of the reasons why I should stay home tonight and hide in my room.

  I’m fat. I’m ugly. I’m poor.

  I don’t deserve anything good.

  “Colleen,” Bonnie sits down next to me as she says my name. Shari scoots around to my other side and they both lean against me. Their weight is comforting—a soothing counterweight to the taunting monster in my head. “I know your life sucks right now, but you need to see that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. You have options and Col
e is one of them.”

  Shari butts in, “He looks like a good guy. When we were at the Club with you that night, I got a good feeling about him. Like, he punched his friend for calling you fat. That says something.”

  I hear their words. Part of me even believes what they’re saying. Yet, I know there is more to it. The situation isn’t as simple as they’re making it out to be.

  “I’m fat,” I groan as I say it. Speaking about my size is harder than talking about my parent’s death. “I’m not pretty like you two. Kerry is mad at me for everything that’s happening. The Black Shamrocks own me until Uncle Greg’s debt is paid. My uncle is a weed dealer with a heroin addiction that the Mavericks are using to control him. Everything in my life is a gigantic mess. I can’t spend time with Cole, no matter how good he makes me feel, because he belongs to the enemy. Truthfully, I should hate him.”

  “One,” Bonnie stands. She glares down at me before holding a finger in the air as she begins her rebuttal. “You’re not fat. You are chubby but you could be skinny if that’s what you wanted so stop making excuses.”

  Shari’s face tells of her horror at what Bonnie just said. I just nod. She’s right. I like eating. It’s the only thing that makes me feel better when the world is spinning out of control. Me and eating are like a toddler and their favourite blankie—it’s a comforting shield to hide behind. If I gave up using food as a crutch, I could be skinny. If that was truly what I wanted.

  “Two.” It looks like she’s going to pick apart my entire argument, one complaint at a time. “You are pretty. I would kill for your long red hair and big boobs. Thin or chubby, who cares? You’re still a knockout.”

  “Which brings me to number three—Kerry is acting out because she’s scared that you’re going to go off and leave her behind if you fall in love with Cole. We know that you’d never do that, you just need to remind her of that fact.” Bonnie lifts her eyebrows up and down at me, as if to say that I should have thought of that myself. “Now, number four. Has it crossed your mind that the Black Shamrocks are trying to protect you in their own way? Why else would they have you at their Club all the time when there really isn’t anything in it for them? They could get anyone to cook and clean. They don’t need you specifically and they definitely don’t need to have Kerry there with you, at all.”