The one’s who survived that is.
“Joel?” Mad Dog says my name again.
“Mad Dog.” Inclining my head when I answer him, I discover that I’ve stopped walking. Mentally shaking myself, I start moving again. When I pass Maddi, I try to smile at her. It doesn’t come. My lips refuse to cooperate when I see the twin trails of tears streaming down her cheeks. Instead, my eyes water as well and the tightness in my chest becomes too much to bear.
She drops Mad Dog’s cut, opening her arms wide. I ignore the grimace on her face from the pain of her healing gunshot wound and step into her embrace. The moment her arms close around me, the liquid in my eyes spills over.
Her hug is soft. Mine is not. My arms have a mind of their own, pulling her closer to me and holding her tight. The slight roundness of her tummy reminds me that I should be gentle with her, but I can’t. I drop my face into the crook of her neck and let the tears that have been three weeks coming dampen her shoulder.
This isn’t where I planned on letting the knowledge that Benji’s not coming back hit me.
I guess you don’t get a choice in it.
Total silence fills the house except for our sniffling. I’m trying to talk myself into letting her go when first one pair of arms surrounds us, followed by another, and then another. I know that it’s Matty and Lachie, then Mad Dog. But, when it continues, I lose track of who the arms belong to. Honestly, it feels like every member of our family has joined us in our grief.
Slowly, the group hug ends. One person after another peeling off and going back to what they were doing until it’s just me, Maddi, Matty, and Lachie left.
The surviving siblings.
For how long? I don’t know. No one does; not with war continuing to bear down on us.
***
The roar of the Harley’s that lead the way to the cemetery are overwhelming. In a good way. It’s comforting to know that we’re surrounded by people who’d die for us. Especially when we turn onto the street that holds the entrance to the graveyard and find it lined with cop cars.
I’d caused a scene back at the house with my demand to ride Benji’s bike in the procession, but seeing the cops leaning against the hood of their cars as they wait for us to approach makes me glad that they can see my face as I pass.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Lacey cautions me as we slow when Mad Dog comes to a stop at the head of the pack. Everyone was worried that I wouldn’t be able to ride Benji’s Harley without dropping it—except for Lacey. She’d demanded to be my passenger, whispering as we left the house to meet the hearses at the funeral home that she has my back if I need it. I appreciate the offer, but it’s unnecessary. Today, my hands and legs are going to cooperate. I don’t care if I can’t move for a week after; I’m honouring my brother as we lay him to rest.
“Not gonna,” I growl.
“Just sayin’.” I can see why Lacey managed to win Benji’s heart. She’s adept at walking the line between quietly keeping a man under her thumb and blatantly bossing him around, like Maddi has the propensity to do sometimes.
My feet cooperate when I bring the Fat Boy to a complete stop, letting me brace the bike with unexpected ease. I’m directly in front of the hearses, two rows back from Mad Dog who’s leading the procession with Maddi at his back with Timber and Uncle Butch flanking him. When Mad Dog takes his sunglasses off, my attention is drawn to the guy he’s glaring at.
Thomas Taylor. The father of my sister’s nightmare. The co-conspirator in our father’s plan to take back control of the Shamrocks. The mastermind behind the attack on the Clubhouse.
The man responsible for the death of my brother and cousin.
My uncle sees who Mad Dog’s staring at, shut off his bike then kicks down his stand, and is off his bike in the blink of an eye. I expect one of the leadership group to stop him. No one does; they silence their engines and sit back with their arms folded across their chests, seeming content to observe.
Smoke’s death has been somewhat overshadowed by Benji’s. Not because he wasn’t loved—because he was quiet and unassuming, the perfect foil to Benji’s larger-than-life personality. Watching Uncle Butch stride toward the Commissioner of Police with his grief clear for all to see, I’m reminded that we need to remember that the O’Brien’s don’t have a lock on the mourning that’s going on.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” My uncle snarls his question in Thomas’ face. His hands are curled into fists, shaking as he appears to fight his need to hit the man who had his son murdered. “This’s Shamrocks turf today. Take your bunch of corrupt fuckwits and head back to your hidey-hole. I’m sure there’s a donut with your fucking name on it.”
Thomas sneers. He opens his mouth, closing it when Uncle Butch spits at his feet. “If you have an iota of common sense left, you will not fuck with me today. I’m about to lower my son and my nephew into a hole in the ground because of you. I have zero fucks left.”
His words, spoken with lethal intent, hit their target. Thomas pales, then lifts his hand in the air and motions to the exit road. His assembled force begins to climb back into their vehicles and Thomas moves to follow suit.
“Not so fucking fast.” Mad Dog sounds pissed off. With a jerk of his head, he tells Maddi to get off his Harley. Together, they walk over to where Thomas waits. Uncle Butch flanks my sister on one side, Mad Dog on the other. Timber leaves JJ standing next to his bike so he can take her back.
With a devious smirk on his face, Mad Dog steps into Thomas’ personal space. He looks him up and down, his evil grin widening before he speaks. “I think you owe my wife an apology.”
“I don’t.”
Mad Dog acts as if Thomas hasn’t spoken. “Your need to be here today shows me that you know well and fucking good that you owe her an apology. Why else would you decide to show your remorse by lining the streets out of respect for our fallen?”
The Shamrocks who can hear what he’s saying start chuckling. Thomas looks around and seeing that all of his cops are sitting in their vehicles, takes a step backward. It achieves nothing, Mad Dog advancing to close the distance. “Unless you’re here to fucking gloat?”
He takes another step forward, pinning Thomas between his body and the vehicle behind him. The cop in the passenger seat scrambles out of the car. He’s stopped by Timber.
“Because I wouldn’t recommend gloating. The Shamrocks have a long memory. This war that you’ve declared has only just fucking begun. You made the first strike. And it hurt us. What you don’t seem to understand is that you made a mistake.”
My brother-in-law stands back. He shakes his head, then nods in Maddi’s direction. She makes her way to him with our uncle hard on her ass. Mad Dog takes hold of her hand and pulls her into his uninjured side. “You made a mistake by targeting our family. Climbing into bed with the Mavericks of Mayhem was a fatal error. Because having them do your dirty work for you exposed your soft underbelly. You’re the same as your son. A fucking coward.”
Thomas takes offence at the accurate description of Brendan. He puffs out his chest and moves until he’s toe-to-toe with Mad Dog, who doesn’t flinch or take a step back. True-to-form, he can’t meet Mad Dog man-to-man so he turns his attention to Maddi.
A malicious glint fills his expression. “I don’t know what it is about your pussy, but it makes grown men do dumb things. First my son, and now this piece-of-shit biker seems to think that you’re worth dying for.”
Maddi stiffens. Mad Dog growls. Thomas laughs. Until, Uncle Butch takes two steps forward and punches him in the face. After that he ceases making a sound.
“That’s my niece you’re talking about, asshole.”
The cop that Timber is holding tries to get to his boss. Car doors open and booted feet start making crunching sounds on the gravel at the side of the road as his officers surround us, weapons drawn.
I turn and look over my shoulder. We are outnumbered, at least, two-to-one. The cars that are stopped behind the hearses are full of
women and kids—JJ and baby Kaden, included. As Benji would say, this is about to go to hell in a hand basket if someone doesn’t do something.
Praying like hell that my legs will hold, I let go of one of the handle bars and raise my fingers to my lips. The loud whistle grabs everyone’s attention. “Now is not the time for measuring the length of your cocks. We have more important business to attend to.”
My reminder is enough for Mad Dog. He let’s go of Maddi, approaches Thomas and then head-butts him. The sound of guns being cocked fills the air, making the first genuine smile that I see since the ambush cross Mad Dog’s face. As the Commissioner of Police slips to the ground, he spits on him. “Joel’s right. We have better things to do than hang with scum. But, I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I was you—we’ll make time to deal with you.”
Mad Dog pushes Maddi in front of him and starts heading back to his bike. Timber and Uncle Butch follow. Once he’s settled in his seat, Mad Dog turns to look at Thomas Taylor, who’s being helped to his feet by a cop.
“Mark my words, asshole. We’ll be making time very fucking soon.”
The remainder of the journey to the gravesite is uneventful. Behind us, the cops packed their boss into the back of a car and leave. All of my concentration is needed to stop my hands from seizing up. My legs feel like jelly and I know that there’s no way I’ll be riding Benji’s bike home. At this moment, the best I can hope for is that I manage not to drop it when we come to a stop in the parking lot.
Lacey must notice my struggle. She puts her legs down and helps me steady the Harley long enough to turn it off and dismount, then she pulls herself forward by the handle bars and kicks down the stand for me. Once it’s properly parked, she slides off and puts an arm around my waist.
“Our secret.”
Her kindness is too much for me. I nod my thanks and walk away from her. The harsh way I spoke to her yesterday floats back into my head, making me feel worse. She’s lost her lover, after the shortest of times together, and she’s still coping better than me. At least I had twenty-three years with him. Lacey didn’t even get a year.
“Are you okay?” Maddi gets on my case the second she lays eyes on me. “Your limp looks pretty bad today. Did riding the bike make it worse?”
Before I can get a word out past the note of irritation that’s choking me, Mad Dog has slung his arm over her shoulder. He’s leads her over to JJ and Timber, giving me the space I need to tamp down on the desire to yell at her. “Leave him be, Lainey. He’s a grown man.”
I drag in a deep breath, ready for my sister’s argument.
“I know that, Mik. He’s worrying me, that’s all.”
When it doesn’t come, the air leaves my lung with an exhale of relief. Her worry I can deal with as long as she keeps it to herself. It’s her mother-like meddling that I can’t stand. Her intentions are good. My inability to accept sympathy is the problem.
“Wanna walk in together, Joel?” Uncle Butch comes to stand next to me. My dad’s brother, Uncle Lenny is with him. He looks as if he’s aged thirty years since I saw him last. I wasn’t expecting to see him today, considering that he’s stayed away from the Club since he found out what Dad’s been up to. I ignore him—matching his months of silence with my own.
“Sounds good.” My agreement comes easily, our steps falling into sync as we follow the masses toward the twin graves sitting side-by-side in the newest section of the cemetery. My maternal uncle is a man of few words so I know that no pressure is going to come from him. He just wants to be left alone like I do. Hanging with him is my safest bet today.
When he adjusts his shirt cuff, I spot his busted knuckles. “That pretty badass back there. He bloody deserved it.”
My uncle scuffs his boot along the ground, kicking a larger piece of gravel in front of us. “He deserves more than that. He deserves a bullet right between his fucking eyes.”
Flashbacks hit me. Benji’s eyes meeting mine. The innocuous looking circle that seems to appear out of nowhere in the middle of his forehead. His surprise. The way he held my gaze during his final seconds of life.
Fuck. I can’t do this. My feet agree with my head. They are graceful for once, as I execute an abrupt U-turn and run straight into Uncle Lenny, who was walking behind us. “Whoa there, son.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’m not his son. My growing antagonism is a direct response to his lack of loyalty—and his concerned tone. The one that sounds exactly like my dad’s, back when he still pretended to give a damn. A crap. A shit. A fuck. Whatever it was that he faked for the sake of appearances. The language of my inner monologue is starting to deteriorate—I’m beginning to sound like Benji.
Uncle Lenny takes hold of my upper arm and drags me back toward the graves. “This is going to be hard for you. It’ll be harder in the long run if you don’t do it.”
His unsolicited advice sounds like something that I would have offered a few weeks ago. Now, I understand why everyone found me so annoying. Who wants to hear the truth from a pompous asshole, at times like this? Deep down we already know what we need to do, anyway.
My body starts shaking and this time I can’t get it under control. My physical limit is fast approaching, and I still have the service, the burial, and the wake to get through. Using the last of my stamina, I wrench my arm out of his grip and face Uncle Butch. “Can you get Kid? Now?”
He takes one assessing look at my face and heads off to search for Kyle—or Kid as the Shamrocks call him.
“Here.” Uncle Lenny breaks the silence between us. “Lean on me.”
I don’t want to; however, my legs leave me with no choice but to swallow my pride. Since I’m taller than him, I rest my arm on his closest shoulder and let him take my weight. The time it takes Uncle Butch and Kyle to return is passed in silence.
Which is fine by me. I have nothing to say to him.
Kyle takes one look at my face and starts muttering. “I told you riding his bike would be too much. Come on, I’ll get you to a seat.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I snap. All three of them turn to look at me, shock on their faces. “It was up to me to ride it. Just like you rode Smoke’s.”
I glare at Uncle Butch until he inclines his head in agreement. “Our father is to blame for what happened, so there was no bloody way he was getting his hands on it. I’m next in line so riding his bike in front of his casket was my duty. It’s how it works in the O’Brien family.”
My uncle’s exchange a look. Kyle ducks his head and stares at the ground. My knees are feeling more and more like jelly. I start sagging, saved at the last moment from completely embarrassing myself when Mad Dog comes over to hurry us along and grabs hold of my free arm. He hoists me upright, practically lifting me off the ground, and walks me over to the seat that Maddi’s saved for me next to her.
It looks like I moving under my own steam, but I’m not. Mad Dog has hauled my ass the final ten metres without breaking a sweat. When I’m safely ensconced in my chair, I shoot a grateful glance in his direction. He shrugs, taking his spot standing behind Maddi.
Apart from Viking, who’s made his way slowly but surely and without the assistance of his son to the seat next to mine, I’m the only other man sitting for the service. If I wasn’t so thankful to be off my feet, my blood would boil at being so freaking useless that I can’t even keep my feet for my brother’s funeral.
I’m stuck in my head, feeling sorry for myself when Conan walks to head of the caskets. Timber’s dad is huge, almost as big as his son, yet he seems diminished, reduced as he stands between the caskets containing the body of two men—boys—that he helped raise.
“Ah, I asked Princess if I could do this instead of a priest.” Lifting his chin in Maddi’s direction, he clears his throat and looks at the assembled crowd, a nervous tick making his left eyelid twitch. “Neither of the boys were particularly religious so it seemed fitting to me that someone who knew them since they were babies stood in front of you toda
y. In times like this, we need to pull together. We can’t let their deaths be in vain, so I’m going to do my best to help us say goodbye while we struggle to understand why they were taken from us.”
Maddi sits straighter in her seat next to me, then slides forward. I turn to see what she’s doing, a black bolt of rage jumping into my throat and choking me. When my sister moves to stand, Mad Dog pins her in the chair with one hand on each of her shoulders.
“Nobody move. Pretend that the fucker doesn’t exist. It’ll be fucking true soon enough.”
My father hears his words, I know he does, because his step falters and he looks down to Wendy for support. She pulls him forward with the hand that’s holding his. He resists for an instant, giving in when she tugs again. As they move closer, the hostility in the group increases. Mad Dog keeps it in check with a low growl anytime that it looks as if someone is going to move.
Wisely—well, as wisely as someone who’s just crashed the funeral of the son and nephew that he got killed can be—they come to a stop before they get to close to the rest of us. Wendy looks disappointed with our reaction, and it makes me wonder how much she actually knows. Not much, I’m assuming.
Viking pats my leg, pulling my attention away from my father. “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s made his bed, now he gets to lie in it.”
I meet Viking’s eyes and I’m shocked to see concern in them. We’ve always had a strange relationship. Whereas he’s been almost too involved in Benji and Maddi’s lives, and the same thing is beginning to happen with Matty and Lachie, he’s been borderline disinterested in me. There was this barrier between us that wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard I tried to break it down.
“Yeah,” I reply in a strangled voice. “That’s one way of putting it."
Finding Nirvana (Black Shamrocks MC, #5) Page 3