“Well,” Grace takes Alanah’s censure with a pinch of salt. She giggles, her bright blue eyes gleaming with the salacious piece of gossip she’s about to impart. “You may have a point. I did manage to catch a glimpse of Vic with his shirt off last night, and I have to tell you, that he is, in fact, both male and supremely attractive. I think I’m going to be spending a lot more time being a better sister to Paddy, if you catch my drift?”
“Blind Freddy knows what you mean,” Alanah snaps.
I turn to catch a glimpse of her face, but she shuts down her expression before I can read it properly. Grace doesn’t take offense at her comment. She falls around laughing with the other girls in the group and leaves me walking next to Alanah by myself.
The names she mentioned are familiar to me. Paddy is Grace’s big brother. He’s not the eldest—that would be Lenny—although I was made aware when the Ugly Bastards were coaching me on the family dynamics of the Black Shamrocks that Paddy is being groomed as the next President. The Vic who was mentioned is the Road Captain’s son, and not much was known about him because he wasn’t deemed important enough.
This is huge for me. A month in and I had been starting to worry that I was never going to learn anything useful since the girls never mention anything in relation to the MC their fathers’ run.
“So, Vic, hey?” I speak quietly to Alanah. It’s a gamble. I hold my breath, waiting to see whether she takes the bait I laid.
Pressing her lips together in a firm line, Alanah picks up speed, lengthening her strides and putting more distance between us and the other girls. I follow, not because I think she wants me to, but out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Akin to a dog with a bone, I’m not letting the first inroad I’ve had turn into a dead end.
“Vic is…” Alanah ends her sentence with a sigh. “Everything.”
With a soft touch, I stroke her wrist. Just once. Just enough to show her that I understand. My tactic works. Alanah looks behind us, then purges her soul.
“He’s complicated. Like me. Our families are screwed up, yet he always makes sure that I’m okay. Even when his parents are wreaking havoc around him, he’s there for me and my brother.”
“So, it’s not a crush then?”
She stops short. Shaking her head, an unidentifiable look in her eyes, Alanah’s words tumble from her lips in a rush. “Oh, no. It’s just a crush. Nothing will ever happen—he sees me as the little sister he never had. Plus he has a girlfriend.”
The opportunity to press her for more disappears when Grace catches up to us and takes over the conversation. With one ear I listen to the prattling about make up and which teacher is being a hard arse this week, all the while I attempt to swallow down the guilt that’s seeping into every corner of my brain.
You see, I like Alanah. She’s everything I want in a friend—well read, with a love of the old-fashioned classics, determined to do well at school so she can have her own life, and she’s easy to be around. The fact that she doesn’t seem to care if she fits in helps me see myself clearer as well.
Unfortunately, our friendship is doomed.
Every day I lie to her a little more.
Every day I analyse her a little harder.
Every day I doubt myself a little further.
Everything we know about each other is built on a foundation of deceit. Eventually it will rot all the way through and come tumbling down around our ears.
My only hope is that I’m not around to see the destruction.
“Hey.” Alanah stops me by tugging on the sleeve of my school dress. Stepping off to the side, we let the rest of the students in our home group head inside the building. “Thank you for not making fun of me.”
I blink fast. Crap. I don’t know how to respond.
“It’s nothing,” I venture, timidly.
Alanah smiles at me. A big, genuine grin that lights up her eyes and makes me feel like a sunflower on the cusp of blooming under the summer sun.
“But it is,” she insists, those same eyes flashing with assurance. “I don’t have any close friends to talk to.”
“Me, either,” I confess without thinking.
She gives me a quick hug and the guilt that I was already crumbling under increases ten-fold.
“I’m glad you moved here.” Her words hit me in the middle of the chest with the speed of a bullet. They sting, and I bleed on the inside. “If you want, we could go to the city library after school? I have a book to take back that I think you’ll love. You can check it out straightaway if you’re with me so no one else gets it first.”
The earnest appeal in her question kills me. This is what I’m here for, except now it’s happening, I’m not sure I can go through with it. Using Alanah feels wrong.
“Sounds like a plan,” I reply. Caught between my shame at the victory I feel at cracking through her protective barrier and my own regret, I overcompensate with my enthusiasm. “I love libraries!”
She tosses her head back and laughs. I feel my face heating, embarrassment burning a path up my neck to my cheeks, until Alanah looks me in the eyes and I see that she’s laughing with me, not at me.
“Me, too,” she admits. “Although, you’re the first person I’ve met who feels the same way.”
The school siren blares around us. Linking her arm through mine, Alanah leads me into our home group classroom. She ignores Grace and our group, finding two seats next to each other down the front. As the teacher calls the role, she leans across and whispers to me.
“I know this sounds naff, but I just know that this is the start of a lifelong friendship. My brother isn’t going to believe me when I tell him that I’ve actually made a friend outside the club.”
Her declaration is a fatal blow to my moral compass. It spins off its axis and falls into the yawning abyss that is now the black hole I call my soul. This is the first time she’s acknowledged what everyone else at school whispers about when her back is turned.
She thinks her brother won’t believe that she has a friend outside the Black Shamrocks MC.
Well, that makes one of them.
Mine’s going to be beside himself with glee when I tell him what happened today.
SEVEN
Brian
We’re barely started with Paddy’s mess when the sound of Vic’s Harley approaching fills the neighbourhood. Exchanging a look with Cole, I see that he’s feeling the same as me.
Unbalanced and untrusting.
Cole attempts to give me a smile of support; however he fails miserably. He’s too honest for what we’ve been asked to do, and I know it’s going to fall to me when the time comes. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that patching into the Black Shamrocks would come between my band of best friends, yet that’s exactly what’s about to happen.
It was explained to me and Cole as we set about restoring order to the main bar that we were forbidden from telling Vic the true version of what went down today. It was a direct command that came from the very top.
Tell Vic the alternate explanation or be stripped of our patches for disloyalty.
The muscle in my father’s jaw had been working overtime during our Prez’s diatribe, however he hadn’t offered any objections and he’d stood firm at Leo’s side with Quinn and Grinder.
As choices go, it wasn’t much. Cole hadn’t taken it well and he’d been reminded of his indiscretion with the Mavericks of Mayhem and the price he still had to pay for that. I felt it was a low blow—yes, he’d fucked up, but he’d done it to protect the girl he loves.
Nobody had asked me for my opinion, though.
After seeing the way they handled Cole’s protest, I’d kept my mouth shut and filed away my feelings on the matter for examination at another time.
I guess, you could say that being a fully patched member of the MC hasn’t quite lived up to my expectations. Game playing, dishonesty, and behind-the-scenes machinations were the opposite of the brotherhood I’d envisioned.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow.
“I’ll take these outside.” I motion toward the bent bar stools.
“Okay,” Cole replies. Relief cloaks that single word like a heavy winter coat.
Vic’s nearly at the double doors when I exit.
“What’s doing?” he asks, his eyes widening when he sees me.
“Fucking Paddy and Lenny is what’s doing,” I reply.
Frowning, he stops near the door to wait for me. Tossing the broken pieces into the rubbish skip, I head back over to him, all the while geeing myself up to lie to my best friend.
I can’t bring myself to do it just yet, so to buy some time, I light up a cigarette and take a longer than necessary drag.
“Did they fight again?” Vic’s question is the opening I need. He’s already jumped to the most logical conclusion when it comes to the O’Brien brothers.
Now, it’s up to me to take it and run with it.
“Yeah,” I answer, shaking my head. The hand holding my cigarette trembles when I take another drag and cross over to the dark side. “Prez told them to work point on a distribution job. The dumb fuckers didn’t even make it outside before they started punching on about who was the lead point. Me and Cole tried to separate them, but Grinder told us to leave ‘em to it, then Prez kicked them both out. Seems like me and Cole are being sent instead once we’ve cleaned up their mess.”
Vic’s frown deepens. I glimpse hurt in his expression, then his face turns blank. I figure he’s pissed that me and Cole and Paddy were summoned to meet the hierarchy earlier than he was, so I refrain from remarking on his reaction.
That’s not a path I want to tread—not when it will lead to me losing my top rocker.
“There’s no such thing as a lead point.”
“No shit,” I reply with an empty chuckle. “Try telling those idiots though.”
The door next to us opens. Cole sticks his head out. He looks around, then beckons us to him.
“Listen, I just heard something I wasn’t supposed to,” he whispers. Throwing my cigarette on the ground, I stub it out with my boot. Cole’s eyes follow my movements then he raises them to meet mine. I try my hardest to convey to him that I’ve already set up the lies we’ve been told to tell and it’s now up to him to consolidate them. The hard look he gives me telegraphs his disappointment in me, and I hold my breath while I wait to see which way he goes.
Vic motions him to continue. “Looks like Lenny’s being overlooked. Grinder’s wild about it. Same as my dad and yours.”
Stark relief has me emptying my lungs in a rush.
“My dad thinks Paddy’s a liability.” The truth comes unbeckoned from my lips. It’s a rookie error—I’m not used to censuring myself around Vic.
“What did my dad say?” Thankfully, Vic’s got bigger fish to fry and doesn’t examine my admission too closely.
Cole regards him with authentic sympathy on his face. Vic’s dad is a lost cause and I’m pretty damn sure he’s on his way out of the club.
“He’s, um, otherwise occupied,” Cole stammers.
He looks at me helplessly, but all I can offer him is a shrug. We’re in too deep to back out now. The scene has been set. Vic knows most of the truth—Paddy is the next President—but he doesn’t know the full extent of the behind-the-scenes jostling.
“Conan,” a booming voice yells in our direction. “Get yer arse back inside and bring Viking and Butch with you.”
“Sprung,” Vic jokes.
Me and Cole give him a tight smile, but don’t speak. My throat is closed because I know what’s happening next and I know Vic’s not going to like it.
Cole leads the way inside. Vic does a double take when he sees the chaotic mess and I lean close to explain a little further.
“Paddy,” I tell him out the corner of my mouth. “Lenny’s okay. He held his own.”
“Conan and Butch,” our Prez addresses me and Cole by our road names. “You need to get going. The delivery is ready. Your task is to sit point and learn the ropes while our guys deliver.”
“Consider it done.” I promise our President.
Cole’s dad, Grinder, and the rest of the enforcers head for the exit. Cole trails along behind them with me, stooping down to put his mouth near my ear.
“I don’t like this,” he whispers. “Vic’s our best friend and Paddy’s not a President’s asshole. What the fuck is happening to this club?”
Grabbing my helmet from the shelves just inside the doors, I pretend like I didn’t hear him and separate from him to go to my Harley. When the engines start in unison, the rumbling of the loud pipes doesn’t soothe me like it normally would.
Today, the sound of our motorbikes feels like an indictment.
I’ve crossed the one person who’s always had my back. I’ve lied to Vic and I don’t even understand the reason why. What I do know is I don’t like the way it’s making me feel.
It’s payback… my inner voice offers my singed conscience an excuse.
Remember what you saw between him and Alanah.
You’re just getting in first.
Make the break before he breaks you.
One by one the Harley’s leave the Black Shamrocks compound. I wait until the last bike—Cole’s—has pulled out of the yard before I open the top of the ring I wear on the middle finger of my right hand. It’s an antique that belonged to my mother’s father. Complete with a hidden, hollowed out compartment, it’s perfect for carrying around a bump or two of coke, just in case the urge hits.
After the morning I’ve had, I deserve a bump. Cupping my hand around the ring so the wind doesn’t pick up any of the powder, I snort the entire contents in one go. Usually, the ring would contain enough for two or three snorts, but today isn’t a usual day.
Today is a shitshow.
The buzz hits quickly. I rev my bike, the vibrations beneath me and the rumbling in my ears, offers me comfort. As the drug does its thing, I feel the dirty stain of what I’ve done fade away. My conscience goes back into hiding. My head clears of all residual guilt. My heart pounds in my ears like a raucous symphony fuelled by chemicals.
Everything turns bright again.
Everything makes sense again.
This club is my family. That supersedes any friendship I might think I have with Vic.
Like the old saying goes, “The days that break you are the days that make you.”
Pulling out of the compound, I gun my engine to catch up with the rest. All the while reminding myself that I’m determined to be a made man.
No matter the price.
EIGHT
Anita
“You have to go,” I hiss at Serge when I see him parked on his motorcycle at the front of the school.
I’d cut the final fifteen minutes of my last class—feigning illness—so I could get to him and send him on his way before Alanah sees him. He might not be wearing his cut to school anymore, but it’s just a matter of time before someone works out who he is.
This is Black Shamrocks turf, after all.
“Why?” With his helmet on, I can’t see his eyebrows, however I know he’d have the right one quirked. It’s what he does whenever I question him. A silent condemnation of my daring to treat him as anything other than the deity that he thinks he is—which is the way he’s treated by the Ugly Bastards.
“Because I’m going to the library with Alanah Kelly,’ I reply. His face pales, then he smiles wide. Not the reaction I expected, not that I have time to examine it now. “She’s becoming friendlier and I need to capitalise on that. I’ll catch the bus home. It’ll be fine.”
A sharp incline of his head is the only response I get before he starts his engine and rides away. His abrupt departure stings until I hear the thumping engine of another Harley. Serge has some type of sixth sense about other bikers and always seems to miss crossing paths with the Black Shamrocks by mere moments.
My guess is validated when the motorbike parks in front of the school, in virtually the same spot Serge just vacated. Cutting th
e engine and kicking down his stand, he dismounts his bike to sit sideways on the seat so he’s facing the school.
The rider is wearing a Black Shamrocks MC cut. His rockers are shiny and new, the opposite of my brother’s well-worn patches, and the smugness that covers his face telegraphs that he’s a brand-new patch. Being a biker is cool, I’m sure of it, yet I’ve seen the way the glossy veneer wears off quickly in the first few years of being a member of the brotherhood.
They all start off arrogant and over-confident. Buying their own hype and startled into conceit by the shine of their new patches. It dies quickly when the dirty underbelly exposes itself. My evidence is anecdotal, of course—I only know the way of the Ugly Bastards—although it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’re not unique.
“You know Alanah Kelly?” the biker asks in a deep voice after he’s removed his helmet. The timbre in his voice sends a shiver the length of my spine and snaps me straight out of my anthropological musings about biker clubs and brotherhoods.
“Ah, yeah,” I stammer. My stupid face becomes hot when I meet his bright green eyes and realise who I’m talking to. Brian Kelly is the spitting image of his sister. “She won’t be long. The final siren hasn’t gone yet.”
“Did you cut?”
His curt question is posed with humour. It’s a contradiction. Rich voice layered with juvenile comedy. As silly as it sounds, his baritone suits his looks. Dark blond hair, green eyes, tall and built like a tank, Brian Kelly is easy on my ears and even easier on my eyes.
He also seems older than his years. There’s a world-weary cast to his demeanour that matches the one that lives inside me.
“I wasn’t feeling well.” I barely manage to get the words out in an audible manner.
“Huh,” he drawls, tilting his head to one side. “You look fine.”
Well, this is unexpected. Brian Kelly seems to be flirting with me. Like normal, I’m all awkward limbs and tangled tongue, and hard as I try, I can’t seem to decide how to play this. Serge would want me to get closer to him, to trick him into thinking I’m someone that I’m not. Carly would want me to use my feminine wiles—the minimal amount I possess—to lull him into a false sense of security. But, it’s Alanah who stops me from being too forward. I saw her reaction to Grace’s in-your-face flirtatiousness, and I don’t want to make her feel like that.
Butch (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book 3) Page 5