Making Choices (Black Shamrocks MC Book 2) (30 page)

LUCAS

Present Day

“F
ucking hell, Mad Dog. You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Pacing around Beast’s vacant office, I crack my knuckles and jam my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. Resisting the urge to punch something—namely Mad Dog for coming up with such a stupid idea—I turn to our fathers.

“What do you two think?”

“I think it’s the best option we’ve got at the moment. If he doesn’t talk, we’re fucked,” my dad answers quickly.

Viking nods his accord, looking worse today than he did last night. The tight lines around Mad Dog’s eyes tell me that he notices as well.

“Fighting him for custody of Matty and Lachie. How’s that gonna work?”

“Guilt. We’re gonna guilt him with Alanah, guilt him with Lainey. Guilt him with every fucking thing we can throw at him. Use his good, old Irish, Catholic guilt against him.”

I throw my hands in the air. I can’t hold my tongue any longer so I tell him what I think, “For the record, I think it’s a stupid fucking idea. Have you told Princess what you’re planning? She’ll need to be on board for this to work.”

“Ah, not yet.” Indecision crossing his face, I laugh at the dumb fucker.

“You’re a fucking dead man. She’s gonna rip you a new one.”

“Madelaine will agree. She loves those boys,” Wendy’s quiet voice interrupts. Closing the office door behind her, she pats Viking’s cheek on her way past. Sympathy in her soft eyes, she measures his condition. “You shouldn’t be worrying about this, Victor. You should be resting.” 

Grimacing when Wendy refers to him by his given name, the rest of us laugh at him. Wendy refuses to call any of us by our road names—fuck, she refuses to even shorten our names. It’s not too bad for me, but Mad Dog and Maddi hate their names so their annoyance is always fun to mock. She only gets away with it because we all love her. Along with my mama, she mothers all of the younger men—washing our clothes, cleaning the Clubhouse, and fixing our meals. 

“The boys are going to be unhappy when they find out what happened to their sister. Patrick will need to prepare himself for that. It won’t stay a secret for long,” Wendy continues, busying herself with rearranging the paperwork on the desk—not meeting our eyes. “I’m looking for a house. They can live with me until they decide if they want to move in with Mikhail and Madelaine or whatnot.”

Shit.
I’m speechless.

“You’re leaving him?” Dad asks the obvious question.

“Of course, Colin. This has been a long time coming. I’m sure you would agree.” Her answer is firm—too firm. Not an iota of doubt can be heard.

Lifting his chin in answer to her question, Dad shrugs when I raise my eyebrow at him. I never saw this coming. I’d bet none of us did. The two of them always seemed solid to me, in spite of Beast’s hair-trigger temper, and increasingly erratic, fucked-up-ness.

This is just something else to rock the foundation of the Club.

It keeps getting better and better.

***

“I
t’s fucking simple. We get the details of your deal with the Mavericks. You get to walk from the Club with your life and your sons’ respect. And Alanah might stop turning in her grave from the shit you’ve pulled—eventually.” Mad Dog’s laying it on thick, determined to use guilt rather than violence to end this.

Looking at Beast’s smug face, I’m left itching to add to the decorations Mad Dog left last night. I don’t recognize the asshole sitting across the table from me anymore.

“You think you’ve got it all sorted,” Beast scoffs.

We left him cooling his heels in the bar during our impromptu meeting in the office.

After Wendy’s bombshell, there was nothing much left to say. This plan’s as good as any for the moment. With the Mavericks and Connor still in the bunker, their President’s body turning stiff next to them, and Sherri still out there as a potential loose cannon, we need to gain an advantage.

Right fucking now.

“Not at all. Just trying to fix your fuck up.”

“Not my fuck up. Yours.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

Watching their exchange like a bad game of ping-pong, my eyes going from one end of the table and back to the other as they volley back and forth, my temper reaches breaking point.

“Just tell us the fucking truth!” Banging my fist on the table, I push to my feet. Unable to control myself anymore, I’m around the table with a handful of his shirt in my grip before anyone can stop me.

“You owe this Club, you fucking cunt. You put my Old Lady in danger. My kid in danger. You sacrificed Princess for what? To walk away like a pussy now? Man the fuck up and spit it out, or you’re gonna be on the receiving end of the tactics you’ve had me employ for you over the years.”

Shaking with rage, I haul him closer. My misgivings from last night have been answered. If I need to, I
will
make him bleed for answers.

“Lachie and Matty are the least of your problems right now. You’re one step from the reaper, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Step down, Timber.”

Throwing Beast back into his seat, I step down like Mad Dog orders.

Picking out Dad’s face from the sea of my brother’s filling the room, I’m surprised when he nods at me, respect and admiration covering his face.

“Nice to see Mad Dog still has you by the balls,” Beast laughs, mocking me. “You telling me to man the fuck up, that’s fucking rich.”

Shaking my head, I return to my seat, not having a clue what he’s laughing about.

Every time he opens his mouth, he makes me more determined to get my hands on him. He’s lost the plot—no longer the man who helped teach me about brotherhood, loyalty, and respect.

“Just walk away, you piece of shit. You think I betrayed the Club, betrayed my brothers? I might have, but I did it to save the Club.
You,
on the other, hand. Every time you look at my daughter, every time you think about what it would feel like to fuck her, every time you think about what she’d look like with your mark on her, with your patch on her, you betray your brothers more than I ever have. What’s got you so worked up? Huh? Your new Old Lady and kid being in danger? Or
your
Princess being involved?”

Fuck!

This is vintage Beast—divide and conquer with something as close to the truth as you can get.

Bowing my head, I wait for Mad Dog’s reaction.

Body tense.

Heart pounding.

I know what Beast’s saying is partly true—a truth that I never wanted my best friend to learn.

Snickering breaks out through the assembled men, making me lift my head and look around.

Mad Dog starts clapping—slow, measured, mocking claps. “Nice try.”

Turning to me with a smile on his face he chuckles, still clapping. “How many times have we watched him do this to some poor fucker?”

Relief coursing through me, I laugh at his question. “Too many fucking times.”

The Chapel erupts with laughter. Beast shakes his head, a strange—almost proud—smile on his face. I want to put my fist through his face, especially when I catch Mad Dog’s eye for a moment.

He knows Beast’s telling the truth, but he’s choosing to deny him the reaction he seeks.

“Beast, let’s cut the shit,” Viking speaks up when the room dies down.

Palms down on the table, he pushes himself into a standing position. “You’re my brother, no matter what you’ve done.
I know you.
You did what you thought was right. I refuse to die with this Club in limbo. Tell me what you know. Give a brother peace before he goes.”

Mad Dog closes his eyes at his father’s words, swallowing visibly when his dad continues. The effort it takes Viking to speak is evident; his voice is hoarse, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tries to maintain his stance.

“I’ll make sure the boys let you walk, if that’s what you want. I’ll make them stop the custody shit. I can even keep your kids out of it. Maddi, too. Just give us what you know. We can’t go in blind.”

Viking’s standing in the MC is such that nobody makes a noise, the room silent as he has his say. Nobody speaks when he falls into his seat, Mad Dog rushing to his side to make him comfortable.

As an ex-President, his words hold weight. As a dying brother, his wishes mean everything.

Beast looks around the room, his eyes losing some of their hardness as he regards the men he led until last night. Shoulders slumped in defeat, he barks out a defeated laugh. Swiveling in his chair, he addresses Mad Dog, his tone noticeably more civil than it has been in months.

“It won’t change a damn thing, but I’ll tell you. After that, you choose what the fuck happens. To me. To the Club. I want out.”

Glancing at his frail father when Beast finishes speaking, Mad Dog breathes a long sigh.

Of relief? Irritation? I can’t read his expression. He’s not meeting my eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ. About fucking time.”

Running his hands through his hair, he narrows his eyes at Beast. “Start talking. Don’t leave out a fucking thing. You’ve cost us enough time.”

Ignoring Mad Dog’s barb, Beast leans back in his chair.

It’s just a normal seat, not the President’s spot. That was left vacant for today’s meeting. Mad Dog refused to sit in it, assuming control of the meeting from his usual VP position.

Arms behind his head, he begins. “The night baby girl shot that fucker we organized a clean-up for the mess at your house and the Compound.”

He nods at Mad Dog when he mentions the mess at his house.

“We didn’t have enough men to go around, not with the ones I’d left back at the farm with Wendy and the boys and you two dealing with baby girl. I sent Benji with the group to your house. Told him to run the show. Make sure the house was clean and to use the van to drop the body back at the farm for the pigs.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Lenny snaps.

“He needed to start stepping up. He’s gonna be President one day.”

“Bullshit, he is,” my father interjects. Agreement fills the room. “He’s a fucking druggie. Hasn’t even prospected or paid his dues. Done fuck all.”

“Fuck you, Conan. He’s the eldest O’Brien boy. We started the Club, we lead the Club,” Beast argues, pointing a finger at Dad who looks ready to throw down right now.

Dissent breaks out, Beast’s proclamation going down like a lead fucking balloon. That’s because it’s bullshit. Most of today’s brothers are second or third generation Shamrocks who’ve already paid their dues.

The O’Briens didn’t start the Black Shamrocks by themselves.

The Black Shamrocks were founded by a group of returned Vietnam vets in the early seventies, all first-generation Irish Australian. My grandfather, Quinn Blake, and Mad Dog’s Pop, Amos Kennedy, being two of them. Maddi’s maternal grandfather was also part of the group.

“Enough!” Mad Dog reaches over and slams the gavel down, silencing the room. “We’ll debate this shit when it’s time. Right fucking now, we need to find out what happened.”

Pointing the gavel at Beast, he orders him to continue, displeasure in his voice. I’m on edge, ready to flip. Mad Dog doesn’t look far behind. Every time I think it can’t get worse, it does.

“As far as I knew, it went to plan. Not a trace left. Until Wizard sent me the Taylor fucker’s bloodstained shirt. To my fucking house, with a message to meet him.”

What the fuck?

“I tracked down Benji first. Turns out he didn’t take the body and the clothes back to the farm. Didn’t feed him to the pigs. He buried him in one of the National Parks on the way back home with the clothes and the gun.”

Jumping to his feet with a shout, his seat tipping over and hitting the floor behind him, Mad Dog explodes. “The fucking idiot. That’s Lainey’s fucking gun. Did you dig it up? Get rid of it properly?”

For the first time since we walked him down to the bunker last night and set this all in motion, Beast drops his mask. All of the worry, the stress, and the sorrow that he’s been shouldering for the past six months appears.

He ages before our eyes.

I’m
almost
sympathetic.

“He can’t remember where he buried him.” Dropping his head into his hands, his shoulders shake.

“What about the guys with him?” Mad Dog spits the question from between his teeth, hopelessness in his voice. A blind man can see where this is heading.

“He sent them home. Handled it himself.”

“Dickhead was high, wasn’t he?”

“He swears he wasn’t.” At Mad Dog’s question, Beast defends Benji straightaway. It’s a reflex reaction for him at this point. “I don’t know. Said he got lost. I’ve looked everywhere he’s pointed me, can’t find a fucking thing.”

There are at least three National Parks between Brisbane and Emerald, more depending on the route Benji travelled. It’s like trying to pinpoint a needle in a fucking haystack.

The drug-fucked idiot has fucked up epically, leaving Maddi in the line of fire once again. 

“How did the Mavericks find his shirt then?” I ask.

There’s more to this story. None of this explains why Beast didn’t bring the problem to the table.

“From what Wizard told me, they followed him. When the showdown at the Emerald Clubhouse didn’t happen, they hightailed it back to the fucking city. Must have arrived after us and recognized the van as he left.”

“So they know where he buried the body?”

“They say they do. They must. They have the shirt.” Tired eyes meeting mine, he shakes his head. “That’s not all of it.”

Mad Dog’s pacing, fists pulling his hair, curses erupting every time Beast drops a new bomb on us. Our remaining brothers are watching me and Beast like we’re part of a TV sitcom.

A fucked-up, incomprehensible drama.

A drama that’s going to have lethal consequences.

“Brendan Taylor’s father’s in with the Mavericks. He knows his son’s dead. He knows we had a hand in it. That’s why I made the deal. To get the proof before he did.
To save the Club
. The Mavericks wanted back into the fold more than they wanted his money. It was the only way.”

Kicking his fallen chair into the wall, Mad Dog loses his shit. Grabbing Beast, he snarls in his face, “You gave my woman to them because you wanted to save your ego! Because you didn’t want to admit that your golden boy’s a fuck-up. That you fucked-up by bringing him into Club business. Don’t try and use saving the fucking Club as an excuse.”