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  VIKING

  Black Shamrocks MC: Black Shamrocks MC Book Two

  KYLIE HILLMAN

  VIKING (Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation Book Two)

  Copyright © 2017 Kylie Hillman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licenced for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: DyMi Ink

  Cover Design: Dana Lamothe at Designs by Dana

  Editing: Rose Vaden

  Images in Manuscript: Adobe Stock

  Cover Images: Wander Aguiar Photography

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  CONTENTS

  Become an Insider

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Butch, Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation #3 Sneak Peek

  Become an Insider

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Contact Kylie Hillman

  Also by Kylie Hillman

  DISCLAIMER

  This story contains graphic depictions of potentially triggering events.

  Please consider yourself warned.

  However, if you chose to delve into this story, you will find that all issues are approached with sensitivity and real-life reflections.

  This is the second book in the Black Shamrocks MC: First Generation series. The first book in the series, Conan, needs to be read first to properly appreciate this story.

  PLEASE NOTE: As this story is set in Australia, it is written in UK English.

  DEDICATION

  To man’s best friend.

  We don’t deserve you, but we’d be lost without you.

  My Maltese Terrier, Angus, passed away while I was writing this story.

  He was our companion for over thirteen years, basically the first thing that Mick and I did together as a new couple.

  He lived a huge life, moving houses with us eleven times and to different states four times during his life, and even as he aged, he never lost his lust for wandering and his love of picking fights with bigger dogs that he knew our Rottweiler, Sascha, and later on our AmStaff, Sienna, would finish for him.

  He was a firecracker with a bad case of small man syndrome. He liked things done his way and he had absolutely zero compunction about displaying his distaste when we failed to measure up. He cost us thousands in vet bills from his various bingles, hundreds in public menace and wandering at large fines from half a dozen councils, and even more in grooming costs since he refused to live inside like a “little dog”, instead preferring to camp out in the backyard with the big girls.

  Named after our first fight as a couple on the suggestion of our friend, who knew that we both liked Angus Young from AC/DC, our Angus was a trial and a tribulation and the best damn dog we could have asked for.

  Anyway, Angus lives on in this story as Viking’s true best friend. When he passed, I dealt with my grief by memorialising his antics in this story. It was a cheap form of therapy that made me laugh when I really wanted to cry.

  So, here’s to you, Angie. I fervently hope you’re still pissing in Sascha’s food bowl up in doggy heaven, just to show her that while she might be bigger, you’re still the boss—exactly like you did down here on earth.

  PLAYLIST

  Music is my main inspiration.

  You can follow Viking’s playlist on SPOTIFY

  PROLOGUE

  Victor

  “Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching.” ~C.S. Lewis (paraphrased)~

  I’m loyal.

  It’s been a defining trait of mine for as long as I can remember. Once you’re in my inner circle, that’s it—I’ll have your back for life. It was the same unwavering loyalty that the Black Shamrocks MC demanded in return for their patch, one of the main things that drew me toward prospecting when the invitation was extended. While my best friends were attracted by the notion of being a badass on a bike, I wasn’t under any illusions that the outlaw life was all it’s cracked up to be.

  For my family, it’s been a bit of a letdown.

  Paddy was being groomed to be the next President.

  Cole was a shoo-in for Sergeant-At-Arms when his dad stepped down.

  Brian had his eye on the VP’s patch that currently resided on his father’s cut.

  Then, there was me. Son of the Road Captain/Secretary. Between holding the lowest leadership position in the MC, and the divorce from my mother that was caused in its entirety by his inability to keep his dick in his pants, my dad didn’t inspire all that much belief in the benefits of living the outlaw dream. If anything, he was a cautionary tale.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I wanted this. I just didn’t want it for the same reasons as the others. My best friends had real motives—wholesome purposes for sewing on that patch. I simply wanted to generate fear and favour in the hearts of everyone I encountered, something I’d never achieve without a patch and a Harley.

  My family embodied the very essence of bogan scum so messing with Bonnie Dubois was my idea of the perfect “fuck you” to society. I was taking one of their pretty girls and sullying her with my biker filth. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about it. The girl liked getting dirty and she was loyal to a fault.

  Perfect for me, at this point in my life.

  It helped that I truly liked her.

  That I respected her big mouth and her honest ambition.

  And, the fact that we had an iron-clad plan complete with an impenetrable exit strategy.

  One year of fun and fucking before she went to France.

  Pity the universe had different intentions. Life decided to throw a big fucking spanner in the works and, in turn, make every belief I had about my integrity fly out the window.

  Apparently, honourable intentions only go so far
when forbidden fruit is involved.

  Maybe a stronger man could have resisted?

  Maybe, maybe not. I had the threat of death hanging over my head and still couldn’t fight her siren’s call.

  The only thing I knew was that life had taken my plans and fucked me up the ass with one harsh lesson.

  When the heart finds its perfect match, loyalty takes a back seat.

  ONE

  Victor

  Cole has that dumb look on his face that he gets just before he does something stupid. Wide, wild eyes, a red spot on each check, and a smug twist to his lips. I know what he’s up to. Fuck knows, I’ve tried to talk him out of it. But, my bull-headed friend has decided that he wants to make tonight ‘extra special’. Which proved that his grasp of female logic hadn’t increased just because he was getting laid regularly. He’s still as clueless as he was the night he almost passed out during their first date at the pool parlour.

  I can see it now. My best friend and his cheap-ass ring. His off-the-cuff speech. Colleen turning him down cold in front of the entire MC—a Club that had treated her like an expendable piece of ass just months ago. A Club that I’m pretty sure she still harbours some resentment toward.

  “Man,” I bump shoulders with him in greeting as I walk into the Clubhouse with him. “You need to listen. Tonight is not the night. Dinner, some flowers, then a nice ride up to the hills is more her style. Fuck, anything is better than doing it tonight in the middle of this.”

  Pointing at the packed bar, then at dance floor area that’s been cleared out for our patching-in ceremony, I try to get him to see sense. Cole just laughs at me, pats the front pocket of his jeans, then heads off in search of his girl.

  I spy Colleen’s red hair moving behind the bar. Whenever she’s here, she’s always doing something. Whether it’s because old habits die hard or because she still doesn’t feel like she fits in, I’m not sure. If I had to lay money on it, I’d be putting my hard-earned down on the latter.

  Bonnie sniggers as Cole leaves. For some reason, she thinks he’s entertaining and harmless. Silly girl doesn’t pick up on the way he deliberately ignores her. He holds a grudge about her meddling in his and Colleen’s early days—one I don’t see dying any time soon.

  The beautiful brunette is my arm candy for the night and looking mighty fine while she does it, if I do say so. Her long, toned dancer’s legs feel good wrapped around me when she’s on the back of my bike. They look even better when she’s standing, uncovered as they are by the tiny scrap of leather that she’s trying to pass off as a skirt. The benefits to seeing Bonnie on a more frequent basis now that Cole and Colleen are a permanent thing are too numerous to mention, however I can pinpoint the biggest bonus with ease. The look of envy that finds its way onto every man’s face when they see her on my arm is too much fun to ignore.

  I might only be the Road Captain’s son, but I have the hottest chick by my side.

  Beat that, motherfuckers.

  “Did you see the ass on her?” Paddy drawls when he approaches. He doesn’t bother with greetings. He just gets straight down to the important issues. I follow his gaze, and almost piss my pants laughing.

  “Paddy, that’s Angela.”

  “Yeah, so?” he asks with genuine puzzlement on his face.

  “She’s Grinder’s daughter.” He shrugs, still not comprehending what I’m getting at. Time to lay it out for the big dope. “Grinder is your dad’s cousin. That means Angela is your cousin, too.”

  There’s a quick flicker of awareness in his eyes, then he’s back to his normal bombastic self. “Yeah, but she’s only my second cousin or some shit like that. Pretty sure that doesn’t count.”

  He wanders off after Angela. Grabbing Bonnie’s hand, I lead her through the crowd in search of Brian. I need a dose of his level-headedness now that Cole’s decided to join Paddy’s pussy whipped posse.

  “Yo,” I grunt, lifting my chin in greeting once I’ve found him. He’s tucked away in the back corner of the room, wearing Shari’s lipstick around his mouth, and a vacant stare that tells me he’s off his head.

  “Yo,” Brian mutters. He looks down at Shari, who’s wiping her nose, then back at me with a sheepish grin on his face. “Hate crowds. Tonight’s gonna suck.”

  It appears he thinks that offers some kind of excuse for his state. Shaking my head, I ignore his attempted explanation. His drug use pisses me off. It’s unproductive and a waste of time. Like he’s the only one with problems to run away from. Only I choose to stand tall and face mine, rather than act like a wannabe junkie.

  Thoughts of ripping shreds from him for being such a dickhead make me grind my teeth. The solid—and disappointing—knowledge that he’s not the ally I’m looking for ripples through me, but I shake it off and lean back against the wall next to him. Bonnie rests against my chest, pulls my arms around her waist, and settles my right hand under her skirt. I cup her mound and whisper my appreciation in her ear.

  “Warm … and willing?”

  “I don’t know, why don’t you find out?” She purrs in response.

  While I’d love to make the most of Bonnie’s propensity for making an exhibition of herself, I have more pressing matters. A quick survey of the people in the Clubhouse tells me that everyone else’s parents have made it except mine. I’m pretty sure my dad is here somewhere—probably balls deep in whatever chick he could get to say yes—but my mum hasn’t come through on her promise to brave the Shamrock’s crowd to see me get my top rocker.

  Flicking my thumb against Bonnie’s clit and enjoying the way she presses her ass against me, I try to distract myself with her sexy body from the heavy cloak of disappointment that’s trying to settle over me. It’s not like I was under the illusion that my mother approved of me joining the Black Shamrocks MC, anyway. It’s just that she promised she’d put her resentment aside long enough to celebrate with me. I’m her only kid, you’d think she’d be happy that I was making the most of my limited opportunities.

  Apparently not. I’m still not as important as showing the Club that looks after her, despite her divorce from my father, that she condemns their very existence.

  “Man, is Paddy kissing Angela?” Brian’s incredulous question cuts through my dark thoughts. He points at the couple who are making out on the dancefloor. “Doesn’t he know that she’s his cousin?”

  “I told him,” I reply. “He didn’t care. Seems she doesn’t either.”

  Deciding to take a leaf out of Paddy’s book, I pull Bonnie with me toward the dance floor. She grabs Shari’s hand, who tugs Brian along behind her. Once we’re next to Paddy and his cousin, I spin Bonnie in a circle, then pull her in close. Brian tries to pull off the same move with Shari, but her limp makes it a lot less graceful.

  Unlike Bonnie, who’s fluid on her feet as she moves with me.

  If there’s one thing that could top the glares of envy that I get just for being with her in the first place, it’s the way that the men who watch us together need to adjust themselves when she carves up the dancefloor. My girl is poetry in motion, born to dance—and she knows it.

  She lifts one leg and hooks it over my hip. I dip her until her long hair is touching the ground behind her, then sweep her from side to side. Bonnie’s pussy is barely covered by the G-string she’s wearing under her skirt, and heat emanates when she presses herself against my bulge. Leaning forward, I gently nibble at the cords of her neck, slowly bringing her upright until she’s completely in my embrace again. Hiking an arm under her ass, I lift her until she’s wrapped both legs around my waist and our mouths are level.

  “You’re every man’s wet dream,” I tell her seconds before I try to kiss her.

  “I know,” she breathes the words over my lips as she evades my kiss. “But, right now, I’m all yours.”

  Find me a man who could resist a promise like that and I’ll show you a fool. I might come from bad stock, but a sucker, I am not. This time when I search for her mouth, Bonnie yields immediately. Sh
e parts her lips to allow me access, then meets the tip of my tongue with her own, and I’m happy to report that the woman tastes as good as she looks.

  I’m preparing to drown myself in her when I’m interrupted by our Prez.

  “Let’s call this ceremony to order,” he shouts.

  The assembled crowd begins to quieten. I pull my lips away from Bonnie’s and turn both of us to face in his direction. One, thick finger is pointed at our group as he speaks. “It’s time to make you boys officially our brothers.”

  I let Bonnie back down to her feet. She pats me on the chest, then stands on tip toe to kiss me on the cheek. “Good luck.”

  “None needed,” I state with a wink as I follow Paddy and Brian over to the circle where our hierarchy has gathered.

  “You, too.” Our Prez’s booming voice breaks the growing din once again. He thrusts a hand in the air, curls his fingers, and beckons Cole to join us. I watch my friend leave Colleen’s side with obvious reluctance. I make sure to roll my eyes at him when we make eye contact.

  “Pussy whipped,” I mouth at him.

  “Like you can talk.” He tilts his head in Bonnie’s direction once he’s standing next to me.

  “We have an understanding,” I set him straight in no uncertain terms. “One year of fun and fucking before she leaves for France.”

  “Mmm hmm,” he says, a smile on his face. “We’ll see. A year is a long time. She might decide to stay.”

  “Man, you didn’t see how pissed she was when she received the letter saying she hadn’t made the cut this year. I swear she just about spat fire when she told me.” I steal a glance in Bonnie’s direction. She’s chatting with Shari, completely at ease with her surroundings like she always is. “Nah, that girl has plans, and God save the fucker who tries to get in the way of them.”