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  Seizing Control (Black Shamrocks MC #1)

  Copyright © 2015 Kylie Hillman

  Published by 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 licensed 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 by Kylie Hillman 2015

  Cover Design by L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

  Proofreading by Deliciously Wicked Editing Services

  Editing by Deliciously Wicked Editing Services

  Images in Manuscript from Shutter Stock

  Photos from Shutter Stock

  DISCLAIMER

  This book contains graphic situations and as such, may not be suitable for all readers. This story isn’t suitable for those who do not enjoy dark romances.

  Please consider yourself warned. Nonetheless, should you chose to delve into this story, you will be happy to know that all events are approached with sensitivity and real life consequences.

  This book is Book One in an anticipated series of five. It does not contain a cliff-hanger or a happily ever after, but rather a happy for now ending that will be continued in the next book. However, it can be read as a standalone story if desired.

  I hope you love the characters as much as I do, and enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  To my sexy, supportive soul mate.

  Without you, I wouldn't have the ability to dream, let alone succeed.

  You are my rock. You’ve given me everything a woman could ask for and more.

  And yes, my beautiful man. You can tell everyone that you inspired the sex scenes, because you did!

  You are the Mik to my Lainey.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Titles

  PROLOGUE

  ‘When something bad happens you have three choices. You can let it define you, let it destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.’ Unknown

  This has been my motto for the last four years. I was sure I had proven to myself, and anyone who mattered, that I had let my past strengthen me not destroy me. I had survived every women's worst nightmare and I was still standing. I was still chasing my dreams, my family was thriving, and so was my relationship. As far as I was concerned, I exemplified the positive essence of the sayingt.

  Unfortunately, everything I thought I had overcome was about to rear its ugly head. He refused to stay in the past where he belonged. He was determined to conquer me and keep me for himself. To take complete control of me, alienating me from my loved ones; forcing me to submit to his will. His newest attack was going to prove his most lethal and he was going to teach me that even though he hadn't destroyed me in the past, he had absolutely defined me.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lainey

  Present Day

  Don’t you find it upsetting how sometimes the most ordinary day can turn into the most challenging in the blink of an eye? A typical, normal day suddenly throws up your painful past and sets you onto the path you never wanted to travel.

  Cutting the engine, I breathe a deep sigh of relief as I lay my head back on the headrest. It was chaotic at work today and while I love my job, I’m bone tired. My back hurts from all the time spent sitting and I have a throbbing headache from reading too many briefs and debating too many vague angles.

  Grabbing my phone to text Mik that I’m home, I find thirteen missed calls from him and four messages telling me to wait at the office until he gets there. Just my luck. I forgot to turn my ringer back on. My lack of communication with him is going to cause issues when he gets home.

  In my defense, my afternoon was filled with back to back meetings so I switched my phone to vibrate to minimize interruptions. Namely his, since my headstrong man doesn’t respect the rules of traditional workplaces. He calls and texts multiple times a day, even when I’ve told him I’ll be too busy to talk.

  The thought of the overreaction I’m going to face when he gets home brings a cheeky grin to my face. The phrase ‘Control Freak’ was coined to describe my fiancé. I can hear his low, gruff voice already lecturing me for not waiting or returning his calls; and for putting my phone on vibrate in the first place. Then I’ll be lectured for leaving work without an escort and for taking what he deems ‘unnecessary risks’ with my safety.

  I completely understand where his protectiveness comes from, although it does annoy me at times. Because I understand Mik’s need for strict safety precautions—having barely survived what happened when I was eighteen—I don’t often step outside his carefully constructed lines on purpose. Not listening this time is purely down to forgetfulness and exhaustion. It’s an unfortunate mishap but one that will end up being worth it, because every lecture he gives me ends with us tangled around each other in bed. My stomach tightens in delighted anticipation of how this evening is going to end.

  Brrrr, brrrr. I'm jolted from my thoughts by my flashing and vibrating phone. I decline the call in favour of sending a text, not wanting to deal with the beginning of his tirade over the phone. Mik is much more receptive to my feminine manipulations in person.

  ME: Already home. Only just saw your messages. Sorry xx

  A reply flashes on my screen a minute later.

  MIK: On my way. Ur in big trouble xx

  I can tell from the abrupt way he answers that he’s texting me as he rides his Harley. I can picture him weaving in and out of traffic in his rush to get to me. Shaking my head at the dangerous habit I’ve been unable to break him of, I pull my keys from the ignition. The chronic worrier always returns my texts and calls immediately. He will drop whatever he’s doing to be with me should he feel the slightest inclination that I might need him. It fills my heart with gratitude that four years after he saved me, he’s still as prote
ctive as ever.

  It’s unusual for him or one of the enforcers not to be pulling in my driveway right behind me. I normally have an escort to and from work each day. I wonder what was important enough to require none of them to be here?

  Finally finding the energy to get out of my car, I reach over and pull my oversize work bag out behind me. Slamming my door shut, I contemplate what to make for dinner. Maybe if I have it ready when he gets home, I can simmer him down faster and get to the making up portion of my night. That feels like a suitable plan for my evening; a plan that brings a smile to my face.

  Glancing around quickly, I'm happy to see that no one else is in their front yards. I'm pretty sure I resemble an escaped mental patient considering the goofy grin covering my face in excitement at my own genius plan.

  Wandering to the mailbox, I pull out the envelopes and flip through them idly. All but one are addressed to Mikhail Kennedy—as always his detested given name makes me grin—one single piece of mail isn't addressed to either of us. The plain white envelope is open and tipping the contents into my palm unearths a USB with Lainey scrawled on it in black lettering. As I'm contemplating it with growing unease, a white work van pulls across my driveway.

  “Hey, miss, are you ready for us?” The guy in the passenger seat yells at me, leaning out the window.

  “What do you mean?” I reply walking towards the van, my thin heels clicking on our concrete driveway.

  I slip the USB and Mik’s mail into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. A sliver of foreboding runs through my mind and manifests as an icy shiver flows through my body. I carefully edge my right hand into my bag and wrap my fingers around the butt of my handgun.

  Stopping a few metres from the van and cocking an eyebrow, I wait for a response to my question. Almost unconsciously, my thumb begins to play with my engagement ring, a nervous habit I've developed since Mik slid the ring on my finger just over a year ago. I hate that I’m always suspicious of anything out of the ordinary but my past taught me the hard way, even the so-called ‘best’ people have a dark side.

  The man in the driver’s seat starts speaking but I can’t hear him. He’s gesturing towards a piece of paper in his hand. The van has signage for a plumbing business which confuses me. They must have the wrong address. Giving myself a mental shake for being suspicious of nothing, I take my hand out of my bag and walk to the passenger window.

  “I didn’t book a plumber,” I tell them.

  “We know,” the driver sneers, a sinister smirk on his face.

  My heart drops at his nasty tone and I turn to run. I get two steps away before the van’s side door bursts open and two men leap out, each latching onto one of my arms, dragging me kicking and screaming into the van. They slam the door shut as the van drives off at high speed, wheels squealing.

  Screaming at the top of my lungs, I fight for my freedom with all I have.

  I manage to kick one of my attackers in the face before I feel a sharp sting in my arm. Twisting around, I see an empty syringe sticking out of my bicep. That can't be good. My head immediately feels fuzzy and my eyesight starts to dim. In the growing drug-induced darkness, I vaguely hear a man whining.

  “Fucking bitch made my nose bleed.”

  Turning to search for the source of the comment, I’m hit in the temple with sickening force and left with no choice but to embrace the growing darkness.

  Blinking slowly because the light hurts my eyes, I lift my head to see if I can determine where I am. I vaguely remember being carried out of the van and then being thrown onto a bed before I lost consciousness again. It didn't feel as if I was out for long in the van so I hope I’m close to home. Feeling slightly better at that thought, I try to make sense of my situation. Everything is muddled in my head from whatever I was injected with.

  Forcing myself to keep my eyes open regardless of the pain, I discover that I’m in a large bedroom. A man’s bedroom by the look of the dark bedding I’m lying on. Male clothes lay over the foot of the bed and the smell of cologne lingers in the air. The cologne smells eerily familiar to my addled brain and actually causes my stomach to churn.

  Before I can mull over my strange reaction to the smell, the bedroom door opens and a large, muscular man with a shaved head and black tattoos covering his arms strides in. He glares at me so gathering as much energy as I can muster, I glare back. He’s obviously the piece of work I kicked in the face since he has dried blood on the front of his shirt and bruising setting in under his eyes. I make a point of grinning at him, lifting my eyebrows in amusement, as I slowly drag my eyes over his face and blatantly examine the damage I inflicted.

  “I see you’ve finally finished with your beauty sleep,” he snaps, advancing on me. “You looked pretty fuckable lying there moaning away like a bitch in heat…”

  “You touch me and I'll have you killed,” I shout at him. I'm not bluffing. I know plenty of people who can ‘dispose’ of anyone I ask them to. “Where am I? What the hell do you want with me?”

  I lash out at him with my legs and land a good kick to his stomach. He grunts but doesn’t slow his stride towards me. Ignoring my shouted questions, he simply slaps my legs down. Grabbing me roughly by the arm, he hauls me off the bed. My feet barely touch the ground as he towers over my five-foot eleven frame, even with the added height of my heels.

  This guy is massive and I’m starting to regret giving him attitude when he glares down at me in rage. It’s going to hurt if he decides to get any rougher with me. He drags me out of the room, down an expensively decorated hallway and into an open concept living area.

  “Is he here yet?” he barks to the other three men in the room.

  They are all equally as big and scary looking as the guy holding me. I didn't get a good look at the time, but I’m pretty sure they’re the other guys from the van.

  “She’s really starting to piss me off.”

  “He’ll be here in ten. We've got plenty of time to teach her a quick lesson, Duke.” The black haired guy sitting by himself at the breakfast bar announces to the bastard holding me. His gaze travels from the top of my long blonde hair and down my face to rest on my breasts which are heaving from the exertion of trying to keep on my feet during my trip from the bedroom.

  “Good idea.” Duke sneers down at me, his intent written all over his face. His grip on my arms tightens. My stomach drops and my adrenaline spikes.

  Backing me up against the closest wall, he rips open my satin dress shirt, exposing my blue lace bra. I instinctively start struggling, albeit sluggishly because my head is still foggy, but he pins my hands above my head by holding both my wrists in one of his big paws. He gropes my covered breasts roughly and I’m about to knee him when one of the men sitting on the couch jumps up and pulls Duke off of me.

  “If you value your fucked up life, you will not touch her. We’re here to snatch and deliver, not for fun.”

  Duke lets go of me as he’s roughly yanked backwards. Once I have enough space, I rear back and punch him in the face before kneeing him in the balls. My self-defense skills are finally rising to the surface and out of the fog caused by the sedative they injected into me.

  He drops to one knee from my strikes before finding his bearings. He tries to rise to his full height but is hampered by the guy holding him. Even so, he still manages to backhand me across the face. His hit makes my head jerk painfully. Pain blooms in my cheek and lip and I can taste blood. My face hurts but I ignore it and make a run for the front door, thanking God that I'm able to run in heels.

  Duke finally shakes the other guy off and grabs me around the waist, successfully foiling my escape, by pulling me back against him. In the chaos, the other two men have risen to their feet and pulled their guns. I’m vaguely aware of them training their guns on me as I continue to struggle with Duke, landing a couple of good punches to his face and another knee to his groin.

  A loud yell from one of the men has it registering that I have guns pointed at me, I stop struggling and s
tand still with my hands palm up by my sides to indicate that I’m not going to fight anymore. Seizing me from behind, Duke pulls my back to his chest, his arms pinning mine to my sides as he slides a clammy hand into my bra and kneads my breast.

  “Stop fucking touching her.” The guy who pulled Duke off me orders him loudly.

  He pushes Duke away from me and grabs me by the top of my arm, squeezing tight when I resist. I’m going to have serious bruising on that arm, if they don't stop manhandling me.

  “Duke, fuck off over there and stay the fuck away from her.”

  He points at the couch. Duke stares at me with hate in his eyes before he limps off, collapsing on the lounge.

  “Cain, take her back to the bedroom and watch her.” He shouts this at the smart mouth from the breakfast bar before he turns his back to huddle with the man he was sitting next to when we entered.

  Cain salutes the order and winks at me like we're about to share a private joke. I shudder under his perusal.

  “No problem, Stu.”

  The two who have huddled are talking in hushed tones, ignoring the rest of us. They appear to be the leaders of this group so I assume this house belongs to one of them. I think they have military backgrounds, if their upright bearing and haircuts are any indication, although the guy Cain just called Stu is dressed as if he belongs to an MC. He isn't wearing a cut but I've been around enough bikers to pick them out.

  It's bugging me that I can’t work out why they’ve grabbed me and who this guy is that they're waiting on to arrive. The only thing I know for sure is, if this has something to do with my Dad’s MC, he is going to go apeshit on their asses. It’s a cardinal rule that women and children are not involved in conflicts.

  Cain saunters over and grabs me by my sore arm, dragging me away from a glowering Duke and down the hall. I return Duke’s glare with narrowed eyes as I'm pulled passed him, sending a prayer to the universe that his balls hurt for at least a week. We’re nearly at the end of the hallway, and out of sight of the living area, when Cain surprises me by slapping his hand over my mouth and pushing me against the wall. My head hits the drywall with a sickening thud and he presses his leg between my thighs. I scream but minimal sound escapes around his hand.