Look for the next book in the series soon . . .
Surviving Shame ~ The Irish Bastards Volume #2
Chapter One
Help
When we reach bottom, clawing our way up can be difficult. We deny we need help because accepting it feels like defeat. Our pride keeps us buried. We would rather cling to denial than reach for reality. In truth, we believe we are better off alone and sometimes we are. So how do we tell the difference?
SHAME
MADNESS EXISTED WITHIN me, as I assumed it did with most men who wanted to do right by their family. The difference for me being I liked when the insanity had control. I craved chaos. The stronger the turmoil, the more I thrived, and the more power the club attained.
I probably needed to speak to a shrink since the day the reaper paid a visit to my old man. Let’s be honest though, the kind of man I was, didn’t talk about his demons. Therapy was for pussies. I had my own way of handling problems and it had nothing to do with spilling my fragile feelings to some overly educated stranger. My opinion on that had not changed.
The current reasons I agreed to “talk” to a “professional” were merely of self-preservation. Plain and simple, my attorney said it would help my defense. I didn’t like the quack. Worse, Dr. Montgomery had gotten in my head and made me wish I could be a different man. Wishes were for children. I was far from believing I was capable of change.
Did I feel guilt?
Did I regret the blood on my hands?
It didn’t matter. Rage was an emotion far stronger than remorse. My road to hell began when my old man died in my arms and only a single step remained after The Villains took Breeze. I would never be the same. The crimson stains left behind allowed me to be both ruthless and fearless. Those were qualities of all great leaders. I was tortured but I didn’t need help.
My family disagreed. They thought professional help might sway a judge to grant my freedom. Regardless of the outcome, I would never be truly free. Even if I proved my actions were forced upon me to defend another, it wouldn’t change me. Not at the core, which was where I needed redirection. Proving my innocence would not help the ghosts who haunted me disappear.
I was a criminal.
I deserved punishment.
Still, I would do anything to protect the one person who had always made me feel content and the only woman I ever loved. Add a new-found responsibility to my unborn child and I was forced to do whatever it took to get out of jail.
I wanted to be there for him or her.
But guilt?
Nah. Guilt was dangerous. Guilt got me into this mess. Guilt allowed Breeze to be taken during my watch. I no longer associated with guilt.
“So, tell me about after the kidnapping,” Dr. Montgomery coaxed. “Obviously, you stayed with Breeze and—”
“Why would you think that?” I interrupted.
His eyebrows rose. “I recall you promising her.”
“I promised to be there for her, which I was, but I couldn’t keep her as my old lady. Did you not hear me say she was a weakness I couldn’t afford? I have enemies.”
“Well, clearly that changed at some point.”
“Eventually . . . God knows I tried not to go there. It just happens. You ever felt that way? Like the more you try to avoid someone the more they’re always there, tempting you.”
His grin irritated me, before he said, “Some would call that fate.”
“Yeah, well fate fights back,” I scoffed.
“Yes, it most certainly does,” he agreed. “Let’s pick up where you left off. I believe it was after Breeze returned home from the hospital.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to dig into the past any deeper. The next chunk of our story wasn’t much better than the first. Perhaps it was even worse. The next year, I aided Breeze into becoming a woman capable of murder—more than once. Even if we beat the murder rap, neither of us would ever be the same.
Breeze didn’t know the entire truth yet, and when she found out, she was going to be devastated. I might even lose her for good. Knowing that made me want to give up hope and was why I ultimately accepted help. I had a wrong to right and the only way to succeed was to set pride aside.
Like it or not, there are times in our life we are forced to accept help. Once we reach acceptance, help seems to dangle like a carrot just out of reach. Sometimes it is because we look in the wrong places or confide in the wrong people. When we do finally manage to grab on, we realize how far we have to go.
BREEZE
“I honestly can’t believe this is happening,” I said to Mr. Taylor, Shame’s attorney. Then I glanced at my attorney, Mr. Stewart, hoping he had better news.
“Someone had to be charged,” Mr. Taylor explained.
I snapped my head back to him. “It should’ve been me.”
The way he scowled made me want to shake him. He sighed. “Shame was never going to allow that to happen.”
“I know, but I did it. I killed Eddie!”
Mr. Stewart jumped in. “Shame did a great job of making it look like he did it.”
“Cops are idiots,” I snapped and then sat down in the chair. The life growing inside me made me feel more hopeless than I wanted to be. I took a few breaths to get a grip on my emotions, so I didn’t turn into a blubbering mess. Shame needed me to be strong. “Any moron could see this was self-defense.”
Mr. Stewart sat in the chair next to me. The cold hand he placed over mine did nothing to calm my frustration. “There’s a lot to process and once you give us everything, we’ll prove Mr. O’Rilley’s innocence.”
I covered my mouth with my hand because now, on top of feeling angry, I felt nauseous. Tears threatened to spill as I remembered the day I killed Eddie. When Shame showed up, he had information about Eddie that would change everything, but his confession of love came first. We ended up sleeping together and I never got to hear what he came to tell me. “I’m not even sure I know everything,” I admitted.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Taylor asked.
“Nothing,” I mumbled. “It’s nothing.”
Tears finally emerged and there was no holding them back. I began sobbing uncontrollably. An incredible sense of guilt took hold of me, as I realized all of this was my fault.
“Take a deep breath,” Mr. Stewart instructed. “Good, now another one.”
I wiped snot on the back of my hand, as I stared up at my attorney. “I don’t know what to do.”
He smiled. “We do,” he said, motioning his hand from Mr. Taylor to himself. “Let’s pick up where you left off.”
“I don’t even remember where that was.”
I stared at the pages scribbled with notes, as Mr. Stewart glanced down at his legal pad. It was almost full and those words were merely the beginning of my life with Shame. The rest of our story was longer and even more complicated. He would need a lot more paper.
“You were leaving the hospital,” Mr. Stewart reminded me. “What happened next?”
Next, I truly became a Bastard.
Despite what we think, accepting help does not make us weak. In fact, it takes an incredible amount of strength to let go of our reservations and put our trust in someone or something greater to guide us.
*** Sneak peek is an unedited version and subject to change upon release***