“Shit...” He squints at me with his one good eye. “Sorry, sweetness, I think I’m tanked. How’d that happen?”
I’m amused; my dad and uncles must have been filling his glass up when he wasn’t looking or gave him their home brew. If I had to bet, I’d say it was definitely their home brew.
Sam laughs, grabbing Bolt’s arm, putting it over his shoulder, and helps him to the vehicle, where he promptly passes out. The three of us share amused looks. Yep, he’s been fully initiated into the O’Shea clan.
Getting into the driver’s seat, I follow Sam and Ally as far as Feannag, and then it’s just me and Bolt. It’s a peaceful drive to the Queens Wraiths, and before long I’m pulling up behind my vehicle in Bolt’s carport. I hoot a couple of times, knowing someone will be up as a few of the homes have lights on. Blue and Brass come jogging up.
“Are you okay, Jeanie?” Brass wants to know.
“I’m good,” I reassure them. “Bolt not so much.” I motion towards the car where Bolt is passed out.
“Oh fuck,” Blue says, eyes wide, taking in the bruises and the smell of whisky coming off Bolt.
“He’s okay,” I assure them with a smirk. “He’s been initiated into the O’Sheas. He’ll be good now.”
They both chuckle, and Brass takes out his phone and snaps a few pictures. Somehow, I know they’ll make it to the rest of the brothers. I hope they won’t be too pissed at my family for the bruises.
“Come on; let’s get him inside,” Brass sniggers as he and Blue between them get Bolt into his home and into bed.
“I’ll sort him from here,” I tell them as I take his boots off. “Thanks, lads.”
“No problem, Jeanie.”
They’re both still laughing as they leave, and I can’t help but be a little amused myself. I’ve got to hand it to the men in my family. When they bring you into the fold, they don’t do it delicately. Family Christmas photos this year will not be pretty, that’s for sure. They’ll be memorable, though.
CHAPTER 9
BOLT
I wake with a groan as my stomach twists, and I’m sure there’s a man in my head pounding drums in time with my heartbeat. I peel my eyes open—well, one of them. For some reason, the other one stays closed.
“What the hell happened to me?” I groan as I slowly sit up and look around. Everything is familiar. I’m in my home, in my bedroom, but I feel like I got run over by a truck.
“Herea ghrá,” Jeanie says. Blearily, I look up. She looks both amused and sympathetic at the same time. Holding out a bottle of water with one hand, I spy the pills in the other and hopethey’re painkillers. Taking them, I drink down the water like I haven't had any for days, as Jeanie tells me why I feel like dog shit. “As to what happened to you? You were initiated into the O’Shea family.”
“Holy fuck, sweetness. I think your dad and uncles poisoned me.” I moan pathetically as I lean back in the bed only to have her catch my hand and pull me back into a sitting position. She’s laughing as she does this, it makes me wonder when she developed a sadistic side. I mean, can’t she tell I’m dying?
“No, they didn’t,” she reassures me, her voice full of amusement. “But they did give you some of the homebrew which has a really high alcohol content. Sadly, you can’t wallow. Coal called Church. Apparently, sometime yesterday, you told him that you needed it to be called.”
‘I did? Fuck maybe I did….I don’t remember that though.’
“Okay...” I gulp as nausea rises, and I give myself a pep talk. “I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Let’s get you in the shower and to the clubhouse for breakfast.”
That’s what we do, but not before I lose my stomach. I feel better after that, but fuck me gently. I am never drinking with the O’Shea men ever again.
Jeanie is sympathetic, but I also know she is laughing at me, even if she isn’t doing it to my face.
It is a slow walk to the clubhouse, my head pounding with every step, but the fresh air makes me feel a little better.
Opening up the door, the noise hits us like a tidal wave, and I groan. “Come on; let’s get some food into you. You’ll feel better; I promise.” Jeanie cajoles as she pushes me towards the table, and I collapse into my chair with a whimper, my head falling onto my arm as if my neck muscles have lost all their function.
I’m well aware that my brothers are laughing at me, and I can’t say that I blame them. Weakly, I lift my hand and give them the finger, only to have them laugh louder.
“Fuck, brother, who did you piss off?” Cross asks.
“Adam,” I mutter into my arm.
