Biker’s Collar: Property of Scrap (Rebel Barbarians MC #6)

Chapter 1 – Darragh Murray

One

Darragh Murray

Darragh \d(a)-rra-gh \ an Irish name meaning oak.

Then

I t’s my twenty-fourth birthday party. Rian just got out of jail for assaulting that officer. We have an impressive fucking boat in the Boston harbor. Pa and I both love boats – it’s the one thing only the two of us share, and this yacht is fucking stunning. The Dreamline 34 double-decker has been a dream for a while. With an over $8 million price tag, I’d rather rent this one for my birthday weekend than go through the headache of owning it, but man this boat is fucking beautiful.

My dad would love to get his hands on one of these. He just wouldn’t like what we’ve done with it. I have a DJ on both decks and the boat is fucking packed for my party tonight. It’s Rian’s first night out since getting out of jail and he needs this just as much as I do. He needs women. Real women. That’s the part dad wouldn’t approve of – the diverse women from Boston wearing barely anything strutting around the decks.

I’ve got Michelle, so I can’t do anything, but it doesn’t hurt to look right? I’m doing the right thing by sticking with an Irish girl.

What dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him anyway. My mob boss father is away in Dublin, my older brother Aiden, the stick in the mud, is doing business out of state, and I just won my last boxing match ever. I’m officially retired. Everything’s perfect tonight. I throw back a shot of Fireball Whiskey with my training partner, Tavarius. I’m too drunk for the shot to burn on the way down. Tavarius doesn’t even flinch as he chases his shot with another shot. That man is fucking crazy.

“Have you seen my sister?” Tavarius asks once he polishes off the shots, glancing around the deck. I shade my eyes from the sunset with a flat palm and search for Kamari on the deck above. Keeping track of Kamari is Tavarius’ full-time job.

“Nope. She’s probably moping around somewhere. She hates parties,” I say to him, trying to comfort him with the truth. His dorky little sister who just got back to Boston from her first semester at college can’t be far, and I haven’t seen her all night. She's not the type of girl to go crazy at parties.

“Yeah, you haven’t met the new Kamari,” Tavarius responds. “She’s gone ape shit since college, man. She could be anywhere getting up to all types of shit.”

“She’s eighteen and she’s stuck on a boat. What type of trouble could she really get into, huh?”

“Whatever, man. I gotta find her. You have another shot. Enjoy the party. Try not to screw around with anyone.”

I ignore him and let him wander off to search for his sister. I don’t want to talk to anyone else here. I’d rather be in the boxing ring or talking about boxing than getting smashed, but I have a black eye, I’m fucked up everywhere, and if I don’t get black out drunk, I won’t be able to stay asleep through the night because of the pain that comes with healing all these injuries.

It’s been months since I’ve seen Kamari. I didn’t see her get on the boat at the docks and I haven’t seen her wandering around either of the decks. I bet Tavarius’ kid sister is the same little girl I remember – buck teeth, glasses, skinny as a stick. That’s the teenager I remember when I hauled her ass off to college last August.

Tavarius goes downstairs to search for his sister and I go upstairs to burn off some of the liquor in me on the dancefloor. He can handle tracking his sister down in a confined space like this. Kamari. Probably for the best if I didn’t see her.

She’s always had a crush on me and I’ve always ignored it. Kamari just isn’t the type of woman I can ever date seriously. It’s not allowed and it’s not my preference to make more trouble for myself than women are worth.

She’s a sweet girl, but Kamari isn’t fit to be a Murray for several reasons. She’s too dark. Yes, she’s several shades lighter than Tavarius, and she has this pale coppery complexion but very dark features otherwise. She has a large ass, boobs, curves that make guys stare. And then lips. Fuck, she has big full lips.

Inappropriately dark features, all of them.

You can be friends with them, but you can’t screw them or marry them or involve them in our business. Dad’s wise words, and he’s right. I don’t want to end up like Rian, stuck with a Hispanic toddler – I think my niece’s name is Tegan – that he can barely take care of because he's spent so much time in court and jail.

As I ascend to the top deck with the rowdier partiers like my brother Callum, I hear a woman’s voice shrieking with excitement and an excited cheer from the crowd. What the fuck is going on up here? I steady myself against the railing when I spot Tavarius’ missing sister.

This is not the Kamari that I remember. Holy shit. She shrieks again and pours another shot of vodka down her throat. Evie’s brother-in-law, Seamus, grinds up behind her and Kamari positions her hands on her thighs, arches her back and shakes her ass all over him.

Instant outrage surges through me. What the fuck is she doing? She’s only eighteen and she’s taking shots plus grinding on a guy old enough to be her fucking dad. Kamari looks different too. She’s clearly lost the glasses, fixed her charming bunny rabbit front teeth, grew a couple inches and she isn’t stick thin anymore. Kamari has curves. An ass. She’s still short as fuck, but her body looks more grown up and fluffy.

Her ass bounces against Seamus and he puts his hands on her waist. I can’t fucking take it anymore. Without thinking, I push through the crowd of my party guests, mostly guys from the gym, their girlfriends, family, and far too many business associates.

I wrap my hand forcefully around her forearm. No. She can’t be doing this.

“Darragh! What the hell are you doing?” she shrieks. It crosses my mind for a second that I’m too drunk to handle this right now, but I don’t care. I have to get her away from him. Several guests start laughing. The DJ keeps playing a popular rap song that awakens the crowd. Bodies gyrate around us with enthusiasm, but as far as I’m concerned, there’s only one woman on my boat. I’m able to drag her outside of the crowd before she really starts to lose it.

Kamari shrieks and pushes my chest with her free hand, struggling to get away from me. I don’t want her to succeed so I clamp down harder. A possessive urge demolishes all my common sense as I grab her like she’s my property. It’s too possessive. I have a girlfriend. Michelle is Irish. She’s right for me.

This is the first time I’ve seen her since she went off to college, so it’s been months since our last interaction. I don’t expect to meet fierce Kamari tonight, but she’s livid that I’ve dared to touch her and drag her away from shaking her ass all over an Irish gangster.

My body’s reaction to her squirming nearly causes me to let go. I can’t help but notice how her skin doesn’t change color as I squeeze her. She remains a pale cinnamon shade with only slight reddening where I grip her tightly.

That doesn’t stop her from thrashing like I’ve broken her flesh open.

Kamari yells at me, “Let go of me!”

She’s eighteen now, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s even more stubborn and independent than I remember. Her pouty face doesn’t make me want to give into her at all. She doesn’t know what sort of trouble she could get in with my family. I obey the laws of my family and blood purity will always be my priority, but that doesn’t mean I hurt people for their skin color.

I’m not like my older brother Aiden, and I’m definitely not like Rian. Any anger, any loathing I have towards anyone else, I eliminate in the boxing ring. None of the men in my family are above hurting her because of her skin color. My friends tend to be more open minded, but I can’t account for the other Murray folks. Kamari isn’t like the other girls on this yacht. She’s too naive to notice evil in people.

“No fucking way, kid,” I grunt, fighting back against her. It’s effortless, but I let her feel like she has a chance against me for a few seconds before taking control.

I wrap my arms around her waist and despite her protests, I throw Kamari over my shoulder and carry her downstairs to the deck of the party boat with all the bedrooms. She fights and screams at me the entire way. Her insults are quite colorful. The last time I held her at all, she was a little girl. I gave her a piggyback ride at Tavarius’ last boxing match in high school. She must be heavier since she’s older and she looks thicker in the thighs, but to me she still feels weightless, like it’s nothing to carry her.

It’s my birthday, so when I planned the rental, I called the biggest room. Rian’s room is next to mine, Callum gets the one down the hall, and Tavarius has the room across from Callum.

She’s lucky I’m the one who found her and not her brother. He would’ve beaten the shit out of Seamus and probably tossed his ass in the fucking harbor.

“Let me go you fucking caveman!” Kamari shrieks, her fists beating into my raw, sore back muscles. Even if it hurts like hell, I can’t let her go. My heart pounds as I drag her to my bedroom.

“Put me down!” she shrieks again. I grunt and keep carrying her towards my room. I just need to get her out of sight and out of trouble. There’s no way I’m putting her down just so she can run off.

She smells like vodka even though she’s underage. She shouldn’t be drinking. I push the bedroom door open, walk through the doorway, and kick the door shut behind me. Using one hand, I swipe away Michelle’s hair curler and bag of makeup from the bed.

I throw Kamari onto the pile of white sheets and she lands with a thump. I can’t believe she’s acting like this. She’s nearly naked, dancing on some older guy and she’s drunk. I try to calm down and tell myself that she’s only eighteen, she’s doing what college kids do.

That doesn’t fucking work and I don’t sound calm at all when I open my mouth.

“What the hell were you doing out there? Tavarius is looking everywhere for you.”

She refuses to talk to me and glares at me like I’m the bad guy in this situation. She’s drunk and messing with shit she doesn’t understand – shit that could really mess with her. I’m just trying to protect her. Why the hell is she so mad? I definitely remember her being fierce, but not like this. Her brother was right, she’s different since she went off to college.

“Let me out of here, Darragh. It’s none of your business and it’s none of my brother’s business what I’m doing. I just want to get drunk and have a good time.”

“You’re eighteen. You shouldn’t be drinking. Let me go get your brother…”

I start for the door, even if I know I’ll have to lock her in to keep her from escaping. That should make her scream like a wildcat. Kamari lunges forward and grabs my forearm instead.

“Wait, Darragh, don’t get Tavarius.”

“Kamari, let go of me,” I say calmly, trying to peel her off me as she drags my arm and attempts to pull me away from the door with all the force she can muster. What the hell is her problem now?

“You can’t go get him.”

“What the hell do you want then?” I grunt, trying to pry Kamari’s hands off me. She ups the ante by slumping to the ground and wrapping her arms around my leg. Christ.

“Kamari, get off me,” I say sternly as I try to unwrap her from my leg. I drag my body towards the door, but I can’t move without hurting her.

“You can’t tell him I’ve been drinking again. You can’t…”

“I won’t go to him but you have to stop touching me. Get off. Now.”

My stern voice causes her to scramble away and gaze up at me with large brown eyes, set far apart on her golden-honey face. I suppress the flash of emotion I experience when she gazes at me. I bite my tongue to avoid my mind wandering anywhere it shouldn’t and try to focus on getting Kamari on her feet and sober within the next thirty minutes.

If we’re lucky, her brother will get too drunk to look for her.

“I promised Tavarius I wouldn’t drink tonight. You can’t tell him,” she says, slurring her words. She can barely string a sentence together but she was upstairs grinding her hips all over one of the most dangerous men in the city. I swear, I could sock the shit out of him just for looking at her.

“He’ll find you eventually even if I don’t bring him down here. What the hell were you thinking, Kamari?”

She swallows and scrambles backward so she’s sitting on the bed. She buries her head in her hands and sits there for so long I think she’s trying to hold back getting sick all over the boat. I put my hand on her back and she groans.

“No,” she says. “Don’t touch me, that’ll make it worse.”

“You gonna throw up, kid?”

“No,” she whimpers. “No… But Darragh, I love you. I can’t take it anymore, I love you.”

Fuck. Not this again…

“My girlfriend is gonna have a problem with that, just like I have a problem with it. Kamari, we’ve talked about this. You’re my best friend’s little sister, I have a girlfriend, I’m way too fucking old for you and–

Before I can finish my sentence, my girlfriend bursts through the door. Michelle struts in, towering over Kamari in black high-heels. She has legs for days and she’s skinny as a stick.

“Darragh,” she says. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you? What the hell are you doing back here?”

She stumbles as the boat moves and leans against the wall. She’s even more drunk than I am. Kamari groans and holds her head in her hands. She really is going to be sick.

“Kamari had a little too much to drink. Can you go get her brother? He’s above deck.”

“I don’t want to talk to him, D. Molly’s here. She’ll tell my dad if she sees me talking to a black guy and he’ll kick my ass.”

I’ve fucking had it with Michelle.

“Then get his attention some other way, Michelle. The kid’s gonna be sick, can you hurry?”

Kamari groans again and retches on the floor by the bed. Michelle wrinkles her nose and disappears to avoid the vomit. I push Kamari’s waist-length curls away from her face and hold them back in a large handful behind her head.

“What were you thinking?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about, Kamari. You and I are never going to happen.”

“You can’t deny our connection, Darragh.”

She’s so drunk, she doesn’t have a clue what she’s saying. The kid is eighteen and she’s clearly not experienced enough to hold her liquor if she’s acting like this. What the hell was Kamari thinking? Anything could happen to her when she’s drunk like this.

“Michelle will be back with your brother before you know it. I’ll get you some water. You lie down and settle your stomach, okay?”

“No,” she moans. “I’m not doing that until you admit that… admit that on some level you have feelings for me, Darragh…”

I don’t have feelings for her. Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. She’s black. I’m white. In Boston, that means you live in different worlds that hardly intersect outside of the world of sports. Her brother gets it, I get it, Michelle gets it. Kamari lives in a dream world where she can dance with white boys and get away with it.

I won’t admit to anything, especially not something like caring about Kamari, like wishing we could have been together – something which could get both of us killed because of my family and who we are…

I’m drunk, but I’m not that drunk.