Page 167 of Making Choices

“You’re an idiot. Even if she wasn’t a Maddison, why would you stick ya dick in a bitch without a glove on… seems like a recipe for disaster to me. ’Specially when you’ve spent the past five years pantin’ after your brother’s old lady.”

Although I very much agree with Isaiah’s take on the situation, I refuse to accept it being declared so boldly by a prospect. “Think you might wanna remember who you’re talkin’ to.”

Usually, Isaiah toes the line of convention set down by the Shamrocks constitution without a problem. Seems he’s the same as my other club brothers when it comes to anything that can potentially hurt Cherub. Like the rest of the Shamrocks, the line he draws in the sand is indelible when it comes to my duchess.

I’d respect him for it… if his criticism wasn’t aimed at another one of my missteps.

“You might wanna remember who’s been sent in to clean up your mess more than once in the past six months.” He sneers at the cherub tattoo I had inked over my heart a few weeks ago during a drunken night out. “There’s only so many times your shitty choices can splash over her before she realises you’re no better for her than Venom.” After thrusting the pregnancy test into my hand, he shakes out his bandana like it’s covered in infectious matter. “It’s still dark out—”

“I’m aware.”

“Just sayin’—” Isaiah runs his obsidian gaze over me again, and this time, he makes it clear that he finds me lacking in every way that counts. “—that you should head back to bed with the woman who’s gonna have her heart broken once more when she discovers you knocked up the mob bitch who used her miscarriage as a way to ingratiate herself with the club.”

“Fuck me.” When I take a step toward him with my hands balled into fists, Isaiah looks me up and down once more, but otherwise stands his ground. His blatant condemnation gets my back up, even as my voice takes on a whining quality that makes me want to give myself an uppercut. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Never said you did.” Dismissing me with a wave of his hand, Isaiah shrugs and shakes his head, then heads for the gates. The morning breeze catches his verbal castigation and wafts it over me like a noxious gas destined to poison me to death by stealth... or via my ongoing stupidity. “Just seems like every choice you make turns Cherub’s life a little further on its head. She already hates us for cuttin’ her off cold without an explanation, now we’re supposed to circle the wagons of brotherhood around a moron who doesn’t understand the benefits of a condom. Guess, you could say that I’m not much of a fan’a wearing the filth of someone else’s avoidable fuck up… you’re not the only one who stands to lose her.”

When he puts it so succinctly, I feel even stupider, so I do the only thing a man in my position can do. I slink back to bed with my tail between my legs and cuddle up to the sleeping woman who’s one step closer to discovering what the forces trying to keep us apart have been trying to tell her the whole time.

Venom’s love is bad for her.

Turns out, mine is worse.

At least, everything he does is for her benefit, as crazy and far-fetched as some of it may seem. My mistakes only make her life harder. Destroy any semblance of stability in her future. Ruin her relationships with the men she needs as much as they need her. The positive pregnancy test I’ve stowed in the top drawer of my bedside table can certainly attest to that.

As I hold my duchess close and try to get back to sleep for the few remaining hours of the night, I find myself praying for a despicable outcome. If Bebe is pregnant, it would be best if she met a similar fate as Jenna and my son.

After all, I’ve managed to keep that secret buried for more than a decade.

What’s one more?

Too soon, my alarm rings and the beautiful blonde curled up next to me stirs.

I feign sleep as she moves away from my hard-on.

While Cherub moves about in her bedroom, I contemplate the day ahead.

Today is Isaiah’s patching in ceremony.

It also marks the full-time return of Venom to our chapter.

The mutually beneficial arrangement he was sent to Sydney to hatch with our semi-social club ally has borne fruit. With the Blackards and their legitimate businesses on our side, plus the Cerulli Famiglia and Cassius’ deal buoying us, we’re finally in the position to take down Brutus and what remains of his faction shortly. As long as nothing goes wrong, I’ll finally be able to watch Venom take his rightful place at the head of the table within weeks.

There’s one problem with that.

The VP position will become vacant at the same time, and where I once thought I’d step up into that role when Venom took over the club, I’m thinking that Toker should take the patch. Whether the pregnancy test is real or not—and I wouldn’t put it past Bebe to fake something like this to get back at me—I don’t feel capable of supporting Venom in the way he needs. As a rival for his old lady’s hand and the cause of the first headache he’s going to face as prez, it’s better if I remain as SAA.

The thought of taking another step away from our friendship doesn’t sit easy. Yet, the second I cross paths with Cherub in the garage, I know that it’s the right choice.

Her bright smile and the solitary rueful laugh we share lifts the dark cloud that’s blinded me since I was woken by the intruder. The frank discussion we had last night was a new beginning for us. One where I promised to give her the space she deserves to discover her feelings for me, and I try my hardest to clean up my messes so her life can find its way back on track.

“I’m, um…” My duchess trails off. Lifting her keys and jangling them, our gazes lock. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, teasing the stainless-steel snake bites with my teeth as a blush makes its way up the regal length of her neck to settle in her cheeks. “Ronni text. We have, um, an emergency meeting about some, um, client.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

My lips curl into a grin that widens exponentially as her face reddens. “It was an erection, duchess, not a marriage proposal.”

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