Page 81 of Making Choices

“I don’t want to see her hurtin’ any more than she already is.”

“Exactly.”

With my pronouncement hanging in the air, he watches me as I start my bike and kick up the stand. He jams his hands on his hips and shakes his head as I take off, although the glare is wiped right off his face when Nadia comes up behind him and they immediately commence arguing. Over my shoulder, I observe their interaction for a few seconds before I flick the indicator and turn the corner out of my street.

Nadia and Sander’s history is an unexploded bomb looking for a detonation point. And, if those two don’t get their shit together soon, a trove of long-buried trauma is going to blow up in their faces and draw the Shamrocks into another drama—one we can ill-afford with all that’s going down now.

The white Mercedes SUV that heads toward me from the opposite direction reminds me that I have my own drama to deal with in the form of the small redhead with a big mouth, a lot of ideas she shouldn’t possess, and a perverse sense of claim on me.

In front of everyone, Bebe acts like we’re together.

Behind the scenes, when it’s just the two of us, she tries to trap me into admitting my feelings for Cherub.

To say I have whiplash from her contradictory behaviour would be an understatement.

Thankfully, I haven’t made the mistake of fucking her again.

And I won’t.

That ship has sailed. Washed right out of the realm of possibility on a wave of taunts that have settled into a sea of disdain.

If Bebe wasn’t so useful right now, with Doc going to ground with Brutus, I’d have her banned from the house. Her little comments about Jack’s broken arm also weigh heavily in favour of keeping her around since I haven’t been able to use Cub’s tech skills to double check that every avenue that could potentially provide proof that I’m behind Jack’s injury has been wiped. In the scheme of dramas that he’s currently dealing with, my problem with the Doc is near the bottom.

As we pass by each other, Bebe offers me a little flutter of her fingers and a big smile. I twist the throttle and roar past her without acknowledgement, deliberately looking everywhere but at her.

No doubt I’ll pay for it later.

For now, it’s a small but petty victory.

After a thirty-minute ride that brings me deep into the industrial district on the outskirts of the Maddison Clan’s territory, I pull up behind the small group of brothers I currently trust and hit the kill switch. Four heads turn my way as I pull my helmet off. Cub. Hunter. Isaiah. Wyatt. I glare at the latter until two spots of red appear in his cheeks and he drops his gaze to his petrol tank.

“What’s he doin’ here?” I enquire in a lethal tone that the other three instantly recognise. They stiffen. Cub and Isaiah look to my brother, silently appointing him as their spokesman. “Hunt… why did you bring a civilian with you?”

“He has a right to—”

“I’m the one who gave Venom the information about Dad and Bear. This is my fight. He’s my cousin.” To his credit, Wyatt keeps his voice from wavering even as he continues to avoid meeting my eyes. “Consider this my official start as a prospect.”

“That’s gotta go to a vote, which you well know. You need someone to nominate you, then another brother to second—”

“I’ll nom him,” Cub interjects.

“Even so—”

This time, Hunter cuts me off. “And I’ll second it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Any protest you raise right now is bullshit and you know it,” my brother asserts. “With Brutus in hiding, the old timers fucked up, and Venom in Sydney, you’re in charge. Accept Cub’s nom, accept that I’ve seconded it, and let’s move on. We need every able body we can get at the moment… first to bring Toker home, then to eradicate Brutus and his faction from the club.”

Suddenly unable to draw in a full breath, I rub the centre of my chest as I look between the three of them. “Dad or Cass should be in charge, not me.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Cub exclaims. “Neither of them can ride… you’re in charge, whether you like it or not.”

It takes three attempts to fill my lungs, but when I do, the extra oxygen brings a spike of adrenaline and the desire to run. I’ve never wanted to be in charge of the Shamrocks. Never even thought about it. Venom’s always been the heir apparent to the gavel, and my ambitions have been more along the lines of how I can best support him.

In the bloodiest way possible whenever the opportunity arose… which was hopefully often.

“Whatever,” I tell them. “But when one of the old timers rescind Wyatt’s nom, I don’t wanna hear a word’a fuckin’ complaint from any of you.”

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