Page 10 of Tempting Fate

Holding him by the shoulders, I slant a look at his face. He’s completely serious. Ghosts from the part of his past he refuses to speak about, flicker across his pale features. I lean back, tilting my head to angle my mouth to his ear.

“What are you not sayin’ right now?”

Dad juts his chin in the general direction of Brutus. “Ignore… him.”

I slant a look at my president and my anger instantly surges when I notice that Lily’s father has his phone to his ear and is heading out of the chapel.

“What the fuck? He’s gonna keep us waitin’ even longer.” I exclaim with a shake of my head. “Needa get Lily from work soon.”

“Somethin’s… wrong.” Dad coughs, a hacking sound that makes everyone in our vicinity glance at him with worry in their eyes. “Watch… your… b-back…”

Our perimeter alarms sound, cutting off my father’s warning. Not that I need him to finish it. Clearly, he’s cautioning me about Brutus. Having my dad step outside the cone of silence the old-timers maintain, especially the cagey descendants of the founding six like mine, Slash, and Toker’s fathers, confirms that the unease I’ve been feeling since I was promoted to VP isn’t in my head.

There is a division brewing in the Shamrocks.

One that has me and Brutus at the epicentre.

My relationship with my father-in-law-to-be hasn’t been easy since he tried to wed Lily to Alex in exchange for an alliance with the Maddison clan. When he used my distraction during Lily’s recovery to lead a coup that deposed my father and stole my legacy, I pondered whether killing him would be necessary. Then things settled down within the Shamrocks and he followed through on his promise to mentor me, and as much as it filled me with hostility to have my life dictated by a man who tried to marry his daughter off to the enemy, I chose the path of least resistance.

I had a shattered woman, her broken twin, and a dying father to protect.

Still, I maintained the distrust in my heart and kept a watchful eye. It took witnessing his dedication to the club first hand to reverse my opinion of him... a little. I remain sceptical as to his long-term plans, but for now, I’m content to be patient, to sit back and watch Brutus lead my brothers into the modern era.

I’m secure enough to concentrate on Lily and leave the running of the club to Brutus.

Of course, Brutus’ recent motion to promote me to the VP position that had been kept open since he pushed his way into the president’s spot was a step in the right direction. As was his blessing to ask Lily for her hand in marriage a couple years ago.

Until today…

Until Dad finally warned me out loud…

“We needa talk,” I tell my father as the sound of the compound’s alarm invokes my gut instinct. My hair stands on end. My skin crawls with foreboding. “No more secrets. If you’re at the point of outright warnin’ me about him, then it’s time I’m brought into the circle. You, Angelis, Duke, and Cassius can’t keep shit to yourself forever.”

My father’s wheezy and halting, “yeah, soon,” follows me out of the rapidly emptying chapel. My best friends are on my heels; Slash and Toker at my six, as always. The rest of the brotherhood is close behind us. We fill the main bar, the locked double doors in front of us the sole barrier between my club and the intruders on the other side.

With Brutus nowhere to be seen, the Shamrocks look to me for guidance.

I direct my attention to the lanky redhead who’s furiously tapping away on his tablet. “What are you seein’?”

“Cops,” Cub informs me as he glances up from his screen. “They’re outside.”

I regard the double doors with a cynical look. “How many?”

“About forty. From the badges, I’d say it’s the?—”

“Special Response Unit,” a gruff voice shouts through a megaphone before Cub can answer.

“Do not draw your weapons,” I shout so my brothers can hear me over the bullhorn. “Do your best to cooperate, but don’t take any unnecessary shit from ’em. Angelis, I need ya to get ahold’a Gabriel. Gotta make sure this visit is legal.”

“On it,” Slash’s father replies.

The cop with the loudspeaker doles out an order. “We’re aware of a credible bomb threat being made against these premises. Exit the building in an orderly fashion with your hands in the air.”

Without giving us time to think, let alone respond to their thin excuse for encroaching on our turf, the Special Response Unit breaches our clubhouse with a battering ram. Guns drawn; heavily armoured officers pour through the busted doors. They aim their weapons at us, gesturing for us to lie down on our stomachs on the floor as multiple, contradictory demands are screamed into the ether.

My mind slows down.

My gut speeds up.

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