Page 2 of Tempting Fate

Spreading lies about Sander.

Accusing Zeke of being the man responsible for my assault.

One of the Sunday night current affairs shows even aired a special where Alex was interviewed about his version of events. The programme, for which Alex was paid to sit down, one on one, with a pre-eminent interviewer who once worked as a lobbyist for Joseph, confected the story of a man on the cusp of being wrongly incarcerated by the lies of a young woman who’d been brainwashed by “purity culture” and her need to remain virtuous for her “biker betrothed”. In fact, Alex alleged that it was Zeke who beat and raped me as reprisal for my “unsanctioned” love affair with an upstanding politician’s son, and that the Shamrocks had covered up their violent member’s crime by forcing me into pointing the finger at Alex.

Apparently, it was a win-win for the Shamrocks. They stopped their club from fracturing and destroyed Joseph Kingsley, the anti-corruption candidate, before the upcoming election where the rumour was that he planned to run for Premier.

If Alex’s story was a movie script, it would be thrown out of the writer’s room for being too contrived. Unfortunately, the citizens of Western Australia are lapping up the charade and tuning in for more… in between baying for my blood and ringing into talk-back radio to demand the police shut down all motorcycle clubs.

Hence the reason why the men escorting me into the courtroom today aren’t wearing their colours. The Black Shamrocks MC are public enemy number two—I’m number one, of course. We’re hunted by the media and looked down on by the same communities we’ve supported since the end of the Vietnam War with toy runs at Christmas for the kids who’d otherwise miss out on a present under their tree and poker runs to fundraise money for those in need. Even more of a problem is the attitude other clubs and criminal organisations have toward us.

The Cerulli Famiglia have threatened to ally with the Maddison clan against us.

The Ten Thousand Sons Triad are moving product through our ports without fear.

The Bishops of Bloodshed are pushing into our turf, using the public and political scrutiny we’re under as a shield from any reprisal we would once have rained down on them.

The New Trinity, or La Trinitat Nova as they are better known, have called a sit-down to discuss our ongoing membership in their guild. As the first and final word on literally everything, political, financial, social, and spiritual, possessing the Trinity’s approval is both protection and validation. Without it, we are no better than the Maddison’s.

To say that the Shamrocks are on the cusp of war would be an understatement.

We’re heading toward total annihilation of our fifty years of tradition and brotherhood with a mad man at the helm and three of the biggest criminal organisations in Australia breathing down our neck. My father used the club’s distraction over my assault to pull off a coup. He usurped Hades’ role as president, listing his terminal cancer diagnosis as an excuse, stealing Zeke’s legacy in one fell swoop. After pleading for change and vowing to mentor Zeke so he could take his rightful place “once he’s older and wiser”, Dad and his slight majority have made it clear that they are willing to take the Shamrocks in the exact opposite direction our founding six set out in the original constitution.

The Shamrocks are splintering, and I can’t help but blame myself for it.

If only I’d stayed away from Alex…

“Mr. Kingsley, will you stand up please?” The justice orders in a solemn tone after she bangs her gavel twice.

I blink fast, my eyes stinging as I realise that I’ve gotten lost in my head once again. Somehow, Zeke and Slash have managed to help me unconsciously navigate the media at the front of the courthouse, the crazies, the metal detectors and bag check, and take a seat on what I’ve come to think of as my side of the courtroom. Although I know my absentmindedness is becoming dangerous, my brain remains incapable of doing anything productive other than worry about all the problems my bad decision has caused.

At that thought, a shiver of foreboding runs the length of my spine.

My stomach flip-flops.

What if, despite his guilty plea, Alex walks away scot-free?

God, I hope not.

Sandwiched between Zeke and Slash, I rub my palms along my thighs, then I cross my fingers and slide my hands under my legs to hide my superstitious behaviour from Zeke.

“Shoulda put a bullet in his head,” Sander grumbles from behind me. “Motherfucker shouldn’t be breathin’ the same air as you, let alone lookin’ your way.”

“Hush,” Nadia warns him. I shoot her a grateful look over my shoulder and she offers me a tight grimace. “We don’t need the bailiff to drag you out again. You made the six o’clock news last time.”

Slash chuckles under his breath, then he shows me his fingers.

They’re crossed like mine.

“Prayin’ you receive a belated birthday present,” he murmurs.

Thoughts of my recent nineteenth birthday, the first anniversary of Alex’s attack, try to push to the forefront of my mind. I refuse them access. The self-inflicted scars on my thighs and lower belly are enough of a reminder without allowing my traitorous brain to remind me of how weak I am.

How Alex’s poison lives on inside me…

When Alexander pushes to his feet with an easy grace he has no right to possess, I blindly seek out Zeke’s touch. He links our fingers and pulls our intertwined hands onto his lap. Resting heavily against my boyfriend, I try my hardest to keep my breath steady and my body from shaking as the justice skims over the document in front of her.

“We can go outside, if you want?” Slash whispers. Careful not to startle me as he reaches for my other hand, he slants an expression filled with empathy my way. “You don’t needa be here for this.”

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