Page 87 of Tempting Fate

The door to our bedroom opens then slams shut. It snaps me out of my impending panic attack. I whirl to face the basin. The frantic, wild eyes that greet me when I study my reflection in the shaving mirror are enough to make my legs give out. I slide down the door to my backside and hug my knees to my chest. Biting down on my bottom lip, tasting the blood that runs along the seam of my mouth, I fight off the shudders that wrack my body.

“This can’t be my life,” I mutter. “It’s got to get better.”

My mind adds the end of the statement that I refuse to verbalise.

It might get better, but it’s definitely going to get a lot worse before that happens.

And that’s only if it gets better…

16

VENOM

Six Harleys are speeding into the compound when I burst out the main exit to the clubhouse, but it’s not the return of Slash, Toker, and the enforcers that Cub needs me to deal with.

It’s Brutus.

Of course.

Even with a tortured son and a beaten daughter to think about, he can’t find the sense to give any of us a moment of rest from his theatrics.

“What set him off?”

“Dunno. He just lost it,” Isaiah explains. Cub nods his agreement with our prospect’s pronouncement. “Took a call after the cops left, then started cursin’ and kickin’ the crap out of everything and everyone in sight. Wouldn’t listen to sense, so I sent Cub to get you.”

I don’t get a chance to ask for further details because our president wheels around and bellows at Slash as he’s dismounting his bike. Brutus stalks toward my best friend, hands out, and shoves him hard in the chest. Slash takes a step backward to catch his balance, then pulls his helmet free with an angry motion. When he tosses it to his little brother, Hunter catches the helmet with ease. He shakes his head when Brutus pushes Slash a second time. Grim speculation tightening his eyes, he nudges Wyatt with his elbow, then Nate and then leads the youngest Mayberry brothers inside so they’re out of their father’s explosion zone.

“Tell me you caught the fuckers. Tell me they’re in the bunker.” Brutus pounces on Slash and tries to wrestle him into a headlock. “The double-crossin’ pricks deserve a bullet. Fuckin’ disrespectin’ me on my turf.”

No one answers him, instead they all look to me for guidance. With narrowed eyes, I wordlessly tell them to leave this situation to me. The enforcers accept my silent order without an argument, speedily putting space between themselves and Brutus’ temper tantrum.

Once they’re standing behind me, I jerk my thumb towards the roof of our biggest workshop to direct our remaining prospects, Isaiah and Rider, to start guard duties up there. Semiautomatic weapons slung across their bodies, they run for the metal stairs that scale the side of the building and lead to the top, where we have a sentry post set up. Complete with a sniper’s nest that Toker built for himself, it’s the most important security point in the compound. The two of them wouldn’t usually be allowed up there until they had their top rockers.

Today’s their lucky day.

Toker can babysit for me, teach them how to alert us if a threat approaches, while I deal with our president. Not that I believe we’re at imminent risk. Now that Joseph Kingsley and his officers of the law have left, the most dangerous thing facing us is currently doing his best to push our SAA around.

Tired of the spectacle, I stick two fingers in my mouth and blow out an ear-splitting whistle. “Pull yourself together.”

The choice to make the demand singular is deliberate—it’s targeted directly at Brutus.

I’ve known the man my entire life. His antics are as see-through as a freshly cleaned windowpane to me. He’s trying to deflect our attention from the visit by the cops and the phone call that followed by acting like a child.

Why? I imagine that’s the question on everyone’s mind.

On my order, Brutus stops tussling with Slash. When our SAA focuses on me, our prez uses it as an opening to knock Slash onto his arse. Sneak tactic completed; he twists around to face me. The ghost of a grin graces his lips when he advances. A crazy glint in his gaze highlights the cold calculation he’s desperate to conceal. Arms folded over my chest, cocky but placid smirk on my face, I stand my ground. My lips curl into a judgemental sneer when his barrel chest hits my forearms, and the toe of his boots slam down on top of mine. All around us, the yard has fallen silent. Unlike last night and again this morning when he burred up in front of our brothers, the club hasn’t separated into two groups.

This time, with the exception of Joker, they’re all standing behind me.

Eyebrows raised, I wait for him to speak.

Brutus doesn’t disappoint. “Since when do you order me the fuck around?”

“Since you lost your shit,” I reply with a one-shouldered shrug. “Ain’t it the VP’s job to step up when the prez falls over?”

“Not in this club,” he mumbles, backing out of my space when he sees I’m not going to meet his rage with my own. “Not if I can help it.”

“Touch me again,” Slash tells him as he approaches us. “And you won’t have the excuse of fallin’ over, ’cause I’ll knock you the fuck down.”

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