Page 93 of Tempting Fate

My woman scowls as I say, “I’ll make it up to you, sweet thing. As long as you keep these pretty, pink lips closed around the cops, I promise I can weather whatever punishment you see fit to dish out when this is over.”

When her eyes glimmer with ill-concealed fury and a tinge of amusement that she doesn’t want me to see, I remove my hand.

Her anger is always preferable to silence.

“You might regret that offer.”

“You’re worth it.”

“I don’t know if you mean that.”

“I mean every word, metukà shelì.”

Lilianna Mayberry has been my reason to breathe since the day she was born.

She’s had my heart for just as long.

Lily’s cheeks fill with colour and her gaze brightens the longer I stare at her.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Brutus shouts. The light that had entered Lily’s expression dims in an instant when he points at his oldest children. “Move or I’ll leave without your sorry arses.”

The Mayberry twins exchange a grimace. I snort. They both glance at me, biting back grins when I cross my eyes at them. When it looks like their father’s about to scream at them again, they link hands, then stride over to the van where their younger brothers wait.

“Don’t overthink this. Don’t let him goad you into making’ things worse,” Slash advises as we jog over to our Harleys. “My dad’s on it, so is Gabriel. They’ll rally the other old-timers for a vote, and Brutus’ll be hangin’ in the bunker, ready to dance underneath my sharpest tools if it turns out he’s the rat. We do this the right way, not the Venom way.”

“I’m not gonna fly off the handle.”

“Good.”

Despite my assurance to Slash, and my rational agreement with his analysis, I’d be lying if I wasn’t worried about the repercussions if Brutus needs to be taken out. The leadership jobs in the mother chapter have bounced around the founding families for two generations, with my recent promotion heralding the start of the third generation ageing into our roles.

Right now, though, I don’t know who’d take Brutus’ patch.

Sure, there’s Toker, but he’s made it clear that he won’t step up into any role other than road captain, and he’ll only do that once his father can’t ride any longer. Fret’s only had his half rocker for a few months. There’s no way the brothers will accept his leadership—even on the off chance he wanted it—which I highly doubt he will. Joker and Bear are technically legacies, but they haven’t cultivated a relationship with enough of the brothers to be voted in as president.

Without an heir to take his place, who will succeed Brutus if he’s deposed?

Me?

Considering how badly some of the old-timers behaved when I was nominated as VP, I doubt that would happen.

Would Slash step up?

As much as I love him, I’ve never seen him as a leader.

He’s always followed.

Always seemed content to obey, rather than command.

“What if this is the beginnin’ of the end?” I ask Slash as he tightens his chin strap. “What if sendin’ Brutus and anyone he’s turned rat to the reaper splits the Shamrocks?”

“We’ve survived bigger betrayals and greater tragedies.” He shrugs, even as the mention of his past causes his pain to visibly stalk him. Having witnessed it first hand, I feel the same twinge in my heart I always get when I think about how he’s suffered in his three decades on earth. “The Shamrocks can’t function with a traitor in charge… I’d rather deal with some infightin’ over who takes the president’s patch than allow our history to be destroyed by one selfish, rat-fucked, arsehole.”

“That mean you think I’m right about him?”

My best friend replies without taking a second to consider my question. “The way he’s been actin’, the shit he’s been shovellin’, I think it’s more likely than not.”

In an instant, the world tilts. I shake my head and swallow deep, all in an attempt to keep my desire to kill Brutus now from taking control of me. My trigger finger burns with anticipation. My heart breaks at the implications. My sense of justice demands to be quenched.

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