Page 99 of Tempting Fate

Zeke’s assessment of himself as dark and dangerous earlier today as putting it mildly.

And to top it off, it was my dad who gave him what would become his road name when he patched into the Shamrocks...

It’s a story I’ve heard hundreds of times.

The beginning of Venom.

Back when he was almost eight, and I was no more than nine months old, he first displayed the other side of his personality. Toker had been holding me, dancing around our living room to an MTV music video when he lost his balance and dropped me. After picking me up from the floor and passing me to my mum, Zeke knocked Toker to the ground and pummelled my cousin with his bare fists until the screams of my mother drew the attention of our fathers, and they managed to pry him off my cousin.

The scar on Toker’s forehead and the bend in his nose is a permanent reminder of that day.

Hades was mortified. He blamed himself for his son’s violence. Felt that it happened because he was a single father most of the time. Zeke’s mother was off overseas doing as she pleased, therefore, Zeke was missing a woman’s touch. Compared to Hades’ freak out, my father had simply checked out the bump on my head, then slapped Zeke on the back for protecting his little Cherub, before he crowed about Zeke reminding him of his favourite comic antihero from the eighties.

Now, I don’t remember the day for obvious reasons, but I’ve heard the tale enough times to know that Dad followed up his laughter with a comment that still gets repeated every time he needs to tap into Zeke’s dark side, “When I find his trigger, he’ll be my best weapon.”

Yet, even as I recall the times Zeke’s allowed his darkness to get the better of him over the years, even after he expressed worry that he could scare me, I still can’t make myself agree with Sander’s assessment. Sure, my man dishes out carnage when it’s called for. He’s killed before, dozens of times if the stories are true, and I’m positive he’ll kill again.

There’s one startling difference between the two men, though.

My fiancé needs a reason to turn into a monster.

Alexander Kingsley is a monster.

Through and through.

The worst part is that I’ve been on the receiving end of Alex’s savagery, yet I don’t believe I’ve witnessed the true depth of it. I honestly doubt Alex even knows how far he’ll go to satisfy his obsession.

“Not even Zeke at his worst is a match for pure insanity.”

My brother manages to frown harder at my blunt judgement. “I think you’re wrong. He’ll do whatever it takes to get you free of Alex’s twisted schemes.”

The door to our waiting room is wrenched open, effectively ending our conversation. I appreciate the interruption, since it’s clear that no one else is seeing what I’m seeing. I don’t want to argue with my brother anymore, but he doesn’t seem to realise that Alex isn’t a rival club trying to steal Shamrocks’ territory. He’s not a gangbanger who didn’t pay his debt. With his father’s connections and his grandfather’s criminal organisation at his back, Alex isn’t even someone who can be bought off.

If the psychiatrist who testified at the trial was telling the truth, Alexander Kingsley is an obsessive-compulsive with violent and sexual intrusive thoughts, and an antisocial personality disorder that manifests as psychopathic tendencies. His diagnosis is a mouthful, although I imagine the medication that he’s supposed to take to control himself is even harder to swallow.

Maybe the club wasn’t paying attention in the courtroom… all I know is they’ve underestimated the power they have over this situation.

It sucks to discount the men in my life as a safe harbour, but I know I’m right.

I need to kill Alex if I’m ever going to be set free of him.

“How long does it take to get coffee?” Slash inquires. He strides into the corridor, shaking his head when we don’t immediately clamber back to our feet. “Everyone’s worried about you two.” Before we can answer, he cocks his head to the side, the concern that was creasing his handsome face disappears in the same second as he look us over, then Slash says with a smirk, “This’s a twin thing, ain’t it?”

“Maybe,” Sander retorts. It’s common knowledge that my twin believes we have some kind of telepathic connection. If we do, it’s one sided, because I can rarely guess what he’s thinking unless his mouth is moving at the same time. “But we’ll never tell.”

Even though I’m not sold on his theory, I laugh when Sander does. Disagreement temporarily put to the side, we bump shoulders and follow Slash back into the waiting room. As Sander hands out the drinks, even though they’re probably cold by now, I ignore Zeke’s silent request for me to retake my previous position on his lap. Instead, I swallow down all the angry words I want to throw her way, and rather than cut her cold like I did earlier, I take hold of Nadia’s hand to pull her over to a pair of free seats.

The surprise that flickers over her face, only to be replaced by pain and regret, is enough to tell me that Sander is right. Just like there’s more to my story than the fact Alex raped me, there’s more to Nadia than the time she spent supplying my twin with the drugs that would eventually lead to both our downfalls.

Does this mean I won’t ever tell her how upset I am over what she did?

No.

But I can honour my brother’s request to hear her out first.

“How was work?” I ask with genuine interest.

“It was—it was.” Nadia pauses to lick her lips. Sorrow fills her eyes, then she rolls her shoulders and offers me a conspiratorial grin. It’s close to real, although I know her well enough to see the anxiousness she’s trying to hide. “It was busy as usual, but I managed to get to that new second-hand shop on my break. Designer shoes. Handbags. I got my hands on a Burberry trench coat for fifty bucks.”

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