Page 26 of Tempting Fate

And I will kill anyone who helped Alex take her.

I pocket the lipglass, stiffen my spine, and stomp across the parkland to the house with the red roof. In the late afternoon light, it appears deserted. The whirl of the security cameras tells the opposite story. Despite knowing that there are likely eyes on me, it takes effort to walk up the driveway rather than stomp through the garden to the front door. My knock on the door is perfunctory, even though I’d prefer to use my boot to kick it open.

A guy with a crew cut cracks the door a moment later, and every thought I had about breaking Lily out by myself dies an instant death. A killer recognises another killer. And the dude staring back at me is failing to hide his murderous tendencies about as well as I am.

“Can I help you?”

The question is right. The tone it’s delivered in is all sorts of fucked up. As is the knowing glint in his feral eyes. Ex-military, mob, or MC? Whatever the colour of his stripes, he definitely walks on the same side of the law as me.

The lawless side.

Doesn’t matter who pays him for his services. I have his measure, no matter how he tries to play this off, and I’ll happily cop any repercussions that come for messing with a rival MC, the Maddison Clan, or the cartels without getting it sanctioned by Brutus first.

Whatever organisation this fucker belongs to has just been added to my shit list.

Top five.

Directly under Alex, Brutus, Joseph, and Kristoff Maddison.

Anger rippling through me, I somehow manage to keep my tone friendly as I say, “Yeah, sorry to bother you, but my fiancée lost her phone earlier today.” The tracker is actually in Lily’s necklace, but I don’t want to alert anyone to that fact. “We’re door knockin’ the local area, tryna see if anyone might’ve picked it up.”

The crewcut sporting prick comes close to sneering at me, then remembers that he’s supposed to be placating me, so he tries to feign surprise. “Sorry, mate. I ain’t seen nothin’, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Would appreciate it.” My response is short and sharp because I’m battling the urge to throw caution to the wind and force my way inside. When he goes to close the door, I shove my hand against the wooden panel. His eyes widen when I use my strength to force it all the way open. “Don’t you want to know what colour it is? The brand? Something like that?”

“Ah, sure, yeah… what colour is it?”

“Blue. Like bright blue, but not sapphire.” I pause, cocking my head to the side as if I’m thinking. My narrow-eyed gaze takes in the living room behind him. I note the brown leather couch, the brand on the security panel next to the door, the way the coffee table appears to have been knocked out of place, as I search for clues that Lily has been here… or is still here. “I think she calls it cerulean.”

“Yeah, so it’s blue,” he mutters. “I’ll let you know if I find a blue phone.”

As he tries to shut the door again, I spot a red-bottomed shoe lying at the head of what looks like a hallway. I’d recognise that kind of high heel anywhere, having held Lily’s bags while she’s shoe shopped more than once. A Lou-boo-something-or-other. Expensive as fuck. And that style of shoe is especially clear in my mind since I made my woman Vegemite toast this morning while she on put a pair just like it.

“Listen here, cunt—” I press forward, but stop when the telltale click of a hammer being cocked catches my attention. What is obviously a muzzle—to me anyway—is notched to the soft spot where my skull meets my spine. Raising my hands in the air, I venture steadily, “Look, I don’t want no trouble.”

“Bullshit,” a male voice replies from behind me. “Anyone wearin’ that cut is trouble. So, I’m gonna have you keep your hands where I can see them, turn around, and walk your arse right off this property.”

I blow out a frustrated breath. “Can’t do that.”

“I think you can.”

“And why’s that?” It’s probably not smart to antagonise the prick holding a gun to my head, but now that I know Lily’s more than likely here, I’m not leaving without her. “You know somethin’ I don’t?”

“I know that you’re a Shamrock and you’re sniffing around somewhere you’re not welcome.”

As the hair on the back of my neck stands up, I shift slightly to my left to see if I can catch a glimpse of the arsehole behind me in the sidelight. His reflection is distorted, nonetheless, I see enough to place him. Hugh St. James. Made man of the Maddison clan. Best friend to Alexander Kingsley. A violent criminal—not that I judge him for that—with a penchant for trafficking unwilling women, selling fentanyl-laced MDMA to unwitting uni students, and testing the boundaries around the Shamrocks turf with unerring regularity.

Now, those three things I do judge him for…

Crewcut glances past me to Hugh, then he quickly inclines his head. I see the resolve in his eyes a second too late, so he’s able to slam the door shut before I can stop him. Jiggling the handle, I shove my shoulder into the thick wood. Four beeps and the security system is set. I’m locked outside. Separated from Lily. Held at gunpoint by a Maddison.

My temper spikes, rapidly building to eruption point. I whirl around, knocking the gun out of my face with one hand while reaching for the weapon I shoved in the back of my jeans with the other. Pointing my muzzle at Hugh’s face, I smirk when he fumbles his handgun and drops it onto the concrete path.

“Fuck.”

“Hands up,” I tell him. He edges his arms, palms out, into the air with obvious reluctance. Flicking my gaze between him and the gun on the ground, I quip, “Guess you’re kinda glad that didn’t blow ya toe off, aren’t you, butterfingers?”

“You’re too late.” He ignores my mocking to taunt me in return. “She’s already out of your reach.”

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