Page 9 of Tempting Fate

I’m being paranoid.

So, despite the danger today presents, and the fact she’s going to be filthy with rage when I finally tell her the truth, I force myself to drag in a steadying breath. Nothing’s going to go wrong. Not today. Not ever. I need to put my trust in the precautions I have in place to keep her safe.

There’s next to zero chance Lily’s crazy ex will be dumb enough to strike out at her on his first day of freedom. Can’t say that really comforts me. Not when I never imagined he’d have the balls to hurt her like he did five years ago.

What I can take comfort in is the club.

Every member of the Shamrocks would die for her.

Lily is my woman, but she’s their little Cherub. Only the second girl born into the club in more than five decades. They worship the ground she walks on and hang on to every word she speaks, like her thoughts are the most precious thing they’ll ever possess.

The Black Shamrocks’ devotion to her is enduring and unbreakable.

Which I’m beyond thankful for, since nothing about Alexander Kingsley is predictable.

He’s fixated on Lily, craves her more than he does his next breath, and no amount of pain has been able to break his obsession with her. I know this first-hand because I went behind her back to organise for the Shamrocks on the inside to pay him a few visits before his daddy pulled the right strings to get him protected from me.

The piece of shit still sends her love letters, threats, and the occasional rambling apology. First, they came to my old address, then the Shamrocks compound, and now they’re sent to Gabriel’s firm. After the emotional backslide Lily had from his first letter, I make sure everything is given to me. I make it my job to ensure Alex’s vile words never touch Lily’s growing confidence. As the years have passed, it’s gotten harder to anticipate his next plan to contact her. He’s persistent. Determined. Compulsive in a way that he doesn’t seem able to control. Knowing that he’s about to be released from the legal and physical restraints forcing him to leave Lily alone has kept me awake at night since I found out his release date.

“Don’t pout about it,” Toker states. For a moment, I wonder if I said my last thought out loud. My worry dies when he swaps sides of the hallway, invading my space so he can nudge my shoulder with his. In a hushed tone, he tells me, “You must’ve known she was gonna baulk at your overprotective tendencies, eventually? It’s been years, Venom… let it go. With us at her back, Lilianna’s as safe as anyone can be in this fucked-up world.”

The way he says her real name rather than her nickname, with the smallest inflection that telegraphs the tiny crack that remains in his faith in the Shamrocks after our failure more than five years ago, doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“You saved her.” Toker bumps my shoulder a second time, this time with complete seriousness. “Be happy about that rather than courtin’ trouble you don’t need.”

Since only a few in the club are privy to the true extent of the damage wrought by Lily’s ex, I take a quick peek around the thirty or so brothers who are waiting, with varying degrees of patience, for Brutus to call church to order. No one seems to be paying us any attention, so I lean back against the wall, drop my chin to my chest, and tell the two men standing on either side of me the secret I’ve been keeping for the past fortnight.

“He was let out this mornin’. Seventeen fuckin’ months early… for good behaviour, if you can believe that shit. No parole. Nothin’. Time served and a clean slate.”

Not needing me to spell out who he is, Slash glares down at me. “Did you tell her?”

I shake my head.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” he retorts. “She’s gonna hang you by the balls when she finds out.”

Toker snorts. “Brother, his balls’ll be the least of his worries. Cherub’s gonna skin him alive.”

“Rather risk my balls than watch her unravel,” I mutter. “Won’t risk that ’til I’m certain he’s intent on doin’ more than sendin’ her a letter, every now and then. Plus, he ain’t stupid. He won’t try anythin’ today… not on his first day out.”

After a heavy pause, they both reply, “True.”

The subject is dropped when Brutus finally pulls the doors to the chapel open. He steps aside so we can all file inside and take our places around the rectangular wooden table that dominates the room. Solid oak with our logo carved into it, a gavel sits at the head, and the president’s throne—as Slash likes to call it—sits behind it. The two chairs on either side of the throne are a little more ornate than the ones that circle the rest of the table and line the two walls parallel to the longest sides of the table.

The VP and the SAA sit at the president’s six.

One by one, we toss our phones into the mesh-and-leather box our technology officer, Cub, built to stop our mobiles from being tapped or traced while we’re discussing club business. Once I’ve reluctantly let mine go, I drop down into the VP’s chair that sits to the left of Brutus’ seat and wait for my president to call church to order.

For some reason, he’s in no hurry to get things moving.

Rather than pick up the gavel, Brutus moseys around the table, taking his time to chat with some of the old-timers. It doesn’t escape my notice that the men he speaks to the longest are the ones who’ve made their displeasure at my new role known in one way or another.

“Don’t… let… them… get… to… ya.” My dad wheezes from behind me. Since I didn’t think he’d make it into the clubhouse today for my first meeting as VP, I push to my feet and hug him. His shoulders are bony. His too-thin body shakes as he coughs and struggles to catch his breath. Although I’m aware that he loathes it, I hold him a little tighter than usual.

“’Preciate you makin’ the effort to be here today.”

“Zeke… it’s all… yours. Earned… it. Like… I… did.”

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