“Hearin’ ya.” I narrow my eyes and really take in his dishevelment. Venom’s a mess. Tired, red-rimmed eyes, extra stubble on his chin, and rumpled clothes. “Feel like there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me.”

  My best friend jams one hand in his hair while he bounces his right leg. He puffs up his cheeks, then empties his lungs in one long blow. I can tell that he’s dying for a smoke, but he won’t risk being caught with one while Cherub’s pissed off at him. “Hunt’s got a theory and I think he’s right.”

  “Fuck’s sake. Told you to keep him outta this.”

  “He’s in, Slash. With or without my interference. He’s been in longer than any of us. Little fucker’s been trackin’ Brutus for months and he’s noticed a deeper connection to the Maddison Clan and Joseph Kingsley than we first thought. Says they’ve been meetin’ up… says he has proof beyond the shit that went down yesterday that Joseph and the Maddisons are in bed with the Bishops too.”

  I scratch my chin as I shake my head at him. “Bullshit.”

  “He’s got photos.” When I scowl, he shrugs. “He’s got data from Brutus’ phone to back all this up too.” Venom steps closer and gets right in my face. “Hunt’s not a kid no more. He’s the same age we were when we patched in. That means he’s as much a Shamrock as we are. You really wanna be the one who clips his wings? Imagine how you’d feel if Angelis had done that to you.”

  “Christian’s—” My little brother’s real name dies on my tongue. I sigh. “Hunter’s different, you know that. I’ve gotta look out for him.”

  Venom knocks my shoulder with his. “He’s a fuckin’ genius. A hardarse when it’s called for. The kid’s almost as skilled as you are with a blade. You’ve gotta let him grow up—he’s not Topher.”

  “Low fuckin’ blow.”

  “Tell me you don’t look at him and see your dead brother layin’ on the road and I’ll apologise so fast your head fuckin’ spins.”

  Since I can’t honestly tell Venom that my reticence to allow Hunter free rein doesn’t stem from my older brother’s death when he was eight, I settle for swiping the mug from his hand and taking a sip. The double-strength espresso is bitter on my tongue—almost as bitter as the home truth my best friend just fed me.

  I hand the cup back to him and smirk. “Good luck with Cherub. Hopefully your balls remain attached when you’re finished with her.”

  “Cheeky fucker,” he retorts with a grin. “If all goes to plan, they’ll not only remain attached, but they’ll also be empty. Nothin’ gets my sweet thing hotter than a no-holds-bar fight with me.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him from between clenched teeth. “I’m sure she’d love to hear how you talk about her when she’s not around.”

  “Get fucked,” Venom grumbles. “You’re the only person I say shit like that too… plus you wouldn’t get between me and Lily like that.”

  With deliberate intent, I keep him hanging while I drag one of the chairs from the fire pit over to the workshop door. Once I’m settled in it with my legs kicked up on an empty keg, I meet his enraged gaze with a placid expression that belies the mess of confusion muddling my head.

  Venom’s right.

  I think.

  The fine line I walk between being best friends with them both sometimes feels more like a tightrope with a fifty-foot drop beneath it.

  I wouldn’t get between them.

  Would I?

  After mentally shaking myself free of the ridiculous query that will never be tested, I drawl, “Wake me up again after an all-nighter and you’ll have your answer.”

  Venom shakes his head as he laughs, then punches me in the bicep with his free hand. “Fine then. No more early wake up calls.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  The only response I receive is a snort before he pulls open the door to the workshop and enters it, coffee cup first. As soon as I hear them talking, I slump back in the seat with my arms folded behind my head and my back leaning against the steel walls of the workshop.

  My eyelids droop until they shut completely. Light sleep takes me, and that’s how I remain through the shouting and the pleading. I drift in and out of slumber until someone pinches my nose and I’m forced back to full consciousness in a rush.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Wyatt needs Venom,” my little brother informs me. He extracts a wet wipe from the travel pack he keeps in the inside pocket of his cut and cleans the hand that touched my nose with it. “Says it’s about Brutus. Figured it was important enough to interrupt their discussion.”

  I gesture to the door. “I’d advise knockin’… you know what they’re like.”

  “Sure.” We lapse into silence and stare at each other for an awkward few seconds. Hunter screws up his face and breaks the tension. “Just say it, Slash.”

  “I don’t want you involved in this shit.”

  He gives me a look that makes me feel about two inches tall. “This is my club, too, so I’m already involved.”

  “I get that.”

  “Do you really?” Hunter quirks his eyebrows. A face that’s so similar to the one that greets me in the mirror it steals my breath away glares back at me. “Because from where I’m standin’ it looks like you’re trying to tell me that I’m not good enough to be part of the solution to this problem.”

  “You’re the smartest person I know.” I rub my palms over my face as I try to find the right words to say. “You know how numbers and patterns are my thing and Eidetic memories and human behavioural systems are yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sometimes being really good at somethin’ means we’re below average in another area.” I blow out a breath when he nods at my statement. “What I’m tryna say when I tell you that I don’t want you involved is that I don’t want to see you get hurt because your talents leave you unprepared for an attack in an area where you don’t excel.”

  “Like readin’ someone’s true intentions?”

  The hurt in my brother’s eyes makes my stomach churn, even so, I answer him honestly, “Exactly like that. I know you’ve worked hard to learn the basics… but you still can’t tell if someone is bein’ real with you or not, unless it’s part of a wider analysis. That’s not an issue in the Shamrocks since we all know where you need help so we interact with you in a way you can read on a one-to-one level… that could change, though.”

  “You’re sayin’ Brutus might use it against me?”

  “Yeah, kiddo.” Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, I pull him into me and rub my knuckles on the top of his head. He struggles, grumbling in my hold, but I don’t let up until he’s laughing. When I finally let him go, Hunter is breathless and his face is flushed. “I love you, little bro, and I’d kill anyone who used your differences against you. What worries me is the harm it’d do to you. He might ruin all your progress.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He drops my gaze as he mumbles, “Not like it’d be the first time... I’ve had years of it.”

  “Fuck, Hunt. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re old as hell,” he quips with a shy smile that puts paid to his attempted joke. “It’s not like you could’ve helped me at school.”

  “Coulda banged the little shits’ heads together after school.”

  “It’s cool. You had your own stuff goin’ on back then.”

  At his mention of my dead son and his bitch of a mother, I stiffen and take a step away from him. With a scratch of my chin, I motion toward the door of the workshop with my head. “There hasn’t been any yellin’ for a while so they’re probably fucking.”

  My mouth runs dry at the idea of Venom with Cherub, but I shake it off and make a mental note to get laid as soon as lockdown is over. Thoughts I’ve ignored for five or so years keep popping into my head with disturbing frequency lately.

  Getting my end wet should fix it.

  Hopefully.

  “I’d still advise enterin’ with your eyes shut if you don’t want your pure soul sullied.”

  Hunter knocks on the door. “Ha ha, funny.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he bangs a second time, then yells, “It’s just me. I’m comin’ in on the count of five, so I’d appreciate if you’d button up your pants and lower your weapons before then.”

  I snicker loud enough for him to hear, then head back inside to try to get some sleep before lunch with my family.

  4

  LILY

  Once the lunch mess has been cleaned up, I find myself at a loose end. Zeke’s gone. No doubt chasing more information to support his theory that my father is a rat. He’s taken Hunter, Cub, and Wyatt with him. I’m not in the mood for Toker’s unique brand of coping—getting high and putting the gun range to good use is more of a middle of the night strategy for me. The enforcers who pulled overnight shifts will be catching a few z’s while the compound is quiet after the lunch time chaos so annoying Slash is off the cards, too.

  I can’t face Charlie and Crystal’s sympathy right now.

  Nadia hasn’t so much as glanced my way since she fled the kitchen in tears which means I need to give her some space.

  Another afternoon spent staring at the walls in mine and Zeke’s room beckons.

  Yay.

  “Do you know where Sander is?” I ask Delia as she exits the den with her arms full of baby bottles and Sippy cups.

  The pretty dark-haired woman straightens her shoulders and tug the hem of her “Property of Tank” cut to smooth it out. I pretend not to notice when her cheeks turn red and she struggles to meet my gaze.

  “He’s, uh, Sander’s, uh, sleeping in Fret’s room. I think.” Delia’s stammering is cute and annoying all at once. “I can—I can check if you’d like?”

  “No. No. That’s fine.”

  Being treated like the biker version of royalty comes with the territory when you’re the president’s only daughter and engaged to the VP, yet I’ve never adjusted to it. It’s part of the reason why I prefer hanging out with Nadia and the third-generation brothers. Apart from the six years my family spent in Inadale after my mum’s death, we grew up together. They’ve seen me drunk, stoned, happy, crying, and everywhere in between. It’s impossible for them to place me on a pedestal when they’ve held my hair back while I puked my guts up after a big night of drinking and karaoke.

  Delia doesn’t have that history with me, so I swallow down my discomfort at her reaction, plaster a smile on my face, and pat her upper arm. “How are you coping with lockdown? Must be hard with three little ones.”

  Her face manages to redden another couple of shades before she tells me, “It’s been fun. The kids are loving the extra attention.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard lockdown described as fun before.” With a conspiratorial wink, I murmur, “Come find me if you need some time without your kids. The prospects are available to babysit and I’d love to have a drink with you.”

  “Seriously?” she asks with wide eyes. “I can get them to do that?”

  “Of course. It’s part of the vetting process. If they can’t step up for the kids, how can they be trusted to have their brothers’ backs during a run?”

  While Delia processes what I just said, I decide that I’m going to speak to Zeke about Tank. He’s a grizzled, middle-aged member of my father’s faction who’s been with the Shamrocks for twenty years or so. We never expected him to marry, let alone manage to find a girl seventeen years younger and have three children with her in rapid succession.

  Seems he needs to be reminded that his wife is as entitled to the perks that come with the brotherhood as he is. I’d tell him myself, but possessing a vagina means my input would be met with laughter by some of the more set in their ways old timers. Thankfully, the younger generation—Zeke and Slash’s generation—have a more egalitarian view of women in the club so the sexist attitude is slowly dying out.

  Not that it will completely change if Zeke’s propensity to lie to me to “protect me” is a true indication.

  “That makes sense,” Delia says quietly. “Tank keeps telling me to make myself at home… it just—it just feels like I’m overstepping when the kids start to cry and run amok.”

  “Nope.” I grin as my suspicions about Tank’s old-fashioned ways are dispelled. “This club is as much yours as it is your husband’s. That goes for your little ones as well.” Delia finally gives me a genuine smile and meets my eyes when I tug on her cut and add. “There’s gotta be some perks to balance the late nights and the days away on runs.”

  “Very true.”

  “So how about we get together for a drink tonight?”

  Her whiskey-coloured eyes light up as she ventures in a hopeful voice, “I’m still breastfeeding so I can’t drink, but I’d be up for a trip to the gun range if you’d like to take me. I’ve always wanted to shoot a gun.”

  “Okay,” I tell her with a surprised laugh. “The gun range it is. I’ll come find you an hour or so after dinner… it’ll be dark then. There’s something kinda poetic about shooting the shit out of paper targets with stars overhead.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Delia replies. She lifts one of the baby bottles clutched to her chest. “Anyhow, I better get these rinsed out. I’ll meet you in the bar this evening.”

  “Perfect.”

  Our gazes stay locked for a few moments before she exclaims, “You’re nothing like I expected.”

  “It’s the resting bitch face,” I quip with a smirk.

  “Nah, it’s more the way you carry yourself. Like you don’t care what anyone thinks of you.” Since that couldn’t be further from the truth, I remain silent as I search for the best way to tell her that I’m just as insecure as everyone else. In the end, I don’t get to deny her claim because Delia rips the wind out of my sails when she gestures to my bruised and swollen face. “I’m really sorry for what you’ve been through. My ex was… similar… until Tank took care of him for me.”

  There is nothing but love in Delia’s eyes for the man who rescued her as she gives me a sharp nod and begins in the direction of the kitchen. I wait until she’s out of sight to slump against the closest wall. My heart is racing. My body trembles. My mind floods with memories of Alex’s brutality. It takes me a few minutes to shake it off, and I only manage it once I realise what shook me so hard about Delia’s confession.

  Sympathy irks me, yet the kind of understanding that someone like Delia offers is almost worse.

  Knowing that my ordeal isn’t unique hurts.

  Realising that most women have a similar story to tell breaks my heart.

  Yet it’s the knowledge that some women remain stuck in the same situation I barely survived that really kills me.

  Why is the world like this?

  “You okay there, Cherub?” Slash’s concern rips me out of my dark thoughts.

  I shake myself—mentally and physically—before I turn to face him. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “With that look in your eyes, we both know that’s bullshit,” he murmurs. Slinging an arm over my shoulder, he leans heavily on me as he uses his body to direct me toward the den. “Also know that look means you’ll kick my arse if I press the point.”

  “You know me too well.”

  “Better than most,” he counters.

  When we enter the den, I expect to find Tank and Delia’s kids watching television. They’re not. I’m about to call for Delia to let her know her kids have escaped when I hear their laughter. Seems their dad has taken them outside to play on the jungle gym and slippery dip that was built when I was a kid. For a moment, I watch the big, gruff man push his two older daughters on the double swing while holding his six-month-old baby girl, and my heart pangs.

  It's unlikely I’ll ever be able to give that to Zeke.

  Not after the damage Alex caused.

  “You keep goin’ silent like that, I’m gonna tickle you,” Slash warns. “Hate knowin’ you’re thinkin’ dark shit.”

  I drag my gaze away from the scene outside the window to roll my eyes at the gentle giant smirking at me. “You’d have to catch me first.” He lunges at me while I mangle my attempt to feint to the left. We both stop short and grimace. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Slept wrong last night,” he admits. “Back’s stiff as fuck.”

  “Told you it was a bad idea to stay at the hospital. Should’ve listened to me, mister.” With a shake of my head, I take hold of his bicep with one hand to stop him lowering himself to the couch and point to the floor with the other. “Lie on your stomach. I’ll pick something to watch while I work out the knots.”

  After Slash sheds his cut and yanks his t-shirt over his head, I flick the bar he has through his left nipple. “This is new.”

  “Yeah,” he tells me as he lowers himself to the carpet with obvious effort. “Gonna get the other one done next.”

  “You’ll have more holes than a sieve soon. The chronic dehydration will be a bitch.”

  “Laugh it up, little Cherub,” Slash quips from the floor. “I get hard when you tease me.”

  “Gross.” I lean down to twist his ear lobe, then grab the remote from the coffee table. “Have some respect… I’m an almost married woman.”

  “You gotta give it to get it.’

  “Very true,’ I retort as I mash the on button on the clicker. “I’m doomed then.”

  The television flickers to life and I flip through the channels until an old episode of Friends comes up. Slash and I share the same taste in movies, TV shows, and books. We’re usually reading the same book, taking it in turns to choose, even though he’s normally finished before I’ve reached halfway. The same goes with shows. If we’re not binge watching something together, we’re re-watching an older sitcom and comparing notes.

  “Do you reckon this show is playing somewhere in the world twenty-four/seven?” I ask once I’ve tossed the remote onto the table and straddled his backside.

  “Yep.” He moans when I start working my fingertips into the base of his neck. “Pretty sure it’s like in the constitution of the new world order.” We lapse into silence until I hit a particularly tight area and Slash’s entire body shudders. “Fuckin’ keep workin’ me like that and I’ll drag you down the aisle before Venom can.”

 

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