Tempting Fate (Duplicity Trilogy #1)

Prologue

LILY

Aged: Nineteen

“ A ngel, angel… are you going to forgive Alex?” The woman trots alongside the barricade that’s set up to separate us from the crazies lined up outside the courthouse. She yells her questions like a reporter, but I know she’s one of them . “Will you finally admit that you’re lying about him? That this is a love triangle gone wrong.”

“Fuckin’ psychos,” Sander grumbles from behind me.

“Needa be put outta their misery.” I squeeze Zeke’s hand to remind him that he can’t act on his lethal inclinations. “What kinda bitch thinks a rapist needs defendin’?”

“Sad bitches, that’s who.” Slash keeps his arm around my neck and my face pressed into his wide chest as he helps Zeke lead me inside. Sandwiched between my boyfriend and our gigantic bestie, I can barely see a thing. “Like to see them survive the bullshit they’re throwin’ at little Cherub.”

Their determination to shield me from this mess is futile. After a year of attacks by the media, haranguing depositions from lawyers employed by Joseph Kingsley, invasive medical tests, and four major surgeries, I know that this isn’t the end. This is simply another interlude. A new way for Alex to taunt me.

Because he refuses to exit my life.

Notwithstanding his guilty plea, my tormentor has done his best to drag out the legal process. He’s fought his mental health diagnosis. Broken his bail conditions by sending me letters. Leveraged the blackmail photographs of Sander by anonymously releasing them on social media two days before training began. Ordered his group of female devotees to hound me. Sat down for print interviews and given magazine exclusives about the “truth” of our relationship and a convoluted explanation about how his guilty plea doesn’t actually mean he is the perpetrator.

About the only thing Alex hasn’t stooped to so far is setting the Maddison clan onto the Shamrocks.

Thank God for small mercies, I guess.

Since my final surgery four months ago, and my permanent discharge from the hospital, Zeke, Slash, and Toker have tried their hardest to keep me in the dark about it all.

To no avail—not in this hyper-connected day and age.

Even so, I appreciate their efforts.

Which is why I don’t have the heart to tell them that I’m aware of the tricks Alex is likely to employ when we’re face to face again shortly. This court appearance might ostensibly be for his sentencing, however I’m cognisant that it’s another opportunity for him to use the microphone the legal system has thrust in his face to beat me down emotionally.

His gang of female supporters have hardly been subtle about their plans for today.

Before I deactivated my social media accounts a few months ago, comments like the ones thrown at me by the woman sprinting alongside the barrier were a daily occurrence. As a girl raised to believe in the sisterhood, discovering that some women will sell out their sisters for a man’s attention has been a hard lesson. If it wasn’t for Nadia’s complete loyalty, the sisterhood provided by the Moscato they manage to stoop a little lower.

Rehashing Slash’s case.

Spreading lies about Sander.

Accusing Zeke of being the man responsible for my assault.

One of the Sunday night current affairs shows even aired a special where Alex was interviewed about his version of events. The programme, for which Alex was paid to sit down, one on one, with a pre-eminent interviewer who once worked as a lobbyist for Joseph, confected the story of a man on the cusp of being wrongly incarcerated by the lies of a young woman who’d been brainwashed by “purity culture” and her need to remain virtuous for her “biker betrothed”. In fact, Alex alleged that it was Zeke who beat and raped me as reprisal for my “unsanctioned” love affair with an upstanding politician’s son, and that the Shamrocks had covered up their violent member’s crime by forcing me into pointing the finger at Alex.

Apparently, it was a win-win for the Shamrocks. They stopped their club from fracturing and destroyed Joseph Kingsley, the anti-corruption candidate, before the upcoming election where the rumour was that he planned to run for Premier.

If Alex’s story was a movie script, it would be thrown out of the writer’s room for being too contrived. Unfortunately, the citizens of Western Australia are lapping up the charade and tuning in for more… in between baying for my blood and ringing into talk-back radio to demand the police shut down all motorcycle clubs.

Hence the reason why the men escorting me into the courtroom today aren’t wearing their colours. The Black Shamrocks MC are public enemy number two—I’m number one, of course. We’re hunted by the media and looked down on by the same communities we’ve supported since the end of the Vietnam War with toy runs at Christmas for the kids who’d otherwise miss out on a present under their tree and poker runs to fundraise money for those in need. Even more of a problem is the attitude other clubs and criminal organisations have toward us.

The Cerulli Famiglia have threatened to ally with the Maddison clan against us.

The Ten Thousand Sons Triad are moving product through our ports without fear.

The Bishops of Bloodshed are pushing into our turf, using the public and political scrutiny we’re under as a shield from any reprisal we would once have rained down on them.

The New Trinity, or La Trinitat Nova as they are better known, have called a sit-down to discuss our ongoing membership in their guild. As the first and final word on literally everything, political, financial, social, and spiritual, possessing the Trinity’s approval is both protection and validation. Without it, we are no better than the Maddison’s.

To say that the Shamrocks are on the cusp of war would be an understatement.

We’re heading toward total annihilation of our fifty years of tradition and brotherhood with a mad man at the helm and three of the biggest criminal organisations in Australia breathing down our neck. My father used the club’s distraction over my assault to pull off a coup. He usurped Hades’ role as president, listing his terminal cancer diagnosis as an excuse, stealing Zeke’s legacy in one fell swoop. After pleading for change and vowing to mentor Zeke so he could take his rightful place “once he’s older and wiser”, Dad and his slight majority have made it clear that they are willing to take the Shamrocks in the exact opposite direction our founding six set out in the original constitution.

The Shamrocks are splintering, and I can’t help but blame myself for it.

If only I’d stayed away from Alex…

“Mr. Kingsley, will you stand up please?” The justice orders in a solemn tone after she bangs her gavel twice.

I blink fast, my eyes stinging as I realise that I’ve gotten lost in my head once again. Somehow, Zeke and Slash have managed to help me unconsciously navigate the media at the front of the courthouse, the crazies, the metal detectors and bag check, and take a seat on what I’ve come to think of as my side of the courtroom. Although I know my absentmindedness is becoming dangerous, my brain remains incapable of doing anything productive other than worry about all the problems my bad decision has caused.

At that thought, a shiver of foreboding runs the length of my spine.

My stomach flip-flops.

What if, despite his guilty plea, Alex walks away scot-free?

God, I hope not.

Sandwiched between Zeke and Slash, I rub my palms along my thighs, then I cross my fingers and slide my hands under my legs to hide my superstitious behaviour from Zeke.

“Shoulda put a bullet in his head,” Sander grumbles from behind me. “Motherfucker shouldn’t be breathin’ the same air as you, let alone lookin’ your way.”

“Hush,” Nadia warns him. I shoot her a grateful look over my shoulder and she offers me a tight grimace. “We don’t need the bailiff to drag you out again. You made the six o’clock news last time.”

Slash chuckles under his breath, then he shows me his fingers.

They’re crossed like mine.

“Prayin’ you receive a belated birthday present,” he murmurs.

Thoughts of my recent nineteenth birthday, the first anniversary of Alex’s attack, try to push to the forefront of my mind. I refuse them access. The self-inflicted scars on my thighs and lower belly are enough of a reminder without allowing my traitorous brain to remind me of how weak I am.

How Alex’s poison lives on inside me…

When Alexander pushes to his feet with an easy grace he has no right to possess, I blindly seek out Zeke’s touch. He links our fingers and pulls our intertwined hands onto his lap. Resting heavily against my boyfriend, I try my hardest to keep my breath steady and my body from shaking as the justice skims over the document in front of her.

“We can go outside, if you want?” Slash whispers. Careful not to startle me as he reaches for my other hand, he slants an expression filled with empathy my way. “You don’t needa be here for this.”

“I do.” After dragging my gaze from the back of Alex’s head, I offer my worried friend a loaded look. “Won’t be able to sleep, eat, drink, breathe unless I hear the outcome with my own ears and see it with my own eyes.”

With a sharp nod, Slash concedes my point. He turns slightly to use his chin to direct my attention toward Sander. I angle my head, my mouth runs dry when I find my twin dashing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Nadia loops her arm around his neck and pulls his face to her shoulder. Next to her, Slash’s mum, Crystal, sits ramrod straight. She holds up her “Justice should be blind” sign and glares at any of Alex’s supporters whenever they make the mistake of meeting her eyes.

I offer her a watery smile when Crystal slips Sander a tissue and orders, “Shoulders square, chin up.”

To his credit, Sander does exactly as he’s told. When he glances my way, I pretend I can’t see his red-rimmed eyes. With a squeeze of my fingers, Zeke steals my attention from my twin. He looks around the courtroom, at anyone but the man my father refuses to grant him the permission to kill, and I follow his focus. The long benches on the prosecution side are filled with my supporters. On the other side of Sander, my three younger brothers fill out the row. Behind them, the old ladies of the Black Shamrocks MC offer their silent but solid support.

Row after row, from my spot at the front, to the double doors all the way at the back, is occupied by big men in dirty denim and long-sleeved T-shirts—stripped of their Shamrocks cut and colours. From prospects to lifers who’ve been in the club longer than I’ve been alive, from the Perth chapter to those from the east coast, the Shamrocks have turned out to support me. Each man has had his life turned on its head by my dumb choice, yet they’re all here.

Sitting with me.

Encouraging me.

Protecting me.

Unlike my father… and Charlie.

As soon as thoughts of Dad push their way into my head, I shove them back out. I don’t have the bandwidth to process his betrayal, not that any level of comprehension will help me understand his reasons for secretly sanctioning a union between me and the heir to the Maddison clan.

It doesn’t make sense.

It’s never been part of the biker life.

Arranged marriages are more the bailiwick of the mafia and the Trinity.

Even then, the women involved are aware they’re being used to create a blood bond.

Not that it makes any difference.

It’s over now.

Dad might’ve won some battles, but he lost that fight. I’m free to choose my own partner, and I’ve made it clear that I choose Zeke. I’ve been in love with him since I was thirteen, and despite some bumps in our road to togetherness, he loves me in return.

Dirty as I am.

Broken as I am.

Zeke has made it clear that I’m it for him.

As my mind tries to bombard me with memories of Alex’s attack on my eighteenth birthday, I force myself to focus elsewhere. I take in the stark contrast between the rough men on my side and the well-dressed politicians, businessmen, weeping socialites, and other supporters sitting behind Alex. The difference in our social standing has been well documented by the converging press. The sides of this trial are delineated with or without the presence of the Shamrocks patch. When the man accused of violent rape and grievous bodily harm is the only son of the minister for police and his victim is the daughter of an MC president, unfavourable comparisons are expected.

I’m the dirty biker whore who took down the crown prince of Western Australia.

Alex is the unfortunate dupe caught in my lewd net.

God forbid the truth impedes a clever soundbite…

“Face forward, Mr. Kingsley,” Justice Thompson demands. “I’d hate to hold you in contempt at such a late stage.”

My head snaps to the front of the courtroom. I lock eyes with Alex, who’s turned around to look at me. My heart stops. My lungs empty. I’m frozen in place as he awkwardly blows me a kiss using his handcuffed hands, then winks. Next to me, Zeke growls and makes to stand. I shake myself free of the weird thrall Alex creates and stay my man with a strong squeeze of his closest thigh.

“Gonna kill him if he looks at you again.”

“No, you’re not,” I tell Zeke, even though I’d love nothing more than Alex to die. “That’ll only make things worse.”

“It’ll make me feel a fuckova lot better.”

While the justice clears her throat, and scowls at Alex as he slowly resumes facing her, I lean into Zeke and whisper, “I won’t lose you, not to him, not to whatever revenge his father cooks up to pay us back for damaging his family’s reputation and destroying his chance of becoming the state’s Premier, and definitely not to my father’s games. There’s a reason Dad won’t sanction Alex’s death, so until we know what it is, you’ll use your brains and respect my call for restraint.”

The muscle in Zeke’s jaw works as he stops himself from saying what he really thinks to settle for placating me. “I’ll—” Slash makes a rumbling sound that vibrates his chest and Toker matches it with one of his own from the other side of Zeke. “— we’ll respect it, sweet thing, doesn’t mean we agree with it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“For the rape of Miss Lilianna Scarlett Mayberry.” As the justice continues speaking, we all face forward. “The offender is sentenced to imprisonment for a term of five years and seven months. The non-parole period is one of two years and four months and will include all time served as of this date.”

“Holy fuck!” Sander exclaims as Alex’s side recoils in shock at the sentence. “He’s actually goin’ to prison, not a psych ward?”

“Keep calm,” Crystal chides. She lays a hand on my shoulder and everyone sitting around me pretends to ignore the way I startle at her light touch. I swallow hard, biting my tongue so I don’t scream at her to get away from me while my skin crawls beneath the pressure of her fingers. “The second charge is the big one.”

“Not sure how beatin’ someone half to death is worse than rapin’ them half to death,” Nadia mutters. “Fucking men and their bullshit laws.”

Crystal grumbles something under her breath that sounds like agreement.

“For the aggravated grievous bodily harm of Lilianna Scarlett Mayberry, the offender is sentenced to imprisonment for a term of eight years and one month. Due to the mitigating factors presented by the defence, I have used the guidelines provided to offer a special dispensation for good behaviour and the completion of an appropriate mental health program whilst determining the non-parole period. In due course, the non-parole period for this sentence is no less than five years and eleven months. This will be served concurrently with the previous sentence, however time already served will not count.”

“Less than six years,” I murmur under my breath. “Six years until he comes back for me.”

“He won’t get within spittin’ distance of you ever again,” Zeke promises.

I want to agree with him, but I can’t.

Alex is a monster.

Evil personified.

And everyone knows that evil monsters don’t just fade into the darkness in the face of defeat. Monsters can’t quit. They don’t have the capacity to accept defeat. Instead, they bide their time, lick their wounds while they plot and plan, grow more devious by the day, until they invade the light and drag their obsession back into hell with them.

My monster will come back for me.

When he returns, I need to be strong enough to defeat him.