Page 141 of Making Choices

It’s the reason my road name fits so well.

Death by a thousand slashes.

That’s my calling card.

Knowing exactly how useful a medical degree is in the underworld, I can’t help but wonder if the mob bitch is directly responsible for Fret’s devastating injuries. Sure, her surgeon husband has the same capabilities, yet my gut tells me that Bebe is sadistic enough to actually act as both torturer and healer… and that inkling leads me along an even darker path.

Did Brutus tell her the best ways to permanently incapacitate Fret?

I know Fret believes his father lured him out of the compound to make it easier for the Bishops of Bloodshed to capture him so it’s not a huge leap to question whether Brutus also fed them the best ways to ensure his son was incapable of patching into the club.

The question now is why he would do something like that.

“Look at you.” A tall, bottle-blonde perches on the arm of my chair. I hit the lock button on my phone so she can’t read Cub’s messages. “Sitting here, all alone, waiting for your turn to keep me company.”

“Ah,” I venture slowly as I stare up at her like a stunned mullet. She’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her. “I’m not…”

“My sister always told me that man-buns will be forever in fashion, but I find they usually only denote a douchebag.” Her cultured New Yorker accent is slurred. The dilation of her pupils tells me that she’s ear-deep in the chemical enhancements being freely passed around the party. “Do you want to prove me wrong?”

As come-ons go, her game is weak.

Negging isn’t exactly an attractive trait.

“If you’re not up for it, that’s fine. Plenty of other men will take me to bed. The lead singer of Apologies to Medusa seems to be the fantasy hall pass for a lot of you.”

Realising that the woman accosting me is the notorious Angelina Noguera-Tomás, I immediately stiffen. This woman is dangerous. She deliberately catfished Apollo in order to get pregnant with his kids, then she compounded that betrayal by stealing her sister’s spot as lead singer of the band she’d created as a sixteen-year-old.

If Judas was a woman, he’d look like Angelina.

I don’t know how Apollo can stand to be in the same room as her.

“Yeah, I’m not interested.” When she gasps at my refusal, I push back to my feet. Leaning over Angelina, I hover with my mouth a millimetre from her ear. “I’d advise you take your bullshit elsewhere. This’s Shamrocks territory. Lo is one of us, Sera too, and that means you’re on our shit list.”

As the daughter of one of the US Trinity’s three head families, Angelina is actually a protected species. Killing her would force the Australian order to cut ties with us. But I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t weighing up the risk of going through with it anyway.

My track record with viperous women isn’t good.

Doesn’t mean I want the same fate to befall my friends.

Thankfully, she gets the hint before I can settle on a way to dispose of her body and sashays her skinny arse off to find easier prey.

I peer around the main living area.

No Cherub.

When I go searching, I discover that Nadia’s being fucked against the wall in the kitchen by the bass player while half a dozen people watch. Ducking into the bedrooms, I find bodies writhing all over the place. It’s an orgy. One I want no part of.

When I return to the living area, I pull Apollo from the group he’s chatting with.

“Have you seen Cherub?”

He shakes his head.

“What about Venom?”

“Haven’t seen him since the limo either.”

“Cherub’s fine.” Isaiah appears out of thin air. He fidgets with his bandana, refusing to meet my eyes as he states, “She’s out on the balcony, takin’ in the fresh air. Been out there for a good twenty minutes.”

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