Making Choices: a dark and angsty love triangle romance, page 1
MAKING CHOICES
BELLA FAUST
CONTENTS
Get the Faust 411
About this book
Series reading order
Content warning
Playlist
Prologue
1. Slash
2. Lily
3. Slash
4. Lily
5. Slash
6. Lily
7. Slash
8. Lily
9. Slash
10. Lily
11. Slash
12. Lily
13. Slash
14. Lily
15. Slash
16. Lily
17. Slash
18. Lily
19. Slash
20. Lily
21. Slash
22. Lily
23. Slash
24. Lily
25. Slash
26. Lily
27. Slash
28. Lily
29. Slash
30. Lily
31. Slash
32. Lily
33. Slash
34. Lily
35. Slash
36. Lily
37. Slash
38. Lily
39. Slash
40. Lily
41. Slash
42. Lily
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Making Choices
A Black Shamrocks MC (Australia) novel
Copyright © 2023 DyMi Ink
All rights reserved.
Edited by Amanda Howard
Proofed by Between the Lines
Cover design and formatting by Bella Faust
While every effort is made to ensure this story is properly edited, proofed, and formatted, mistakes can still slip through. If you notice anything wrong with this book, the author would be beyond grateful if you alert her via this google form so she can fix the error ASAP.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licenced for your personal enjoyment only.
Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
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Johnny Depp (supposedly) said, “if you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.”
This book is for the people who know that’s a whole heap’a shit.
The heart is a complicated organ.
Its capacity for love is infinite.
This story embraces that truth.
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Eleven years ago, Carter “Slash” Hudson was ready to end it all. Lost and shattered, devoid of hope, he was saved at the bell by the frankness of one little Cherub.
Back then, he swore he’d always put her first, even if that meant stepping away when she fell for his best friend instead of him.
At the time, it made sense.
Venom was a leader, with Slash willingly his loyal follower. Until Lily is attacked again, and Venom decides that he is no longer worthy of her.
Cast adrift, captive to past hurts and current betrayals, Lily leans on Slash. She moves in with him. He becomes her faithful shadow. Then a night of drinking, dancing, and deliberate provocation emboldens Slash to confess his true feelings.
Confused, Lily backs away.
Envious, Slash nurses his bruised ego.
Fearful, Venom makes an ultimatum that forces the stubborn duo into a marriage of convenience.
The woman Slash coveted from afar is now sleeping in his bed as his lawfully wedded wife. In the midst of chaos and carnage, can Slash make Lily see that he’s always been the right choice?
Making Choices is the second book in the Duplicity trilogy. Part of Bella Faust’s Black Shamrocks MC (Australia) series, this dark, psychological romance is a steamy and taboo tale filled with angst, betrayal, and lust set within a love triangle that holds the key to the club’s survival.
Reader discretion is advised as this story contains potentially triggering content.
SERIES READING ORDER
Making Choices is book two in the Duplicity trilogy.
The Duplicity trilogy (books 2, 3, and 4 in the series) must be read in sequential order. To ensure your enjoyment of the Black Shamrocks MC (Australia) series, it is also strongly recommended that you read the first book, Craving Control, before the Duplicity trilogy. This story can be downloaded for free by subscribing to the Faust 411 reader update or purchased at your favourite book retailer.
CONTENT WARNING
Making Choices isn’t suitable for those who do not enjoy dark psychological romance stories. Readers are advised to exercise discretion. A detailed list of content/trigger warnings for this book is available at https://bellafaust.com/content-guidance/.
This story is set in Australia and is written in UK English.
PLAYLIST
Music is a major source of inspiration for me. If you’d like to listen to the songs that helped form this story, the Duplicity Trilogy playlist is available on Spotify.
“The most confused we ever get is when we try to convince our heads of something our hearts know is a lie.” ~Karen Moning~
PROLOGUE
CARTER
Aged: Nineteen
“He’s in here,” my best friend, Zeke, grumbles in a low voice. “Hasn’t moved since Angelis dropped him off once the fuckin’ cops let him go after the…”
When he trails off rather than say the word that’s liable to ignite my temper, I wrap a hand around the pillow next to me and slam it down over my head to block out his unwanted sympathy. This isn’t the first attempted intervention he’s pulled and it’s unlikely to be the last—not that whatever he has planned this time will work.
I’m a lost cause. Charged with affray after gate crashing a funeral. My face has been splashed over the front page of every newspaper. Even made the nightly bulletin the day it happened. I’ve embarrassed my brotherhood. Brought them to the attention of the Maddison Clan and dragged our club into the spotlight shone by the organised crime taskforce onto the Australian underworld.
My life as I once pictured it is over.
Biding my time, drowning my sorrows in beer and weed, as I work up the courage to notch the barrel of my handgun under my chin, squeeze the trigger, and make this foregone future a reality.
Boom.
One well-placed shot is all it’ll take.
My rage will be defeated.
My guilt will be appeased.
The solution is simple.
Now, I just need them to leave me the fuck alone long enough for me to grow the balls needed to make the ten steps from my bed to the shower cubicle to enact my plan. It’s a shit act to pull. Leaving one of my brothers, or worse my mother or little Cherub, to find my body. Can’t be helped, though. I mightn’t want to sully the clubhouse, but my bedroom is the only place I can close my eyes without seeing her.
Jenna fucking Greatbatch.
Of course, this reprieve is only possible because she refused to come here. She deliberately snubbed my world. Rejected the chance to understand what drove me to join the brotherhood I’ve idolised since I was a small boy. Ignored my pleas for her to see my world for what it is.
Pure freedom.
In truth, the bottom rocker I proudly wear on the cut I discarded two weeks ago in lieu of a black suit was the main cause of our problems.
I wanted her and the club where I’m a prospect.
She wanted me for my dick and the clout bouncing on it brought her around campus.
We were toxic together yet deadly apart…
When the bedroom door slams, I allow myself to sigh with relief.
Zeke can be a pushy motherfucker.
Especially when he’s presented with a problem that no one else can solve.
If he hadn’t already been christened with his road name when he was eight, I would’ve definitely thrown Mr. Fix-it into the mix as an option. Not that it matters now. I’ve missed the lead up to our patching in ceremony. After my life imploded, I checked out of any reality that didn’t involve smoking, drinking, and sucking on a joint—all activities I can safely partake from my bed—so I will no longer be joining my best friends when they patch into the Shamrocks in two days’ time.
I guess, the club is just one more thing Jenna took from me.
“Fuckin’ hell,” I grumble to myself as tentacles of misery wrap themselves around me again. “Fuck me in the eye with a rusty dildo.”
“Ew. Pass.” The softly spoken retort belongs to someone who most definitely shouldn’t be in my room. “Not even sure where I’d get a rusty dildo anyhow… aren’t they rubber?”
When the bed shakes as she climbs onto the mattress next to me, I toss the pill
“Zeke snuck me in,” little Cherub tells me with a wide grin. She plonks her arse on top of the covers and crosses her legs. Her bright-blue eyes twinkle as she says, “He said you needed someone to talk sense into you…” Trailing off, Cherub wrinkles up her nose then she drops the punchline. “And since we all know I’m the only person remotely equipped for the job, I came straightaway.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Outta. Here.”
My president’s daughter tilts her head to one side and pouts. “Nope.”
“I don’t need a pep talk from an eleven-year-old.”
“Actually, I’m twelve now,” Cherub remarks. With a snort, I fling myself onto my other side so all she can see is my back. Her warm fingertips tap dance along my arm. “For a supposed math-whizz, you’re sure bad with numbers.”
“Eleven, twelve, it don’t matter,” I mutter. “You still needa fuck off.”
Rather than do as she’s told, Cherub flops down behind me. The mattress sways. She sighs. It’s a heavy sound that mirrors my own lament at the unfairness of the world. Lilianna Mayberry might still be a pre-teen, but she’s felt the universe’s wrath just as hard as I have. Only difference is that she’s still standing while I’ve taken to my bed like a Victorian debutante with a bad case of vapours.
“I hate to tell you, Carter, but I read that book you gave me and it was horrible. Like, some of it was okay, but mostly it made me feel shitty.” When I don’t answer, her slender, pianist fingers wind their way into my knotted hair and she starts to gently work out the tangles. “‘The death of a beloved is an amputation.’ Now that made sense… but the whole ‘no one ever told me that grief felt so like fear’ thing is dumb as hell. What I’m feeling is nothing like fear. I’m mad. I’m filled with this anger that I can’t seem to shake… like, I want to smash someone’s face to a pulp, even though I know it won’t fix anything. That’s nothing like fear… because, let me tell you, mister, when I’m afraid, I’m not seeking out things to destroy… I’m gonna hide from that shit.”
“Language, Cherub.”
“Oh, fuck off,” she counters, dragging her fingers through a knot with more force than necessary. “My mum’s dead. My Dad’s lost his marbles. And one of my favourite people in the world won’t get out of bed… cursing is the least of my problems. Plus, you know I’m right, the whole grief feels like fear thing is fucking bullshit.”
In the wake of Cherub’s passionate declaration, my own rage surges again. She’s right. My grief doesn’t feel like fear. Unlike C.S. Lewis in the wake of his greatest tragedy, I’m not restless. I’m not yawning. I’m not swallowing uselessly or left feeling mildly concussed. The only fluttering in my stomach is the kind that energises me before I inflict pain.
The sole reason I don’t give into the urge to wreak destruction is because I know it’s futile.
Beating someone half to death or peeling back their fingernails until they spill all their secrets won’t fix a thing.
Jenna will still be dead.
By her choice.
Our baby boy will still be gone.
Again… by her choice.
“My anger is eclipsed by the need to blame her,” Cherub confesses in a choked whisper. “Mum’s decision to drive that night pisses me off. Why that road? Her car. A tree. One random hailstorm. If she’d just stayed here with me like I begged…”
When she trails off, her fingers tense, then flex in my hair. I reach up to take hold of her wrist, pulling her hand straight and linking my fingers with hers. Cherub snuggles into my back with her arm looped over my neck, and we both pretend not to notice how her body shakes while she silently sobs.
Despite its noiselessness, Cherub’s pain is visceral.
It lives. It breathes. It claws at her while it taunts me with my vicious reality.
Scarlett Mayberry is dead, but she would still be here if she could be. She loved her kids, her husband, and the Shamrocks more than life itself.
My farce of a fiancée killed our baby so I couldn’t have him.
Fuck me, Jenna even went so far as to leave me a letter to drive that point home.
Our loss is not the same.
Our pain is incompatible.
Cherub is caught between anger and blame.
I’m trapped within a manufactured web of rage and guilt… and another emotion I’m too chicken to name.
“I hate that you’re hurting like this, Carter. You didn’t deserve Jenna’s cruelty, not after you tried so hard to love her the way she wanted. You’re a good man… and this whole situation is just wrong. What she did is wrong. If she wasn’t already dead, I’d kill her for what she’s done to you!”
As her heartfelt declaration pierces my psyche with shards of innocent mistruth and the kernel of knowledge that she’s planted takes root, I screw my eyes shut and try to keep breathing. The words bubble in my throat, and I swallow them down, over and over, so I don’t scream my true thoughts at Cherub.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Slowly.
Steadily.
To the beat of six simple words that repeat over and over in my head…
I. Am. Not. A. Good. Man.
Once, a year or so ago, before I found myself falling in love with Jenna and compromising my morals left, right, and centre to please her, I believed that I was good. Honest. I was authentic. Justified in my pursuit of a life outside the dictates of society. Capable of a bigger existence than the civilians who toe the government’s line like good little robots. Until my heart, and then my dick, led me astray and turned me into everything that I loathe about our so-called civilisation.
I offered Jenna marriage because that’s what normal people do when they’re expecting a baby—even if they’ve only been together for four months and are barely more than kids themselves. She accepted, then tossed the ring back in my face every time I refused to yield to her latest demand. I used my mathematical savantism to turn the pittance I make as a prospect into a deposit for a big house in the suburbs, and I even talked my dad into going guarantor for the loan. She declined to even look at the house. I increased my subject load at university and tried to balance my pre-medicine studies with my duties to the Shamrocks. Jenna complained when I wasn’t spending time with her, then accused me of smothering her when I tried to stick by her side like she said she wanted.
Everything I stood for was brushed aside so I could be the kind of man Jenna demanded I become if I wanted a place in our kid’s life. Determined to be a better dad than I was boyfriend, I abandoned every ounce of my good to keep her happy.
I still ended up broken.
“Did you get to hold him?” Cherub’s tone is tentative when she continues. “I heard Crystal crying… and I just—I just… hoped…”
“Once. Zeke bribed a nurse so I could be alone with him.” When my arms pulse with the phantom memory of my new-born son’s scant weight, I push myself upright and stumble to my feet. Looking everywhere except Cherub’s tear-stained face, I mumble, “Look, I appreciate you comin’ here and all, but—”
