Page 116 of Seizing Control: Part One

“If I ever have to show ya this kinda thing again, I’ll hand in my patch first.”

Knowing how much pride Cub takes in being a Shamrock, I start to feel a little lightheaded myself. My heart skips a beat as the lights are switched on and the rest of my club piles into the chapel. Everyone is here, from old timer to prospect, except for Toker. When I’m not with Cherub, he is. And, even then, it’s a toss-up whether he leaves us alone.

Venom’s death has broken our club brother.

He sleeps at the foot of our bed.

Eats only under duress.

Trails Cherub everywhere except the bathroom.

“What’s this all about?” Cass asks.

I lift my chin in the direction of our Tech officer as I quip, “Ask Cub, he called the meetin.”

While Brutus’ twin brother takes a seat, my dad comes to stand next to me. His heavy arm is a comfort when he slings it over my shoulders. On my other side, my little brother is quiet. He is almost as shell-shocked as my wife over the loss of Venom. I don’t think he believes it yet, his super brain is still taking all the pieces and trying to form a scenario that makes sense.

Hunter never fails.

So, this outcome is a failure in his opinion.

It kills me not to tell him the truth, but Brutus and the Maddisons are still testing our defences. Their pet MC, the Bishops of Bloodshed, have set fire to one of our weed crops in the National park. The Trinity took exception to the incursion on our behalf, so the Bishops are a non-entity while they rebuild their numbers. That doesn’t matter much in the scheme of things. Not when our biggest enemy is so obviously being fed insider information by our traitorous ex-president.

“I needa show ya all somethin’,” Cub tells us once Wyatt and our newest prospect, Torin, have bolted the doors shut from inside. “It’s not gonna sit well… will likely fuck all of us up a little—still it’s important we all see it. We can’t get workin’ from a place of ‘what if’ when we needa be pullin’ together to protect the future of the Shamrocks.”

My gut churns as I start to suspect what Cub has done.

When he offered to hack into the security system at the Perth lockup, I told him not to bother. I can’t have my club brothers discovering that we’re using their genuine mourning to throw the Maddison clan off our scent. Not all of them are privy to Gabriel’s real identity, and a lot of them haven’t been properly re-vetted by Cub, Hunter, and Meeyal in order to allow them fully back into our inner circle.

We think we’ve weeded out all the rats in Brutus’ faction.

But we can’t be too careful as we try to move the MC back onto an even keel.

Apparently, Cub has decided to go rogue. He’s about to blow up Gabriel’s plan and make our decision to fake Venom’s death pointless. My club brothers will mistrust me. The Maddison clan will know that we tried to trick them. Venom will lose his new role as the Adjudicator’s successor.

Worst of all, my wife will hate me.

Cherub will leave me over this.

I’ll lose her for good.

Over a plan I objected to... one that I have gone out of my way not to lie to her about.

“Hey. Hey.” I hold up my hand to stop him. Cub ignores me, reopening his laptop and hitting a button. The white screen that’s built into the roof slides down. While my Tech officer adjusts the Bluetooth projector, I try to force my way through my club brothers. They band together, turn into a wall of bodies around Cub. “Fuck’s sake. It’s not what it looks like—there’s a good reason for it.”

Brutus’ voice fills the chapel. “I told you to stay away from my little Cherub, just like I told your old man to stay the fuck away from Scarlett… There ain’t no escapin’, Venom. Your time’s up—and once I’m done with you, I’m sendin’ ya dear old dad to meet the reaper after ya, then Slash, then I’m finishing off that little brother of yours. He might’a got lucky last time, but his luck has run out too.”

My feet grind to a halt.

I stop trying to force my way through the crowd and peer at the screen.

The sight that greets me strips the oxygen from my lungs.

Brutus and Hugh St. James.

Venom on his knees.

Our ex-president holding him by his hair while he brandishes a knife.

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