Page 117 of Seizing Control: Part One

My wife’s knife.

The one I gave her for her eighteenth birthday.

“Not—” Venom’s voice sounds wrong to my ears. I stare hard at his face in an attempt to work out why he isn’t mounting a fight. “—dad.”

“Always a fuckin’ martyr,” Hugh crows. He leans over Venom to get right in his face. Once more, I try to understand Venom’s lack of resistance. “You would plead for daddy to live, but not yourself. I hate heroes—they’re so bloody boring.”

As Venom blinks slowly and I realise why there is a strip of sheet tied around his bicep, my legs give out. He’s already taken the drugs Gabriel uses to simulate the signs of death. I know a little bit about the plan, not much in the scheme of things, but enough to understand that some kind of poison would be needed to trick the authorities into believing they had a death in custody.

It’s some kind of Romeo & Juliet shit.

As I try to find my way over to a chair, my little brother stabilises me.

Once, I’m seated, he snatches his hands away from me like I’m infectious.

“You fucked up.” Hunter hits me with a look filled with malice. “Left him vulnerable.”

“I—I…he…”

A commotion on the screen redirects our focus.

Together, my brother and I watch my best friend sway on his knees. We play witness to Brutus yanking his head back harder, exposing Venom’s throat as he mocks him, “Don’t look so shocked. I have friends in low places… and high places. But I ain’t here at Hugh’s behest, he’s here at mine—Ya see, I promised him my little Cherub, but you fucked that up for a time.”

The disbelieving silence that had held all of my club brothers in thrall breaks as they hear Brutus’ admission about our little Cherub for themselves. As the full extent of our ex-president’s betrayal becomes clear, agitated muttering echoes in my ears.

“You should’ve been there,” Hunter tells me as Brutus gives Venom the kiss of death. “We all warned you—and you left his six undefended anyway.”

My brother swallows deep and looks away from the unfolding scene.

Without another word, he exits the chapel, pulling his cut off as he goes.

Open-mouthed, I watch Hunter drop his leather to the floor before he turns the corner.

As my focus splinters between Hunter’s departure and the image of Brutus with his lips pressed to Venom’s forehead, I feel myself start to shake. My world falls apart as the security vision freezes, then flickers. The sound cuts in and out and goes tinny as Cherub’s father destroys her life with his final decree, “You were a good fuckin’ biker, kid… it’s a pity you couldn’t keep ya hands to yaself.”

Brutus pulls the blade across Venom’s throat.

Blood gushes immediately.

In one final indignity, he pushes Venom away from him like he is a piece of trash.

Brutus Mayberry drops the blade next to Venom’s head before he walks out of the cell behind Hugh St. James without sparing his dying godson a backward glance. My club brothers collectively hold their breath as we all wait to see if our bleeding brother will move. He doesn’t. Body prone, nothing but gurgling can be heard until a team of uniformed men run into the cage.

The silence returns, this time filled with rage and grief instead of disbelief, as we watch the prison paramedics work on Venom. When they call time on their resuscitation attempts, I feel the surge of anger morph into a wildfire. The need for blood—vengeance—takes hold. They turn to me, their new president, with expectation in their faces.

I push back to my feet.

Follow the path recently trekked by my younger brother.

As I reach Hunter’s abandoned patches, I stop.

I peel my cut from my shoulders.

Let it fall to the floor on top of my brother’s.

Shaking, I walk out of the clubhouse for the last time.

Mount my Harley.

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