Page 123 of Seizing Control: Part One

My head connects with the side of the seat when I try to haul myself upright.

My Tech officer shoves me back down.

“Looks like roadkill.” The Shamrocks’ Watchman laughs humourlessly. “Three day old, crow ravaged, roadkill.”

“Roadkill would never...” Hunter snorts at Meeyal’s comment. “It has higher standards.” There’s a vice around my chest that tightens in the wake of my little brother’s obvious disdain for me. “Hey, Dad... we’re bringin’ Slash home. Can you make sure Mumma is okay with it—she’s not takin’ my calls still.”

The call between my father and brother is short and clipped.

“Fine. I’ll do that. Yeah... he’s fucked up. Found him at the Hive wacked outta his mind.”

If this is the bitter end, I can’t imagine going out with a more annoying bunch of dickheads. My gut lurches as we speed off. I clutch my mid-section and do my best to brace my feet on the side walls. Head spinning. World circling the drain. I’m doing my best to block out the conversation around me as Toker’s terrible driving makes me spew all over the floor.

Things go from fucked to super-fucked when we jerk to a stop and the door is wrenched open. My mother’s voice bounces around my skull. Her disgust with me is tempered by motherly care, and it’s the final straw in my flailing psyche.

I’m only human.

A Mumma’s boy at that.

So, my heart is crushed when she exclaims, “Mo dhia, am balach seo. Abair mealladh! Is fearr na peacaidhean a dh' fhalbh agamsa 's fhiach an tàmailt so.”

I don’t have it in me to tell her that it’s not her sins she’s paying penance for.

It’s mine.

All mine.

I failed my wife.

Got her first love killed.

There’s no coming back from that—no matter how much I try to explain why we embarked on the hare-brained scheme to begin with. Because Hunter is right. I left my best friend’s six undefended, and he paid the ultimate price for my selfishness.

22

LILY

One week later

The morning of Zeke’s sham funeral, I sit on the edge of my bed and roll the left leg of my thick black stockings into a ball. The women in the room watch me in a dead quiet. All I can hear is their breathing and the words they won’t say. Whenever I glance their way, their gazes dart to the side.

No one will meet my eyes.

No one will hear me out.

I’m alone in a crowd of people.

Lost in a cacophony of nothingness.

Nadia sits next to me, ready to assist me in any way she can.

My other friends line the wall, holding still, they act like wax statues.

Threading my foot into the toe of the stockings, I pull the first leg up to my knee. As the silence becomes deafening, I quickly work my toes into the right leg, then I stand to yank them up to my waist. My best friend passes a black skirt to me. I toss it on the bed to grab the leather pants I’ve chosen to wear with my Black Shamrocks MC t-shirt instead.

“Don’t you want to…” Nadia begins in a soft voice. She trails off and looks to Serena for help. Our blonde friend shrugs, then she returns to her steady perusal of the thread count in the carpet covering my bedroom floor. When my best friend tries to get Sera, Ziva, and Indi to assist her, they leave her hanging as well. “Maybe the skirt would be better. The media will be there. They’re gonna tear you to shreds if you arrive dressed like…”

“A biker whore?”

---