Page 135 of Seizing Control: Part One

“Where is your shame?” My tone is one of feral rage. Bebe slides a hand protectively over her pronounced bump and shrinks away from me. I don’t register her uncustomarily meek reaction, instead I launch into a character assassination. “To have the gall to show your face today. Re-emerging from under your troll bridge to gloat at our loss—” Once more my brain rejects the characterisation of Zeke’s absence as permanent. “—I can’t believe that any woman is so insensitive.” As the colour drains from her face and she tries to step backward, I follow her so I can continue my tongue lashing. “You watched me lose my baby, held my hand while I cried, only to turn around and set me up for another tragedy?—”

“Lily—”

“Don’t Lily me, you sneaky bitch.” My language devolves into a profanity laced diatribe as I feel my temper turn nuclear. “I know that you fucked around with my contraceptive, tried to make it so I ended up pregnant again.” Slapping away the hand that holds her protruding belly, I lean down to get right in her face as I hiss, “I warned you of the hell that awaited you if you tried to taunt me again—” I cock back the hammer of my Sig Sauer and press the muzzle to the centre of her forehead. “—Pretty sure parading around your pregnancy like it’s something to be proud of fits the bill… I should put a bullet in your fucking head now. Do us all a favour… after all your baby boy is strong enough to withstand everything, isn’t he… so I doubt he’ll even miss you.”

“Anna—”

“Oh, fuck off, Bebe.” Glaring at Jack, then glancing over my shoulder at Slash before fixing my gaze on the redheaded woman who is swaying on her feet, I snarl, “You don’t get to play the victim here—I’m not the one who doesn’t know who the father of her kid is. Whether it’s my husband or yours.”

I realise that Jack St. James has no idea what his wife has been up to when his eyes take on a malicious gleam and his languid posture turns rigid. While I’ve been berating his wife, he’s remained mostly uncaring. When I pressed a gun to her head, Jack didn’t so much as flinch. I don’t know what that behaviour says about their relationship, but his reaction to my paternity bombshell doesn’t bode well for the survival of their marriage now that he knows.

“Oh,” I say with a fake giggle. Pressing my fingers to my lips, I smile. “Whoopsie. Did I let the cat out of the bag?”

Before Jack can respond, Slash circles his fingers around my upper arm and swings me around to face him. There’s a strange mixture of reverence and fury in his icy gaze as he scans my face. Whatever he sees in my expression makes him lean more to the angry side, so I take that as my cue to get away from him.

I shake free of his grip and step around him.

“Duchess,” he calls after me as I stride away.

Over my shoulder, I raise my middle finger.

Carter Hudson can kiss my arse.

He doesn’t get to chastise me.

Or play protector.

As I pass by the cop who looks like he’s in charge of this attempt to intimidate us, I stop to tell him, “This’s Shamrocks turf today. So, you can take your bunch of corrupt fuckwits elsewhere. I’m sure there’s a donut with your fucking name on it somewhere.”

When he sneers at me, then opens his mouth to retort, I spit at his feet.

Apparently, my manners have left the building for the day.

I’m channelling Venom.

Which is kind of apt in the circumstances.

He’s no longer around to let loose.

“If you have an iota of common sense left, you will not fuck with me today. I’m about to lower my first love into a hole in the ground because of you and your ilk. I have zero fucks left.”

Once again, my husband intervenes.

He grips my bicep and drags me away from the cops.

When we reach Zeke’s bike, Slash gives me a little shake, then wraps his fingers around my throat. I fight to hide my reaction to his hand collar, determined to remain aloof, to prove that I’m serious about my demand for a divorce.

“Get the fuck on the bike, duchess.”

“No.”

Slash flexes his fingers. His grip bites into my flesh, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop from moaning. My belly is heavy as it fills with desire. The warmth growing between my thighs pulses in time to my quickening heartbeat.

It’s official.

I am a sick woman.

Turned on by a little manhandling.

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