Page 167 of Seizing Control: Part One

The rest of the time, I ignored the darkness that howled inside me to be fed. I gave it small tastes, here and there, the blood of our enemies and the terror of our traitors, but I never allowed it full rein again, lest I lose myself to it.

For as long as I can remember, it’s been drilled into me.

Women and kids are exempt.

I killed a woman.

Deliberately.

Every time I considered telling the truth, all I had to do was think back to the way everyone acted after Jenna and my son died. The excuses they made for her actions. The reasoning they gave when her suicide letter arrived. Every ounce of unearned compassion they showed because she was a woman, therefore it stood without question that her culpability for killing her own child was limited to a specific parameters that absolved her of guilt.

The unspoken subtext was that I pushed her into it.

So, I decided to avoid their judgement, and I kept the true circumstances to myself.

The text message she sent me demanding I choose between the club and my son.

Her threat to kill them both when I said I would pick my son and my club, but not her.

I violated a direct order when I gave in to the gut check that told me to see if my son was safe after Jenna blocked my number. Flouting Hades’ order to stay away from the Greatbatch estate because it was on Maddison turf lead me down the path of no-return. I broke the Shamrocks constitution, laid hands on a woman, compressed her throat until her heart stopped beating.

An unforgivable contravention.

In death, Jenna had the power to take away the thing that kept getting between us.

My brotherhood.

As I flailed with my conscience, everyone but Cherub danced around the implicit implications. Every tear my mother shed. Every vague justification. The excuses. Each time someone tried to downplay the truth, they pushed my head further under water. I breathed in their carefully couched forgiveness. Drowned in the inferences. Swallowed the shame that was my due until it poisoned me.

I was guilty.

I drove Jenna to kill my son and herself.

If only they knew the full story….

My wife, only twelve years old back then, was the only person to allow me my anger without judgement. Her own ire at Jenna breathed life into mine. Little Cherub gave me a safe space to break. To rage. She became my support. Indulged the darker side to my grief without comment.

As wrong as it may be, I swear I fell in love with her there and then.

I just didn’t realise it until Venom told me she kissed him three years later.

A heartbreak she compounded when she ran to him first on her eighteenth.

Little Cherub loved us both, but she was in love with Venom.

It made sense.

He was the better biker.

Her wild protector.

A good man.

I was just her friend.

Venom’s sidekick.

The deceiver.

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