Page 168 of Seizing Control: Part One

And, that’s why I went out of my way to be the best friend, the best helper, the best confidante she’d ever have. If there was a way I could claim part of her for myself, then that’s what I’d do. My one lapse was put behind me, never to be scrutinised again. A secret blip in an otherwise faultless life. I turned off my animal instincts, pretended to be normal, and apart from the way my skin crawled when any of the cut sluts touched me, I managed for the most part to look like I was okay.

I stood aside to allow the better man to win.

Cherished my duchess from afar.

Hid my brokenness.

What if it was all for nothing?

Did Venom save me from myself?

And cost me the chance to own Cherub’s entire heart…

When it becomes clear that a fight isn’t going to ensue between their president and Tech officer, the conversation in the bar returns to normal. I scan Cub’s face with unseeing eyes, uncertain how to proceed, and if I even want to know the truth that my best friend took to his grave for me.

“Why would Venom ask you to do that?” Confusion makes me sound unhinged as I add. “You were a fuckin’ kid when all that went down.”

“I was thirteen,” Cub replies tentatively. He shoots a look over my shoulder, and whatever he sees steels his resolve. His chin lifts, his voice strong when he says, “When Venom called me, I learnt how to do it quick smart—was the first time I could help the MC, so I grabbed the opportunity with both hands and ran with it. Needed to pay y’all back for helpin’ me all those times.”

“He was properly motivated—to help and to keep his mouth shut,” Toker assures me. A heartbeat later, his hand settles on my shoulder, and I realise that he’s known all along too. “Woulda taken it to his grave if he had to, without question.”

“This’s fucked-up. I?—”

“No,” Toker interjects. His grip tightens, his fingertips biting into my flesh despite the leather cut covering my shoulder. “The fucked-up part is how long you’ve let this secret fester inside you. We’ve been waitin’ for you to tell us… to trust us. Spent years tryna make you see that it doesn’t make you a bad man—that you don’t needa be perfect or a saviour to atone for some imaginary sin. Bitch got what she deserved. End of fuckin’ story.”

His harsh declaration strips the oxygen from my lungs.

My throat closes.

I feel weightless and weighed down all at once.

My head droops as the alcohol and lack of sleep catches up with me. Toker gently eases me away from Cub. There’s an ache in my temples that makes me sick—a migraine with one cure.

My wife’s love.

Through half-open eyes, I watch my duchess move closer to me. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts, so pure it’s lethal, to the point where the mere idea of her causes me bone-deep agony. The sight of her perfection is torture. Her absence renders me lonelier than any man alive. Her presence inflicts even more pain, a tantalising vista of what I’ll never have. The reminder of my inability to lock down her heart, to keep her as mine, flares into a stabbing ache when my wife turns back to say something to her uncle, and I catch sight of the tattoo between her shoulder blades.

Venom and She-Venom.

I want her to wear my mark too.

“All this time…”

“Yep.” Toker uses his hold to steer me toward the sleeping quarters. “Why don’t ya go sober up? Get some sleep. Do somethin’ other than make ya life worse by grantin’ my cousin’s request instead’a fightin’ for her.”

“I’m not good enough for her.”

“Pretty sure she feels the same way about you.”

The blond man’s cryptic comment makes no sense to me.

Before I can ask him what he means, a familiar perfume invades my senses. My legs turn to jelly, my entire body vibrates with the competing urges to love her and hurt her and cherish her and break her all at once. When her cousin steps aside, Cherub cups the bruised side of my jaw. I lean into her palm, revelling in her touch, even as my head whirls with a maelstrom of emotions.

Love.

Hurt.

Cherish.

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