Page 172 of Seizing Control: Part One

Zeke’s resurrection.

I wish I could have a life with them both.

But hearing his conversation with Toker and Cub, and putting together the pieces, has made it impossible for me to hold back an iota of my love. Slash is as broken as I am. As dark as Zeke. Wild and savage. The primeval barbarity needed to take a life, even one that deserves to end, requires a level of cruelty, a killer instinct, that I’ve never ascribed to Carter Hudson, despite the role he previously held in the club.

Zeke had it.

I have it.

I now know that Slash possesses it too.

He just chooses to hide it from us all.

And that’s fine... he can conceal that side of himself from everyone else, however, I won’t allow him to shield me from it. If we’re to stand any chance of finding happiness within the carnage incited by my father and the Maddison clan, as well as the war I provoked when I killed Alex, there can be no further secrets between us.

My mistake in keeping Zeke and Venom separate proved fatal.

I can’t make that error with my husband.

We either meet each other’s needs as equals, or we call time on this marriage now.

Slash must learn that I require he unleash his viciousness so I can function properly.

In return, I have an obligation to establish that his darkness doesn’t scare me.

To prove that I welcome it.

Relish it.

Will submit to it.

For my own sanity and his…

“What the fuck are you doin’?” The rage that I just realised simmers beneath the surface reappears as Slash stomps over to me. He jams his hands under my arms and hauls me back to my feet. I press my weight down, trying to make him leave me on the floor, but he’s too strong. “I don’t ever wanna see you in that position.”

He tosses me onto the bed. I bounce, cradling my stomach as I battle the urge to tap out of this fight before it begins. It’s instinctual. The urge to protect. It helps me understand Zeke a little better. Makes me appreciate the care he took of me, even though he went the wrong way about it most times. My brain tells me that my baby is safe inside my body. That I’m strong enough to break Slash down and force him to reveal his true self while also protecting my child. My traumatised psyche isn’t so sure, since my heart is still broken from the loss that I suffered eight months ago.

This is a conundrum I know Zeke faced so many times…

It’s the instinct that drove him to go too far in his determination to save me.

I’m take a second to dig for my resolve before Slash pounces. “You hear me, duchess?” My husband rolls me onto my back, then cages me in. He keeps his weight off me, his body heat barely perceptible as he traps me with his arms on either side of my head and his knees on the outside of mine. Bracing on one hand, he grips my chin to make me look him in the eyes. “Never want you on your knees in front’a me again.”

“Liar.”

He narrows his gaze and scans my face. “Dunno what you’re playin’ at, but I ain’t interested in your games.”

“Sure, you are.” I smirk. “You want me to worship you and only you. The best place to do that is from my knees, right?”

“Wrong. I want you to love me and only me… those things ain’t interchangeable.”

“Okay.”

Slash meets my easy agreement with scepticism. The ice-blue gaze that scrutinises my expression is etched with ambivalence. He grows visibly frustrated when he can’t read my thoughts, and the rage he refuses to let loose starts to gain an edge over his flimsy façade of imperturbable control.

With a smirk, I nudge him closer toward his breaking point.

My touch is assured when I run my hands along the hard planes of his torso. The t-shirt Slash is wearing is pulled from his waistband and my fingers are tapdancing along his defined abs before he understands what I’m doing. He stiffens. After I reach the middle of his chest, I dig my nails into his skin, right over the cherub tattoo that Salvador Rocafort-Porra destroyed with the scythe blade. A shudder runs the length of my husband’s wide frame, loosening some of the tension caused by my earlier exploration. The hiss he makes when I draw blood washes over my face like a beer-scented breeze.

---