Page 174 of Seizing Control: Part One

Slash glares at me. The fear that made him reject me is clear—the frown line between his eyebrows, the thin slash of his tightly pressed together lips, the rigidity in his shoulders that makes me worried his spine will snap if he doesn’t loosen up soon.

Loathing laces his tone when he rasps, “Just go.”

I continue like he hasn’t spoken. “If you had any idea what I need, you’d stop fighting me on this. There’s nothing you can do to me that I can’t handle.” My wrist throbs as I jab two fingers to my heart. The cavern in my chest fills with despair with agonising quickness when I realise that I’m not going to win this battle. My husband is more committed to preserving his Saviour complex than he is to saving us. Still, I try one last time to make him see sense, even as my heart accepts defeat. “Hear me when I tell you, Carter… I survived Alex’s worst, then I welcomed Venom’s brutality to heal from that. My darkness is just as hungry as yours, but—” There’s zero grace in my movements when I push back to my feet. My hand shakes as I turn my back to him and flick up the lock. “I guess you’re incapable of giving me what I need.”

A big hand slams the door shut before I can open it all the way.

The lock clicks back into place.

“I’m not Zeke.”

“It isn’t Zeke I want right now, it’s Venom.” When he collars my throat from behind and tips my head back, I discover that his eyes are filled with confusion. “Zeke was my lover. Gentle. Kind. Unselfish. Venom gave me annihilation. He broke my control. Took what he needed without apology. Fed my darkness whenever he felt me unravelling.”

“Baby.” My husband presses his erection into my back. Every atom of yearning he feels for me is evident in his shaky voice when he says, “I raped you—you should hate me.”

I awkwardly turn so I’m facing him.

He maintains his grip on my neck the entire time.

“You saved me from an even worse fate—and that’s all that matters.” Lifting on to my tiptoes, I nip at his stubbled chin. A hiss leaves his lips, a sound filled with savagery and desire, and I know that I’ve managed to slither my way underneath his façade. “Forget about what Slash would do... I need the real Carter. The cruel Carter. The Carter that would kill his son’s murderer without blinking—woman or not.”

“I can’t hurt you.”

“Yes, you can.” After I push his cut from his shoulders, he tilts his head to look at the pile of leather puddled on the floor. It’s an insult to desecrate his patches, one that comes too easily to me since the club has cost me so much. “What if I give you a reason—an excuse?” I run my hands under the hem of his t-shirt and drag my nails along his torso, reopening the scratches I made earlier. Slash’s skin curls under my nails when I score his chest until his blood runs freely. “I’ll hurt you. Fight you. Remind you that you were Carter, not Slash, the last time you allowed your demons out to play properly.”

As much as I know it was an error to separate Zeke and Venom, I can see now that it’s what my husband needs. Culpable deniability. A way to keep his Saviour complex intact, even as he basks in his depravity. I will sacrifice my pride to bring him the justification he needs.

I will love Slash.

I will battle Carter.

“I’ll hurt you,” he repeats again.

“I need you to hurt me,” I tell him with complete honesty. “Make me forget all the bullshit. Strip me bare of all pretence that I’m all right—use your demons to destroy mine. Make me yours.”

I see the capitulation in his gaze before he inclines his head in acquiescence.

Yet, when I pull my hand free of the black material covering his chest, and make a move to slap him, to make good on my promise to fight him, to give him a reason to hurt me, my husband catches my wrist in his hand. His grip is harsh, the resulting throb that radiates up my arm turns my legs to jelly. I grit my teeth, walking the line between lust and pain with a precision born of vast experience, while we engage in a silent stare down.

“If we do this,” Slash utters in a jagged voice that borders on disembodied. Every hair on my body stands on end at the sound—it’s the perfect blend of Venom and Carter. An unnatural stillness takes over his frame, then my husband cocks his head to one side as if he’s listening to something. Continuing in the same robotic tone, he tells me, “You have to be honest... let me know if you need me to stop.” I nod, readily agreeing with his request, although my assent dies a quick death when the big man asks, “What safe word did you use with fuckin’ Venom?”

“I don’t want to?—”

“Carnage.” The big man moves with cobra-like speed to pin my arms above my head with one hand. He hits the light switch with the other, darkening the room, before collaring me. I feel my eyes bulge when he tightens his grip until I can’t breathe at all. “I already know—that motherfucker never stopped braggin’ about havin’ you in his bed. He tortured me for years. Fucked with my head on the daily. Now, I’m gonna—” Slash loosens his fingers so I can suck in the barest amount of air. “—take what shoulda been mine the entire time.”

My head spins when he lets me go without warning.

Panting hard, my knees sag, and I slide down the door to land on my butt with a soft thud. My fingers brush along the column of my neck as I fight to catch my breath. Rather than pounce on me, my husband glares at the darkest corner of his bedroom. I scowl as I try to ascertain why he’s fixated on the alcove that he uses as his reading corner, but I can’t see anything. The room is an odd L-shape, and I know that’s one of the reasons why he picked it all those years ago after the third extension was built to house the expanding number of club brothers.

This room was Slash and Zeke’s playpen.

The only external door in this section was a way for them to be discreet.

The main area hosted their carnal interludes.

The bed filling the space is almost as old as me.

The alcove with two armchairs was Slash’s retreat whenever he needed quiet.

---