Page 212 of Seizing Control: Part One

Don’t leave her again.

I’m batting zero on all three.

“Probably would’ve helped if we had actually spoken about this beforehand,” my wife admits with a weak laugh. “But what’s done is done.”

I bite my tongue to stop from telling her that she doesn’t know the half of it.

Bebe’s pregnancy and my possible impending fatherhood was just another stone we refused to overturn. Another problem that could sever the bond between us once it came to fruition. My wife never mentioned the possibility that I might be responsible for the paternity of Bebe’s child, and in turn, I avoided mentioning that Venom could be the father of her baby. I also never explained to my wife the misstep she made when she provoked Jack and Bebe, but someone has clearly filled her in on the potential repercussions.

The Maddisons might be cowed momentarily, however, a child from my bloodline being in their possession would have changed the dynamic entirely. I’d played right into their hands with my carelessness. Jack St. James is almost as big of a monster as his younger brother, Hugh, so using a baby as leverage wouldn’t have kept him up at night. Because of that, I’ve been working behind the scenes with Roman Segarra from the Australasian Trinity to open up a back channel for negotiations once paternity could be confirmed, but the Maddison clan haven’t been responsive.

Talking to Bebe, one on one, proved impossible.

She disappeared the evening of Venom’s funeral.

Either dead or in hiding from us all, her vanishing act was suspicious, and I resigned myself to the loss of another child, one I never wanted in the first place. Outwardly, I’ve done my best to act like the Shamrocks president, to protect my club from the danger this child would pose, to plan for a treaty around the kid, just in case Bebe ever resurfaced to make demands. Internally, I was relieved that the problem was gone. The solution was messy, but I was grateful to have potentially dodged the bullet.

That Bebe would willingly give the child to me never crossed my mind.

I expected the vindictive mob bitch to hold them over my head from afar.

Not once did I expect her to be this vicious—to directly sabotage my marriage and my life with an eternal reminder of how close she came to hurting the woman I love.

The numbness I plastered over my relief recedes.

I’m hit with another wave of nausea.

My head fills with one thought.

I don’t want this child near my wife.

“I—uh, fuck...”

“Slash... you need to come home. Seeing him will make everything better.”

As much as I want to believe she’s right, I can’t reconcile the ache in my heart with the reality circulating my brain. This child is half Bebe’s. A Maddison. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to acknowledge him. I want him gone.

“The run needs to happen.” My declaration is met with silence. “I’ll ring you when we reach the border.”

“Slash—”

“Don’t bring it into the house—I’ll have Cub make arrangements for a motel room and a nurse. It can go back to its mother as soon as?—”

“His name is Christopher Garrett, not it,” Cherub interjects. There’s steel in her tone when she adds. “Bebe has made it clear that Garrett isn’t safe with her. She’s removed all connection he has to the Maddisons, listed us as his parents, fudged his birth date to throw them off the scent. He doesn’t need a nurse—he needs his dad to come home.”

Hearing my dead brother’s name spoken with such fierce protectiveness strips my resolve momentarily. I allow myself a few seconds to trust in the simplicity of my wife’s rose-coloured vision of the future we’re facing. As quickly as hope dawns, all the reasons why this situation won’t work crash back into my head.

I grit my teeth.

Set my shoulders.

Turn my spine rigid.

“No,” I snap back in a voice that brooks no arguments. “It is to be taken to a motel—with a nurse and a prospect to watch over it. I’ll be home in a week and a half to deal with any the further arrangements.”

“Don’t do this.”

Ignoring her pleading, I exhale raggedly. “It’s done. There ain’t gonna be no Maddison livin’ under my roof. Don’t push me on this, duchess, it’s non-negotiable.” When I feel another objection brewing, I enunciate a verbal killer blow that plays on every one of my wife’s insecurities. “This is your mess… all I ask is for you to let me clean it up in a way that protects the Shamrocks from another war and keeps our baby safe.”

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