Page 220 of Seizing Control: Part One

Rallying fast, I tamp down on the dread surging through me. I could’ve just blown up my entire plan. My slow exhale does nothing to settle me as I seize hold of Layla’s upper arm and drag her off my kitchen bench. Her Doc Martin’s slap against the marble floor, and she scrambles for purchase when I march her toward the main entrance. I haven’t quite memorised the layout of this mansion, so I have to back-track twice.

Both times, Layla laughs at me.

I yank the front door open.

When I go to shove her outside, she sweeps my legs out from under me. I land hard, the air knocked out of my lungs. Hands on her hips, Layla glares down at me. I stare up at her as I do my best to catch my breath. The skin around her black-ringed eyes crinkle, her painted lips curl into a grin, and she straightens her AC/DC t-shirt, tucking it back into the waistband of her ripped denim, before holding out a hand to me.

“Fuck, I hate goth girls... and hackers.” I allow her to pull me back to my feet. My pride is more damaged than my arse from the fall, but I make a show of stretching out my spine and cracking my neck. Technically, since I’m her superior, she broke the rules by laying hands on me. Not that I’m keen on admitting how easily she got the better of me. “You’re a giant menace rolled into one annoyingly dark package.”

“Yeah. Yeah... compliments will get you nowhere,” Layla retorts with a sneer. Holding her hands under her chin, she simpers prettily and puckers her black lips while batting her mascara-laden eyelashes. “Plus, I know you prefer bikini models. Tall, blonde, big boobs, nice arse.” She pretends to shudder. “Actually, you know what, I’m turnin’ myself on just thinkin’ about Lily.”

“Don’t start,” I warn her without heat. We exchange a look, and I bite out a laugh. “All right, Layla... explain why you’re so fuckin’ hellbent on stayin’ here after interruptin’ me.”

If I thought her expression was shark-like a minute ago, I was mistaken. That look has nothing on the pure malice that etches in her features when she replies, “I’m not leaving until you’ve dragged every single, dark, and dirty detail about the Maddison clan’s next moves out of Noah St. James.”

The jobs I’ve done so far have been quick and easy.

Professional.

This one is personal.

I gesture Layla forward. “Lead the way, goth girl.”

The bleeding man hanging in the one room I have taken the time to renovate is very clearly rattled when we step into the cellar. I converted it to my own bunker, soundproofed the walls, removed the hardwood to pipe in a new drain system beneath the single-pour resin floor I laid over it. The stainless-steel bench that replaced the Blackwood wine racks is filled with all the tools of my trade. As much as I enjoyed the Shamrocks bunker and the one my dad built underneath our barn, I always wanted to design my own custom-made torture chamber.

This is a morbid dream come true.

One that’s drained all the colour from Layla’s face.

“Mmmmm, fuuuuuuuu, eeeeerrr,” Noah screams at me. “Yeeeerrrr, deeeeeeee.”

The material Layla has tied around his mouth absorbs the sound, but I can guess what he’s saying. When I examine the younger woman’s face, I sigh. Hand on her shoulder, I walk her back to the door.

“You’ve done enough.”

“I want to stay, Laz... please.”

“I’m not cleanin’ up behind ya if you spew.” My comment hits close to home, a reminder of Slash and his weak stomach. Fond memories of the man who is now my declared enemy are banished to the dark recesses of my mind as I add. “How did you get him up there?”

“Paid Atlas to help me.”

The mention of Nadia’s adopted brother, a long-term member of Gabriel’s curia and the president of the Wheatbelt chapter of the Black Shamrocks MC, makes me startle. “Why the fuck did you bring him into my home?”

“He’s one of us—won’t tell his sister.”

I refrain from telling her that Nadia finding out I’m alive is the least of my problems. My worry is the Adjudicator. He’s expressly forbidden me from getting too close to the Shamrocks and Lily until I’m closer to resurrection. I’m pretty sure purchasing the house directly behind my ex-fiancé and her husband is breaking our newly negotiated agreement.

Fuck me dead.

I’m screwing up all over the place tonight.

“What do you plan on doing to him?”

The melancholic cast to Layla’s pale face tells me this is personal for her too.

“Why do you care?”

She shrugs.

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