Page 227 of Seizing Control: Part One

I’m pushing my wife away when I should be holding her close.

None of us are acting in our best interests, we’re destroying our lives to appease our egos, making a mockery of the women we love and the lives we’ve been blessed with because we’re too weak to face the truth. Our hearts are fragile. Vulnerability scares us. Trust doesn’t come easily, even though it should.

Gabbi has proven dependable.

The war surrounding the Blackards has tested her staunchness.

Lazarus and I know that Cherub is loyal.

To the death, she’ll stick with us.

And beyond.

Her enduring love for Lazarus proves that.

The ease with which she’s accepted my son...

Well, that’s a serving of humble pie filled with razor blades that I’ll have to consume as soon as I find the balls to return home. The women that surround us, from the MMA gyms to the strip clubs to the Shamrocks to the members of the Moscato & Monet club, are all strong as hell. They man up better than any of my club brothers, fearless and faithful, and they never let stupid things like ego get in the way of doing what’s right.

The deficiency is on our behalf.

“When do ya plan on lettin’ everyone in on the double-cross?”

I stub out my smoke on the windowsill, then flick the butt into the trash can. “You wanna give a little more context or continue without the riddles.”

“More context,” Diablo mocks me. After taking another drag on his cigarette, smokes billows from his nose when he says, with a wry laugh, “The context is simple—your life is crumblin’ around ya ears and you’re runnin’ the fuck away instead fixin’ things.”

“Ain’t runnin’... I’m takin’ a lil time to?—”

“You’re runnin’,” the dark-haired fighter interjects. “Away from Cherub. Away from your kid. Away from the fallout that’s comin’ with Lazarus’ resurrection.”

My reaction is immediate and instinctual. I lunge for him, one hand palming his face while I use the other to shove him against the closest wall. Diablo lets me manhandle him. His back smacks into the concrete, his head following a second later. The crazy motherfucker grins as he remains slack in my hold.

“What the fuck do you know about Lazarus?”

“Everythin’.” The toothy grin he hits me with sets my temper off. Forearm across his throat, I lean my full weight on him. Diablo chuckles. “I had a middle’o the night visitor. He told me all about the dumbarse plan.”

“He came to you?”

“He did.”

Dread fills me.

My stomach churns.

Bile fills my mouth, and I choke it back down to ask, “Why?”

“’Cause he don’t think you’re up to the job... as prez—” When Diablo drops his gaze from my face to the patch, I brace for the final insult. “—and as Cherub’s husband.”

My relationship with Lazarus is acrimonious. I know that a lot of it’s my doing. In truth, I shouldn’t be surprised that he finds me lacking, yet I am. From my point-of-view, Venom’s the loose cannon. The liability. I’ve taken the same opinion into this new era.

I’m the wise, level-headed one.

Lazarus is the wild card.

Except that the exact opposite of reality.

Since I found myself captive to my emotions, the jealousy, the fear, the regret, I’ve made fuck-up after fuck-up. It’s been percolating in the back of my mind for months. The failures piling up. Sign after sign that I mightn’t be the man I thought I was.

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