Page 228 of Seizing Control: Part One

I’ve hit Sander.

Lied to my wife.

Kept secrets from my club.

Betrayed my best friend.

Every ounce of good in me is gone.

I am Venom.

As Lazarus, Venom has become me.

He’s proven more capable. Willing to sacrifice. Unselfish. Thoughtful. Dedicated. The parts of me that were universally adored have been co-opted by my enemy. He’s outsmarted me. Outworked me. Outgrown me. Lazarus has improved. I have devolved.

“Seems like,” Diablo remarks. “You’ve figured out why he came to me. Laz wants a backup plan in place in case he has to take you out.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Moving easily out of my grip, Diablo strides back to his desk. He tosses me a cigarette, and I catchy it with one hand. The thin cylinder mocks me. Another indicator of my cowardice. Where Venom quit cold turkey, despite the rest of us taunting him about being pussy whipped, I’ve proven incapable. I can go days without a smoke, then something happens, and I break.

Nicotine is a crutch.

An excuse.

While I flounder with every set back, Lazarus has put his mind to the job at hand, and he’s found results. The disappearance of Noah St. James. The expansion of Shamrocks turf whenever the Maddison clan tries to encroach. The near misses that befall Brutus every time he pops his head out. That’s all Lazarus’ doing, not mine.

All I do is blame.

Make up reasons for my failures.

Marinate in self-pity.

The darkness in me is a problem. As much as Lazarus warned me that I need to break Cherub’s control and hurt her physically, maybe I actually need to back off. Leave her to her first love. Allow him to give her what she needs. The space I put between us was for my benefit. I am running from my problems. Hiding from the consequences. Ignoring reality because it doesn’t match the fairy-tale in my head.

Rather than fucking around and finding out, I keep fleeing...

I’m not ready to go home yet.

Face the child I never wanted.

Apologise to the wife I shouldn’t have.

The first step toward my redemption is seizing control of the club I was born to lead. In the same way Venom has flourished as Lazarus, I must become the president the Shamrocks need. I can’t face my duchess while I’m weak. I can’t be a good father until I’m a good man. I can’t become a good man when I’m intent on holding on to past hurt and the excuses that come with it.

For that to happen, the old Slash has to die.

I need to bury him next to the son he failed.

“Where you headed?” Diablo asks.

I toss the cigarette on his desk. “To the barber.”

“What the fuck?” He scrambles back to his feet and rushes to stop me. Fingers biting into my upper arm, Diablo yanks me to a standstill. “I just told you that you’re failin’, and your solution is to get a trim?”

“Nah,” I drawl as I rip my arm out of his grip. “That ain’t the solution... that’s just the start.”

“You’re cooked, brother... abso-fuckin’-lutely cooked.”

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