Page 42 of Seizing Control: Part One

As I reach my brother, Zeke grabs hold of the front of his bloody shirt and shakes him furiously. Pulling him close, he bellows, “You’re fuckin’ high.”

“What? No!” Heart pounding in my ears, I scan Sander’s face. Dilated pupils. A sallow, grey tinge to his normally tanned skin. The muscle in his jaw works overtime as he grinds his teeth. I’ve been high often enough over the past few months to know the signs on sight. My legs turn to jelly as I murmur, “Sander… after all this time. Why?”

“I didn’t shoot up, they did it to me,” my brother rasps. His throat sounds raw, each word grating with effort. “But it’s my fault. I fucked everythin’ up… thought I could fix it with them before anyone found out. All I did was make it worse.”

“What did you do?” Zeke commands.

From the president’s throne, Dad bangs the gavel. “If everyone would take a seat, we can get this over and done with and move onto the upcomin’ celebrations.”

“Celebrations?” With my hands bunched at my side, I whirl around to face my father. Fury pulses through me as I ask, “How can you have anything to celebrate?”

“By the end of this meetin’, we’ll all have things to celebrate.”

Blowing out an agitated huff, I ignore Dad and his giddy glee. I link my arm through Sander’s while Zeke braces his injured limb over his shoulders. Together, we help him hobble over to the closest seat. When he drops into the chair, falling forward to jerkily cover his face with his hands, I perch on the edge of the table and pull him to me. Sander clutches me hard. His body shakes as he breaks down. Unsure how to placate him, uncertain where I can touch him when he seems to have a mess of bruises and cuts in addition to a busted shoulder and his clearly broken leg, I settle for stroking the back of his head.

“You’ll be okay,” I hiss with a vehemence I can’t logically back up. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Dad chuckles. “He’s fine... a little surgery and some rehab. It’s you and Venom who needa worry.”

“What do you want?” Zeke growls.

With half an ear, I listen to the two men talk.

My head is too busy whirling with questions to heed their conversation properly.

“When you sent a bunch of fuckin’ amateurs to clean up after my bloodthirsty little Cherub, you made your biggest mistake yet. You see, Cub and Isaiah were outta their depth. They couldn’t be in two places at once, so when Lysander offered to deal with the body by himself, they accepted. It could’ve worked… if a little birdie wasn’t keepin’ watch. A little birdie who knew he owed me one and was happy to barter his freedom in exchange for the body.”

“Bear,” Zeke mutters a single word in response, then he adds a moment later. “Fuck.”

My brother nods slowly and, as the level of trouble that he’s managed to get us both into hits home, I find it hard to breathe. Every nerve ending jangles with fear. Anxiety starts to brew within me. Stomach churning, I swallow down the bile that surges into my throat. It stings and burns. Tastes like a bitter reminder of Alex. Chokes me with. a symphony of regret. The urge to find a razor and end it all, permanently, rages within me.

I’ll never be free of him.

Never.

Ever.

A voice that I’ve spent months dodging echoes around my brain.

“Whore.”

“Slut.”

“Jezebel.”

Like a bad trip, I can feel him everywhere.

Around me.

In me.

I shift awkwardly on the table as my lower belly fills with the phantom memory of Alex’s invasions. The pain. The agony. The brutality. It buffets me. I feel it all. All three times he violated me. I remember the torture of losing my baby. The nights spent trying to keep my head above water.

Back then, Slash was my constant.

He buoyed me.

I wish he was here now to fight the demons my dad has revived inside me.

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