Page 45 of Seizing Control: Part One

“Cherub.”

My tone is icy as I reply, “Uncle Cass.”

“Things are gonna get bloody, and they’re gonna get dangerous.”

With an inelegant snort, I roll my eyes at him. “No shit Sherlock.”

“You’re gonna need to do things that go against your moral compass,” he tells me. Apology fills his face, and he shakes his head with sadness. “I can only hope you have inherited enough of your mother’s fortitude to see you through this.”

His comment comes from so far out of left field that it renders me speechless. Thankfully, it doesn’t have the same effect on my brother. Sander rallies while I’m still staring at our uncle with my mouth open.

“First, you drop the fact Dad killed Topher on us, now you wanna bring our Mum into things.” With a weary sigh, my twin hunches low and gingerly clutches his upper arm. “If I find out that she wasn’t with Dad by choice, I’m gonna kill him... broken leg and busted shoulder, be damned.”

All our life, we’ve held our parents’ relationship as the pinnacle of true love. It’s one of the reasons we gave Charlie such a hard time in the beginning of her romance with Dad, and it’s also why we’ve never fully forgiven our father for taking us away from the club after Mum died. Perth is our home. Inadale was just a small town in the middle of the Western Australian Wheatbelt that our father once passed through on a ride. It made zero sense to uproot us while we were grieving, and I’ve always harboured silent resentment over his decision. Despite this, I still don’t want to believe that my father has been a villain masquerading as our protector for longer than it seems. I need their love story to be real. I’m desperate to hold onto the fundamental solidity I’ve always drawn from the fairy tale childhood I imagined I had until Mum’s untimely death.

From birth to the age of twelve, I was a pampered princess living in a gilded cage.

Since then, the golden coating has flaked and faded to bare the corrosion beneath the surface. I do my best to ignore it, yet as I watch Uncle Cass’ sorrowful fight to keep from spoiling what’s left of our childhood, I’m left to flounder in long-buried bitterness. If the foundation of my faith in true love is a lie, how am I supposed to find my way through the war that’s brewing?

“It’s not—” Shouting from the direction Zeke headed is loud enough to breach the chapel doors and cut off my uncle’s protests. “I ruined nothin’—”

“Shhh.” I hold a finger to my lips a moment before I hear Slash state in an icy baritone, “We’ve been over for months. You have no claim over me—just like you told me that I had none over you.”

The three of us look at each other.

Only one person fits the scenario he just articulated.

Looks like Dr. Beatrice Du Bois is back for a second shot with my man-bunned saviour.

“You needa get out there,” my uncle orders before I have time to digest how I feel about Bebe’s return. Uncle Cass jerks his chin toward the double doors when I don’t immediately follow his instruction. “I’ll keep Sander safe... you’ll be more help with that shitshow than you will be in here.”

“You sure?” I check with my brother to ensure that he’ll be okay without me. “I don’t want to?—”

“Go,” Sander urges. “Take care of Slash.”

“Call Doc, get him to look at Sander.”

My uncle inclines his head at my request, then waves me off. “Get yer butt out there.”

Since I’m well-versed in the many facets of Carter Hudson, I don’t hesitate any longer to venture outside of the chapel once I’m satisfied that my twin trusts our uncle to keep him safe in his vulnerable state. Knife first, I walk into the hallway, then I tread softly as I move toward the main bar. As cold as Slash’s tone was when he raised his objections to whatever Bebe said, I could hear the pain he was trying to hide.

It usually rears its head once a year, for a week or two around the anniversary of his son’s death. A dark pit of misery that swallows him whole, fractures his soul a little more each time, while strengthening his hatred of himself. Losing his son in such a terrible way changed Slash. It made him harder, yet softer. Harsh and detached. Stubborn but uncertain.

His refusal to admit that his son’s death isn’t his failure doesn’t help him heal.

It holds him back, grinds him down year upon year, until he breaks without warning.

More than once I’ve held Slash when he’s been forced to take a moment to grieve.

As I reach the doorway, I have to take a second to get my head on straight.

Every time I think about my history with Slash, I feel stupider than I did before. It’s beyond obvious that we’ve walked the fine line between friends and lovers for years. I am his safe harbour in the same way he is mine.

How did I not see the truth earlier?

“Why don’t you take this to Slash’s room?” Zeke offers in a low voice. “It’s not really a conversation you wanna have in front of the entire club.”

Seeing him step up to help his best friend despite the friction between them, consolidates that my decision to stay platonic with them both is the right one. I might’ve given mixed signals to Slash by sleeping in his bed, and my admission that I would do anything to protect Zeke is also inconsistent with the stance I took with him during our argument last night—still, I’m determined now more than ever to stick to my guns.

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