Page 17 of Seizing Control: Part One

I can’t.

I won’t.

When Nadia extricates herself from the two men she’s kissing and plonks down next to me, I lean close and whisper, “This is a bad idea.”

“This is a fuckin’ fabulous idea,” Nadia retorts at full volume. “Toker knows you’re coming, so it’s not like we’re ambushin’ them... plus Venom’s in town and Slash will be there. Those boneheads deserve every ounce of vengeance you’re about to rain down on their heads. It won’t hurt to show your arsehole cousin who’s boss either.”

“There’s going to be a fight.”

“Good.”

Lapsing into silence, I side eye Nadia during the drive to the compound. I’m an erratic mess, however, I’m not so far gone that I don’t see that my best friend is on the verge of a breakdown. She’s wilder than usual. More determined than ever to have a good time. If I’m untethered, then Nadia is hurtling through the stratosphere like an out-of-control rocket.

“Have you spoken to Sander since we left Slash’s?”

When Nadia gets like this, she usually seeks out my twin brother, and they commence another episode of the Nads and Sander soap opera. It’s not something any of us enjoys witnessing, but it’s a proven way for her to find her feet again. They fuck. They fight. They breakup. They both get their heads back on straight and avoid each other until the wheels fall off again.

Rinse and repeat.

Right now, though, with all that’s going on, no one has the bandwidth to deal with another round of their toxicity. The show’s been playing for nearly ten years and we’re all sick of it. I mightn’t be the best person to head off the disaster, but I’m all they’ve got. If Wyatt’s comment is an accurate indication, everyone who once cared about Nadia’s stability has wiped their hands of her.

“Nope.” My best friend pops the last syllable, then sneers. “He’s blocked my number… like a bloody coward.”

“This is bullshit,” Wyatt mumbles from the driver’s seat. Thinking that he’s talking about Sander’s latest move in his cold war with my best friend, I glance his way. He pulls to a stop in the designated parking area in the Shamrocks compound, then looks at me over his shoulder. “It’s a full house tonight. Hope you know what you’re doin’?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, Anna.”

Narrowing my gaze, I glare at Wyatt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re playin’ with fire, and you know it.”

“I’m movin’ on like he told me to.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Am too.”

“Are not.”

When I open my mouth to retort again, I realise that I’m arguing with my eighteen-year-old brother for no reason. He’s right. If I was moving on, the last place I’d bring my new man is to the compound. If I cared about any of the three man currently exiting the van behind Nadia, I’d take them far away from the scrutiny of the biker brothers who watched me get my heart broken by Zeke. I’d shield them from Slash too. If I was a good person, I’d protect the preppy idiots from the arse-kicking they’re likely to receive as soon as they make a wrong move tonight.

The goodness inside me has shrivelled up and died along with my hopes and dreams, so instead of acting with integrity, I follow Shep and his friends inside the main bar without acknowledging the accuracy of Wyatt’s statement. The hush that greets our arrival is damning. I avoid looking at the table that Slash and Zeke usually commandeer as their own during club parties, choosing to keep my back to them as I approach the bar, then down two shots to steady my nerves. I’m not sure of the catalyst, but as I’m emptying my glass for the second time, the bar erupts back into a normal level of chatter.

It’s a return to normalcy that calms me enough to allow Nadia to lead me over to the dance area. After annexing the best space in the room, we tell the prospect in charge of the juke box to keep the heavy metal coming, and we start to dance together. Our three guests do their hardest to keep up. It proves impossible. Nadia is a professional at dancing away her demons, and during the past three months, I’ve taken to partying with the zeal of a rat trapped in a maze.

Partying is my escape.

Almost every night is spent at the clubs to avoid the silence at home.

For weeks, I’ve stumbled back to Slash’s in the early hours of the morning to catch a few hours of sleep before work, then repeated the process again the next evening.

Slutty clothes.

Too much to drink.

Hunter’s MDMA.

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