Page 24 of Seizing Control: Part One

SLASH

Listening to Hunter tell Venom that he believes the love he shares with Cherub is the “forever kind” is the final straw for me. Since my duchess arrived at the compound with Nadia and three preppy fucks in tow, I’ve been listening to the bunch of idiots I call brother narrate the impending explosion between the ex-lovers. Every so often, they’ll shoot a sly look my way to see if they’re getting under my skin as much as they’re getting under Venom’s.

I’ve tried my best not to give them the response they’re seeking, but I can’t take it anymore. “Fuck this shit. I’m outta here.”

In the same instance as my temper snaps, the chino-wearing prick with the boy band haircut clambers up onto the bar with the girls. He makes a beeline for Cherub. His hands grip her waist. My vision tunnels to a pinprick, narrowed in on the sight of this douchebag touching my duchess. I’m on my feet, pausing only to slap my little brother across the back of the head, before I’m storming toward the bar.

I have one objective.

Lilianna Mayberry.

And I don’t give a flying fuck that Venom’s watching.

I’ve spent three months bearing witness to her drunkenly testing the waters with man after man. If she’s so keen to get back on the horse, she can chuck a saddle on me. I’ll let her ride me from here until eternity without complaint.

The drunken crowd of bikers gets the message and parts to allow me through.

My mind is made up. My aim true. I keep my eyes on my duchess, my pulse picking up pace when I notice that she’s observing my approach. A softness invades the wild rebellion that’s been burning in the blue depths of her gaze since Cherub acknowledged that Venom and I are watching her run amok tonight with barely suppressed hunger... and a smidge of resentment.

My breath catches.

Is she going to publicly claim me?

My duchess looks through me.

To Venom.

And my feet change course before my mind has made the decision.

I smack the doors open with both hands.

One hits the ground.

A muted hush breaks out.

The closest prospect rushes to fix the door.

Without a backward glance, I keep walking until I reach my Harley. I’m settled on the seat, battling shaky hands as it takes me two attempts to fasten the strap of my helmet beneath my chin. Blowing out a breath, I wait while the main gates are pulled open by the prospects on guard duty. My movements are jerky as I hit the ignition and kick up the stand. Gravel spits as I take off too fast. The rumbling engine of my bike doesn’t settle my mood like it usually does.

Instead, the reverberation ratchets my temper to a level that it rarely reaches.

The beam of my headlight illuminates the road in front of me as I peel out of the industrial complex that houses the compound. As my wheels eat up the asphalt, the empty black tar stretching in front of me mockingly, I battle to contain my rage.

“Fuckin’ forever kind of love,” I mutter to myself. “Absolute, convoluted, deluded, bullshit.”

As the bleakness that filled Venom’s expression in the wake of Hunter’s verbal jab pops into my head, I roll off the throttle and pull onto the empty verge at the side of the freeway on-ramp. For six months, I’ve been caught in two minds. Trapped between my love for my club brother and my devotion to the woman he deserted. My past and present keep colliding with a future I never envisioned as possible.

I’m starting to believe that this stalemate between the three of us is permanent.

Having Cherub in my home. In my bed. In my every waking and sleeping thought.

It’s torture.

It also drives home a point I’ve refused to acknowledge for at least five years.

I’d leave the Shamrocks if it meant I could have Lilianna Mayberry for my own.

Venom would make the opposite choice.

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