Page 28 of Seizing Control: Part One

For months, I’ve taken care of her while she’s out of her mind on alcohol and drugs.

I’ve cleaned up her self-inflicted cuts.

Dressed her in my t-shirt, then tucked her into bed.

Held her tight as she’s slept off the worst of her excesses.

Deserted her without a word before the sun’s dawned on the new day.

My actions have been both pathetically minimal and momentous all at once.

Hunter’s words of wisdom pound through my head again.

If Venom and Cherub share a forever kind of love, where do I fit in?

Despite my ire at the idea, is my mumma correct when she cautions me to share her heart?

Or will fronting up, fully and earnestly, heal the rift between us…

While my fingers burn with the need to touch her again, I busy myself by flicking on the kettle, then I put the width of the kitchen counter between us. Propping myself up on my elbows, I lean my chin on my needy hands and face my duchess with an openness that I’ve denied us both for too long. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s got you meltin’ down. Start with Brutus stealin’ the money your mum left you.”

“Not just mine. Sander’s. Fret’s. Both of the boys. It’s all gone. Drained.” A shudder runs through her lithe form as she falls silent in contemplation of the latest betrayal from her father. “He’s the only one with access to our accounts, and it’s his signature on the withdrawal slips. It’s a mess, but we’re coping.” There’s more than a little relief in Cherub’s expression as she explains, “Sander’s paying the co-payment for Fret’s rehab. He’s prepaid a year’s worth of Wyatt’s university courses. He’s handling all that on top of paying his own bills. Nate’s still in high school, so he doesn’t know that he has no way to fund his future right now.”

I shift from foot to foot as the urge to string Brutus up in the bunker tries to goad me into action. With a heavy sigh, Cherub continues. “I’m getting by on what I earn from my job, which isn’t much since I’m a third-year graduate…”

My heart drops at her admission, then I bite back a laugh at the vast understatement she’s just dropped like it’s nothing. Always in a rush, equally as determined to prove herself useful to the Shamrocks as any of the legacy sons, our little Cherub is only a third-year graduate at the age of twenty-three because she overloaded on courses and attended summer semester three years in a row. Even as she healed from Alex’s brutal attack, the pressure of being the sole girl born to the second generation of the club meant she pushed hard to graduate early, a mere month after she turned twenty-one.

There is defeat in Cherub’s voice as she adds, “Definitely not enough to get a place of my own without help.”

After the kettle boils, I make a cup of green tea for her. Internally, my soul sings with triumph as I contemplate the victory I’ve been handed by the universe… and Brutus’ shitty actions. Nadia’s worried text, a secret heads-up that Cherub was contemplating moving out soon, was the second reason for my bad mood this evening. Compounded by the stress of knowing that the Maddisons are done being subtle in their intentions to get closer to my duchess, the way they tailed her home after Sander ditched her without an escort was hard enough to deal with without knowing that Venom is back in Perth permanently and my dream girl is making plans to move out of the home we share.

Which reminds me that I owe Sander a punch in the mouth as soon as he grows the balls to show his face again. His conspicuous absence from the compound this evening is a sign that he knows he fucked up big time. Sander isn’t usually one to shy away from confrontation, but his twin is his Achilles heel, so it makes sense that he’s gone into hiding to give our anger at putting his sister at risk time to die down before he resurfaces to face the music.

I stir in dollop of honey once the tea has steeped, then slide the steaming mug over to Cherub. “I don’t want you to leave.”

My duchess’ retort is immediate. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Ducking my head, I keep my gaze lowered as I admit, “I was embarrassed. A little mad at you… more pissed at myself for pushin’ you like that.” It takes more effort than it should—my failure to recognise the danger the Maddisons posed is still a sore spot—but I meet her eyes before I say, “I let Bebe get in my head, but it’s not all on her. I’ve been in love with you for years. Just pushed it down because you and Venom seemed like endgame.”

“Well, I can tell you that it’s more Hunger Games than endgame after tonight.” Lifting her face to the ceiling, Cherub confesses, “After you left, I kissed this guy Nads set me up on a date with.”

The air in my lungs turns rancid.

I stiffen, unsure how to deal with the jealousy surging inside me. It’s a tornado. Whipping me into an emotional maelstrom that is both painful and ironic. All this time, I’ve been worried that Venom would suck her back into his orbit, when I should’ve been paying more attention to the douchebags she’s been toying with while drunk.

My green-tinged spiral resentment spirals when she adds. “Zeke dragged me off the bar. Like, I know I shouldn’t have done it, but he pissed me off with his macho man act. Sure, I had a mini freak-out after the guy touched me…” Trailing off, Cherub blows out a ragged breath. “But, anyway, we got into it, and I told him that I heard the recordin’ of his deal with my dad.”

“What did he do?” My question is voiced in a gritty tone that telegraphs my escalating madness.

“What we both do when things get hard between us.” The reason for my craziness can’t meet my eye. She looks everywhere but at me as she expands on her confrontation with Venom. “Apologised. Even threw in a little bit of grovelling when that didn’t work. Made a promise to fix things. The usual.”

“What did you do?”

Flitting an uneasy look my way, Cherub murmurs, “Told him I’ll never fuck him again, then showed him my new scars.” The keen edge to her perusal of my face as she continues speaking makes me instantly suspicious. Mentioning her cutting isn’t something she’d do willingly, especially to Venom, without a reason. “It was mean as hell, but he needed to know that I’m serious about being done with him.”

“Jesus.” A mixture of relief and remorse whips through me. The unspoken subtext is clear. My declaration three months ago played a part in her open rejection of the man she’s loved for as long as she can remember. Whistling long and low, I try to draw out the truth with a leading remark, “Bet that went down like a lead balloon.”

The wily woman simply shrugs. “I can’t wait for him forever... fuck me, he told me to move on. Of course, the moment I do, he wants back in.”

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