Page 4 of Seizing Control: Part One

“This was a test... you heard what I wanted you to,” my president tells me. When it becomes clear that I’m not going to take his hand, Brutus wanders over to the bench that contain the tools we use on our enemies. I clamber back to my feet, ignoring the stabbing pain that flares in the back of my skull. After selecting the thin wire that we use to garotte our captives, he ambles over to the dead men. “This’ll be ya callin’ card, Venom.”

In silence, I watch him desecrate both corpses by drawing the wire between their lips and slicing until they’re left with an artificial smile curling from either side of their lips. Arms crossed over my chest, I arch an eyebrow in a request for him to expand on his previous remark.

Brutus grins. “It’s called a Glasgow Grin. My Pa used to dole ’em out.” He examines his handiwork, before turning back to me. “Every time I see one, it warms the cockles of my heart.”

“Not sure why you expect me to take up the mantle.”

“Told ya that you’re gonna be my best weapon. That means I get ta shape ya skills.”

After working saliva into my suddenly dry mouth, I ask, “What if I want more than that?”

“Then we’re gonna have a problem...” Although he trails off to drive home the seriousness of his point, Brutus doesn’t wait for my response to his veiled threat. “You’re free to go. I’ll have Angelis get his enforcers clean up this mess.

With a sharp nod, I accept his dismissal.

The only exit from the underground bunker is a retractable ladder.

I jump with one arm extended to catch hold of the bottom rung so I can unfold it.

The last thing I want to do is see my friends, even though I know the time has come to face them. They’ve been tracking me for two days, and I’ve been doing my best to evade them. Their sympathy is unwarranted. It’s also the sole certainty in my near future. My brain is scrambled with thoughts that my president is dirty. Caught between my reticence to accept his excuse about this fiasco being a test, I need the firm footing the presence of my best friends provides.

My preference would be to visit Cherub.

But, I’ve already escaped death once tonight, so I’m loath to push my luck. My president didn’t shoot me after pulling a gun on him. Doubt he’ll extend the same grace if he finds me in his daughter’s bedroom in the middle of the night.

Innocent as my intentions toward her may be...

“Excusin’ ya from prospect duties tonight,” Brutus announces. Waiting for the other shoe to drop since he isn’t known for cutting his noms any slack, I continue pulling the ladder down without acknowledging his declaration. “In light’a ya mumma’s death and all.”

“She wasn’t my mumma... just the bitch who birthed me.”

“Ain’t that a fact.” Brutus’ droll response follows me up the steps. “Bitch won’t be missed.”

When I emerge from the hole in the floor into the deserted laundry room, I allow myself a moment to breathe. My nerves are rattled, a circumstance where I’d cut out my own tongue before admitting out loud. I need a break. From my life. From my friends. From the club. From my own head.

I need something sweet to offset all the bitterness flooding me.

Exiting into the hallway that connects the various extensions to the original building, I take one look at the rowdy crowd in the main bar, then I spin on my heel. Despite my urgency to get out of here, I take a few minutes to wash up in my private bathroom. Once I’m clean, I quickly dress in fresh jeans and a new Shamrocks t-shirt. My knife is strapped to my calf. The shoulder holster I habitually wear follows a second later.

I slip my cut over my shoulders as I enter Carter’s bedroom.

His neat and tidy space, filled with the baby books and parenting guides he’s currently devouring in preparation of his kid’s birth, is dimly lit by his bedside lamp. While I’m not a pig by any means, my room always looks a mess when compared to his. It’s a physical manifestation of a contradictory personalities.

I’m chaos. He is calm. Together, we’re unbeatable.

As much as I want to avoid him right now, I still don’t want him to worry. Smiling, I toss his pillows on the floor and short sheet his bed, to let him know that I'm still alive and kicking. Then, after moving the bookmarks in the book he’s in the middle of, I let myself out of the side door leading to the parking lot.

Carter is the only brother with an external access.

It’s a boon that we don’t take for granted as we make our way through the rotation of fresh strippers and new cut sluts that we like to share. Prospects aren’t supposed to fuck the whores that flock to the compound before the full patches, so the side door offers plausible deniability and freedom for the women to come and go without question.

Since my Harley is still parked at the strip clubs, I slide into the driver’s seat of a club van.

The drive from the portside suburb that houses the compound to the suburb where most of the old timers live passes by in the blink of an eye. I should be worried about getting caught, but I’m not. I’m borderline manic. In need of a circuit breaker before I explode. My need for sweetness is stronger than my sense of self-preservation.

Especially when the truth is as crude as it is simple.

Brutus will spend the night balls deep in a cut slut.

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