Page 46 of Seizing Control: Part One

That doesn’t mean I’m going to quietly stand by while Bebe treats Slash like trash again.

“No. Fuck. Him!” the woman in question shouts at Zeke. “Everyone needs to hear this.”

“Ah, okay,” my first love responds.

As I step into the main bar, Toker sidles over to me. When our gazes meet, we shake our heads in disapproval of the redhead who’s currently knocking over barstools and throwing beer bottles at the wall. Arms crossed over our chests, our disdain is mutual as we watch Zeke attempt to placate an irate Bebe Du Bois.

“It was just a thought.”

“This’s gonna go nuclear, you know that?” my cousin mutters.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Cherub.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side. “We both know who was in Slash’s bed last night.”

“Me...” I venture slowly, almost questioningly. As judgement narrows his eyes, I try to explain, “We were watching TV and fell asleep. It was completely innocent.”

“Hmmmm,” Toker muses with clear disbelief. After I glare at him, he sighs in a way that acts like he’s a long-suffering accomplice in a ruse of my making. “How do you think Venom’s gonna take that news?”

“It’s not...” My protest is left unsaid when I’m side-tracked by the heat of Slash’s gaze. He’s staring past Zeke, directly at me. The biker brothers and the family members who’ve been working hard to get things ready for Isaiah’s patching-in turn their focus from Bebe to me. Almost in unison, I see them draw the same conclusion as Toker.

Some of the old ladies nod approvingly at the idea of me in Slash’s bed.

Exactly as I suspected, the patched members aren’t as accepting.

In fact, most of them seem downright angry at the idea.

Unaware of the ticking timebomb that’s closing in on him, Zeke tries once more to pacify Bebe. “I was just tryna help.”

The furious redhead snorts. “Like you can help me.”

“Righto, then,” he replies with unsuspecting placidity. “I’ve got my own shit goin’ down?—”

When her gaze sweeps over me, Bebe shoves Zeke in the chest. “You!”

He backs out of her way, curiosity filling his multi-coloured eyes as he tracks her march deeper into the main bar. Aware that she’s spotted me, I uncross my arms and angle the blade Zeke gave me to use for protection toward the floor.

It’s ironic.

He never would’ve expected this type of drama to unfurl... a love triangle between him, his metukà shelì, and his best friend.

When I mutter a prayer for benevolent understanding under my breath, my cousin zeroes in on the weapon I’m clutching. Clearly anxious over my mindset, Toker holds his hand out for the knife. “Give me that... now.”

I reluctantly relinquish Zeke’s favourite switchblade to him. The moment I’m disarmed, my unease becomes unbearable. I start to fidget. Tuck my hair behind my ears. Shift from foot to foot. Ignoring Slash’s burning scrutiny and Zeke’s curiosity, I keep my attention fixed on Bebe. The woman is clearly looking for a fight as she weaves through the assembled crowd. She’s so short that I can only see the top of her head while she navigates the openly hostile club brothers who refuse to step out of her way. Like a tiny doll, everything about Bebe is delicate.

Normally, I’d go out of my way to protect a woman like her.

For the sisterhood and all that.

But I’m not inclined to offer Bebe any kindness, or to back down from the challenge in her demeanour. She ditched Slash before the concert, and as far as I know, she cut him off dead. Just like she did to me, except for one cursory reminder to start the injections prescribed by the obstetrician she organised for me to see. That was nearly three months ago, and I haven’t heard a word since. Bebe didn’t respond to my texted thanks, and she eventually blocked my number completely.

I owe her nothing, yet a vague sense of guilt invades me as she draws closer.

“How dare you?” Her voice is filled with a visceral hatred that makes me thankful I can’t see her face.

“Me? I have done nothing to you. You cut me off. I tried to keep in touch with you. All I ever did was try to be your friend.”

The confusion that laces my voice isn’t purely for show. I might’ve been in Slash’s bed last night. I may be over-sensitive to the conclusions being drawn by the Shamrocks—that doesn’t mean I need to extend the same grace to her. She ran from the man I love without a backward glance. Bebe discarded Slash like he was nothing when anyone with eyes can see that he’s everything a woman could want.

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