Page 59 of Seizing Control: Part One

Surely?

“In addition to marrying Cherub, I’m putting myself forward to assume the president’s patch once it’s been retrieved from fuckin’ Brutus,” I formally announce to my brothers.

A few of them stiffen. One of the old timers who was more on Brutus’ side until a few days ago screws his face up like he’s about to mount a protest. My dad steps away from his private conversation with Duke and Cassius, then holds up his hand. The low-level grumbling that has broken out in the wake of my pronouncement dies down enough for him to speak.

“If we’re to adequately protect our little Cherub from Brutus’ machinations, it makes sense for her husband to be the president.” A small murmur of agreement reverberates around the chapel. My heartbeat kicks up a notch as it slowly dawns that I might end this day with my best friend’s woman by my side and his birth right sewn on my cut. “The survival of this club is paramount… not only to preserve our history, but as a buffer around Venom and Hades while we work our connections to get them released.”

I rub my palm over the scruff on my chin as I contemplate the reality of the situation facing us. My mouth runs dry when Dad gives me a searching look. Releasing my hair from its knot on the top of my head, I buy myself some time to formulate the right words by working through the ritual of securing my manbun in place again.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I grab the gavel and smack it on the baseplate. “I mentioned the need for a truth telling session. Nadia’s spilled her truth… now it’s time for the rest of us. Any brother with secrets is asked to step forward now. We clean the slate, no questions asked, then we move forward as one.” Drawing in another breath, I exhale slowly before bringing the gavel down a second time. “I’ll go first.”

It takes every ounce of courage I possess to speak the next words, but I force myself to keep going because I know that if I’m to prove myself worthy of the woman that we all love, they need to know my darkest secrets—bar one.

The full extent of my hand in Jenna’s death will go to my grave.

Everything else is laid on the table, freely put on display for my club brothers’ judgement.

My longstanding feelings for Lilianna Mayberry.

The Maddisons effort to infiltrate us using Bebe as a Trojan horse.

My blind stupidity in aiding her cause because I was jealous of Venom and his Lily.

How close Bebe came to finalising her plan to take us out.

My refusal to step aside—as president or Cherub’s husband once Venom is free.

The reason this information was kept from the rest of the club.

I purge my soul, whittling down my secrets until only the worst one remains, then, brother by brother, we circle the room and lay bare every single misdeed that’s been kept in the dark so our enemies are no longer able to use them against us.

As we finish up, I take the time to look around the chapel again.

This time, I’m met with conviction in my plan and unshakeable confidence from my brothers. It buoys me. Lifts my spirits. Reminds me that I am not alone in this fight. For the first time since Bebe burst into the bar and Venom laid out his foolhardy decree, I’m filled with hope for the future.

For the success of my presidency.

For the Shamrocks survival.

For the longevity of my marriage.

8

LILY

“Sit down.” I beckon Slash forward with a crook of my index finger. He frowns at me, his eyes dipping from my face to the first-aid kit I’m holding and back again. Forcing a smile, I tell him, “You’ve been looking after everyone else tonight—it’s time someone looked after you.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles. After placing the kit on the oak table, I press my hands to Slash’s broad shoulders and push him back into the president’s chair. He allows me to pin him in the seat, a glimmer of lust flickering in his ice-blue gaze while he watches me lift myself onto the table, then slide in front of him. Caged between my widely spread thighs, Slash’s throat visibly works as he swallows deep. “Not sure what you’re playin’ at, duchess, but this ain’t gonna end the way you expect. You don’t wanna be this close to me tonight.”

“I’m not playing at anything,” I tell him. For a drawn-out moment, our gazes remain locked. In the light-blue depths, I spy his love and his ambivalence. Uncertainty flares. A small ripple of doubt that grows into an inferno as I realise Slash continues to hold out hope for our relationship beyond the ruse we must pull off to save Zeke. “All I want is to clean up your face, then go home to bed.”

Irritation clouds his features in the wake of my deflection, but I remain resolute, even as I brace for the sting of his rejection. When the big man doesn’t try to move away from me, I tear open the pack of antibacterial wipes, then gently dab at the split in his eyebrow. The blood has dried over the cut. I work fast, doing my best not to hurt him, as I remove the signs of Zeke’s temper from Slash’s battered face.

In the silence, every move I make is too loud.

I breathe.

It sounds like a cyclone to my over-stimulated senses.

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