Page 137 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Lazarus opens the door for Layla.

She rolls her eyes at the gesture, even as she steps over the threshold in front of him.

The moment I’m alone with my younger brother, I curl my fingers around his throat and walk him backward until he is trapped between me and the closest wall. Our eyes, almost identical in colour and shape, are close to level. It takes me a moment to understand that he’s had another growth spurt. It’s been months since we’ve been this close, while I’ve been sober enough to notice the changes in him.

My little brother is taller.

Thicker.

Wilder.

“Pick a side, Hunter.” My fingers pinch either side of his windpipe, then I let go and use both hands to shove him in the chest. His back smacks into the wall. “Shamrocks or the Adjudicator?”

“Yeah,” he drawls with disdain. “Nah... think I’m happy where I am.”

“In the middle is where you are.”

“I’m part of somethin’ that matters... not that you’d understand since you’re too busy bein’ the world’s biggest screwup to make any moves that count.”

When I go to slam him into the wall again, Hunter curls his fingers around my forearms. He pulls me forward at the same time as he hooks his lower leg around the back of my knees. The second I’m off balance, he punts me in the shoulders with the heel of each hand. I fold like a deckchair, my arse smacking the floor in the next instance, as momentum lays me flat on my back with a grunt.

Whistling, my younger brother steps over me.

“Pick a fuckin’ side,” I shout after him.

“I just did,” he replies. “Shamrocks to the left. Lazarus on my right.”

Slapping my hands against the floor, I heave myself back to my feet. The indignity of being knocked over by the boy I taught to fight is bad enough. Realising, when I turn around that my latest disgrace was witnessed by Lazarus only compounds the embarrassment.

I straighten my cut. “You’re the Adjudicator.”

He inclines his head. “Yes.”

“Justice of the underworld?”

Straightening his cufflinks, Lazarus says, “That’s me.”

“Dunno if I hate you or envy you.”

My confession makes him laugh. There’s nothing but amusement in his demeanour when he slings an arm over my shoulders and steers me to the exit. I let him lead, happy to have distracted him from the sight of me coming off second best against Hunter. The level of comradery I feel with Lazarus, the satisfaction of having him back, even though he is the reason why I only own half of my wife’s heart is heartening. He halves the pressure I’m under. Helps me balance my duties. Assists in protecting my wife and kids. It’s good to have one less avenue of angst in my life, this truce between us is stretched tight yet holding so far. Notwithstanding my temper tantrum over losing my back fence and the flares of jealousy we both display when our rivalry becomes too much to contain.

“See that?” Lazarus asks as we come to a stop at entrance to the den.

My wife is bent over Garrett’s pram, fastening the straps tight so Mumma can take him for an evening walk while we’re at the hospital. She’s dressed casually. Hair in a messy bun. Skin bare of makeup. Her arse, always generous, still holds the extra curve from her pregnancy. The oversized Black Shamrock MC she wears has ridden up to display her long legs in all their glory as well. Even from behind, my wife is a vision.

A siren.

A duchess.

Mine.

“Yeah.”

“While you can hold her hand, kiss her forehead, grab her arse, touch her any way you please in front of an audience... there isn’t a damn thing I have that you need to envy.”

I exhale through my nose, emptying my chest until it burns.

He doesn’t understand my wife at all.

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