Page 158 of Seizing Control: Part Two

It takes me next to no time to dress in clean clothes and stuff my feet into my boots. After I pull my holster on, pausing to double check that my sidearms are fully loaded, I slide my cut back into place. Seconds tick down, my chest tightening the longer I’m away from my wife, as I jam a spare magazine into an inner pocket, then grab my juiced-up burner phone and stash it in the opposite side of my leather. Pulling my door shut, every step I take toward Cherub’s room loosens the metaphorical vice around my ribs.

My wife gasps, a sound filled with shock rather than fear, when I burst into her space.

Her reaction marginally reduces the deluge of self-loathing and regret I’m battling.

“Jeez, Slash... you scared me.” Eyes wide, she touches her fingers to her lips for a heartbeat before she strokes them up and down the column of her neck. The action appears to calm her, a small benediction in a situation where I figured I would find none. While I scan her from head to toe, clocking her casual outfit of leggings, oversized t-shirt, and joggers, Cherub shows me the phone she has clutched in her other hand. “Nads texted. Apart from Serena and Indi, the girls are waiting downstairs. She’s talked them into going for a walk with us—that way we can kill two birds with one stone so I can get back to the twins quicker.”

A glance at the clock on her wall alerts me that I have another half an hour to waste.

My small gesture of changing her bandage is about to be eclipsed by Lazarus’ surprise.

Surprisingly, I am not put out by that thought.

Sure, I wish I could’ve pulled it off, but it’s out of my realm...

Because I’m not the almighty Adjudicator.

As the president of a MC, I have power and connections.

Lazarus blows my authority out of the water—out of the stratosphere.

It’s shameful, but the sickness afflicting me, irrevocable jealousy, drives me to stake my claim on Cherub on last time. When I approach her, my duchess’ lips part and she backs away from me. I can feel the energy between us changing as she realises my intention.

It’s exhilarating to witness the affect I have on her.

“I need you to listen closely, wife.” Pulling my duchess’ phone out of her hand, I toss it on the bed, then I trap her between my body and the wall. “There is no rush... because takin’ care of yourself ain’t a negotiable factor here. You needa eat, rest, take a leisurely walk in the fresh air—that’s more important than bein’ there to help the nurses feed Ezra. He needs his imma healthy, not rundown.” With one arm braced on the wall above her head, I draw the index finger of my other hand down the side of her face when she blushes. “You hear me, baby?”

Cherub nods. “I hear you, Slash.”

“Good.” Dipping my head low, I capture her mouth with mine. Our kiss is short and sweet, a distraction so I can catch her off guard. The moment she fists my cut with both hands, I break our connection. Sweeping my wife’s legs out from under her, I lift her into a bridal hold. Although she shoves at my shoulder and grumbles a series of bodily threats, I refuse to acknowledge her outrage. “Know you’re a tough woman, but you ain’t usin’ the stairs ’til the docs give you the all-clear.”

“Okay.” As always, Cherub’s easy acquiescence makes me suspicious. While we descend to the lower level, I scan her face for signs of deception. All I find is genuine happiness amid the worry that’s stalked her since she first glimpsed the babies in the NICU. When we reach the landing, she murmurs, “You can put me down now.”

I keep her hand pressed to my heart when she pats my chest to emphasise her point.

“Only if you kiss me first.

My duchess doesn’t need telling twice.

It’s one of the few times she’s initiated contact since I returned from Sydney, and the idea of her willingly touching me makes my heart pound in my ears. I swipe my tongue against my wife’s, letting out a low groan when she sucks on the end for a fleeting moment. Toothpaste and adoration. I wish I could bottle her taste in a saltshaker so I can add it to every meal I consume from now on.

“Newlyweds are disgusting.” Gabbi makes a vomiting sound. When Nadia flicks her with a tea towel, she amends her comment. “I mean, they’re parents now, and they’ve been married for, like, eight, nine months... the weddin’ glow shoulda receded by now.”

While I know she’s mocking me, considering the wily fighter witnessed my depression first-hand during my extended stay on the east coast and constantly told me to go home, my wife seems to take umbrage at Gabbi’s observation. She stiffens in my arms, pulling away when I go to continue our kiss. The impact of her hand against my chest can no longer be described as a pat since she uses a closed fist.

“Let me down, please.”

“Baby.”

Shutters come down over her face, hiding her thoughts from me. “Now.”

After a sharp incline of my head, I lower my wife to her feet. “I’ll get Garrett ready while you eat somethin’.”

“Fine.”

The girls don’t even wait for me to leave the kitchen before they’re huddling around my duchess. Acrimony emanates from them. An unpleasant forcefield of unfriendliness designed to keep me away from my wife. Their conversation is muted, a low, hostile drone that appears directed at me.

Reaching Garrett’s play pen, I try to eavesdrop, however, I only catch the occasional word.

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