Page 98 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Vitale is silent in the face of my statement.

The parallels to the disaster stalking the Australian Shamrocks are astounding.

Old men and their inability to control their dicks.

Luckily, I’m an expert in death…

And eager as fuck to teach Oriol Costa-Rey an important lesson about resurrection.

19

LILY

Four days later

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look. At. Me.

As I hold Garrett to my shoulder and gently pat his back to burp him, I can’t stop the three words from rattling around my head. I am mentally screaming them, loud and urgently, straining the bond we once shared to breaking point. Once upon a time, Slash would’ve magically known I wanted his attention. Instead, my husband keeps his gaze fixed on his dinner plate. His expression is haunted. Remorse clings to him like a thick fog. The sight of the bandage covering half of his head makes my chest tighten like it’s caught in an invisible vice.

Who hurt him?

Our marriage is mired in silent treatment.

I’m skating on thin ice.

Victim of regret and fear.

When Slash returned home a week ago, he was frail. No one knew what happened, and they didn’t push the point after the club was put on lockdown. The same night, Lazarus didn’t return like he promised, and Hunter’s assurance became the only thing standing between me and the belief that my husband and first love fought to the death.

Was Slash injured by Lazarus?

Did my husband kill him in retaliation?

The suspicious timing, and the way Slash won’t meet my eyes is driving me insane. I need to know the truth. I want to know the truth. I’m scared to death that the truth will break me.

I peer around the dining table, searching each face for clues that they know why my husband looks so beaten down. None of them show any signs of duplicity. Everyone looks as tired as I feel, demoralised and worried, as we face another week of tight security.

I’m stressed to the point of throwing up.

Nausea has been my constant companion for seven days and six nights.

Without Lazarus’ nightly visits and in the face of Slash’s ongoing silent treatment, I am flailing under the weight of my doubts. My shame at wanting them more than they want me is an additional burden I’m wilting under. The maelstrom of emotions buffeting me threaten to take me out. Every waking minute is spent battling misgivings that I shouldn’t have to shoulder alone.

I could be married to my first love’s murderer.

I could be pining after the man who hurt my husband.

All I want is the truth.

No lies. No secrets. No leaving.

Why is it so hard for them to comply with my three simple requests?

I’ve had phantom pains all day, little ripples of agony that undulate across my belly.

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