Page 53 of Seizing Control: Part Two

But I am thankful that it seems like half my heart might be along for the ride...

8

SLASH

Five weeks later

The descent into Perth is a welcome sight after almost four months away from home. I still can’t wrap my head around how ling I’ve been willingly gone. It’s a long time to spend away from everything that matters. Some days, it felt like time was flying by, and on others, I swear the clock was ticking backward. In the beginning, I did my best to avoid the past and my future. I concentrated on fulfilling my deal with Gabriel, determined to sweep my problems under the rug until I was ready to face them. Mentally, I knew that I needed to find a way to bring the two distinct sides of my psyche together into one cohesive outlook. On an emotional level, I wasn’t up for the challenge.

My texts with Cherub have been sanity savers. My conversations with Diablo acted as a gut check. The hours on my Harley, travelling from chapter to chapter, turned into mental journaling sessions.

Old and new.

My history.

My future.

When we reach the big, green sign telling us that we have five kilometres until we hit the city limits, I veer toward the entrance to the rest area at the edge of the bitumen road. Toker lays on his horn, alerting my brothers to follow me. He pulls level with me when I roll to a stop, circling his fingers in the “okay” signal to ask if I’m alright, as the rest of the bikers with us pull up as well. I huff, shaking my head in response. His protective streak has grown to an annoying level over our journey, and the times we’ve spent apart whenever I’ve sent him back to Perth for a break have only made him worse.

In the dark of the night, my SAA’s expression is unclear. I can guess, though. Not one of my club brothers wanted to ride through the night. They preferred to pull up and camp out for the night before heading home in the daylight.

I couldn’t stop.

Not this close to my duchess.

I knew that if I did, the urge to turn around and flee would win.

If I gave into their request, our reunion wouldn’t happen. There’s a ticking timebomb inside my head, warning me that another night spent without coming face to face with my wife, will be our ruin. My soul is in perpetual motion. Caught in a fight between the dark side I hide and the innate goodness I’ve claimed as my true self.

I’ve spent my entire life leaning into my superiority.

I was smarter and wiser than Venom.

More serious and cerebral than Toker.

Able to pass as neurotypical when Hunter couldn’t.

Better at protecting Cherub than anyone else.

My Saviour complex is terminal—fatal within the constraints of my self immolating, self-declared supremacy.

Except, my actions have never matched my inner monologue.

The darkness that my wife craves from me runs counter to the way I believe I should treat her. My enjoyment of my innate brutality, the darkness that drives me wild, makes me savage and cruel, and it doesn’t sit well with me.

At the same time, I love bending her until she shatters.

Using her body to satiate my rage.

Loving on her in the aftermath.

I hate feeling like a hypocrite.

It is my Achilles heel.

Memories of the ritual force their way into my head.

The reaction I keep hidden threatens to make me acknowledge it.

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