Page 59 of Seizing Control: Part Two

While I’ve been mentally melting down, Lazarus has pulled on his boxer-briefs and scooped Garrett from his cot. My heart flips in my chest, the bond they share on display when my son grips my first love’s thumb tight and tries to drag his finger into his mouth. Lazarus wisely distracts him with his pacifier, which is a good thing considering the places his fingers have been tonight.

“Shower, Lil... then go and deal with your husband.”

With a slow blink, I incline my head. “He needs a bottle.”

“I’ll look after him.” Lazarus links his arm around my neck and pulls me close. His lips skim my forehead a second before he says, “If the idea of cuttin’ enters your mind for even a heartbeat, I needa know.”

Whenever Lazarus is worried or agitated, he defaults to his Venom persona. The profanity he once wielded like armour rarely resurfaces, however, I can tell that it takes him a lot of effort at times. It’s a small piece of normal in the midst of all the changes.

I’m not sure if Lazarus would appreciate my observation, so I keep it to myself.

“I’m fine... that hasn’t been an issue since I realised I’m pregnant.”

The unspoken subtext makes him frown, but he lets it pass without comment.

As tempting as it is to breakdown and cry in the shower, I manage to avoid it by white knuckling my way through the process of erasing all signs of Lazarus from my body. After securing my hair in a damp bun on top of my head, I pad across the carpet and into my walk-in-wardrobe. I grab the first thing I see, a pair of stretchy pants that I’m pretty sure Nadia has slipped amongst my things as a not-so subtle hint to quit denying my size and embrace maternity wear.

When I emerge, with my bottom half covered and a bra on, I do a double take.

Seeing my first love so calmly feeding Garrett will never fail to amaze me.

His tender care.

The adoration in his eyes.

Total relaxation in his posture.

“You’re staring, sweet thing.”

“Not my fault,” I quip. Acting out a chef’s kiss with my lips and my fingers, I add. “A hot man and a baby—it’s kryptonite for the ovaries.”

His grin helps dull the guilt I’m doing my best to ignore.

I retrieve my leather vest from the hook on the door and toss it onto the end of the bed. With quick movements, I pull on the long-sleeved Shamrocks t-shirt that I stole from my husband months ago, then tuck it into the waistband of my pants. The biker boots I slide my feet into are a bad memory—one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I shudder through the pain the boot evokes, and drag the “Property of” cut onto my shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Lazarus’s gaze darts around like he’s about to be ambushed. Pale, he shots my son an apologetic look before he rallies. “You can’t wear that.”

I’m too busy scowling at the gap between the vest buckles to fully register his fury. The copper clips aren’t even in the same postcode thanks to my expanding belly. Most of the time, I can continue living in delusion, but times like this, reality slaps me in the face.

I am pregnant.

With twins.

Paternity unknown.

Shoot me now...

My hands are knocked away as my futile attempts at magicking extra leather out of thin air continue unabated. Spun in a half circle, the offending item is stripped from me, then I’m hefted into the air with ease. A moment later, I’m gently laid out on my back on top of the bed I’ve spent months desecrating with my first love. He leers over me, naked except for the boxer-briefs covering his arse.

“Ain’t no way you’re leavin’ here with either of those patches on you.” I gaze up at Lazarus with a dazed expression. My mind is still captive to the sad state of my life, so I don’t immediately understand why his mood has done a one-eighty. There’re shades of Venom and Zeke in his expression when he snarls down at me, “That cunt doesn’t deserve his name on you... and I won’t be represented by a road name that died for you. ’Specially one you used to hide your fear—” The fingers of his left hand curl around my throat and he tightens his grip with clear warning. “—of me and my lack of control. No property vest will hang from your shoulders until I’m able to claim you in the light, and even then, Slash’s name will be missin’ until he proves his worth again.”

“Zeke.” My heart pounds in my ears. The voice in my head that alerts me to danger is sounding a code-five alarm. I am triggered, on the verge of a panic attack, as the position he has me trapped in brings memories of Alex to the surface. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Please...”

“Lean into me, metukà shelì.” Lazarus’ fingers ripple when I swallow deep to ward off my mounting panic attack, a move that I am familiar with thanks to my husband. For some reason, it feels vaguely threatening coming from my first love. His breath rushes over my face as he angles his torso over my belly to rest his forehead on mine. “Breathe. Feel. Trust.”

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