Page 67 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“That dirty motherfuckin’ dog.” The interior of the luxury vehicle grows tense and incensed as my first love lets loose a series of curses and threats that I haven’t heard from his mouth since his resurrection. “That piece of shit doesn’t deserve to die. He deserves to be flayed alive, beaten to a pulp, again and again, until he’s beggin’ for my fuckin’ mercy.” After touching the earpiece he’s wearing, Lazarus pulls into a side street with a screech of tyres. “Mince-fuckin’-meat, that’s all he’s good for... pig food. Hog. Shit. Goddamn bloody-minded coward with a Saviour complex and zero common fuckin’ sense.”

Letting go of my hand, Lazarus punches the dash.

He hits it again.

Three times.

Four.

Over and over.

Until his knuckles are bleeding, and I’m curled up in a ball against the door, watching the one man I was beginning to trust prove that at his essence he’s as violently reckless as he used to be. I protect my stomach as he unleashes his temper. The interior of the vehicle is destroyed, pieces of plastic and leather bouncing off my blanket covered body as he rips the lid from the console from between us and bashes it against the dash and the steering wheel.

“Need a meeting with the boss,” Lazarus orders when he abruptly stops his destructive meltdown to speak into thin air. Blood runs down his wrist as he adjusts the tech in his ear. I watch the droplets seep into his black pants leg with wide eyes. “Want Roman involved, and the old country on standby. This bullshit is getting out of hand.” He pauses, his breathing ragged while he listens to the person’s response. “I’m not in the mood, Layla. Use Skye as your shield, pretend she’s all-seeing rather than all-meddling, but don’t step on my toes in the process. This is my revenge—my payback to dish out.”

There is a moment where time stands still as Lazarus regains control of himself and realises what he’s done. We stare at each other as the pretence comes to an end. He recognises that he’s said too much, that the cover he’s erected has been blown. His promises were lies. His plea for time and space to rebuild my trust was a ploy. I recognise that Lazarus is still Venom, only better at hiding his manipulations and violence behind a more sophisticated mask.

In the next instance, my spine is infused with steel. My heart finally cedes all authority to my head. The babies in my stomach kick and tumble, as upset as I am to have had the wool ripped from my eyes. Whatever game Slash and Lazarus are playing with me, the spiteful competition they’re enacting with my love as the prize, I’m done with it.

With them.

They can lie and cheat and deceive and sweet talk some other woman into being their trophy because I can no longer countenance being let down again and again while they pursue ego-boosts and self-aggrandisement at my expense. I am not a reward. I’m a person with wishes and dreams and hopes and goals that should be treated with the same level of respect I offer them.

My body aches from my attempts to appease them.

My heart is shattered by the harsh words they speak without regret.

My soul yearns to be free of their incessant tug-of-war.

The reality is that I cannot continue to bend myself into a pretzel to protect their pride.

The sole boon on the horizon is their latest volley has left me with the financial resources to stand on my own feet. With all that money at my disposal, I could disappear.

I should disappear...

Except it wouldn’t be right.

They have hurt me, but I’m not vindictive enough to keep their children from them.

If they wish, they will have a relationship with Garrett and the twins.

That doesn’t mean my heart has to be their willing pawn any longer.

They wanted me to choose.

Well, they’ve finally got their wish...

I choose me.

10

LAZARUS

Six weeks later

As I have for the past forty-one days, I sneak into Lily’s bedroom just after midnight. There’s an icy tension in the air. It’s emitted by my woman, a wave of indignation and dismissal that chills me to my marrow. I can tell that she’s awake, but ignoring me. Biting my tongue, aware that my explanation will fall on deaf ears, I shuck my boots and fold my jacket over the back of the rocking chair. The footstool that I use has been tucked away in the corner, so I carry both the chair and the footrest to the side of the bed that Lily sleeps on, before settling into the swaying seat and propping my feet up on the plush ottoman.

My proximity makes her stiffen.

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