Page 72 of Seizing Control: Part Two

I end the connection without responding.

Settling the little man back into his crib takes no time at all. He is content and secure, his belly full, with nothing but love surrounding him. I have no time for Bebe Du Bois, but I give her kudos for putting her son first. Her husband is an animal. He would’ve used Garrett as a bargaining chip—if he didn’t straight up kill him to punish Bebe for getting knocked up by a Black Shamrock in the first place.

The games those two play are violent in the extreme.

She hires Slash to break Jack St. James’ arm.

He traps her in the woods and hunts her in retribution.

“Sleep tight, little man,” I tell Garrett. After pressing a kiss to his forehead, I stroke my index finger down his cheek. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Lily is out to it. She doesn’t stir when I lean over her. I brush the hair from her forehead, then kiss her furrowed brow. Even in sleep, she remains on high alert. It pisses me off. The stress that weighs her down is a burden that she shouldn’t bear.

And that’s why I’m going to take one source of pressure off her shoulders tonight.

“Love you, metukà shelì.”

The best part of my night is her immediate response. “Love you, Zeke.”

My woman can pretend that she’s over me. That she doesn’t want me, my volatility, or my mistakes in her life any longer. But her subconscious tells me a truth that she won’t admit.

Lilianna Hudson still loves me.

Until that changes, I’m in for the long haul.

I love her with every atom of my being.

She gets it all.

My violent streak. The borderline personality disorder that Gabriel’s psych team swears I suffer from. Plagued by jealousy, driven to the point of insanity by the claim I’ve had on her since she was born. I am feral. Untamed. And no amount education and training will domesticate that side of me.

My wildness is for her.

My pursuit of her heart is eternal.

It will take concrete evidence that my love is detrimental to make me leave her.

“I’ll be back tonight,” I whisper against her forehead after I’ve zipped up my boots and pulled my suit jacket back on. My fingers collar her throat, the feel of her pulse racing beneath my fingertips an aphrodisiac of the highest order. “My team will take care of you until then.”

There’s a bittersweet taste in my mouth as I drive to the compound.

The Black Shamrocks MC clubhouse was once my home.

It now acts as a hideaway for my enemy.

No more.

His asylum ends tonight.

The prospect on the entrance waves me inside. He secures the automatic gates, then disappears into the darkness to keep an eye out for unexpected visitors. I peer up at the sentry station on top of the workshop. Hunter salutes me. I draw my fingertips over the scar bisecting my neck before pressing three fingers to my heart.

Although the Adjudicator’s curia is technically independent, we still belong to the Trinity.

Hunter nods, then repeats my hand gesture.

Once he has also dropped out of sight, I pull open the clubhouse’s unlocked front doors. Inside the main building, I am met with darkness. The lack of Harleys in the parking area was an indictment of the division Slash’s erratic presidency has caused within the club. Still, it’s jarring to witness it with my own eyes. In the previous era, the clubhouse was always full. The single club brothers lived at the compound permanently. Old ladies would frequently spend the night. The cut sluts warned every bed they could. Music, laughter, and brotherhood permeated the cinder block walls.

Nowadays, the clubhouse is a tomb.

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