Page 79 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“I hear you.” Neale offers his crew a terse look. “You heard the boss. It’s time to get to work.”

The remaining medics pounce on me. I find myself shoved into the love seat opposite my bed. They are thorough as they clean out my self-inflicted wound and the bullet graze on my cheek and ear, and disinfect them. I hiss through the sting when they glue my head shut, peering around my room to distract myself from the nausea that flares when Neale triumphantly retrieves the bloodied bullet from Lazarus’ left flank. It doesn’t work. Everywhere I look is a commemoration. Photos. Old mementoes. For years, we unleashed our depravity hundreds of times within these four walls, but this is the first time that savagery has almost cost both of us our life.

Another misstep caused by me and my pride.

My gaze comes to standstill on the leather restraints attached to my bed.

The last time I touched them, they held my duchess captive. I shouldn’t be growing hard at the vision of her, naked and sobbing while she pleaded for my love, but I am. My wife is everything I want, but I have nothing that she needs. I’m a danger to her. A risk that she would be smart to avoid.

My darkness has tasted her submission, and its hungry for more...

I ignore my appetite, choosing instead to concentrate on the harm I’ve caused my duchess.

No matter how often I try to purge her from my soul, she remains part of me.

I love her enough to know that I’m no good for her.

The question now is do I love her enough to let her go?

Do I love her enough to watch her thrive as Lazarus’ wife and mother of his kids?

Neale’s heavy hand with the needle makes my best friend grunt. He curses low, almost under his breath, and everyone but me reacts like he’s lobbed a nuclear bomb at them. Their behaviour weirds me out—they’re like a bunch of Mormons with their dislike of profanity. I open my mouth to ask Lazarus what the problem is, but promptly close it when Steri-strips are applied to my scalp to keep the long gouge the bullet took out of my head from pulling apart. A waterproof bandage is cut into size and pressed onto the tender side of my head with unnecessary force. He does the same thing with my bleeding ear and grazed cheek.

“Jesus, fuck...” I whine when the pain makes my eyes water. “Ease up.”

“The boss wants you in one piece,” the dark-haired medic murmurs in a tone that tells me he holds no such compunction. “Got to make sure your wound stays clean.”

“I can handle it from here.”

In unison, the three men shrug.

They gather their kit and walk away from me without argument.

Neale finishes up with Lazarus a few minutes later, then he departs too.

Once we’re alone, I find myself twisting my fingers together like a schoolboy who’s awaiting a scolding from his father. Guilt crashes through me in waves. I keep my gaze fixed on the floor when Lazarus surges back to his feet and searches my drawers for a t-shirt with halting movements.

Covered up, he settles into the seat next to me.

I bounce twice from his inelegant landing and pretend that I don’t hear the groan that precedes his next statement, “We need to pull together.”

Sighing, I tip my head back to glare at the ceiling. “What’s with this we bullshit? You and I are done.” Lazarus snorts. His flippant reaction enrages me. “Me and my wife are divorcing... literally put a gun to my head tonight to escape the damage I’ve caused her.” Another surge of fury floods me. This time it’s aimed inward. “There ain’t no pullin’ together with me involved. That’s for after I’m gone—” My breath stutters at the idea of never seeing my wife again, but I press on. “For when you and your sweet thing put your lives back together without me around to come between ya.”

Lazarus’ right leg bounces twice.

He inhales sharply.

I brace for an explosion.

What I get is another heartbreak.

In a voice that is strangled, he asks, “Wanna know what Hugh left me?”

Sitting up straight, I half-twist to face him. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I spy the devastation leaching the colour from his hard features. I curl my hands into fist, readying myself for the bombshell he’s lining up to drop on me. “What?”

Lazarus takes hold of my wrist.

He pulls my fingers straight.

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