Page 82 of Seizing Control: Part Two

“Shit... this’s not supposed to go nuclear.” From his position opposite his big brother, Hunter stirs. He pushes back to his feet, then approaches me. Wrapping his fingers around my bicep, he gently draws me away from Nadia and Sander. “Just need a quick word.”

Once we’re alone, I say, “Talk.”

“Lazarus told me to?—”

“Lazarus?”

Hunter pulls a necklace from the inside of his Shamrocks t-shirt. As he shows me the hunting knife pendant, he tells me, “He wants Slash to be home with you. Wants lockdown called too. Says I’m on babysittin’ duty until my idiot brother can get his head on straight and step up like he’s supposed to.”

“O-kay.” My response is slow and filled with disbelief. I can’t wrap my head around my first love involving Hunter in the underworld like this. It took months for the younger Hudson brother to rescind his decision to leave the Shamrocks after Zeke’s death—this seems like a counterintuitive move when he’s finally settling back into the club. “How long have you known he was alive?”

Shutters come down over his expression. “Long enough.”

“Hunt...”

“This is my life, Cherub—not lookin’ for your input on my choices.”

“I’m not...” Realising that my voice is getting too loud, I lower it to a whisper. “You know I believe in you. You’re a literal genius. I’m just worried about trouble brewing between Slash and Lazarus.” It feels strange to openly discuss my resurrected first love with someone other than Nadia. “Your brother isn’t going to like this.” When I dip my gaze to the cut he’s wearing, Hunter chuckles knowingly. His mirth only increases when I ask, “Are you a double agent?”

“I’m loyal to my brotherhood.”

The inflexible quality to his voice tells me to drop it.

So, I do...

Annoying Hunter, my newest ally in the secret life I’ve been living for months, isn’t a smart move. I need him and his logical approach to the world. My sanity has suffered from existing this double life, despite Lazarus and Nadia’s best attempts at normalising things for me. Christian Hudson is a font of rationality. A mensch. His steady methodology. The unique way he looks at things. I might be nearly five years older than him, but Hunter has always been one of my biggest supporters and a great friend.

“Thank you,” I tell him with heartfelt earnestness. “For telling me what Lazarus wants.”

“Boss is busy, but he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

“Okay.” I get a weird fluttering in my stomach at the idea of my first love being addressed as “boss.” He’s always wanted to prove himself, and it feels like he’s found his niche in this new life he’s built without me. After shooting a look in Slash’s direction, I swallow down the envy I feel at Hunter knowing more than me about everything to enquire, “Has he called lockdown? I don’t understand why Lazarus thinks he should be here... this is the last place my husband wants to be. He’s made that abundantly clear.”

“Not my job to question the boss’ orders,” Hunter replies in a tone that tells me he does, in fact, question Lazarus’ command to bring Slash home. “I brought him, and I told him that he needs to organise lockdown. Not sure if he’s heard me or not, but I’m dippin’.” Eyebrows drawn together, he peers down at me. There’s a keen edge of authority to his tone, something I’ve never heard from him when he tells me, “My part is over—it’s on you now. Figure, you needa tell the rest of ’em that Slash was attacked at the compound. That he doesn’t know who it was. Right now, the biggest thing is ensurin’ Lazarus’ involvement is kept outta things. No one can know about him.”

“Lazarus was there?”

Hunter scowls. “He found the idiot.”

My mind rebels at the inferences in his statements, even as my heart sinks.

Was Slash truly that desperate to get away from me?

Did my husband try to kill himself?

“I’m gonna dip,” the youngest Hudson repeats.

“Hunt, please.” I grab his arm when he steps away from me. He tows me with him for a couple steps. “I don’t understand what’s happening.” With a cold-bloodedness that I’ve never felt from him before, he carefully peels my fingers off his forearm, one at a time. Digging in my metaphorical heels, I plead, “Please... I need you to stay.” When I try to catch hold of his hand, he evades my grip. Pointing at Slash, I whisper, “He won’t show it, but he needs you too.”

“I’m a Shamrock,” he tells me with obvious ambivalence. There’s distaste written all over his face as he elaborates. “That’s a cross I have to bear. But proppin’ up Slash’s presidency isn’t my job. There’s a hierarchy around him that needs to step up now.”

“So, I should ring Toker?”

My cousin as the Sergeant-At-Arms is the next in line power-wise since my husband has refused to allow a vote on the VP’s patch. I’m not a club brother, so I don’t get a say in the matter, however, I have my ear to the ground, and I know that the rest of the club is unhappy with his lack of explanation over this move. Slash won’t bend on his decision. The main position on his six remains empty, and I can’t help but see it as a symptom of his general disillusionment.

He's not only isolating himself from me.

Everyone is being frozen out in some capacity.

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