Page 88 of Seizing Control: Part Two

A little water never killed anyone.

Losing your best friend can.

If Lily craves our individual darkness, does that means she also yearns for us to share her body too?

Since I’ve already watched her with Slash, I can picture a night of decadence and immorality between the three of us. In fact, I’d love nothing more than permission to carnally torment her for loving us both. Torture her. Purge my rage at sharing her. Make her beg for my cock while Slash does the same to her.

Individually, we’re hard for one woman to manage.

Together, we’re a force of nature.

If anyone is up for the challenge, it’s my sweet thing.

Pleasure and pain.

Pain and punishment.

Things Lily needs to function.

In her current state, heavily pregnant and heartbroken, I doubt it’s a subject that she will broach any time soon. The truth of the matter is her different but equal pronouncement might force us to share her separately for the rest of our lives. I’ve let her down. Slash has done so too. Allowing our jealousy to take the reins could be a step too far for a woman who’s felt the brutality of men too many times before.

Regaining metukà shelì’s trust is the first order of business.

Supporting her as she births our twins is paramount.

Loving Garrett like he’s mine is vital.

Rebuilding the foundation of our bond takes precedence over my darkest desires.

But a man can dream...

“Boss.” Layla’s voice erupts in my ear.

I brush my fingertips over the leather restraint one final time.

Engaging the earpiece, I say, “Yes.”

“It’s Hades.” My gut intuition smacks me upside the head before she announces the news she bears. “He’s passed.”

“Okay.” Guilt is my only emotion as I comprehend my latest failure. Seeing my dying father has been on my to-do list for months. I’ve snuck into his room, held his hand while he’s been sedated, but I haven’t visited during his lucid times. “Can you block out the morning so I can make the necessary arrangements?”

I feel dirty as I speak in the manner Gabriel requires.

The man my dad raised was rough and ready like him.

The man I am now is unrecognisable.

Faking my death and denying my dad the legacy that he sacrificed true love to secure feels like a betrayal of the worst kind. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been able to find the right words to explain how I angry I am over my secret brother and the lifetime of lies he fed me and the Shamrocks in order to salvage his reputation.

So, I avoided him.

And now it’s too late to say anything.

He’s dead.

“Hugh St. James left a message with the corpse.” My brain is a black hole of nothingness, grief and regret, so I miss her initial remark. “I’ll have Hunter meet you at the palliative care facility. My team has preserved the area for you.”

“What the fu—hell... Hunter isn’t needed.”

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