Chapter Twenty-Eight
There used to be a time when partying entailed a clubhouse full of whores, a never ending supply of booze and a brick of the finest weed. A time when the only things the Satan’s Knights MC knew was mayhem and grief, blood and death. The days when their president lived for the darkness and craved a little bit of light. The days before I found my Sunshine.
We used to live only to ride, party and fuck, but now some of us, myself included, have found there is more to life than a clubhouse full of cheap pussy. We found our heart, and passing blunts around isn’t as appealing as it used to be. I love my club, still live to ride, but I’ve got a woman to go home to night after night and her pussy is the only one I crave. In fact, as I stare at the menu the only thing I’ve got an appetite for is Sunshine, not a porterhouse at some swanky restaurant in the city.
It was Wolf’s idea, a night on the town to celebrate Stryker’s homecoming, and though I’d rather be in bed with Reina wrapped around me, I have to agree with my bat-shit crazy brother, Wolf, Stryker deserves a night out. He probably needs more than a steak though, poor bastard spent eight months in Rikers, more than double the time he was sent in there for, all because he kept getting his ass thrown in the hole. Don’t know much about any of the nomads but it’s obvious our boy Stryker has a temper.
Closing my menu, I reach for my drink and try to pay attention to the conversation. Wolf has gone all out, setting us up in a private room at Smith and Wollensky’s steakhouse and everyone has made it their business to show up. It was like we had moved church to the overpriced joint, taking our respective seats around Wollensky’s table just as we do at my table, and as usual the conversation turns to Pipe’s wife’s tits.
“A fake rack never did it for me,” I chime in, lifting my beer bottle to my lips before pausing to point a finger at Blackie. “If you put your two cents into this conversation, I might shoot you.”
Leaning back against his chair, Blackie shakes his head and tries to hide the grin spreading across his face—bastard.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Blackie announces as his eyes zero in on a Wolf and Stryker as they walk into the room.
“And his party planner,” Riggs notes, raising an eyebrow toward Wolf as he glances around the room. “Fancy place, Wolf.”
“You’re used to fancy aren’t you, Richie Rich?” Pipe quips. He’s relentless with the rich boy jokes, especially after Riggs brought it to our attention that the oil diggers are in town looking to make nice with their boy.
I stand from my chair at the head of the table and walk over to Stryker.
“Welcome home, brother,” I say, glancing toward the waiter standing in the doorway. “Get this motherfucker the finest bottle of whiskey,” I demand, wrapping an arm around Stryker’s shoulders.
“Thanks, Prez,” he says as I lead him toward the table. As he stands as still as a soldier, Blackie pushes his chair back and rises to his feet to greet his former cellmate. He sizes him up before tipping his chin and biting his cheek.
“How’s the nose?”
Stryker shrugs his shoulders, taking the glass the waiter offered and knocks back the shot before peering at Blackie. As per my orders, Blackie staged a fight with Stryker, broke his nose and got his ass carted to Otisville where Vic was waiting for him. Yeah, I owed Stryker big time.
“It’s good, gives me character,” he replies.
Blackie smirks and wraps an arm around Stryker’s shoulders just as I had.
“Thank you,” he says, his face growing serious. “Appreciate what you did,” he adds.
“No sweat,” Stryker shrugs, pulling up a chair at the table. “I needed the fucking vacation.”
“Yo, bro, we’ve missed your ass,” Linc calls from across the table.
“You missed him hustling pool,” Deuce states. “Kid’s broke.”
“Kiss my ass, Deucey,” Linc replies, before turning his attention back to Stryker. “They have a table outside if you feel like making a quick buck,” he antagonizes.
“Fuck pool,” Wolf says, opening his menu. “I’ve got this room for the next four hours.”
“You really went all out,” Pipe proclaims as he butters a piece of bread. “I hear The Knot is hiring if you’re looking to hang up your cut and plan weddings and shit.”
I chuckle, reaching for my beer, finishing it and signaling the waiter for another.
“Fuck you,” Wolf hisses. “You should thank me, if it was up to the rest of these clowns we’d be having cherry pie and fake beer while Blackie and Lacey play footsies under the goddamn table.” He points his finger toward Riggs, “And this guy would chase his kitty all over the fucking place.”
Wolf drapes an arm around Stryker and reaches for the whiskey again. “Don’t you worry, man, Uncle Wolf knows how to throw a party. Part of the reason I reserved the room for four hours was because the girls are due to arrive soon.”
“What girls?” Blackie asks.
“My man, Stryker has seen nothing but dick for months. Got him some top notch girls. The pussy on tonight’s menu is as prime as the cuts of beef are. You are all pussy whipped fools,” Wolf mutters, throwing his other arm around Linc. “Not us. Shit, we ain’t going down like that, right boys?”
“Fuck no,” Linc agrees.
“Yeah,” Stryker mutters, refilling his glass.
I laughed to myself, recalling a time when I said those exact words. It takes just one woman to make you eat those fucking words. I can’t wait to watch the other half of this table chow down on them.
Wolf wasn’t bullshitting, the cuts of beef were prime and by the time our bellies were full his girls showed up. That was my cue to leave. I grabbed the waiter and gave him my credit card before saying my goodbyes. Blackie and Riggs followed me out of the steakhouse but once we straddled our bikes, we went our separate ways.
With the wind at my back I rode my Harley home to my woman. I miss having Reina on the back of my bike, her arms wrapped tightly around me, her thighs molded to mine as her tits press against my back but there was no way I would let her ride while she was pregnant. I’m not taking any fucking chances. Way too much precious cargo.
I pull into the driveway, kill my engine and turn off the lights. I hang my helmet on my handlebars before striding toward my house. I stare at the front door, waiting for Reina to pull it open and greet me with a smile like she usually does when she hears my pipes wake the neighborhood. I reach the top step but the door doesn’t open causing me to pick up my pace and reach for my keys.
“Reina,” I holler, kicking open the door.
I followed the sound of the television and step into the living room just as she stands from the couch and turns to face me.
“Jack,” she murmurs, swallowing as her eyes work me over. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she cautiously steps to me.
“What’s going on, Reina?” I question, sensing she’s off. The woman is as jittery as a fucking virgin on her wedding night. Her fucking hormones have got her head spinning all the time and I’m the one getting whiplash. Then there’s the wedding, she’s breaking my balls left and right to keep things simple but drags my ass to a cake tasting thing.
I follow the path her eyes take as I close the distance between us and focus on the television.
“It’s on every channel,” she says, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. I stare at Vic’s mug shot on the screen and reach for the remote, raising the volume as my eyes follow the ticker on the bottom.
If you’re just joining us, a riot has broken out in Bennettsville Federal Prison. The prison is on lockdown and the riot squad is trying to get control of the situation. We have confirmation that several inmates have been injured and at least two fatalities. Earlier this morning, New York City’s convicted mob boss, Victor Pastore, transferred to Bennettsville from Otisville. We have since learned the infamous mobster has been battling lung cancer. There has been no word on
whether Pastore was involved in the riot.
“Jack?”
I slump down, dropping onto the coffee table as I stare at the chaos on the television, I feel Reina behind me. She places her hands on my shoulders and begins to knead them with her fingers, her eyes glued to the screen like mine.
“You don’t think…” her words fade as the screen changes and another mug shot fills the frame.
Motherfucker.
We just got word in that another inmate in Bennettsville is a rival of Pastore’s, the notorious gang leader, Thomas Gregorio, who is known by most as the G-Man.
Staring into the eyes of the G-Man, I realize how long it’s been since I’ve seen a photograph of the man who took so much from all of us, mainly our dignity. Like the rest of us he has aged, but instead of focusing on the lines that mark his skin I stare at the three tear drops strategically placed beneath his eyes.
I clench my fists as I lean forward, lost in my head as I stare into the eyes of the enemy.
“Who is that?” She asks. I don’t answer until she steps in front of the television and presses her finger under my chin, forcing me to meet her worried gaze. “Jack, who is that man on the television?”
I shake my head trying to clear the cloud of anger invading it and stand on my feet.
“Nobody, I’ve got to get to the clubhouse,” I tell her, my eyes finally finding hers and I can see the storm brewing inside them.
“I’m coming with you,” she insists, crossing her arms under her chest. Woman’s going to be my death—not a bad way to go. I take her face in my hands, her lips purse and I slam my mouth down on the perfect little ‘O’ they form, erasing it from my view. My tongue glides across her lower lip as she works her pout into a tight line, denying me her mouth until I give into her. She pushes against my chest but I hang onto her face and reel her mouth back to mine, pushing my tongue into her mouth and claiming the lightness she possesses, knowing that shit’s about to get dark for me.
She snakes her arms around my neck, leans on her tiptoes as the swell of her belly presses against mine.
“I’m coming with you, Parrish,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Those eyes of yours are raging,” she whispers, inching further away from me.
I drop my hands from her face and my fingers pinch her hips before gently sliding my palms over her stomach. I’m about to argue, tell her I need her home where she is safe, but the truth is the only place Reina is safe is in my arms.
“Fine, but we’re taking the truck,” I say sternly.
“Whatever you want, Bulldog,” she purrs, kissing my lips quickly.
First, I’ll take Kitten quick and hard against the wall or maybe the door, depending on where she is when I get home. If she’s in the kitchen, I’m getting all Godfather on her ass and flinging everything off the kitchen table and spreading her out like an Italian Sunday dinner.
The Italians are rubbing off on me.
I’m about to park my bike in front of our building and my phone buzzes inside my jacket. I throw one leg over the seat, adjust my aching balls, before reaching inside my pocket for my phone.
“Kitten, I’m coming, well, not yet but why don’t you save us some time and strip. I’m walking into the building.”
“Riggs, I’m coming down the stairs. We need to get to Anthony’s,” she says in a hurry. “Come on, baby, Mommy’s got you,” she purrs to our son, shifting the phone as she comes bounding down the stairs, holding him at her hip.
Color me stupid, but I stare at her dumbfounded as I disconnect the call.
“What? No sex?”
She blows the hair away from her face as she narrows those baby blues at me.
“Shit, did I say that out loud?”
“Yeah, yeah, you did,” she sneers. “You don’t know do you?”
“Know what?” I ask, taking Eric from her arms as she pushes her sexy as fuck glasses up the bridge of her nose. I know I’m fucking horny and if Kitten keeps taunting me with her glasses, she’s going to know too. Oh, fuck, who am I kidding? She fucking knows.
“Victor’s all over the news,” she explains, pulling open the door. “There is a riot in his prison and no one knows if he’s dead or alive,” she continues, lifting her eyes to mine. “I called my brother, Adrianna was hysterical.”
Fucking, Victor, always ruining my good time.
I take Lauren’s hand, pull her against my side as I balance Eric on my hip with my other hand and level her with a knowing look.
“And you want to go over there to see if there is anything we can do,” I surmise.
“Yes.”.
Then, let’s go, Kitten.” I press my lips to the top of her head.
Family’s important to Lauren, it’s everything to her and she is everything to me. My dick can wait. Not long, but it can wait. Here’s to hoping this shit with ‘Tony Soprano’ doesn’t drag all night.
Who was I kidding?
This shit’s just getting started.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I flick the switch, lighting up the empty clubhouse as my gaze travels around the room and lingers on the stocked shelves behind the bar. I shove my hands into my pockets and pull out the sobriety chip burning a hole against the denim. Dropping the chip from one hand into another, my boots pound against the wooden floor and drag me straight to the hell that’s taunting me. Methodically, I reach under the bar for a clean glass and a handful of ice I dump into the glass, filling it to the rim. I turn around and lean my back against the bar and stare at the shelves, my eyes travel from bottle to bottle, skipping the glimpses of my reflection that shine in-between the bottles before I settle on a bottle of Jack.
I unscrew the top and pour the amber liquid into the glass before setting the bottle back in its rightful spot. With the glass in my hand I walk around the bar, take a seat at one of the tables and lift my eyes to the empty chair across from me.
Not that long ago I sat in this very seat across from Jimmy Gold with a needle full of heroin and threw my sobriety to the gutter, yet it seemed like it was a lifetime ago. I twirl the glass watching as the alcohol dances over the rim and drips onto my hand. Placing the glass down, I swipe my hand along the front of my shirt before leaning against the back of the chair.
Pieces of a puzzle taunt my mind. Charlie’s face, the Corrupt Bastards, Ronan, fucking Brantley, they are all part of this thing I’m trying to put together. I’ve been beating myself up for days but no matter how much I rack my brain to figure the common thread, I come up empty.
The last time we flew blind all hell broke loose.
I got hooked on the shit, turned into the devil himself and along with hurting myself I hurt Lacey.
Reina got kidnapped and Jack lost his fucking mind.
It all spiraled out of control, with no end in sight. Even with Jimmy rotting in jail, our club was still hurting with a threat we didn’t foresee. We lost Bones, Riggs watched his girl nearly die and his kid fight for life, all while knowing we were burying his brother.
I won’t let that shit happen to us again.
I’ve got too much to lose, a precious life to protect—I’ve got Lace.
For the first time we all have something to lose, something that means more than the reaper on our backs, and that scares the fuck out of me.
I didn’t hear the door open, but I knew I was no longer alone. The scent of Lacey cut through my senses like a razor, pulling me out of my head and the devilish whiskey I was staring at. I turn my head, listening as her boots tap against the floor.
Always saving me, girl.
Her leather boots come into my line of vision and slowly I let my eyes sweep over her. First, I see the knee-high boots, my favorite thing she owned. Then I take in the pants painted onto her legs, pausing at the piercing that dangles from her belly button before allowing my gaze to linger over the Rolling Stones tank she wore knotted under her tits.
Goddamn girl.
Whiskey doesn’t
compare to the high that sinking into Lace takes me to.
Nothing compares to her.
“I thought I’d find you here,” she says, taking a step closer, then another. Three until she has me pushing back my chair and climbing onto my lap.
My hand closes over her knee, sliding up her thigh as I peer at her through the hair hanging over my eyes. Her dark eyes, full of life and light find mine as she threads her fingers through my hair and away from my face.
I silently vow to keep that light in those eyes.
I won’t let anyone dull her shine.
No threat, no enemy and sure as hell not me and my addictions.
She averts her gaze toward the glass sitting offensively on the table, threatening to ruin our rewrite.
“Plot twist?” She questions softly.
I wrap both my arms around her small frame, joining her as she stares at the glass and the watermark forming around the bottom of it.
“I wouldn’t have drunk it,” I admit.
“Then why pour it?”
She unravels my arms from her waist, reaching for the glass. She stands up and walks to the bar, emptying the glass into the sink. I draw in a ragged breath, my emotions a jumbled mess. I don’t need her babysitting me, worrying I’m going to fuck up and tear this thing we got to shreds. I poured the drink hoping if I stared at it long enough, hard enough, I’d remember the pain she’s made me forget. I need to remind myself of what it feels like to be at the end of my rope so I can keep climbing it, fitting the pieces of the puzzle with each inch I climb.
I hoped the pain would scare me into discovering the link I was missing, the tiny detail that ties this shit together in a neat little package before it falls, without warning, on our doorstep.
She disappears under the bar, popping her head up a moment later holding two bottles of that non-alcoholic beer Reina keeps stocked in the fridge and makes her way back.
“Keys,” she demands, standing in front of me, leaning her ass against the table as she places one bottle on the table and holds out her hand. Lifting my hips, I tug the chain from my belt and hand her the bottle opener attached to it. She pops off the top of the beer she’s holding and hands it to me before opening the other for herself.
Eternal Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 6) Page 23