After work you picked me up and handed me a bouquet of flowers. I looked at you like you were crazy but then you told me, “Remember, Adrianna, a good man will always try to remember the little details.”
That night you tried to teach me what I should expect from a boy. You told me to set my standards high and never allow a boy to disrespect me. “To some you’ll just be a girl, but to one you’ll be the world.”
I didn’t need for you to show me how a woman deserved to be treated because for thirteen years I watched you treat my mother with the utmost respect. And long before that last dinner we had at Villa Pasquette, I knew I wanted to walk in my mother’s shoes one day. I wanted the man I married to look at me, treat me and love me just the way you loved my mom.
Even now, at twenty-nine, married to the love of my life and two kids—you and Mom’s story is still my favorite one ever written. Thank you for loving my mom.
I was fifteen, almost sixteen and learning how to drive. I had taken lessons, but I was still nervous about failing my upcoming road test. You had a Lincoln at the time, a navy blue one to be exact, and you didn’t even let Mommy drive it. But you let me drive it. You took me out every Sunday morning for thirteen weeks, showed me how to parallel park, how to pop a U-turn and when I told you I was afraid of the highway, you tricked me into driving straight onto the Belt Parkway and over the Verrazano bridge. I passed my road test thanks to you. Thank you for teaching me to face my fears.
It was my sweet Sixteen, and we were on our way to the catering hall when you pulled out a tiny velvet box and gave me a pair of diamond hoop earrings. I had wanted them so badly and I remember you telling me in the limo “I never disappointed you yet and I’m not about to now.”
I cherished those earrings. Still do and when Victoria is sixteen, I will pass them down to her.
Even when things got tricky for us, and I started to date Anthony, the dynamic between us, that incredible bond a daughter only has with her father, well, it shined through, allowing us to still build great memories.
Like the subway series tickets, you surprised me with. You wore your Mets gear, and I wore my Yankee gear, we ate hotdogs and rooted for our separate teams, never truly allowing our differences outweigh the bond we created throughout the years.
And differences we had.
I wish we would’ve done things differently. I wish you would’ve talked to me about how you were feeling instead of acting out of fear. I wish you would’ve remembered that before everything, my first role in life was your daughter and I’d always be your girl.
The years Anthony served in jail, I wish I would’ve been courageous enough to tell you how much I missed you. I wish I would’ve found the strength to tell you how much I needed one more memory. Maybe a trip to the racetrack would’ve reminded us of all the memories we made and the ones we still had to make.
We lost three years of our bond to fear and resentment when all we needed to do was be honest with one another.
If you would’ve come to me, I would’ve told you all the things I am now about to say.
I will always be your little girl.
I took your advice and found a man who always remembers the little details.
A man who is a lot like you.
I found someone to live up to the great man that is my dad.
And to him I am his whole world.
I found that one person just like you said I would.
And I am now Anthony’s wife.
I am a mother to two amazing children.
But at the end of the day I am also your daughter.
I will always be your daughter and you will always be my father. The man who taught me to expect greatness, to never settle for less than I deserve and to conquer my fears.
Three great lessons that I will teach my children.
But there is one lesson I’d like to teach you and that is to know life may end but love doesn’t. I’ll always love you, Dad. I’ll think of you every time I drive pass the boarded up restaurant we used to go to. I’ll think about you whenever I wear the earrings you bought me. I’ll smile as I speed down the Belt Parkway and imagine you’re right beside me in the passenger seat and when the Belmont stakes come around, I’ll always bet the fourth race.
I’ll miss you.
But you’ll always be in my heart.
Thank you for loving me.
Love Always,
Your Little Girl
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?”
Sh
e 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.
The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition Page 179