The Devil Don't Sleep

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I’ve done a lot of things.

  Committed my fair share of sins.

  But I never came close to using a child to get what I wanted.

  I realized in those moments of desperation I was no better than the man I was gunning. No better than Rush either and that was a hard pill to swallow.

  “Are you married? Is that it?” Dori questions, forcing my attention back to her. Ignoring the nonsense spewing from her mouth, I lean over her and fit my key into the lock.

  “Answer me!”

  Twisting the knob, I kick the door open and watch her flinch.

  “Get inside,” I demand. Clenching my jaw, I grab a hold of her wrist and pull her to her feet. She stumbles into my apartment and I kick the duffel bag inside before entering and slamming the door.

  “I told you not to catch feeling for me, Dori,” I sneer, stepping closer to her. “I fucking warned you.”

  “Who said anything about feelings? I’m allowed to ask questions.”

  “No, you’re not. That wasn’t part of our agreement,” I fire back, shrugging my leather vest off. Turning my eyes to her, I cross my arms against my chest and take a step closer. “We fuck, Dori. That’s where it begins and that’s where it ends. There is no in between. Now, if that don’t work for you no more…” I pause, jutting my thumb over my shoulder. “…there’s the door.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she lifts her chin and shakes her head. Her brown eyes shine with pity.

  “She did some number on you,” she murmurs.

  “Come again?”

  “Broke your heart, didn’t she?” she taunts, taking a step closer to me.

  My patience teeters and any shred of control I may have been hanging onto snaps as she searches my eyes, expecting the truth to bleed from my blue irises.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Clenching my teeth, I narrow my eyes and take a dangerous step closer. The blood boils in my veins as she holds my gaze and for a split second I feel exposed. Transparent is how I fucking feel.

  “I’m talking about the woman responsible for the miserable bastard you’ve become,” she says, leaning into me. Reaching for me, she wraps an arm loosely around my neck and her gaze falls to my mouth. “Forget her, Bas.”

  Forget her.

  A plea and a demand.

  If only it was that simple. I’ve spent years trying to bleach Mac from my mind but the memory of her is ingrained too deep. She’s under my skin, buried in the chambers of my fucking heart. And like one doesn’t forget how to breathe, I can’t forget how to love her. Even if that love comes with a heaping of hate.

  “Let her go,” Dori murmurs, running a hand down my chest.

  My nostrils flair with anger as she reaches for the band holding back my long hair. With one quick move the elastic snaps and the locks fall wild and free, obscuring my vision like a fringed curtain. Reaching up on her toes, Dori pushes her fingers through my hair and presses her lips to the corner of my mouth.

  “Give me a chance to prove we can be more,” she pleads, taking my lower lip between her teeth. Arching her hips, she grinds against me and for a split moment I let myself wonder how it would feel to finally be free before I push the ridiculous notion out of my head and do what I always do. I close my eyes and picture Mac.

  I imagine it’s her body pressed against mine and I savagely attack the imposter. Bending my knees, I lift Dori and carry her to my bed that sits fifteen feet away. As her body falls against my bare mattress, I empty my pockets and drop my phone on the nightstand. Turning my attention back to Dori, I glare at her wishing her straight, dark locks will somehow change to wild curls like Mac’s. Smooth as silk and golden brown in color.

  The transformation never comes and as Dori undresses, I let my mind wander back to the worn photograph I spent so many nights staring at. The photo that got me through every night I spent locked up. The fucking photo I envisioned every time a different woman wrapped her lips around my cock long after I was released from jail. A photograph of a girl I once loved more than my leather.

  Would’ve given her everything.

  All of me.

  Every last bit.

  My fucking heart.

  My broken soul.

  My treacherous mind.

  My past, present and future.

  I would’ve given it all to Mac.

  Maybe I did give all those things to her since there is nothing left in me to give anyone else.

  “Turn over,” I bark, kicking my jeans off. Wrapping my fist around my cock, I stroke it as the hope deflates from Dori’s eyes. Knowing she’s being used, that she’ll never get the pieces of me Mac owns, she hesitantly rolls over on all fours.

  “Thatta girl,” I praise, placing a knee on the bed as I reach for a condom. Rolling the rubber over my shaft, I crawl further onto the bed and spread Dori’s legs wide. Getting down to business, I squeeze her hips and guide her ass toward my cock. I don’t kiss her or fondle her. Fuck, I don’t even prime her. Instead, I nudge the crown of my cock against her pussy and bend my head. My lips find her ear and I whisper the truth.

  “We fuck, Dori,” I reiterate. “That’s where it begins and ends. Say the word and it’s over but, if you want this…”

  My words trail as I piston my hips. Mercilessly I charge into her, stretching and tearing her up, giving it all to her in one hard thrust. Every fucking inch of steel.

  All that’s left of me.

  “…if you want this, I’ll keep giving it to you but understand it’s all I got to give.”

  My cock deep inside her, I don’t move as I wait for her to acknowledge the truth between us. My hand moves from her hip and I wind my fingers through her hair.

  Finally, her reply comes as she presses her ass against me, silently ordering me to move.

  “Then, I’ll take what I can get,” she hisses.

  Tugging her hair, I watch the slope of her back arch before I start to pound her. I fuck her like she likes it, keeping my thrusts hard and steady. Skin slaps skin as her moans fill the air and I struggle to block out the images of Mac. Failing, her pretty face fills my head and the floodgates open wide.

  A million memories slash into my mind tearing me open, splintering my soul.

  Years spent loving.

  Laughing.

  Living.

  When fucking meant more than coming. When it meant reading someone’s soul and finding religion in a warm body. When I located the missing pieces of myself in the person, I thought I’d spend my life with. A time when fucking wasn’t a punishment but instead a goddamn blessing. A time when the Devil found sleep, and I knocked on heaven’s door and was welcomed to paradise.

  My phone sounds on the nightstand, breaking the trance and I divert my eyes as I continue to pump Dori. Ignoring the call, I grab her hips and quicken my pace. The air thickens, my chest tightens and, I struggle to focus. To give what I got. To take what I need.

  The ringing pauses for a second and I feel my balls grow heavy before it begins again.

  “Fuck,” I roar. Leaning forward, I wrap one arm around Dori’s stomach and stretch my chest against her back as I reach for the phone.

  “Don’t,” she begs as I flip it over to glance at the screen.

  The past lights up the screen in the form of my mother’s phone number and I quickly decline the call.

  Fuck her.

  Dropping the phone on the mattress, I lift my body and rigorously push my cock deeper. Reaching around Dori, my fingers find her clit and I start to stroke it.

  The Devil creeps.

  The shackles and chains tighten and twist.

  The phone rings again.

  Dori starts to come wild and wantonly.

  I fuck her harder.

  Deeper.

  The Devil’s whispers grow louder.

  Hell opens its gates as I lose myself and find my release, filling the condom to the hilt. I barely have a chance to pull out before the fucking phone rings again. Reaching for it, I roll onto my
back and swipe my thumb across the screen.

  “What?” I growl breathlessly, answering the call.

  “Bout time you answered,” Mooney’s voice sounds. Confused as to why he’s calling from my mother’s number, I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the screen. Realizing I should’ve done that before I answered and that he is, in fact, calling me from his own phone. I bring the phone back to my ear and sit up. My swollen cock throbs and I force myself to deal with the rubber suffocating me.

  “What do you want Mooney?” I ask, balancing the phone with my shoulder. I tie a knot at the end of the used condom and dump it into the wastebasket next to the bed. Bending down, I reach for my jeans.

  “Need you to come home, Bas,” he says gruffly.

  Dragging the denim up my thighs, my hands pause at his demand. I left the place I called home a long fucking time ago, and I never looked back. Not once. I sure as fuck ain’t going to start now.

  “Home is where my bike is parked,” I reply.

  “Ain’t lookin’ for an argument.”

  “Not giving you one. Facts are facts, Mooney.”

  “Junior’s gone, Bas,” he grinds out.

  At the mention of my brother, my body goes rigid. Hate engulfs me and pours from every orifice.

  “Fucking dead. You hearing me? Your brother was killed. The walls here are painted with his blood.”

  A normal man might’ve felt something. His anger may have faded. The bitterness he harbored might’ve dissolved but, none of that happened. The truth is my brother died long before this call. In my mind, he’s died a thousand deaths. All at my hand and each more brutal than the last.

  “Not sure why you’re calling,” I reply.

  If anyone knows the truth, if anyone understands that I wrote my brother off a long time ago, it’s Mooney. In fact, six years ago, he’s the one who helped me sever ties with my entire family by setting me up in Albany. He knows there is no love lost. No tears to be shed. No fucking remorse.

  So, my brother was dead.

  Good.

  May the bastard burn in Hell.

  My only wish is that I could’ve been the one to light the match that sent him up in flames.

  “Your mother is burying one son. Be nice if the one left breathing helps her do that, don’t you think?”

  “Who you playing, Mooney? My mother don’t need me to hold her hand,” I scoff.

  Remembering Dori, I glance at her and breathe a sigh of relief when I spot her fully clothed, reaching for the door.

  “Maybe not but it was worth a shot,” he grunts. “Look, it ain’t your mother that needs you.”

  Suddenly the Devil stops creeping.

  He fills the room, taking all my air.

  “Mac’s in trouble, Bas.”

  Four words.

  That’s all it takes for me to be reminded that the Devil don’t sleep and the motherfucker is hellbent on fucking me.

  He’ll never shut his eyes and I’ll never break free.

  Not from him.

  And not from her.

  Chapter Two

  “You hear what I said? Mac—"

  My gut churns at the sound of her name and I quickly cut Mooney off.

  “I heard you,” I interject, pushing my fingers through my hair. Ten years ago, I would’ve hung up the phone and straddled my bike without question. Hell, six years ago, after everything went down after Mac obliterated my heart, I still would’ve answered any call of distress without hesitating. Gave that girl my heart a long time ago, and she never gave it back. Also, gave my word I’d always keep her safe. Two of the most valuable things a man can give anyone, I gave Mac.

  “She’s not my responsibility,” I growl, biting the inside of my cheek. The words leave a foul taste in my mouth and before I know it, I’m dumping the contents of my duffel bag onto the bed. Balancing the phone with my shoulder, I pull open a drawer and grab a pair of jeans. I shove them, a t-shirt and some clean underwear into the bag as Mooney continues.

  “I know what that girl did to you,” Mooney starts. “What they both did to you,” he amends. “I also know you talk a good game. If something happens to her, you won’t forgive yourself, Bas. I wouldn’t call you for some bullshit. I think you know me better than that.”

  He’s right.

  Mooney wouldn’t call me with nonsense.

  “I can’t get into details but the sooner you drag your pipes over the state line the better,” he continues.

  Kentucky isn’t a hop, skip and a jump away. It’s going to take me at least twelve hours on the road before I get there with nothing but the wind and my memories keeping me company. The thought alone makes me cringe. After returning from Purchase and barely getting a handle on that mess, the last thing I need is this shit. I haven’t even checked in with my club yet and I already got one foot out the door. All because Mooney mentioned Mac.

  Fucking girl.

  Running my hands over my face, I roll my neck.

  “Bas, I’m not fucking with you. You need to light a match under your ass and burn some rubber. You hearin’ me?”

  Gritting my teeth, I draw out a breath and ball my fists.

  “I hear ya,” I grind out before the line goes silent. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I take in the black screen and realize the phone’s gone dead. “Fucking hell,” I mutter. With no time to charge the fucking thing, I drop it into the duffel bag and draw the zipper closed. Judging by the urgency of Mooney’s voice, there is no time to shower so I grab a clean shirt and throw it over my head. Moving to the bathroom, I brush my teeth and wash my face trying to rid myself of Dori any way I can. It’s one thing to burn rubber on fumes another to do it smelling like pussy.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, I shrug my leather vest on and reach for the bag on top of the bed. Mooney’s voice rings in my ears and before I can think better of it, I reach into my cut and pull the worn photograph from the inside pocket.

  Mac’s in trouble, Bas.

  Another man would’ve hung up the phone. That man also wouldn’t be staring at a photo of the woman who fucking ruined him. He would’ve torn that shit up the minute he found out she spread her legs for his brother and he most certainly wouldn’t be riding to her rescue in the middle of the night. Nah, another man would let that cunt suffer as she paid for her sins. He’d kick back and smile while karma did his dirty work.

  But I wasn’t that guy.

  I never have been and never will be.

  Funny, how I can squeeze the life out of a stranger with my bare hands or offer two innocent kids as bait without so much as blinking an eye but, ask me to turn my back on Mac and I can’t fucking do it. Whatever the reasons, my conscience won’t let me.

  Grabbing the duffel bag, I shove the picture back in my pocket and stride towards the door. As I wrap my hand around the knob, a knock sounds and I pull it open expecting to find Dori. Instead, I meet the dark eyes of a certain devil. The man known as Jack Parrish. The president of my club and the man who I take my orders from. The crazy motherfucker who dubbed himself the Bulldog.

  Fuck.

  “Goin’ somewhere so soon?” he questions. Rolling a toothpick between his lips, he quirks an eyebrow as his gaze darts to the leather bag in my hand.

  “Something came up,” I say, tightening my fist around the leather handles. “Family emergency.”

  He lifts his chin and spits the toothpick out the side of his mouth. Taking a step closer, he braces his hand against the door.

  “Didn’t know you had a family,” he says thoughtfully.

  “We all come from somewhere,” I reply, stepping back. “Look, I know I owe you an explanation.”

  “Do you?”

  Meeting his gaze, I jerk my head slightly.

  “I lost my shit back in Purchase,” I admit. “I don’t know what came over me but, I couldn’t leave without knowing what was going to happen to those kids.”

  That’s a lie. I know very well the reasons I couldn’t leave after the po
lice took me in. I kept picturing those kids dead. Burnt to a fucking crisp because we lit their home ablaze with pipe bombs. They may have escaped death, but they didn’t walk away unscathed. Those kids are going to be tortured for the rest of their lives by the trauma they endured and the death of their father.

  “They’re safer than they probably ever were now that their father is out of their lives.”

  “Don’t change the fact that they could’ve died, nor does it erase what they witnessed,” I reply.

  Ignoring my response, he pushes past me and enters the apartment. Dropping the bag, I close the door and turn to face him. So much for family emergencies.

  Crossing my arms against my chest, I watch him take in my apartment.

  “Christ,” he mutters. “How is it that I didn’t know this is where you lived?” turning back to me, he scratches the scruff lining his jaw. “Bet your digs in Albany were a hell of a lot better than this dive.”

  Not really. In Albany, I never bothered with an apartment. I lived at the clubhouse and to be honest that shit hole was probably worse than this place.

  “I had a room at the clubhouse,” I reply with a shrug.

  “More than what you got here,” he says, shaking his head. “You ever regret it?” he continues, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “Coming here, taking that bottom rocker, you ever regret it? Aside from what went down in Purchase, do you regret the decision?”

  “Look, I knew what I was signing up for,” I tell him. Carefully, I watch as the wheels of uncertainty spin inside his deranged head. In the short time that I’ve been with the Brooklyn charter, I’ve picked up on the telltale signs when Jack is riding the crazy train and judging by the gleam in his eye, I’d say the caboose is about ready to leave the station.

  “You didn’t know us before this mess with Yankovich,” he says. Pausing, he swipes a hand down his face. “Not that I’m sure that counts for anything anymore.”

  In the midst of finally getting Yankovich, a lot transpired. The club learned the reason Yankovich was gunning for them stemmed from his partnership with Jack’s predecessor, Cain. We also discovered that Cain had a son, and he had been sitting at our table since Wolf went searching for new blood to join the ranks of Jack’s struggling club. It was a lot for any sane man to wrap his head around.