The Devil Don't Sleep

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I was still reeling from the brief moment my body connected with Bas’. It felt like an electric current had passed through my body, charging life into all the dead areas. A spark had ignited, and it was still flickering inside me, ready and willing to spread like wildfire.

  My body hasn’t physically reacted like that in a long time and why would it, there has only been one man who can light me up from the inside out and Bas was gone from my life way before he learned about my transgression with Junior.

  In fact, if I had to put a date on it, I would say it was the day of his arraignment. The whole club had been arrested on drug charges and since they were booked and processed on a holiday weekend, he had to stay in lockup until courts opened the following Tuesday. I didn’t know what was going on—if he would make bail or what and Milly refused to let me visit him in the holding cell. It was my first taste of club life without Bas and the beginning of my problems with his mother.

  Anyway, he made bail but instead of coming straight to the clubhouse; he called to tell me he was having a meeting with his lawyer. Normally I would’ve waited for him in our room and busied myself by tackling my photography course load but for some reason, I stayed in the common room. There was a shift in the air, like a calm before the storm and I remember having this nagging feeling in my gut that wouldn’t go away.

  He returned two hours later. I felt his presence before I heard his pipes and when he walked in the door that spark inside me started to flicker. There were no words spoken between us as he made his way towards me. There was a brush of his hand against my cheek and then the crash of his lips came down forcefully on my mouth. I remember marveling to myself over the silent connection we shared. After years of being together, one would think that spark might’ve dimmed, but it only grew stronger, more intense, every day we were together.

  He took me right there, on top of the pool table, where anyone, including his mother, could’ve walked in on us. Thinking back, part of me wanted Milly to catch us. A couple of days prior she called me into Crank’s office and in the typical bitch fashion she owned, she warned me not to get knocked up. She told me Bas was passing time with me and using me for my pussy. I knew better to believe her lies. I knew what we had was rare, something a woman like her could never understand. She wasn’t going to succeed in pushing me out. I didn’t need her approval. Hell, I didn’t fucking want it. If she would’ve walked in on me and her son, it would’ve been the perfect fuck you.

  A message from me to her, staking my claim.

  We’re quick to say people don’t change but I’m living proof that’s not true. When we want someone to change, they don’t. When it’s beyond our control, when we’re victims of unfortunate circumstances, we change without rhyme or reason. We don’t realize we’re not the people we were until it’s too late. Until we look in the mirror and the person staring back is a stranger.

  I wish Milly would’ve walked in on that moment.

  Just as much as I wish Bas and I were still those same people.

  That day was not only the last day I felt the spark but also the day that would change us.

  It was then, after he came inside me, that he revealed he had taken a plea and was scheduled to surrender the next morning.

  At the memory, my chest constricts, and I reach for my wine only to find it empty. Frowning, I set the empty cup on top of the table and lift my hand to rub the ache between my breasts.

  “Here, let me get you a refill,” Reina offers, leaning over the table to retrieve the pitcher of sangria.

  “No,” I reply, forcing a smile. “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Nonsense,” Layla, Pipe’s old lady perks up beside me. “You can never have too much Sangria.”

  “Is that so?” Reina challenges, filling my plastic cup. “How come you haven’t had any then?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as she dangles the glass pitcher in front of her.

  “I’m on antibiotics,” Layla supplies, shoving a forkful of cake into her mouth. Chewing she diverts her attention toward me. “Now, drink up Kentucky and tell us the deal between you and Bas.”

  “Layla,” Reina laughs. “Don’t mind her,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Her mouth has no bounds.”

  “It’s true,” Layla agrees. “Ask Lee, he’ll tell you all about this mouth,” she grins, touching a finger to her lip. “It’s probably the main reason he’s marrying me. Well, that and he gets off on the fact I not only own a pair of brass knuckles, but I also know how to use them.”

  “Lee?” I ask, confused.

  “Pipe,” she offers. “Lee is his real name.”

  “It’s also the name Layla prefers to scream,” Reina teases.

  “You try screaming out Pipe,” Layla challenges. “It sounds ridiculous and the neighbors think you're having a plumbing problem instead of an orgasm.”

  “What are you three yacking about?” Celeste questions, pulling up a seat. If I had to guess, Cobra’s girl is around my age. She’s also the mom of two of the prettiest little girls I’ve ever seen. The older one has been playing with Ryder since he got bored with the video games and the infant is resting comfortably in her aunt’s arms. Ally is Cobra’s twin and if I remember correctly, she’s also Deuce’s old lady. Out of all the women here, Ally is the only one that makes me feel uncomfortable. Mainly because she keeps staring at me like she’s trying to read my mind.

  “Where did Gina and Kelly go?” Reina questions.

  “Kelly wanted to go check on Wolf. Gina offered to take her that way she could visit Lauren and Riggs’ baby,” Celeste informs us, taking the pitcher of wine for herself. “Now, what did I miss?”

  “Mac was just about to give us all the dirty details on Bas,” Layla supplies.

  “No, I wasn’t,” I rebut, taking the wine from Reina.

  “Wait a minute, aren’t you married to his brother?” Celeste questions. “I’m not judging,” she quickly amends. “I’m just confused.”

  “We all saw how you two looked at one another before the fella’s headed out of here,” Reina adds.

  “I wasn’t married to Junior,” I say, pausing to gulp the wine. “In fact, Junior and I were never together,” I admit cautiously.

  “But Ryder is Junior’s son?” Ally questions causing me to meet her gaze.

  “Biologically, yes,” I tell her. “However, Junior was never much of a father to our son.”

  “Does Bas know that?” Reina asks.

  “Bas knows nothing. He’s conjured up his own theories about what happened and won’t give me a chance to explain,” I tell them.

  I know I should probably keep my mouth shut. After all, I only met these people a few hours ago. They aren’t my friends. I have none of those thanks to Junior.

  That fucking man ruined my life.

  I realize I’ve said that out loud once the room goes silent.

  “Shit,” I mutter, pushing the cup away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  “You never have to apologize around us,” Reina says.

  “I appreciate that,” I tell her. “Really I do, but I think I’ve already said too much.” Feeling the weight of their stares, I push my chair back and stand. “I need some air.” Making my way around the table, I hear Reina begin to object. “I’m fine,” I call over my shoulder as I slide the back door open. Hurrying, I step outside and shut the door behind me, successfully escaping. Drawing in a deep breath, I bring my hands to my face and try to shut down the impending anxiety attack.

  Another minute inside that house and I would’ve poured my heart out to a room full of strangers. I would’ve told them everything Bas refuses to hear. The way Junior wormed his way into my life. Milly’s role in the destruction of our relationship and the painful truth of how Ryder came to be. I would’ve owned my role as the victim instead of hiding it like a dirty secret.

  “Mac?”

  Startled by the sound of Ally’s voice, I pull my hands away from my face and quickly brush the tears f
rom my cheeks. I hate that I’ve become the girl who suddenly cries at the drop of a hat.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says.

  Keeping my back to her, I cross my arms against my chest and stare out into the yard.

  “I thought we could talk,” she continues.

  “I’m not really in the mood to talk,” I say hoarsely.

  “That’s fine. I’ll do the talking,” she replies, coming to stand beside me. “I don’t know if Bas told you about me…” her sentence drops off, causing me to turn my attention to her. I knew there was something about this girl that rubbed me the wrong way.

  “Look, if you’re going to tell me you and Bas were a thing—”

  Meeting my gaze, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and shakes her head.

  “I was kidnapped when I was fourteen years old,” she reveals. “I don’t have to tell you what happens next. I’m sure you’ve watched Lifetime movies and if you haven’t just picture any nightmare and multiply it by ten.”

  Immediately regretting my assumptions, I swallow the lump in my throat and start to apologize.

  “Please don’t say you’re sorry,” she interjects. “I’m not telling you any of this to make you feel sorry for me.”

  “Why are you telling me?” I ask genuinely bewildered by her openness to confide such a dark secret with a complete stranger.

  “I was eventually sold or traded, whatever you want to call it, to a man named Rush. He was the president of the Albany charter and that’s where I met Bas. At the time, I thought Rush was my savior. Before Albany, I had already been through so much that I had given up on ever being found. I had no self-confidence. Hell, I had no quality of life. I was just sort of there…existing on the outside but dead inside. I started letting him use my body in exchange for drugs. I thought if I stayed inebriated than I would forget everything. I’d forget my family that I missed so terribly and the filthy disgusting things I endured,” she says.

  Pausing to take a breath, she walks to the end of the deck and braces her hands on the railing before continuing.

  “I don’t remember much, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve mentally blocked it or if the drug use really took its toll but, I remember Bas,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “He wasn’t very nice to me but none of the guys were. They thought of me as a whore and most of them looked down on me. I didn’t blame them. Anyway, one day I was strung out and looking for Rush. Instead, I found Bas sitting at the table drinking by himself. I knew he wouldn’t give me what I needed, that I’d be wasting my time, so, I tried to sneak out of the room without him noticing me.”

  “I guess that didn’t work,” I say when she pauses again.

  “Nope,” she smiles. “I figured he was going to ask me to go back to his room with him,” she continues, pausing to meet my eyes. “But he ordered me to sit and poured me a drink. We drank in silence for a while until he turned to me and asked me if I loved Rush. Of course, then, I didn’t know what love was. I think he caught onto that because he started explaining it to me. I don’t remember what he said word for word but, I do remember him saying that once you love someone a piece of their soul welds to your heart and stays with you forever. Then he told me he knew I didn’t give a shit about Rush. He said I was abused and wouldn’t know love if it bit me in the ass. He took a roll of twenties out of his pocket and placed them on the table. He told me to take it and run that he would turn his head.”

  “Did you do it?”

  She shakes her head sadly.

  “No,” she whispers. “I got up, left him with the half empty bottle of whiskey and went back to my room. It’s hard to break the cycle of abuse when it’s all you know.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask suddenly feeling exposed.

  Shrugging, she turns to face me.

  “I don’t know.”

  That’s a lie.

  She knows.

  All it takes is one victim to recognize another.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What’s all this?” I question.

  “We needed to replace Cain’s table,” Blackie mutters.

  “And this is the best you could do?” I ask, waving a hand toward the six tables that have been pushed together.

  “If you can do better than, by all means, grab your hammer,” Blackie counters. “Riggs went to a lot of trouble to grab these for us.”

  “If you call knocking off a restaurant supply warehouse in Flushing a lot of trouble,” Pipe interjects, pulling out his chair.

  “Anything is better than the cursed piece of shit that was here before,” Stryker adds. As I pull out one of the chairs, I note the guy has a point.

  Beggars can’t be choosy and all that shit.

  Once I’m seated, I do a quick sweep around the table. Jack appears from the office and makes his way to the head of the table. Reaching into his vest, Blackie produces the notorious meat mallet and places it gently in front of Jack. Every pair of eyes focuses on our fierce leader as he reaches for the mallet.

  “Are we ever going to take the Bed, Bath and Beyond sticker off this fucking thing?” he asks as he raises it half mass.

  “It gives it character,” Blackie replies, tipping his chin toward the kitchen gadget. “Go on, Parrish, do your thing.”

  Hesitating for a moment, Jack slams the mallet against the grain and brings our meeting to order.

  “If anyone wants to know what to buy me for Christmas, a wooden gavel is on top of the list.”

  “I’ll make sure to write good ‘ol Saint Nick and give him the heads up,” Pipe offers, leaning back in his chair. Shoving a cigarette into his mouth, he tosses the pack onto the table and swipes the lighter next to it.

  “If Pipe is done cracking jokes, we’ll start,” Jack says, crossing his arms against his chest. He’s about to continue when his phone starts ringing. “Jesus, fuck.”

  “That’s grounds for the naughty list,” Pipe teases, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. Flipping our sergeant at arms the bird, Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoves it at Blackie.

  “What’s happening? Why is Riggs’ mug showing up on my phone?”

  “He’s FaceTiming you, Parrish,” Blackie explains, swiping his thumb across the screen to accept the call.

  “Gotta love technology,” Cobra mutters.

  “Says who?” Jack grunts. “Give me a flip phone any day of the fucking week.”

  “Riggs you there?” Blackie asks, staring at the phone.

  “Am I late? Did I miss anything?” Riggs replies.

  “Is he phoning in for church?” Deuce says.

  “You bet your fucking ass I am,” Riggs hollers into the phone. “Turn me around, Black.”

  Sometimes you can tell what a person is thinking by the expression on their face. Blackie is not one of those people. His face has one mode and one mode only—grim. Seeing him scratch his head as he turns the phone around is quite comical.

  “Don’t even pretend like you motherfuckers aren’t missing me right now,” Riggs says.

  Covering my mouth, I bite back a chuckle when I catch a glimpse of the screen. Wearing his signature shades and rocking a shirt that reads, ‘my humping put the bump in’, he’s another sight.

  “Congrats on the baby,” Cobra tells him.

  “Yeah, man,” Needles chimes in. “Three boys…God bless.”

  “Thank you but I can’t take all the credit. I just put the seed in and Kitten does the rest,” Riggs replies. I swear, if I hadn’t seen his capabilities with my own eyes, I would never believe this guy is a genius. If you don’t know him, one might take him for a stoner. “Anyway, I love you guys and all that but, I called because I have an announcement to make.”

  “Oh, for fucks sake, man, give Laurens uterus a rest,” Jack mutters, shaking his head. “That poor girl.”

  “Dude, she can’t possibly be pregnant again,” Linc tells him. “Isn’t there like a waiting period or something?”

  “
Speaking of uteruses,” Pipe interrupts, grinding his cigarette in the ashtray. Lifting his head, he grins widely. “Layla’s pregnant.”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Riggs booms.

  “I’m serious,” Pipe says. “She just hit the mark on twelve weeks.”

  If there was ever a man more deserving of a happy ending, it’s Pipe. From what I’ve heard, he’s had a rough life. Losing his mother as a kid, he was thrown into the system and eventually found his way to juvie. Once his bid was up, he came to Brooklyn and has been a loyal servant of the Satan’s Knights for nearly three decades. He sacrificed more than most for the sake of patch and rank.

  Not too long ago, when the clubhouse exploded, Pipe lost his wife. Her death sent him off the rails and rightfully so considering the poor woman had been decapitated. He handed his patch to Jack and took off to the woods. Other than Jack, nobody else was sure he’d return.

  While he was up yonder, a divorced mother with three kids moved next door to him and took purchase of his heart. For a man who never wanted anything more than to ride, his life was suddenly full of blessings. Even as the new guy, it was hard not to feel joy for the man who has been through hell and back. Before I realize it, I’m standing in line waiting for my turn to congratulate him, making the line between state and power even more blurred.

  Once everyone has settled down and got the jabs in, Riggs, via FaceTime, clears his throat.

  “I’m really happy for you, Pipe and I promise your kid can sit with mine at the cool kids table but, I think Eric might’ve tied my mother to a chair so, I gotta make this quick.”

  “Speak your piece,” Jack orders as Blackie turns the phone towards him.

  “Kiss the garage goodbye, Parrish, the Tiger has found us a new place to hang our hats.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Now, hold on Prezzy, I can see the crazy creeping in,” Riggs tells him. “Hear me out before you pop a vein in your forehead.”

  He’s right, there is a vein bulging in Jack’s forehead.

  “Talk, Riggs,” Blackie orders.