The sirens faded.
All I heard was the sound of bones shattering and the cries of a man dying.
Someone grabbed me from behind, pulling me off him and yanked my hands behind my back. I tore my eyes away from the body on the floor and took in my surroundings as I felt the cold metal tighten around my wrists.
“Dominic Petra, you are under arrest,” Officer Brantley’s voice sounded in my ear. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney…”
He continued to read me my rights as my eyes locked with Lacey’s.
Dark and dull, wrecked and ruined. My beautiful innocent Lacey tainted by my selfish sadistic ways, stared back at me. I watched the tears fall down her cheeks, each droplet another mark. Those tears were as much mine as everything else about her was.
Mine.
Always mine.
Leather.
Lace.
Me.
Her.
So fucking tempting.
So fucking lethal.
Chapter One
7 Months ago
I’m a masochist, a man who gets off on inflicting pain on himself. I’m my own worst enemy. I’ve fucked myself more times than any rival club or gangbanger ever could. I had a shaky past with drugs, been trading one fucking addiction for another since I was a rebellious teenager. So when I offered to be the drug man in an operation Jack Parrish the president of the Satan’s Knights orchestrated with a psychotic gangster, I knew I was sealing my own fate.
“I might not have him where I want him but there’s one advantage I have over him, over you, over everyone in this goddamn club. I know drugs, man. I know their worth and their consequence. I know how to make them desirable and I know how to make them your enemy. I will have Jimmy Gold high on my promise before he or his streets are high on the product.”
What I didn’t expect was that it would all come crashing down so soon. The reputed mob boss, Victor Pastore, got himself carted off to prison, doing a lifetime bid, and the sick fuck sitting across from me was now in charge of all Vic’s operations.
Jimmy Gold.
The scrawny bastard covered in tattoos, wore a long fur coat, pairing it with perfectly tailored pants and a white wife beater tank top. He had a dozen or so chains dangling from his neck and when he smiled his top two front teeth matched those gold chains. He looked like a fucking asshole.
It was hard to look him in the eye and not want to kill him on the spot, especially since we knew for a fact this prick killed Jack’s brother. Danny became a federal agent thirteen years ago and recently changed his name as he went to head the agency in a RICO case. Danny was sniffing around one of Jimmy’s bodies and threatened to take him down. The Golden Nutcase in front of me decided he wasn’t going to go down like that and murdered Danny.
That was partially why this motherfucker was sitting in front of me, the other reason was he was working with the G-Man. Cain the former deceased president of the Satan’s Knight used to get his supply from the drug lord and forced the rest of us to deal it on the streets. It didn’t matter if you were a kid, pregnant or somebody’s innocent wife…we fed your habit and took your money.
Or in Christine’s case we drove you to your own death.
Not we.
Just me.
That shit was all on me.
And this, right now, this was my chance to make things right for her. I will take this motherfucker down, and after I bury his ass we will end the G-Man once and for all. It doesn’t matter he’s rotting in a cell…when you want something badly enough, you find a fucking a way. Prison bars won’t stand in the way of revenge.
A revenge so sweet and one that was all mine for the taking.
I’d start by playing this prick like the fool he is. This guy thinks he’s the fucking boss but I’ll show him who the fuck runs these streets.
“Victor tells me you’re familiar with the business, that you used to be one of the biggest players in the game,” he raved. “That makes me wonder why you would ever stop,” he questioned.
“Who said I did?” I bit out, leaning back in my chair as I pinned him with a glare.
The thing about guys like us, bikers, and mobsters—we’re all the same in one regard. We are all street thugs and you might be able to pull a man off the streets but you can’t take the streets from the soul of the man. That shit sticks with you until you die.
The same way being an addict does.
Jimmy didn’t need to know that since Christine’s death I’ve substituted one addiction for another, using alcohol to numb me—a last ditch effort to honor the woman I helped bring to her death. I thought if I swore off the drugs, kicked the heroin, I was honoring her in some way.
“Your boss wanted to keep his streets clean, made it real hard for us to do business, so I took my product elsewhere,” I said, drumming my nails against the table as my eyes locked with his. “Make no mistake about it Gold, I am the biggest player in the game. Always have been, always will be,” I assured him.
And that was true. I’d put my fucking game face on and be the drug dealing degenerate I tried to bury, the worthless man who lost his wife because of his greed. The legend on the streets. I told myself I was doing the right thing, resurrecting the demon inside of me, because bringing down Jimmy and the G-Man would finally bring me closure on Christine. It would bring me peace to know the men who fed my palm the shit she overdosed on would finally pay.
“Confident,” he stated. “I like it, but as confident as you might be, I don’t trust you,” he added. “And I don’t do business with anyone I don’t trust.”
“Smart man,” I countered as I leaned closer to him. “Then why the fuck you wasting my time?”
“Well,” he started, diverting his eyes to Reina as she placed a bottle of beer on the table, playing the role I quickly dumped on her. When we saw Jimmy and his goons prance through the parking lot on the surveillance feed, I told Jack’s woman to follow my lead. I didn’t trust this scumbag. He’d already fucked with the president’s brother there was no telling what he’d do if he got wind that Jack had an old lady. I told Reina to get down on her knees and she followed my lead, aiding in making this fool think she was nothing but a whore, a piece of pussy we shared. A worthless cunt.
I turned my attention toward Reina. “Thank you, now go upstairs and take your fucking clothes off. I’ll be right up,” I ordered, watching as she snarled before disappearing into the hallway and out of sight.
“As I was saying, my mind may be swayed if you provide me with an example of good faith,” Jimmy purred. “I’d like to think a man like you knows his product, enjoys it even, won’t you have a taste for me?”
“You want me to shoot it to prove what exactly?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“That you’re not selling me shit for one,” he said.
“I don’t know how you do business Gold, but usually you or one of your own test the product they are buying,” I informed.
“Of course that’s why I brought Carmine, but I’m not stupid Blackie, you are going to shoot the same sample you’re giving me. If it’s good for your own veins then it should be good for Carmine’s,” he sneered. “Those are my conditions, take them or leave them,” Jimmy added.
It’s been years since I’ve used heroin, fucking years since I did any drug other than pot. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been tempted. Fuck, there’s been so many times I’ve filled a syringe and tied a rubber around my arm but it’s been five years since I’ve felt the prick of the needle. Five years since I felt the heroin swim in my veins and take control over me. I stopped myself every time because I saw her face. I remembered pulling her out of the bathtub and untying the rubber band from her arm. I could still feel the weight of her lifeless body in my arms.
I stared back at Jimmy.
I couldn’t deny his demands, Jack was depending on me to bring this shit home, to end this motherfucker—if I bitched out now then we’d never get him or the G-Man.
What’s on
e more time?
Just one more taste.
I pushed back my chair and left him to stare after me as I walked into the Satan’s Knights chapel, straight toward the safe in the wall and punched in the code.
After, we decided we would pose as Jimmy’s supplier, I needed to get my hands on the drugs so I went up to north to the Corrupt Bastards MC and ironed out a deal to get the heroin from them. The plan was to give Jimmy a taste of their product, let him think it was ours, and get him hooked on the profit. Once he was polluting the streets with the smack we would cut him off, tell him he needed to buy an obscene about if he wanted to keep the connection. Then when we delivered we would set him up with the cops. Jimmy would get arrested with all the drugs on him and with all Vic’s connections, eventually the bastard would wind up in the same prison as his former boss. Vic was itching to kill this motherfucker.
I grabbed the leather pouch and shut the safe before walking back out to find Jimmy exactly where I left him. I threw the pouch on the table before sitting back down and stared back at him.
“Fine, let’s get this over with,” I seethed.
Just one more taste.
“Wonderful” Jimmy exclaimed, pulling out his phone and quickly making a call, instructing whoever it was to come inside. Jimmy ended the call and reached for the pouch, unzipping it and pulled out a vile of heroin. Carmine walked into the clubhouse, taking a seat between us and we both watched as Jimmy filled one needle and then another.
Carmine rolled up his sleeve, exposing the track marks on his arm, searching for a vein that wasn’t collapsed from all the use. I watched him stab the needle into his flesh and close his eyes as he drained the syringe into his bloodstream.
Jimmy extended the second needle full of smack toward me and my eyes met his.
“Whenever you’re ready Blackie,” he crooned.
I reached for the band, tying it tightly around my bicep and turned over my forearm, slapping at it until a solid vein bulged beneath my skin. I took the syringe from him, forcing my eyes to stay open, knowing if I closed them now all I’d see was Christine.
I’m sorry.
So, very fucking sorry.
The needle pricked my skin and my thumb pressed down on the top as the poison began to fill me. “There you go,” Jimmy taunted. “Just a little more,” he coaxed as I emptied the syringe into my vein. “All done.”
Carmine pulled the needle from his arm, dropping it onto the floor and it rolled across the laminate flooring. I left the needle in my arm as I stared back at Jimmy, struggling to fight against the shit swimming in my bloodstream.
“All good,” Carmine drawled, already feeling the effects of the drugs.
“I’ll be in touch,” Jimmy said, satisfied as he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He snapped his fingers, muttered something under his breath as he pulled Carmine to his feet and strutted out of the clubhouse. I heard the door close behind them, signaling I was alone and then I allowed my eyes to close and saw her face. A moan escaped the back of my throat as I vividly recalled the way I stared into her dead eyes and cradled her body in my arms before pulling the needle from her arm. My cries repeated over in my mind, begging her to wake up, for it all to be a dream and then I remembered lifting my hand to her eyes and closing them gently.
“Blackie?”
For a moment I thought it was her sweet voice calling my name but when I lifted my head, struggling for my eyes to focus, I saw it was Reina.
“Oh my God,” she said, rushing towards me. I tore my eyes away from her and glanced down at the offensive needle sticking out of my arm.
I spent the last few years desecrating my liver to save my veins only for it to come full circle. I kept myself alive but numb, telling myself the only reason this life was worth living was to have a chance to right all the wrongs I had done but staring at that needle solidified that I’d never be able to get the penance I craved.
I bent my head, opening my mouth around the needle and pulled the fucking thing out with my teeth before spitting the empty syringe on the table and untying the band around my arm. I lifted my watering eyes to Reina’s, not giving a fuck if she saw the pain I tried to numb myself from.
Let her know.
Let the whole world know how fucked I truly am, how every goddamn thing I do turns to shit.
Masochist.
“Earned your keep, Reina,” I slurred, swaying slightly in my chair as I lifted my hips and pulled my keys from my back pocket. “My car is out front, Ford Expedition. Go find your man,” I said, throwing the keys in the air.
“What about you?”
“Just go,” I mumbled, as I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. I surrendered to the heroin, welcoming the numbness, and accepting the fact my life had been over a long time ago.
Chapter Two
There is a little boy who lives in my dreams and forever in my heart, a little boy named Jack Parrish Jr. He was my little brother and I was five years old when I watched him die. Literally, I stood there and did nothing as he ran into the street. I thought I would forget that someday the memory would fade as I became older—yet it seemed to only grow more vivid with every year I aged and he didn’t.
Lala.
That was what he used to call me because he couldn’t say Lacey.
“Lala,” he cheered as his wobbly legs ran out the front door.
I was only a kid myself but I knew that he shouldn’t be outside without an adult and more than that I knew he could get hurt. I tried to get my dad’s attention, telling him to help me get Jack back inside the house but he was too engrossed in the madness that consumed him. I had never seen my dad like that before, so out of control, so far away in his own mind that my cries went unheard.
I ran outside as my father repeatedly beat down the walls of our home. I can recall him shouting about bugs but I thought he was looking for creepy little critters; the ones I would shout for him to stomp on. That wasn’t the case, and I learned later on that my father was looking for the bugs the Feds plant when they are looking to send your ass to jail.
That was the first of many memories I have of my dad losing his battle with his maker. His maker is his mind, and it reigns over everything. My father is Jack Parrish, president of the Satan’s Knights MC and he is a manic-depressive.
He didn’t know at the time of Jack Jr.’s death he was mentally ill, and it wasn’t until after my little brother was buried six feet in the ground he sought help and was diagnosed.
He blames himself for his death but it wasn’t his fault.
It was mine.
I stood there as Jack Jr. smiled and pointed at me.
“Lala, look!”
I should’ve run after him.
I could’ve asked a neighbor to help.
Something.
Anything.
Nothing.
Instead, I stood there listening to my father shout at the demons in his head and watched as the car sped down the street.
I want to believe that I called out to him, that, I shouted at the driver to stop but I remember nothing other than standing there and watching as the tires skidded across the tar and over my baby brother. I try to block out the last sound he made a shrill cry that rings over and over again in my ears until it fades to silence. The silence is worse though because it reminds me that when his cries faded so did his life.
My father snapped out of it too late and when he made his way to Jack, he fell to the ground and cradled the child he lost.
His maker won that day.
And mine was born.
Today would’ve been Jack’s fifteenth birthday. It’s also the one day a year my father goes off the grid, a day when he struggles to find the courage to end his life and be reunited with his son.
It doesn’t matter I’m still here.
And I suppose it shouldn’t.
Because I let him die.
I’m the reason my dad didn’t get to watch his little boy grow into a man.
; I’m also to blame for why my mom will never dance with her son.
It’s my fault I’ll never hear him call me Lala again.
I usually let my father have the day as I wait in agony for the moment one of his brothers comes knocking on my door to tell me that it’s over. Jack Parrish the toughest man I’ll ever know, has finally succumbed to his maker and is now at peace.
Not today.
Today I foolishly want to be enough. I wanted what I suppose any surviving child would want, and that was for him to look at me and realize I am still here and that I have been here for the last thirteen years wishing to be enough for him. Just once I wanted him to see me, just me.
You’re selfish.
You’re foolish.
He’ll never see you.
All he sees when he looks at you is the boy he lost and the girl he was left with.
I lifted my eyes to the rear-view mirror and stared at the dark eyes reflected at me. I had my father’s eyes, identical in color and when you looked closely the pain in his eyes was mirrored in mine.
I tore my gaze away, glancing out the window and stared at the Dog Pound, the Satan’s Knights clubhouse, the place where my father spent most of his days and nights. I slid out of the car, slamming the door behind me and beeping the alarm as I started for the compound. The parking lot was mostly empty, and I didn’t see my dad’s bike but my eyes zeroed in on the Harley parked in front of the clubhouse.
The bike was as badass as its owner and just as beautiful too.
Blackie, the tortured soul with a patch declaring him the vice president of the Satan’s Knights.
My father’s right hand and his best friend.
His brother.
Blackie.
He’d make me feel better.
He always did.
Always.
I ripped the line of coke like a motherfucking champ, desperate to reverse the effects of the heroin. If there was any justice to be had, I’d suffer a fucking a heart attack as a result of mixing the uppers and downers but I wasn’t that lucky. There was a higher power that had my destiny all mapped out, he’d let me beat all the odds, keep me breathing just to torture me more.
Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5) Page 2