Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I stepped backwards into the house, closed the door and leaned my forehead against it. It was eerily quiet inside the house and my mind.

  The calm before the storm.

  I pushed off the door, turned around and started for the stairs, deciding that if I went to bed, maybe I could keep my maker silent for just a little while longer. My mind has allowed me peace for too long and was due to wreak havoc any moment, viciously tearing apart the best night of my life.

  I have to remind myself I’m not the insecure type.

  When I love, I love harder than anyone.

  I whole heartedly believe I’m exactly what Blackie needs in his life.

  I can make things better for him.

  I can be the one who loves him unconditionally.

  The one person who rescues him from the hell he thinks he belongs to.

  Me.

  I can do that.

  But as strong as I can be, I am also weak.

  Weak to my mind.

  It’s like my mind knows exactly when to strike. It’s usually when I feel like I’m on top of the world then like any true villain my mind turns on me, the thoughts flood my head and I come crashing down.

  Other girls are worried about their appearances. They think they aren’t pretty enough or thin enough. Their hair is brown when it should be blonde or curly when it should be straight.

  Not me.

  I’m comfortable in my own skin and never wish to crawl away from it, to peel it off and replace it with something else.

  In a perfect world I’d be exactly who I am, minus my head.

  If I could escape my mind…I would.

  It’s the only thing about me I wish I could change.

  I’m not sure which is worse.

  Wishing for the perfect body or wishing for a different mind.

  Sometimes I desperately want to tell my story, to share with the world what it's like to be mentally ill. However, that would mean accepting I am flawed and I can’t bring myself to do that.

  I can’t say the words out loud.

  I can’t look in the mirror and admit my truth.

  I’m crazy.

  I hate that word. It’s so harsh and ugly.

  So I continue to sit alone and suffer.

  I tell myself that even if I had the courage to confess I am a girl who struggles mentally there is no one in my life I would burden with my illness. Think about it, who should I tell? Who do I ask to help me with the nightmare I’m living? My father? The man who suffers from it himself?

  Or my mother who blames my father’s illness for the reason she doesn’t have a son anymore?

  Blackie isn’t an option either. He’s got his own struggles, his own torment and for the first time in a long time, he’s trying to make that right for himself. He’s got a long road ahead of him he sure as hell doesn’t need my drama added to his full plate.

  And then there is that other word that scares me to death.

  Lithium.

  It works for my father but there are thousands of people whom never adjust to the medication and are constantly having their dosages changed. There is also the possibility that Lithium wouldn’t even work for me.

  Another scary thought.

  I’ll continue living, struggling and envying those of sound mind. I’ll enjoy the highs, embrace them, and push through the lows, hoping one day I’ll find the strength to admit to myself, my family and the world that I’m ill.

  I’ll fight until there is no fight left.

  I climbed into my bed, not bothering to change my clothes, and stared up at the ceiling.

  He’s going to realize the truth.

  He’s going to find out you’re not some perfect angel sent to rescue him.

  You’re damaged.

  You’re a joke.

  You think you can help him but you can’t even help yourself.

  I closed my eyes and felt the tears fall from the corners of my eyes as my demon emerged and brought me to hell.

  After I dropped Lacey off I took a ride, killed a little time before I had to drag my ass to the methadone clinic. I’ll give Riggs credit, he’s a mastermind when it comes to computers he hacked into the clinic’s files and got the take home prescription approved. He even switched my case and provided me with a different counselor so my usual one wouldn’t get suspicious.

  I should’ve went back to the compound to get some sleep before hitting the road but every time I closed my eyes I saw Lacey’s face and the fear she tried to hide from me when I dropped her off.

  She doesn’t realize I have spent a long time looking at her and that I know every emotion conveyed on her face.

  That mask she tries to hide behind, it don’t work with me.

  I told myself I didn’t have time to get into it with Lace, work through her anxiety but I promised to handle it. I’m a man of my word but, the thing was, I didn’t have a goddamn answer for her. I didn’t know how to make this shit work for me and her. I didn’t know how I would turn to Jack and tell him I was about ready to claim his little girl. I didn’t know how to choose Lacey and tell Jack to go fuck himself because any way you sliced it that’s what I was ultimately doing.

  I zipped the duffel bag, not even sure what the fuck I had thrown in there, slung it over my shoulder and started for the door. I nearly bumped into Jack as I shut the door and stepped into the hallway, flipping the glasses perched on top of my head onto my nose.

  “Glad I caught you before you left,” he started.

  “Just about to head out,” I said, as I locked my door. He tipped his chin towards the steps and we made our way downstairs into the common room.

  “You sure you don’t want to take Bones with you?” he asked, flipping one of the chairs backwards before he straddled it.

  “Nah, no need. Besides, Boots, that crazy son of a bitch isn’t going to want to see anyone’s face but mine,” I said, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. He passed me a cigarette and lit it for me.

  “That shit needs to change. You mention that when you get face to face with the man,” he stressed, taking a pull of his cigarette. “You tell him I’m the fucking president and all deals go through me from now on. He wants to break bread; he’s going to break it at my table.”

  I cocked an eyebrow as I blew out a ring of smoke. It was obvious he was on edge, fighting for control of some sort. I studied him closely, deciphering if he was on the verge of a breakdown or just morphing into his “Bulldog” persona.

  “What’s got you twisted?” I questioned as he shrugged his shoulders and leaned over the chair.

  “Got a lot of shit on my plate, Black. I think you know that,” he flicked his ashes. “Do I really need a fucking reason to be twisted?”

  “I guess not,” I pushed back my chair. “Keep it cool Bulldog, ain’t got time for the maker so you put that motherfucker down,” I ordered as I rose to my full height. “I better head out before I lose my second wind,” I muttered.

  “You don’t need to worry about me man,” he paused. “Keep doing what you doing, concentrate on you. I’m seeing pieces of my old friend break through,” he swallowed, gave me a quick nod. “Like it, Black, like it whole lot.”

  I ground out the cigarette into the ashtray and turned my eyes to his. I bit the inside of my cheek as he reached out and patted my shoulder.

  “Keep climbing, brother,” he encouraged.

  As the words left his mouth I knew they’d sit with me for a long time, the same way they did when he told me to stand up and not drown. The only difference this time was the words he said gave me hope.

  This hope thing was becoming my mantra. I was a man who coasted through life with nothing, let alone hope and now I had it in spades.

  It amped me up to keep on the straight and narrow, to keep working on kicking the addictions, bettering myself so I could claim Lacey.

  “I’ll keep in touch,” I said as he stood up.

  “Keep yourself in one piece,” he warned.

&n
bsp; I nodded, grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

  “Black,” he called.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m proud of you,” he said, simply.

  Hope.

  Yeah, I had that shit in spades.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I wound up driving straight through, arriving in Boston just after being on the road for about five hours. My meeting with the Corrupt Bastards wasn’t scheduled until that night so I crashed at a motel catching a couple of hours of sleep and a quick shower. I picked a fine fucking time to have a sit down with these fuckers. The Yankees were playing the Red Sox and since the Corrupt Bastards' clubhouse was on the outskirts of Boston I had to drive through the fucking chaos, hoping there weren’t any checkpoints along the way and didn’t blow this shit out of the water. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over by some Beantown pig looking to make an arrest on a vehicle with New York plates.

  It was almost eight o’clock when I rolled past the gates of their compound and parked my van close to the clubhouse, manually locking the doors to make sure these bastards didn’t fuck with my shit while I sweet-talked their leader into letting the two-hundred and fifty-thousand-dollar debt we had, slide.

  I was familiar with the two guys hanging out in front of the clubhouse, no doubt awaiting my arrival. One of them was named Charlie and the only reason I knew that was because he had five tear drops tattooed to his cheek.

  Five tear drops proudly declaring he took five lives.

  That makes a face unforgettable.

  “Look who the wind blew in,” Charlie mocked, rolling a toothpick between his lips. “Nice of you to show your face,” he added.

  “Boots is expecting me,” I ground out, holding myself in check as he assessed me.

  “That he is,” he affirmed, spitting out the toothpick and lifting his eyes to mine. A wicked grin spread across his mouth and had me reaching to check for my gun tucked into the back of my jeans.

  A force of habit.

  He turned to the guy next to him.

  “Take him into the back. Boots been waiting long enough to see his face,” he ordered.

  I was itching to put Charlie in his place, throw him up against the brick wall, shove my gun in his mouth and vow to tattoo a tear drop onto my face when I took his life.

  I might still do that.

  But on the way out.

  After, I unloaded the fucking guns and made peace with Boots.

  Every peace treaty has a little blood on it.

  I followed the Bastard into the clubhouse, taking note not much changes around here. They still have all the fucking Red Sox memorabilia covering the walls mixed with the mugshots of all the Bastards rotting away for the oath they took.

  This charter of the Corrupt Bastards, MC was completely different from the Satan’s Knights. While our club had certain limits, these guys had none. We were all up in arms over this drug shit we were neck deep in but these guys? Their primary source of income was drugs. Looking around the clubhouse, it was obvious they were swimming in product, feeding their whores as much as their bodies could stand. It was no wonder any of these sleazy broads could hold themselves up much less suck dick.

  One would think that getting stuck with the product would be no sweat off their backs but any respective drug dealer who knows the game, knows every fucking gram counts. You stop looking at drugs as dust people snort, every rip is another dollar earned, the more money earned the more money spent on product and everyone knows the more product you have the more bills in your fold. It’s a vicious cycle.

  One I knew too well.

  The guy leading me through the clubhouse stopped in front of a door and tipped his chin.

  “Straight through there,” he instructed.

  I brushed passed him, rapped my knuckles against the door before turning the knob and walking into the room. Boots was sitting behind the desk with one of the club whores spread eagle in front of him. His head was bent as he ripped a line off her tits.

  “Fucking hell,” I seethed, watching as he lifted his head his beady eyes met mine.

  He slapped the whore’s tits, nearly knocking her off the desk with the power behind his hand.

  “Get out,” he hollered.

  “Boots, you promised me!” she whined, scrambling to her feet as she slid off the desk.

  “Fuck you,” he sneered. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

  She stared at him for a moment before turning around and looking at me. I swore for a moment her eyes pleaded with mine but I looked passed her and directly into the eyes of the enemy.

  “I patiently waited for this day,” he started, sniffling.

  The whore slammed the door behind her as I pulled the chair out in front of his desk and dropped into it. I leaned forward to pull out my gun and hold it up to him before nodding at him, awaiting the same gesture of respect. I removed the clip and placed it on top of the desk, cocking a brow and expected him to do the same.

  “I don’t owe you that,” he commented, pulling back his vest and revealing the holster he wore beneath it. He pulled out the gun and mimicked the act, putting us on equal footing but reminding me it was a courtesy he granted me.

  I didn’t tuck the gun into the back of my jeans, placing it in the inside pocket of my leather jacket so I could access it easier. In under ten seconds I could pull the gun, load it and pop a bullet in this fuck.

  “Let’s cut through the bullshit and get down to it,” I suggested, leaning back against the chair. “What do you want?”

  “You got balls, Blackie, always did,” he said, swiveling from side to side in his chair. “But a man in your position doesn’t come into my house, talking down to me, and expecting a quick fix. It just don’t work like that,” he ground out.

  “So tell me how it works. The way I see it you got every right to be pissed, but before you assume that my club was looking to sever ties with yours, listen to the facts. Fact number one, I came to you because I knew you could deliver what I needed. Fact number two, plans change, enemies strike and when it’s do or die, motherfuckers like us…we do. Now, it was never mine, nor Jack’s intention to stick you with the drugs man we were banking on, even after Jimmy Gold made his move the club still needed your product but there wasn’t enough time to get to you. Then there is that little fucking issue you have, refusing to deal with Jack. I’m here to make things right with you but, also warn you that won’t fly any more. Any deals going forward are conducted at the Satan’s Knights table, with the Bulldog sitting front and center.”

  He laughed.

  I continued to stare at him.

  Motherfucker ain’t nothing funny about what I just said.

  Add that to your list of facts.

  “You want facts Blackie? Here’s one. Your fucking president is a goddamn nut job. You think I deal with you because of your past, your knowledge of drugs? I choose the junkie because I’m not about to deal with a psychotic fuck who swings a gavel.”

  I gritted my teeth, slammed my fist against his desk and leaned closer.

  “This coming from a man I just watched snort coke off some worthless bitch’s tits,” I snapped. “You got a choice to make, Boots—I’m offering you a shitload of weapons in exchange for a truce. You can keep the guns for yourself or turn them for a profit on the streets, whatever the fuck you want. Lord knows you don’t have a fucking conscience anyway, so take the deal. You’ll make more off the guns than what we originally agreed on with the drugs.”

  “Or what?” He asked cockily.

  “Take the fucking deal,” I advised. “You don’t want to declare war, Boots.”

  “You don’t want to go war, Blackie,” he scoffed. “Word gets around—the war you got going on with the Red Dragon’s that shit is spreading like wild fire. Your club is hanging on by a thread as it, add another war to your agenda and the Satan’s Knights are off the map,” he claimed.

  “It’d be a shame to watch a smart guy like you, a thriving businessman like
yourself, lose everything in a power play. But, I guarantee you it’ll happen. There have been few if any, that survived after they underestimated the strength of the Satan’s Knights,” I warned.

  I wasn’t walking away from here with a deal but I would not walk out of this fucking place without setting this fool straight. We may be hurting but that shit would turn around, men like us didn’t exist to be defeated. Men like us beat the odds in the game of life…every fucking time.

  You want to play motherfucker?

  Come play.

  But don’t expect to win.

  Never expect to win.

  “You think I care about the Satan’s Knights enough to go to war with them? I’ll piss on your club, swallow you motherfuckers whole. It’s not the club I got beef with, it’s the man who shook my hand and pissed on my trust I have a problem with. It’s you I want, Blackie, and no fucking deal you or your boys try to swindle out of me is going to work. You crossed me Blackie, there’s no retribution for that. Be thankful if you leave here with a pulse and don’t you ever fucking threaten me with the Satan’s Knights. You have a debt to pay, your club has a debt to pay, I just haven’t figured out what kind of payment I’m going to accept. So I’ll bide my time, turn the hourglass and watch as the sand slips through to the other end and your days become numbered,” he threatened, leaning back in his chair as a smile spread across his face. “And you know what the best part of that is? I won’t even have to lift a finger because the Bulldog will snap when he finds out what you’ve been up to and that crazy cocksucker will cut your ass up,” he enthused.

  I froze as I pinned him with a glare, knowing the words he was about to say before they even left his lips.

  “Been watching you, Black,” he said as he rose from his chair and walked around the desk. He bent down, leaned into my shoulder and whispered into my ear.

  “I know you’re banging Jack’s daughter.”

  I clenched my fists, turning my face just as he straightened up and our eyes met.

  “What do you think will happen if his daughter became a casualty of war? If daddy found out his precious little girl died because she was the only way to make his vice president bleed?”