We weren’t about to start pushing dildos on the street. This move was to show these motherfuckers we would not sit back and take it in the ass anymore. It wasn’t about taking their shit and turning a profit but more about sending a message—you don’t fuck with us.
“Dump the fucking shit,” Jack barked, as he lifted a crate over his head and threw it into the water.
I grabbed the next crate and hoisted it into the river. As Stryker and Deuce unloaded the container, one by one we silently dropped the merchandise into the Hudson. Looking around at my brothers, I could see the aggression painted on their faces.
Stryker was right.
We all have secrets.
We all have nightmares that haunt us.
And being the devil’s soldiers provided us with an outlet for the torment we all suffered.
We emptied the container, dropping the last of the sex toys into the river, creating quite a sight.
“Pack it up,” Jack demanded, as he reached into his back pocket and produced a can of spray paint and nodded toward Rienzi. He closed the container, locking it up with a new plastic seal before taking a step back and letting Jack do his thing. He pulled the cap off the bottle, throwing it into the water before putting his finger on the aerosol can and writing a message to Wu.
Fuck you.
In bright red letters across the door.
Jack took a step back, admiring his handy work then dumping the can of paint into the water and turning around to face us.
“Clear enough?”
“Still think we should’ve fucked him with one of his toys,” Wolf clipped.
“Message is clear,” Pipe confirmed, smacking Wolf upside the head.
Jack and I stepped toward Stryker, Deuce, Cobra and Linc, offering them a pat on the back, impressed with their efficiency. I extended my hand to Stryker as I met his gaze.
“Welcome home,” I muttered.
“Thanks, man, nice to finally have one,” he said, cracking his knuckles as he stared back at me.
We all got secrets man. Some of us hide them better than others, but every one of the Satan’s Knights has a tale to tell or we wouldn’t be brothers.
We were half way down the dock when Jack fell into step beside me.
“I’ve had my head wrapped around this shit with Wu for weeks—working with Spinelli to find the right time to make our move,” he started, stopping in his tracks and turning to me. “You’re using again,” he accused, running his fingers through his hair. “I turn my back for a second, thinking you finally got your shit together and when I turn around you’re more fucked then before. What’s your deal Black? What demon caught you this time?”
“Not your problem,” I ground out, turning to face him. “If I want your two cents I’ll ask for it, but until then do us both a favor and worry about yourself and your own demons—let me handle mine,” I sneered, turning around and stalking down the pier.
I paused when I heard the roar of the engines, glanced at our parked bikes and knew shit was about to go down.
“Shit, we’ve got company,” I shouted over my shoulder as I pulled out my gun.
Everything moved in slow motion as the Red Dragons started shooting at us. Without hesitation we ran down the rickety peer toward the enemy, our guns drawn lighting the shipping yard a blaze as we fired back.
It’s not the story behind us that makes us the Satan’s Knights it’s this. Taking the lives of people and doing it without remorse. It’s the blood that decorates us as our bullets pierce their heads and their brains splatter back at us.
I swiped the back of my hand over my eye and pulled back my hand staring at the crimson that painted my skin.
Blood.
That’s what it’s all about.
Life is comprised of moments, joyful ones and tragic ones. We all have two faces, but the lucky ones can merge both expressions, they can take the good with the bad and understand that life is sometimes not what you expect.
Sometimes life is more and sometimes it’s less.
Not everyone can be happy all the time.
And so we learn to hang on to the happiness and use it as a crutch to get us through the sadness that envelopes us and let it guide us back to the joy.
If you’re one of the lucky ones.
I stared at the two masks hanging from the mirror above my dresser. One mask featured a smile while the other displayed a frown. My freshman year of college I took a drama course, and the professor gave us these masks to use as a tool to summon the emotions of the characters we were portraying.
I dropped the class but kept the masks because for me they were so much more than a tool. Those masks are who I am.
The smile conveys how I feel when my maker is silenced.
The frown reminds me it will all come crashing down, and I was only smiling during a brief pause from my truth. My maker will return and bring me down from whatever manic state of happiness I was now experiencing.
I’m not one of the lucky ones.
Over the last month I have slept more than anything else because when I sleep…I dream and in my dreams I see him.
I dream of our story.
I dream of the smiles.
And then I wake, try to hang onto the happiness of the dream, pray it guides me out of the depression I am in…but it doesn’t.
I want one more chance to smile.
One more chance to be a girl in love.
One more chance to be normal.
It doesn’t come.
It never comes.
And so I close my eyes again.
Maybe next time.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I awoke to the sound of a knock on my bedroom door but didn’t bother turning around. I knew it was my mother and I knew the look on her face would break my heart—what was left of it. I kept my back towards her, laid on my side as she stepped into my room and closed the door softly behind her.
“Lacey, it’s almost noon,” she whispered.
I didn’t answer.
A moment later I felt the dip in the mattress as she laid beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist.
“My sweet girl,” she murmured, smoothing down my hair. “My beautiful, sweet girl. Please talk to me,” she pleaded.
“I’m fine,” I said numbly.
“You’re not fine and I’ve ignored it too long,” she whispered. “I know what’s going on Lacey,” she revealed.
Slowly, I turned around, brave enough to face her, wanting her to take away my pain.
Desperate for the love only a mother could give.
Maybe just maybe she could be the one to help me through this. Not that long ago I felt like I was walking in my mother’s shoes, falling in love with an outlaw, trying to see the good in him. She did it.
And when it failed when she was no longer his…she survived.
Maybe this wasn’t about the maker.
Maybe it was just about my heart.
I didn’t know anymore.
“You loved daddy didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.”
“And it hurt when it was over didn’t it?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“But you’re still standing. The world kept moving for you,” I murmured.
“And it will for you too,” she assured me. “You just have to let it. You have to realize you have nothing to be ashamed— ““I’m not ashamed,” I interrupted. “I fell in love and for two months of my life I had it all…everything I ever wanted. He may not have been perfect in your eyes or someone you or daddy would’ve picked for me but what we had was perfect.”
I watched as she blinked and tried to mask the confusion in her eyes.
“Two months?”
“Yes, for two months I was Blackie’s girl,” I admitted. “No one knew and now I’m wondering if I imagined it all.”
“Lacey,” she started.
“Please, don’t. Don’t tell me it was wrong because it was the only thing right in my lif
e,” I argued.
She closed her mouth and remained silent.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said.
“Talking about it might help,” she replied. “Lacey, I can’t sit here and watch you suffer like this anymore. I can’t sit here and go through this again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s like watching it happen all over again, only this time it’s my child I’m losing and I’ve already lost one,” she gasped, lifting her hand to cover her mouth as she shook her head.
She knows.
She knows she’s stuck with the damaged kid.
Look at what you’re doing to her.
Look at her cry.
“What I’m trying to say is— ““What you’re trying to say is you think I’m crazy,” I rasped as I climbed out of the bed and stared back at her.
“No, Lacey, I’m not saying that at all,” she argued, getting out of the bed to quickly walk around it, grabbing a hold of my hands as her eyes pleaded with mine.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I’m not crazy,” I insisted.
“No you’re not,” she agreed, through her tears.
“I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be fine,” I struggled. “I’m not like him. I’m just sad.”
“You’re just sad,” she repeated.
“I’ve been cooped up in this house too long and it’s getting to me,” I pulled my hands back and turned around, walked to my dresser and lifted my phone. “I need to be around other people. I need to live a little and I need to forget.”
“Lacey,” my mother tried.
“I’m fine mom,” I demanded, stepping back when she extended her hand to take mine. “Leave me be,” I warned.
She stared at me helplessly.
I remembered that look in her eyes.
It was there the day my brother died.
I closed my eyes, remembering my mother run down the street, seeing my father hold their lifeless son in his arms. She collapsed onto the ground and my father placed Jack’s body into her arms, allowing her to hold her baby one final time. I could still hear the cops trying to convince my parents to let him go and the shrill cry that escaped her mouth when they tried to take him from her. It was my father who wound up taking him from her arms and it was he who laid him on the gurney. They didn’t cover him like they do in the movies, they let his parents, our parents, see him one final time just as he looked when he slept instead of bringing a sheet up to cover his angelic face.
I opened my eyes as the tears streamed my cheeks.
I was the reason that day existed in our hearts.
I was the reason my mother lost her son.
I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms tightly around her small frame.
“I’m okay, mom,” I cried. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
She needed for me to get it together.
She needed me to put my mask on.
She squeezed me tightly, and I heard her whimper against my shoulder.
“You’re okay,” she whispered. “You are stronger than you know.”
I pulled away, lifted my hands to her face and wiped away her tears and forced the smile she needed to see.
“I am strong,” I assured.
She searched my eyes and for the first time I wished I had her eyes and not my dad’s maybe then I’d be more convincing. Finally, she nodded, leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
It took a while for her to leave my room, afraid I’d switch masks, but I kept it together long enough to convince her I just needed a break. I called Daniela in front of her, even put the call on speaker, so she could listen and be at ease, knowing I was trying to put one foot in front of the other. When she finally left me alone I showered, threw something on and twisted my hair into a top knot. I could still see the concern etched across her features when I went downstairs to say goodbye.
If she thought she’d succeed she probably would’ve tied me to the chair and not let me leave.
I met Daniela at the Dunkin Donuts on 86th street, ordered an iced coffee and pretended to listen as she rambled on about her birthday. Her birthday was Monday, but she wanted to celebrate tonight since it was Saturday night. One of the guys in Noah’s fraternity had a hook with Kettle Black in Bay Ridge and promised to get us in without I.D.’s.
“You’re going to come aren’t you?”
I didn’t want to.
I wanted to go back to bed but, that wasn’t an option with my mother suspiciously watching me—looking for signs I was more my father’s daughter then hers. So, I decided to keep my mask on and be the happy-go-lucky girl everyone thinks I have the ability to be.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” I promised, taking a sip of my coffee as I turned my head toward the window.
My eyes zeroed in on the Harley across the street and for a moment I assumed it was Mack’s. That guy was a permanent fixture in my life and has been camped out at my mother’s house for the last month. My mom brings him coffee in the morning before she goes to work.
Yeah, she does.
He even changed my stepfather’s tire the other day.
One big happy family.
“It’s going to be so much fun,” Daniela beamed. “Now, I have to figure out what to wear.”
My fake smile diminished as I continued to stare out the window and spotted Blackie walking out of the liquor store across the street. He straddled his bike and then his head turned and our eyes locked.
I saw him.
He saw me.
Another stolen moment to add to the story.
He flipped his sunglasses down and I knew even with the tinted glass over his eyes he was still watching me but then he turned his head and pretended like he never saw me.
Like I never existed.
I watched him peel out of the spot and speed away.
“What do you think?”
I think I lost my fucking mind.
I glanced back at Daniela.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, standing up. “You’re going to pick me up at nine right?”
“Yes,” she replied, confused.
“Okay, I’ll be ready.” I promised, before I grabbed my empty coffee cup and chucked it into the garbage. I gave my friend one last fake smile before leaving the coffee shop. I heard Mack’s engine before I even reached my car. I hope he’s ready to drive around in circles because I had no idea where I was headed but I was on a mission to find peace.
Or my mind.
Whichever.
I wasn’t picky.
An hour later, I pulled into Green-Wood cemetery. I wonder if I’m the only one who gravitates to this place hoping to find answers. I don’t know what it is, but when I’m here I’m almost as much at peace as the souls that call this place home.
I climbed the hill and glanced over my shoulder to see Mack bowing his head. He didn’t get off his bike, allowing me privacy for which I was grateful. I stared at the tombstone, ran my fingers over my brother’s name as I dropped to my knees.
“Hi, Jack,” I whispered as I glanced down at the Yankee cap resting in front of the stone. “I guess dad paid you a visit,” I murmured, tracing the N and the Y on the cap before I broke down in a fit of tears. I don’t remember ever crying as much as I did right then and there. It was as if all the tears I should’ve been crying over the last thirteen years emerged at that moment.
“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed. “It’s all my fault you’re here and not…doing what every other teenage boy is doing. This hat should be on top of your head, not resting on your grave. You should be here but you’re not because I didn’t do anything to help you. I stood there and watched you run into the street. Me! I did that! I’m the reason you wound up underneath a car and I’m the reason Mommy and Daddy don’t have their son. I’m the reason, Jack,” I cried.
“Lacey,” my father’s voice croaked.
I lifted my head and saw my father standing behind me. His hands were ball
ed into fists and he kept them at his sides as he stared at me with an unspeakable amount of grief pouring from the depths of his dark, soulful eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I shrieked. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.” I dropped my head into my hands as my body writhed with sobs. I felt him drop onto the grass behind me before he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him, rocking me in his arms as he laid his chin on top of my head.
“Shh,” he whispered against my hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured.
“Not a damn thing,” he assured, his voice cracking as he spoke.
“It’s my fault. I should’ve called for help and I didn’t,”
“You were five years old Lacey,” he gritted, pulling back and turning my head so I could see his face. “You were just a baby yourself. It was my job…” he paused, his lower lip quivered as he fought to control his emotions. “…it was my job to protect your brother and watch after him,” he ground out. “Mine and only mine.”
He lifted his hand to his head.
“I wasn’t thinking straight,” he admitted.
“You couldn’t think straight,” I whispered.
“My maker…,” he started.
“…was speaking, and you had no choice but to listen,” I finished.
He stared at me speechless and I watched the man most people feared, the man who I thought was larger than life—I watched as a tear slid down his cheek.
“You had no control over what your head was forcing you to believe. The voice was so vivid, so real, you believed every word. It didn’t matter that your heart knew better, you weren’t the one in control anymore. You were a victim of a brutal attack of words that ripped apart your world and fed you straight to the devil. Maybe you tried to fight, wear your maker down, but you can only fight for so long, until you’re exhausted and you have no choice but to surrender.”
I stared at my father as he swiped his hands over his face and looked back at me with remorse. His apology for what his voice couldn’t bring himself to say.
He knew.
And I was the one to tell him.
I was the one to break the silence.
My voice.
And not the voice of my maker.
“Lacey,” he croaked, reaching for me as I pushed off the grass and rose to my feet.
Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5) Page 25