As hard as it is to process how easily Jack pissed on our brotherhood, it’s equally hard to break a habit that spans over decades. I might want to tell him to go fuck himself, but my loyalty to the club has been engrained in my soul and my conscience won’t let me forget that.
“Yeah, well you got a problem,” I tell him. “A detective came down here last night sniffing around. They’re looking into the dead paramedic and the one that worked on Nico is still floating around somewhere. If she talks your story goes to shit and we’re all done.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll handle the paramedic,” he assures, pausing as he bites the inside of his cheek. “That being said, you and I need to talk, brother. I don’t expect it to be now but once your son is out of the woods, you need to make me understand what happened here. Why you didn’t tell me about Linc and what Cain’s connection to Yankovich was. I need to know why you kept it from the club so we can move past it because I gotta tell you, just because that cunt is dead, don’t mean there isn’t someone waiting in the wings to take his place.”
“What are you going to do, Jack? Knock off an innocent girl?” I hiss, shaking my head in disgust. “Get a handle on your shit before you follow down Cain’s path.”
“Playing the crazy card, Wolf?” he spats.
“We all knew Cain was losing it towards the end. He might not have been mentally ill, but he was losing his battle with drugs and getting sloppy,” I tell him. “Now, I’ll give you what I got on Cain, tell you all the ways he fucked us, but I want something in return.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” he asks, offering me a sinister smirk.
“Laugh it up, Parrish,” I growl, closing the distance between us and getting in his face. “I want out.”
The wicked grin falls from his lips as he narrows his eyes, processing my words. To be fair, they’re as much a shock to me as they are to him. In all my life, I never thought I’d say them. I always planned on dying with my cut—for my cut.
“You want out,” he repeats.
“Gave this club everything I had,” I reply, pointing a finger against his chest. “Gave you all of me. Took the rap for you when we were two punk kids who got pinched on those home invasions and I haven’t stopped having your back. Everyone jokes that I’ve been married three times, but no one says why my marriages failed. No one mentions how I sacrificed my family time and time again for the sake of my patch.”
“We all made sacrifices, Wolf.”
“Yeah,” I agree with a nod. “But you and I made the most. You want to go lose your mind for this fucking shit, go right ahead but I’m done giving. You were ready to burn me at the stake and as long as I live, I won’t ever forget that.”
“Put yourself in my shoes.”
“I have,” I remind him. “Whether you want to admit it or not, every time your motherfucking maker came out to play, I stepped in your shoes and lead this club. I’m not looking for a medal, man—you know that, but I did expect a little trust. I earned that and your respect too. Instead, I got put on the receiving end of the Bulldog in his manic state. I’m done sacrificing. The patch didn’t take Junior from you,” I say, speaking of his late son who passed at the tender age of two. “A reckless driver took him and every day you live with the guilt of his death. Imagine what would’ve happened, how you would have felt if you were helplessly bound to a chair, watching your fucking kid bleed out because some cocksucker with a hard-on for your club decided to put a bullet in his chest.”
“You don’t get to bring my dead kid into your tirade,” he roars, getting in my face. “You want to walk away, do it with dignity and leave my boy to rest in peace.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” I reply, brushing his hand away from my chest. “I loved that kid,” I add.
“You think I don’t care for your son? That he wasn’t on my mind the entire time we were taking care of Yankovich?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” I holler.
Taking a step back, he threads his fingers through his salt and pepper hair.
“Then maybe you do need to step away and figure that out,” he says finally. Drawing in a deep breath, he looks around the empty hallway before meeting my gaze once more. “I’m going to tell you like I told Pipe after he buried his wife, your place is with this club but you’re right, it can’t be everything. There needs to be a balance between man and patch, state and church, and until you find that you’re not going to be able to let this go.”
“Oh, cut the shit Parrish,” I hiss. “Don’t give me that heart nonsense. I found my heart three fucking times and three times I threw it away. I served this club to the best of my ability and now I’m walking away with nothing but regrets. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go sit with my son and will him to wake up. You’ll get my intel on Cain when I turn in my patch.”
“You can turn in your patch, but like Pipe, you’ll realize you can’t walk away,” he says, pausing for a beat. “I might be the president of this club, but you are the heart and soul of it.”
“Not no more,” I rasp.
Silently he studies me. Reading his eyes, I know he’s got more to say but before he can utter another word, I step around him. He doesn’t try to stop me and without another glance, I walk away from Jack Parrish and the only lifestyle I know. Striding down the hallway, I push past the swinging doors and clench my fists. Anger swarms through me like a fucking cancer and the need to punch something engulfs me. Rearing back my hand I crush my knuckles against the wall repeatedly. The skin wears thin and before I feel the searing pain, I see the blood drip from my knuckles.
“Jesus Christ, Wolf, what the hell are you doing?”
Pulling my closed fist away from the wall, I turn my head and find Maria standing there, hands on her hips as she peers at me through narrowed eyes.
“Did something happen with Nico?”
Wiping my bloody knuckles on the front of my shirt, I step away from the wall and drag in a ragged breath. Meeting her gaze, I watch her roll her eyes and reach into her oversized purse.
“You’re all the same,” she mumbles.
There ain’t nothing that grates on my nerves more than a person assuming the worst of you. Being a biker, I get that a lot. People sneer at my leather and think I’m a fucking animal. They see the reaper and the one percent patch and lump me with rapists and sex offenders. No one takes the time to know the man beneath the leather. I suppose I can’t get too mad about that considering I haven’t discovered what’s underneath it either.
Still, Maria’s comment bothers me. I don’t know if it's because I’m not sure if she’s comparing me to every scumbag criminal or rather every other guy who has played her dirty. Clenching my jaw, I watch her pull a silk scarf from her bag.
“You’re not going to help your son by putting holes in the wall,” she says. There is a hint of annoyance in her otherwise soft tone. She continues to wrap the silk around my hand before lifting her eyes to mine. “You better go put some peroxide on that,” she adds, releasing my hand and taking a step backward.
“What’re you doing here?”
Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she smiles.
“Lauren had the baby,” she reveals. Pride and joy flicker in her eyes and strange enough, in that moment I’m envious of her. “You know what? Maybe that’s what you need,” she says, taking my good hand. “There’s nothing like a new life. I’ll take you to see him.”
“Him,” I say, glancing at our joined hands. “She had another boy?”
“Yes, little Anthony. He’s perfect.”
“I’m sure he is,” I tell her, unlinking our fingers. “Maybe later. I should get back to Nico.” Her gaze lowers as she pauses for a beat before straightening her shoulders. I may not know much about Maria Bianci, but I know enough about women to realize when they’re securing walls around themselves. Feeling the rejection, she forces a smile.
“Lady—”
“See to that hand,” s
he says before turning on her fancy heels. She takes three steps before I call out to her.
“Send my regards to Lauren.”
Stopping in her tracks, she looks over her shoulder at me.
“Will do.”
As she peels her eyes away, I find myself desperate to keep her with me. For that smart mouth of hers to keep giving me grief. For those eyes of hers to continue to stare at me with curiosity and uncertainty.
“Here, take your scarf,” I say, moving to unravel it from my aching hand.
“It’s covered in your blood,” she points out.
“That’s a bit dramatic, no?” I ask lifting an eyebrow.
“Maybe but would it kill you to clean it before you returned it? I mean, realistically it’s probably stained which means you ruined my favorite scarf. The least you can do is attempt to return it in the condition in which you received it.”
If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was pulling my chain, reaching for a way to see me again. Or maybe I’m the one reaching, wanting more of her, of the comfort of her presence.
“Fair enough, Lady,” I tell her, watching her walk away.
This time I let her go, knowing we’re like oil and water. I remain silent as I watch her push through the double doors and when she’s out of sight, I glance at the silk scarf wrapped around my tattooed hand.
We don’t mix.
Chapter Six
Cradling baby Anthony against my chest, I nuzzle the top of his head and breathe him in. There is no sweeter smell than the scent of a newborn baby. It’s these little things I wish I had discovered when my own children were babies but back then I was too consumed with just trying to make it through the days to appreciate the tender moments. I’m ashamed to admit, I don’t remember much of the early years. I don’t remember how old they were when they got their first tooth or what their first words were. I’m lucky I got the chance to experience any of their firsts considering I was working three jobs, trying to keep the electric on. My husband gambled every dollar we had and at times I couldn’t afford diapers. Sometimes I think we would’ve been better off if Carmine had left while I was pregnant with Lauren. If he had, my daughter might not have spent most of her childhood thinking she was the reason her daddy skipped out on the family.
“You’re a baby hog,” Lauren calls from the hospital bed.
The poor girl had a rough night. Between a bad reaction to the morphine and the gas pains in her shoulder, she didn’t get any rest. Now, she’s being discharged in a little while, twenty-fours after having major surgery to deliver her child. Wincing, she tries to maneuver out of the bed.
Standing with the baby in my arms, I rush to her side.
“Mom, I can do it,” she says, causing me to pause in my tracks. “I have two other kids at home.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I also know how hard it’s going to be. It’s ridiculous they’re releasing you so soon.”
“I was released the same time after I gave birth to Robert,” she reminds me.
“It’s still ridiculous,” I mutter, swaying with the baby in my arms. “I have work tonight, but before I came here, I loaded up your freezer with meals. All you have to do is thaw them and pop them in the oven. Tomorrow, I’ll come by early and take Eric and Robert to the playground that way you can rest.”
I showed up at her house this morning at six, cleaned every room and threatened to shoot Riggs if he made a mess before she got home, but I leave all that out. Instead, I watch as she shuffles around the room, preparing to dress the baby in his take me home outfit. A cute little knit set, Adrianna found in one of those children’s boutiques—you know the ones where even a pair of socks costs fifty dollars.
“I spoke to Riggs,” she starts, laying the baby’s clothes on the bed. “He said he told you about the bar,” she baits, turning to take the baby from my arms. Pressing a kiss to his head, I hand him over and release a sigh, recalling the conversation Riggs and I had this morning while I cleaned the kitchen. Apparently, he invested in a bar out on Staten Island. He completely gutted it and for the last few months, he’s been renovating it. Now, it’s ready to open for business and he wants to hire me to run the kitchen.
I contemplated the offer, especially when he said I could make my own schedule. The thought of possibly having the weekends off sounded glorious until he dropped the bomb that his new business venture would also be a front for his motorcycle gang—err, I mean club. Riggs planned on opening the establishment to the public but behind closed doors, his new bar would also act as the Satan’s Knights new clubhouse.
“Yes, he did,” I say, smoothing down my blouse before reaching for a fresh diaper.
“I thought you would’ve jumped at the chance to be your own boss and make your own hours. You could work two-three days and you wouldn’t have to be on your feet all the time. It would give you more time with the kids too,” she says, taking the diaper from my hand.
“Lauren, I am not going to run a biker bar,” I tell her.
“So, if Riggs was a garbage man who bought a bar, would you have taken him up on his offer?” she asks snidely.
“Sweetheart, it has nothing to do with Riggs profession.”
“Sure, it does. You still can’t get over the fact that your daughter is marrying a biker or that your son is mobbed up.”
“Okay, first of all, your brother is retired,” I reply. The words sound like complete bullshit even to my own ears.
“Right, that’s why he was a bleeding on my couch the other day,” she says sarcastically.
Deciding not to argue the fact, I try a different tactic.
“I’ve worked at Rab’s for years, it wouldn’t feel right leaving,” I argue, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
That’s not saying I don’t deal with my fair share of assholes at the bowling alley. Every once in a blue, a guy will hit the bottle hard and get fresh. Lucky for me, I have a knack for taking out the trash and know how to handle myself.
Admittedly, I’m probably best suited for the job Riggs is offering and I’m sure I’d have a grand time keeping all those ball busters in line. However, as interesting as working for the Satan’s Knights might be, I’m not looking for excitement and I’m very aware of the type of patrons a business owned by a criminal enterprise attracts. It starts with the Satan’s Knights and before anyone can blink, every criminal with a rap sheet is looking for a shot of whiskey and a sausage and pepper hero.
No, thank you.
My days of wielding frying pans are over and I’m just fine with renting lanes by the hour.
“It’s not like you’re leaving to go work at another bowling alley. I’m sure Rab will understand if you took a job working for your son-in-law.”
“Speaking of my so-called son-in-law, have you two talked about getting married?”
Cringing, she lifts her fully dressed baby to her chest.
“I walked into that one,” she says.
Cocking my head to the side, I smile cheekily.
“I’m just saying it’s been years since he put that ring on your finger—”
“And every time we think about setting a date, I wind up pregnant.”
“I know we had this discussion when you were sixteen… it’s called birth control, sweetheart,” I retort, glancing at Anthony. “Although, I can’t imagine what life would be like without this little guy or his two brothers.”
Nuzzling her baby, she smiles back at me and the picture they paint is locked away in my memory with countless others.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she says softly. “I’ll set a date if you agree to give the job more thought.”
It seems like a fair trade. There’s no harm in possibilities and a date on the calendar is a step in the right direction. Before I can agree, my phone sounds inside my purse.
“Hold that thought,” I say, crossing the room. Digging through my bag, I pull out the phone and glance at the screen. Noting the number is the same as the hospital, I narrow my eyes
suspiciously before lifting my gaze to Lauren. “I’ll be right back, I have to take this.”
She nods, and my first thought is that it’s Wolf calling to give me an update on Nico. Accepting the call, I walk out of the room and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Maria please?”
“This is she,” I reply, stepping away from the door.
“This is Leanne from Dr. Kennedy’s office, I’m calling in regard to the mammogram you had—”
“Is everything okay?”
“The doctor would like you to come back in for further testing. How does Friday work for you?”
My body goes rigid as I digest what she’s saying.
“Is something wrong?”
“The doctor found a small mass on your right breast. It’s very likely it’s a nodule or a benign cyst but he’d rather be safe than sorry and schedule for an ultrasound, as well as a biopsy.”
Lifting my hand to my neck, I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to keep my cool. As a woman who has had quite a few curveballs thrown at her, I pride myself on remaining calm in situations like this. Worrying won’t help anyone and stress will kill you.
“Can I come in now? I’m actually at the hospital visiting my newborn grandson.”
“Dr. Kennedy is in surgery all day. The earliest appointment I have available is Friday at noon.”
Straightening my shoulders, I comb my fingers through my blond hair and look towards my daughter’s room.
“Friday is fine,” I say. Despite my efforts to sound calm, cool and collected, I stammer the three words.
“Mrs. Bianci, I’m sure everything is fine. Dr. Kennedy is a very thorough and cautious physician. He likes all his T's crossed and his I’s dotted.”
Finding a bit of comfort in that, I thank her before confirming my appointment. After I disconnect the call, I swipe my hands over my face and push the call to the back of my head. Friday is days away and I refuse to drive myself mad thinking about the possibilities.
Riding The Edge Page 6