As I stumble to find the right words, I realize I may have purposely procrastinated with this revelation. I don’t want to be the brother who tells him the man he held on a pedestal is the same man who used his debilitating illness to ruin our club.
“Cain didn’t give you the nod for the chair in good faith,” I say hoarsely. “He and that Russian cunt played on the loss of your son and the fragility of your mind. Yankovich knew all about your maker and they never expected you to keep her at bay. Cain set you up to fail, thought it was only a matter of time before you were committed. The plan was for Yankovich to sweep in and take control of the club’s territory, including the docks. He could move all the girls and drugs he wanted if we weren’t on the map anymore.”
Rising to his feet, he lifts his hands to the sides of his head and paces in front of me.
“Brother, you proved them wrong. We all gave you shit, but you saved this club. You breathed life into every man with a fucking patch and made them part of something they could be proud of. You made us all part of your family and that’s the biggest fuck you, you could’ve given those pricks.”
Turning around, he drops his hands and stares back at me. Taking in his disheveled appearance, my body fills with regret.
“If that was true we wouldn’t have a stack of bodies in Green-Wood Cemetery,” he roars.
“We’d all be dead, Parrish,” I argue. “And while we might not have saved every innocent girl that motherfucker harmed, we saved Ally. Now, I know this is a hard pill for you to swallow but you need to reign it in because once this shit gets out, we need to be ready for war.”
“Does Pops know?”
“I don’t know if he knows about the tapes and there was no time to ask. I only found out right before the shit with Pipe and Brantley. When the dust clears you and Blackie might want to take a ride down to Georgia.”
The silence stretches between us as I try to find the words to make this right. Before I get the chance, the transformation between manic and sane commences. Composing himself, Jack straightens his shoulders and combs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair.
“Thank you for giving me that,” he rasps. “I understand why you kept it to yourself.”
“Do you?”
“You don’t want to admit it, or may you don’t even want to see it, but Cain and Yankovich were right. I am a liability. You didn’t want to tell me the truth because you knew it might throw me over the edge.”
Stepping closer, he places a hand on my shoulder and pats the other as he levels me with an intense look.
“I won’t give that motherfucker the satisfaction. It’s going to take a lot more than bad blood between me and a corpse to drive me mad,” he says roughly before taking a retreating step back. “Oh, and just to be clear, there is no we, Wolf,” he says, pausing for a beat. “There is me and there is you. I’ll get a handle on the crazy, but you get a handle on life,” he says, dropping his hands.
“And for fuck’s sake, that don’t mean go and plant more fucking vegetables. A man survives a massive heart attack, drops half a person and instead of getting his dick sucked he goes and becomes a fucking farmer,” he says, handing over more truth in a fashion only a man like Jack Parrish can… crass and to the point.
Just the way I like it.
Chapter Eight
Wringing out the mop, I inspect the wood floor for any traces of blood I might’ve missed. Satisfied, I drop the mop into the bucket and peer out the front window, spotting the two blue and whites that have been parked outside the house for God knows how long. At least the assholes were considerate enough to get rid of the caution tape surrounding the property. It’s the least they could’ve done considering they ransacked the house.
Drawing the blinds closed, I draw in a deep breath and glance around the empty house. The silence is fucking torturous and I debate on going back to the hospital. My phone beeps, alerting me of a text. I fucking hate text messages. Mainly because I’m shit at replying. It takes me twenty minutes to type a sentence and most of the time it doesn’t make any sense because my fingers are too big, and I hit all the wrong keys. I’d also like to get my hands on the bastard who invented autocorrect. No self-respecting man should ever tell a brother to go duck himself.
Not recognizing the number, I swipe to open the message and am surprised to learn it’s Maria.
Hi, it’s Maria. I’m just checking to see if there was any change in Nico.
I’m a dick. I promised I’d get in touch with her once Nico woke up and until now, she’s been the furthest thing from my mind. However, as much of a piece of shit that makes me, I’m still not willing to play the text game. Hitting send on the number, I lift the phone to my ear. It rings three times before it goes to her voicemail and that raspy Brooklyn accent drifts through the line. The woman’s got a great voice.
“Lady, it’s Wolf,” I start, running a hand over my beard. “Call me back.” Short and to the point, yet I don’t end the call. “Got your number, now.”
The phone beeps causing me to pull it from my ear and glance at the screen. Ending the message, I open the new text.
At work.
Realizing she won’t answer the phone, I attempt a text. Five minutes later, I hit send.
Ok.
I wanted to tell her to call me when she gets off but that would’ve taken me a half hour. Having enough of the phone, I shove it in my back pocket. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I note it’s ten o’clock at night and I’ve got nothing to do. No kids to annoy and no brothers to hassle. I could make a sandwich. Scratch that—I don’t remember the last time I went to the supermarket. Sighing, I reluctantly park my ass on the sofa and grab the remote. Wondering if MacGyver is still on, I flick through the channels and finally settle on some reality show. Keeping my eyes on the screen, I watch some kid with spiky hair chant about putting on a fucking t-shirt. When he starts running around the house shouting the cabs are here, I turn the television off and toss the remote across the room.
It’s no wonder this country is fucked.
Got a bunch of idiots running around, chanting about getting dressed and getting their asses in a car.
Grabbing my keys from the coffee table, I push myself from the couch and hesitantly reach for my cut. I might not be the club treasurer anymore but, I’ll always be a Knight. Shrugging it onto my shoulders, I shut the lights and head out of the house. Straddling my bike, I glance in the side mirror and spot the cops watching me from their patrol cars.
They’re probably fans of the fucking show I was just watching.
Rolling my eyes, I throttle the engine and back out of the driveway. Flipping them the bird, I ride past them and let the wind carry me. I’ll never be the guy who sits on the couch with a beer in one hand and a remote in the other. I was born to ride, to make that thunder you hear when my tires roll down your street.
It’s not long before the tension dissipates from me and I realize I’m parked in front of Rab’s Bowling Alley. Dismounting, I hang my helmet on the handlebars before making my way towards the entrance. Entering, I’m taken back by how packed the place is for a Wednesday. People of all ages fill the glow in the dark lanes and loud music plays overhead, washing out the sound of the balls knocking down the pins.
Searching for Maria, I start to wonder what the fuck I’m doing here. It’s not like I’m going to trade my boots in for a pair of bowling shoes and telling her I paid a seventeen-dollar toll just to tell her Nico woke up makes me sound pathetic. Combing my fingers through my hair, I decide to tell her I was in the neighborhood. Royal Crown bakery is just a few blocks down and they make a killer sandwich.
Lie in place, I spot her standing next to some guy who, judging by the shirt he’s wearing, appears to be part of a league. Diverting my attention away from the man, I take in Maria. Even at a bowling alley she’s all done up, wearing those fancy shoes of hers. Pairing them with a pair of form fitting jeans, I notice she also has a fantastic ass—something I never bothered to look at until now
.
Up top she wears a simple blouse that falls off her left shoulder, baring the slightest glimpse of olive skin. In this day and age, women falsely think the more skin they show, the sexier they are. What they don’t realize is a man likes a little mystery and a woman’s best laid secret is her body. There ain’t nothing sweeter than taking the time to unravel and discover all the soft curves she keeps hidden beneath her clothes. I’m willing to bet Maria’s got some great fucking secrets under those fancy threads of hers. As a man who has had his share of women, I can honestly say I’ve never had one who exudes both sex and class on the regular. However, Maria Bianci nails both every time I see her. I don’t know if she’s drinking from the fountain of youth or if she had her son Anthony at a really young age, but the woman looks great.
Really fucking great and I’m not the only one who notices.
The man standing next to her, drapes his arm around her shoulders, letting his fingertips trail over the exposed patch of skin. Smiling at him, she flicks his wrist, brushing his hand away. The douchebag doesn’t get the hint and moves his hand back to her shoulder. Instinctively, I curl my fists as I stride towards them.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Lenny,” Maria says, turning to face him.
“Ah, that’s bullshit, baby,” he slurs. “You and me used to be good together.”
“Funny,” she muses. “Couldn’t be that good if we’re not anymore.”
“I wasn’t ready for you back then.”
“I hate to break it to you Lenny, but you’re still not. Don’t beat yourself up about it though… I’ve yet to meet a man who is.”
His other hand moves to her hip and I see red.
“Think the lady made it clear she don’t want your hands on her,” I growl, coming to stand behind her. Getting a whiff of her perfume, I keep my eyes glued to the piece of shit hitting on her. His hand falls from her hip as she spins around to face me. Peeling my eyes off the dick, I meet her fiery gaze. Those brown eyes spit fire and burn through me.
“Al,” she says. “What are you doing?”
Hand to God, I have no fucking idea.
Diverting my attention back to Lenny.
“Who the fuck are you?” he hisses.
“A friend,” I reply. “Now, here’s how this is going to go—”
Pressing a hand to my chest, Maria cuts me off and turns to Lenny.
“Lenny, why don’t you go back to your lane and I’ll catch up with you in a few,” she suggests.
Lenny glares at me for a moment before his gaze darts to her hand that is still laying against my chest. Huffing, he mumbles something inaudible before giving her a tight nod and stepping around her, retreating to his lane. Once he’s out of sight, Maria glances over my shoulder, towards the front desk. Calling out to whoever is behind it, she announces she’s taking her break before bringing her brown eyes back to mine. Dropping her hand, she places both on her hips.
“Let’s go, Wolf,” she orders.
Call me crazy, but I’ve always had a thing for a woman with fire in her veins and this one has a fucking inferno spreading wildly through her.
“Where we going, Lady,” I muse, feeling my lips twitch behind my beard.
“Somewhere quiet,” she spats.
“I usually have to take a woman to dinner first,” I deadpan.
“Now,” she hisses. Spinning on her heel, she sashays her hips and charges for the door, never bothering to see if I’m following her. Why would she? A woman knows when she’s got a man by the balls and I’m fairly certain Maria just twisted mine in a knot.
With another glance at Lenny, I follow the spitfire out of the bowling alley. In the parking lot, I shove my hands in my pockets and watch her pace in front of me. I don’t laugh, and I sure as fuck don’t tell her to relax. Everyone knows telling an angry Italian woman to calm down works about as well as trying to baptize a cat.
“I could’ve handled that,” she says finally.
“I don’t doubt that,” I reply, cocking my head as she gives me her eyes. “And you shouldn’t doubt a man won’t interfere when a piece of shit touches a woman who don’t want to be touched.”
“Lenny—”
“He your man?”
“No,” she replies, narrowing her eyes.
“You ask for his hands?”
“Well, no.”
“Then they don’t belong there.”
Arching one perfectly manicured eyebrow, she crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one side as she studies me.
“Why are you here, Wolf?”
Fuck if I know the answer to that one. Looking out at the packed parking lot, I shrug my shoulders.
“I don’t text.”
“I gathered that much when you called me,” she says. Unable to hold out anymore, I meet her gaze, taking a moment to appreciate her pretty face. Another thing I never bothered to do until now. Framing her soulful eyes, are the longest pair of eyelashes I’ve ever seen. If I was staring at any other woman, I would question if they’re fake, but I already know there are no false pretenses when it comes to Maria. What you see is what you get.
I don’t have to touch her to know her skin is as smooth as silk. That doesn’t mean the urge ain’t there. If I didn’t think she’d snap my finger in half, I’d brush my calloused thumb over her cheek and take a fix. Maybe it would be enough to stop me from wondering what those lips taste like.
Jesus Christ.
I really am fucked in the head. Maybe Jack’s right. I’ve spent too much time playing with my green thumb that I neglected my dick. I should call one of my regulars. The hostess at the diner is always up for a good time. Too bad I can’t remember her fucking name.
Pulling my hands out of my pockets, I comb my fingers through my hair and shake the crazy from my head.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Maria questions, sounding annoyed.
“No,” I admit. Before she smacks me upside the head, I make good on my word. “Nico woke up today.”
At that, her features soften and God, I like the way she’s looking at me.
I like it a fuck of a lot.
“That’s great news.”
“Yeah, he’s got a ways to go and he’ll probably be in the hospital for at least a week or two but, everything looks good.”
“Thank God,” she replies. “You and Patty must be so relieved.” Pausing, she pushes the wispy strands of hair away from her face. “I should’ve realized he was awake the minute I saw your face. You wouldn’t have left that hospital otherwise.”
Noticing she missed a piece, I reach out and tuck it behind her ear. At the slight touch, her body goes completely still, and her eyes lock with mine. Silence settles over us as we become consumed with trying to figure out what’s happening between us. Days ago, we were two people who only uttered a word to one another if we were forced to. Now, she’s texting me and I’m showing up at her job looking to slice some fucks fingers off because he touched her.
Clearing her throat, she takes a step backward, out of my reach and the invisible walls around her come flying up, reminding us both we’re not cut from the same cloth.
“Have dinner with me,” I blurt rebelliously.
Blinking at me, she looks bewildered… like I didn’t ask her to share a simple meal but rather to pack her bags and run away with me.
“What?”
“Dinner,” I repeat.
“That’s crazy,” she scoffs, looking away.
“Is it?” I press. Defying her need for space, I step forward and lay a finger to her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done.”
“I didn’t do anything you didn’t do for me.”
“I wrecked your fancy scarf with my blood.”
“It’ll wash out,” she argues.
“Have dinner with me, Lady.”
“Do you need me to tell you all the reasons why that’s a bad idea?”
“Yeah and you better mak
e them good because it’s going to take a lot of convincing to sway me,” I tell her.
It’s true too. In the back of my mind, I got a whole list of reasons why I shouldn’t get any closer to Maria. The first being she’s Riggs’ mother-in-law. The second being a woman like her will likely chew me up and spit me out and if she don’t her son will fucking nail my balls to the cross. Still, even knowing all that, I want to spend time with her.
“Well, for starters, we have nothing in common.”
“Try again.”
“Name one thing you and I have in common,” she challenges as she starts to pace again.
For fuck’s sake, she’s making me dizzy.
“You got kids, I got kids. We got a shit ton of mutual acquaintances—”
“That’s not a good thing.”
Ignoring her, I continue.
“You like my tomatoes and basil,” I point out.
“So what, I like to cook.”
“Another thing we got in common.”
Surprised, she comes to a halt.
“You cook?” she questions.
“Wipe the shock off your pretty face, Lady. A man does what he’s gotta do when he wants to eat.”
Throwing her hands up, she blows her blonde hair away from her face and stares at me with an exasperated expression.
“For crying out loud, you call yourself Wolf—”
“You can call me Al if it makes you feel better.”
“There are probably motorcycle parts in your dishwasher and your fanciest shoes have a steel toe. You’re nothing like I’m used to,” she argues, chest heaving as she sighs.
“Leather, once it’s broken in some, can be as soft as silk. Why don’t you try it on for size, see if it’s a good fit before you make your judgments?”
My words resonate with her and the desperation to push me away fades as she looks at me regretfully.
“I’m not judging you.”
“Right,” I laugh. “Look, I get I’m not your kind,” I say, taking a step closer. To my surprise, she doesn’t retreat. Instead, she lifts her chin and meets my gaze. “I’m not going to put on some fancy fucking suit and I won’t try to impress you by taking you to some overpriced restaurant where the portions are small, and the food is shit. What I will do is be myself. I’ll take you to my favorite joint, a little hole in the wall place downtown. I’ll hold the door for you and give you my undivided attention. Take you home and walk you to the door,” I say, pausing to glance down at her shoes. “You can wear your sexy shoes and I’ll wear my worn boots. We’ll turn heads and get people talkin’ but you won’t give a fuck because you’ll be too busy enjoying yourself to give a damn about anyone else.”
Riding The Edge Page 8