Riding The Edge

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Wolf,” Reina calls. “There’s more.”

  Jesus fuck.

  I don’t know how much more I can fucking take.

  “Jack is in a bad way. After the last episode, he stopped taking his medication. He’s refusing to cooperate and is denying his right to an attorney…” Her words trail as her voice cracks and tears fill her eyes. “He won’t see me and is demanding to speak with you.”

  Without hesitation, I reach for her and bring her into my arms. A sob escapes the back of her throat as I look over her head at the attorney.

  “Will they let me see him?”

  “I told them the only way they will get him to cooperate is by allowing you to speak with him and give him his medication. Apparently, the last thing the City of New York wants is an unmedicated Jack Parrish on their hands because they agreed but, I have to warn you, they’re probably going to videotape your conversation. Do not—I repeat, do not, give them anything. The only chance we got is playing on his insanity.”

  Releasing Reina, I meet her eyes.

  “That okay with you?”

  Biting her lip, she reaches into her purse and pulls out an orange prescription bottle and offers it to me.

  “Tell him I love him.”

  Taking the bottle from her hands, I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead before turning back to the attorney.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Hesitating for a moment, the lawyer springs into action. I’m brought inside a room where I am thoroughly checked for any kind of contraband and before I know it, I’m being led by a team of FBI agents to the interrogation room they’re holding Jack inside.

  The door opens, and my gaze falls on my fearless leader. Already dressed in prison blues, he’s handcuffed to the table.

  “I already told you mutts I’m not fucking talking to anyone but Wolf,” he growls, keeping his eyes trained on the table. Slamming his shackled wrists against the metal, he hollers. “Bring me Alfonse Scotto or you all can suck my dick.”

  “Parrish,” I shout.

  At the sound of my voice, he lifts his head and his dark eyes bore into mine.

  Soulless.

  Lifeless.

  Hopeless.

  “I’m here, brother. I’m here,” rasp.

  One of the feds moves inside the room and turns on the video camera. A little red light glows on the camera, alerting us that we’re being recorded, and he sees himself out, leaving me and Jack alone. I start for the table, pulling the chair across from him out, I take a seat. Swallowing, I reach into my pocket and pull out the prescription bottle, placing it gently in the center of the table.

  Like the crazed lunatic he is, he stares at the bottle and laughs hysterically.

  My eyes dart between the camera and the mirrored glass I’m sure the feds are standing behind.

  “That shit can’t save me now,” he says, drawing my eyes back to him. “It’s the end of the line, brother.”

  I shake my head.

  As much as I like to think I’ve prepared myself for this, I realize I haven’t. I think in the back of my head, I assumed he’d prevail just as he always does, that this was just another battle in the life of Jack Parrish and his run with the Satan’s Knights. I forgot every story has an end.

  “It’s time you call a vote.”

  I also should’ve realized, Jack Parrish would never step down.

  I should’ve known he doesn’t fold.

  Not in this life and not in his next.

  No, Jack Parrish ends when he’s been knocked off his throne.

  “So, that it Parrish? This is how it ends?”

  He lifts his cuffed wrists and leans back against the chair.

  “It was over before it started.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Al returned to the hospital after having assessed the situation with the club and other than revealing the guys would not be arraigned for a few days due to the holiday weekend, we didn’t speak about the Satan’s Knights. The anesthesia had worn off, and I was feeling the effects of the surgery. I was in pain and every nurse and doctor in sight was poking me, emptying my drains and checking my incisions. I felt like a science experiment and truth be told, I couldn’t wait to be released.

  However, going home was no better. Two days after surgery, I was in my own house, my own bed, and instead of nurses and doctors ogling me, it was Adrianna and Lauren. They took turns changing my bandages and emptying my drains. And before I went to bed, Lauren would stop by and help me undress and pin the drains to the inside of my nightgown. As parents, I don’t think any of us want to inconvenience our children. After all, it’s our job to take care of them, isn’t it? It shouldn’t be the other way around yet the only thing I didn’t want more than being a burden to my kids was having Al see me like this.

  I wasn’t only feeling helpless, but I was I also insecure in my own skin and couldn’t help but feel as though I was mutilated. My femininity was slipping from me and though Al had done nothing but say all the right things and support me. He cooked, he cleaned and slipped into bed at night, looking to hold me but I didn’t let him. Instead, I counted the minutes until the arraignment, knowing then and only then, he’d leave my side and I’d finally be alone.

  Without him or the girls near, I could cry.

  I could scream.

  I could take the bandage off and finally face what I have been avoiding.

  Now, he’s at the courthouse and I’m standing in the bathroom, trying to find the courage to look at myself. Drawing in a deep breath, I lift my head and open my eyes. My fingers move to the buttons on my blouse and I force myself to undo them. Cringing through the pain, I cross my arms and drag the silk away. My eyes dart to the two drains pinned to my pants, and a gasp escapes my lips. Tears start to blur my vision as I reach across the counter for one of the plastic cups the doctor gave me when I was discharged. Ripping the top off the drain, my fingers tremble as I empty the contents into the cup. I repeat the process for the second drain and take a step backward as my eyes follow the length of the tubes that disappear under my bra.

  Foolishly, I thought it would be a long while until I wore a bra again, but I quickly learned there were bras made especially for mastectomy patients. It was as soft as a sports bra and it had Velcro straps that wrapped around the shoulders and a Velcro closure that rested where my cleavage once had.

  Holding my breath, I lift my hands to the closure and slowly peel it apart. The straps fall from my shoulders, revealing the gauze covering my wounds. Since the plastic surgeon was able to begin the reconstruction, I’m not as flat as I expected and what once filled a C-cup is now barely enough to fill a B.

  As I reach for the corner of the gauze, I close my eyes.

  You are a survivor.

  You are strong.

  You are a warrior.

  I peel the bandage away from me and open my eyes.

  A sob wretches from my gut and echoes off the walls of the bathroom as I gawk at my body, at the two angry red scars that stand in place of my nipples.

  The tears stream down my cheeks as my knees threaten to buckle and I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. As much as I want to look away, I can’t.

  I stare at my scars and weep.

  I mourn the loss.

  I might be a survivor.

  But I also have two scars that prove I’m a victim too.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Dismounting from my bike, I throw my leg over the seat and stare across the street, at the bar Riggs has converted to become the new home of the Satan’s Knights. It isn’t much from the outside but it’s standing which is a lot more than I can say for the rest of us. A couple of hours ago, I sat next to Reina and watched my brothers get arraigned. The bail was set high and before they were released, Reina and I had to scramble to get the funds together. We depleted the club’s assets and even with Jack’s house as collateral we made it by the skin of our teeth.

  With everyone out on bail, it was
time to do as Jack ordered.

  It was time to take a vote on the future of the Satan’s Knights.

  Jack knew it was time too and barely acknowledged any of us as he escorted his wife to their car and left without so much as a goodbye. I didn’t know what that meant or how things would play out after the vote. All I knew was the forensic report concluded that the gun belonged to Blackie and with him still on the lam, we had to be careful. The last thing we needed was to lead the Feds to him. Anyone tailing us would assume we were all headed to Pipe’s garage, especially since no one knew about the bar yet and so, we all went our separate ways. Before ordering them to the garage, Pipe asked Deuce, Cobra, Stryker, and Needles to choose a proxy for their vote and the rest of us headed to Staten Island, where Nico and Anthony had agreed to smuggle in Blackie.

  Now with everyone in their rightful place, the stage was set.

  Rolling my neck, I cross the busy street and bypass the line of Harley’s, making my way up the walkway leading towards the front door. Pulling it open, I’m engulfed by the scent of fresh paint as I scan the bar. Remembering Riggs had remodeled one of the back rooms to use as a chapel, I walk through the joint and follow the sounds of their voices. As I reach the doorway, everyone grows silent.

  My eyes sweep around the restaurant tables that have been pushed together, noting the chair at the end remains empty and the mallet rests in front of it. My gaze lingers for a moment before turning to the left of the vacant seat and land on Blackie. I watch as he lifts his hand to the brim of his baseball cap. Removing it, he shakes out his long hair and brushes it away from his face. His eyes are bloodshot and the scruff he keeps trimmed looks overgrown. He stares at me for a beat before nodding towards the other empty chair sitting at the opposite end of the table.

  The eerie silence is uncomfortable and in a desperate attempt to rid us of it, I drag the legs of the chair across the floor. Sitting down, I lean forward, planting my forearms on top of the table and bow my head.

  “With our president absent from this meeting, it seems only fair our VP calls order,” I begin, lifting my chin and meeting Blackie’s gaze.

  After another beat of silence, he tears his eyes from mine and focuses on the meat mallet. It seems like the nomads presented that kitchen utensil to him a lifetime ago but, I can still remember holding my breath as I watched Blackie’s hand close around the handle for the first time. It was another poignant moment in the history of this club and one of many times, Blackie acted on Jack’s behalf. Thinking about it now, I can’t help but wonder if Jack orchestrated those moments on purpose in his feeble attempt to groom Blackie for his inevitable role.

  “What are you waiting for, Black?” Riggs questions.

  Leaning forward, Blackie reaches for the mallet. Instead of lifting it, he slides it down the center of the table, straight towards me. As the head collides with my forearm, I raise my chin and meet his intense gaze.

  “I fucked up,” he confesses, hoarsely. “Most of you know by now that Lacey is pregnant,” he continues. “What you might not know is that the doctors don’t want her taking her meds during the pregnancy. Lacey hasn’t been unmedicated since she was diagnosed a manic depressive and while, I’d like to tell you all that I’m handling it, I’m not. I’ve been drinking and the day we met with the cartel I was drunk. If I was straight, it wouldn’t have mattered if I was shot, I would never have dropped that gun. I’m not making excuses for it,” he says as he pushes his back off the chair.

  With practiced control, he shrugs his cut from his shoulders and lays the worn leather on the table in front of him. Lifting his hips, he reaches behind him and pulls a pocket knife from his pants.

  “I got a kid on the way and a woman on the verge of following in her father’s footsteps. On top of that, I got a case. The Feds aren’t going to magically forget the gun has my fingerprints and instead of running, I’ve decided to turn myself into the authorities.”

  “What about Lacey?” Pipe questions.

  “I’m no help to Lacey this way,” he says regretfully. “Even if they didn’t have the gun and I wasn’t wanted for murder, I would only drag her down. I guess once an addict, always an addict.”

  “And the baby?” Riggs asks. “You turn yourself in, you won’t see your kid, man.”

  “He can’t run, Riggs,” I mutter, looking at Blackie. “But, you can fight the charges. Call your sobriety coach or your sponsor, whoever you gotta call. Get yourself clean and we’ll get you a fucking team of lawyers if we have to, Black. I promise you, you don’t want to miss your child being born into this world. It’ll be your biggest regret.”

  “Yeah, man,” Linc says. “Whatever we need to do, we got you. We got your back.”

  He doesn’t reply and instead we all watch as he runs the blade of his knife over his VP patch. Too many of us sitting around this table have done the same exact thing, and it’s no surprise when he takes the blade to the stitches and removes the patch. Dropping the knife onto his cut, he lifts the patch between his fingers and stares across the table at me.

  “Even if I fight the charges, I have to turn myself in,” he relents. “I can’t keep hiding out. If I make bail, I’ll be able to work on getting clean and spend as much time with Lacey before my trial starts. I can’t serve my woman and child and serve my brothers too,” he pauses, tossing his patch onto the center of the table. “And I won’t vote against Jack either,” he adds, finding my eyes. “I’m out.”

  “Vote against Jack?” Bas questions. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s time you tell them why we’re here, Wolf,” Blackie calls.

  Everyone gives me their attention except for Pipe. Instead, he runs his hands over his face and bows his head.

  “Wolf, what the fuck is going on?” Riggs asks agitatedly.

  Clearing my throat, I shove the mallet away from me and straighten my shoulders.

  “Years ago, after Jack was first diagnosed and Cain passed the gavel to him, he made Pipe and I swear to intervene if his mind ever made him a liability to the club. I don’t have to tell any of you, Jack’s been struggling since this mess with Yankovich imploded. You all got eyes. You watched him kill that paramedic and you all know what happened with the partner. This shit with the cartel was the icing on the cake and when I found out about his plan, I went to him and tried to talk him out of it. He was having a breakdown and Reina wouldn’t let see him like that. Instead, she begged me to relieve him of his duties to the club. She knows he’s losing his grip on his sanity and before she’s forced to institutionalize the man she loves, she wants to spend as much time with him and their son as she can.”

  “Institutionalize?” Linc questions. “Is that really what it will come down to?”

  “Yes,” Blackie answers grimly. “He’s lucid now but refusing to take his medication. The longer he goes unmedicated, the deeper he’ll fall into the darkness. Eventually, he will be considered a danger to himself and others. There won’t be any reining him in, he’ll be gone. A shell of a man with no capacity to think for himself and Reina shouldn’t have to see that. Neither should Danny and I sure as fuck don’t want Lacey to think she’s looking in the mirror.”

  “While you were all locked up, I was allowed to visit with Jack,” I reveal. “He ordered us here,” I say tapping my finger to the table.

  “Jesus Christ,” Bas mutters. “Well, where is he? I mean, we’re all here and he’s not.”

  “Jack isn’t coming,” I say gruffly.

  “Why the hell not?” Riggs shouts.

  “Because we’re all here to vote and he can’t be present for it,” I explain, watching his eyes widen.

  “So, what you’re saying is we are here to fucking impeach the Bulldog?” When I don’t answer he continues, pointing an accusing finger at Blackie. “Our VP just fucking stepped down.”

  “Then I guess we’re voting on a lot more than removing Jack from the chair,” Pipe says, turning to me. “Do it, Wolf,” he growls.

 
Diverting my eyes from the mallet, I stare at Blackie and search for a shed of approval.

  “Just because I can’t do it doesn’t mean it doesn’t have to be done,” he says solemnly. “Take the vote, Wolf.”

  Thirty years of brotherhood and it’s all come down to this.

  Lifting the mallet, I draw in a deep breath and sweep my gaze around the table, taking in all the grim expressions.

  “All those in favor of removing Jack Parrish as the president of the Satan’s Knights, say yes,” I rasp, turning to the first in line.

  “Yes,” Bas says.

  “Is that a yes for Needles too?”

  He jerks his head.

  “Need the word, brother.”

  “Yes.”

  Next, my gaze meets Riggs. Removing his sunglasses, he crushes them in his fist and turns to me.

  “For Reina, I say yes and that’s a yes for Cobra too.”

  Nodding, my eyes pause on Blackie for a moment before moving to Linc.

  “Yes, for me and Deuce.”

  As I look to Pipe, I hear footsteps sound from behind me. Turning my head, I glance over my shoulder as everyone diverts their attention to the doorway and the man standing in the center of it.

  “There’s been a change in plans,” Jack calls.

  Just when you think he’s done, the man comes back one more fucking time.

  Chapter Forty

  In the end, only three things matter; how much you loved, how hard you lived and how gracefully you let go of the things you couldn’t control. As a mentally deranged man, the only thing I craved more than sanity was leaving behind a legacy. I never got a handle on my mind and the jury is still out on the latter.

  In the last few months, I’ve asked myself one question over and over.

  What makes a man a legend?

  For the greater part of my life I thought the answer was simple and would’ve sworn on every bible—both testaments, the Torah, and any other holy fucking scripture—that a man’s club made him a legend.