Riding The Edge

by Janine Infante Bosco

  It took losing my mind for me to realize it all means nothing.

  The years served.

  The crimes committed.

  All the bloodshed.

  It’s fucking nothing and certainly not what makes a legend.

  Honor, respect, and loyalty are the fundamentals of every great legacy. Without the three of those things, a man leaves nothing behind. He goes forth into the darkness and fades into a memory. His body decays and his bones eventually disintegrate to ash. He leaves the world with no mark.

  Fuck that shit.

  The world is going to know Jack Parrish was here.

  They’re going to know the legend I was.

  And they’re going to honor the legacy I left behind.

  Like I won’t let the world forget my son, I won’t let them forget what I fought so hard to teach.

  A man’s legacy isn’t his club.

  It’s his family.

  It’s the little boy whose memory never died.

  It’s the mentally ill girl who fights with herself every day but never bows to the stigma of manic depression.

  It’s the other boy who will walk in his father’s shadows and one day will become the man his father never could be.

  It’s sunshine.

  It’s a band of brothers who followed a sick man into the depths of Hell.

  It’s the shit that makes you and me property of Parrish.

  If that ain’t a fucking legacy, nothing on this godforsaken Earth is.

  Holding my wife’s hand, I lead her up the steps and towards the entrance of the bar.

  “Is this really going to act as their clubhouse?” Reina questions as we reach the door. “It’s a bar.”

  “It’s a clean slate, a new beginning, a fresh start for a new club,” I tell her as we enter the building. I may not have liked the idea of Riggs taking the initiative but with how everything turned out, I’m grateful. It’s one less loose end to tie before I take my final ride.

  “I guess,” Reina says, crossing her arms against her chest as she eyes the room. “Where are they?”

  “In the back,” I tell her. Reaching behind her, I cup her neck and drag her mouth to mine.

  I’m going to miss this more than anything.

  More than the power.

  More than the mayhem.

  “Stay here,” I murmur against her lips. “I won’t be long.”

  “Okay.”

  Releasing her, I roll my neck and reach into my cut. Taking a toothpick from my pocket, I shove it between my lips and make my way towards the back of the bar, to the narrow hallway that leads to Satan’s chapel. As I reach the doorway, I hear my brothers and know without a doubt they are voting to remove me from office.

  I’m not bitter.

  I no longer can rule.

  But, I’m the motherfucking Bulldog and before I get kicked off my steel horse, I’m going to take matters into my own hands. I’m going to preserve my legacy and show everyone who the fucking boss is.

  “There’s been a change in plans,” I announce as I enter the room. Staring at the empty seat at the head of the table, I look at Wolf.

  Respect.

  He’s got it.

  Passing everyone, I take my seat one final time and spit the toothpick onto the table. Spotting Blackie’s patch, I divert my attention toward him. The poor bastard can’t even look me in the eye. He thinks he failed me. Little does he know, I’m trusting him with the most valuable pieces of me.

  “Why is your patch on the table?”

  Finally finding the courage to look at me, he points to my vest.

  “Why is yours not on your cut?”

  Well played, Blackie.

  Well fucking played.

  I’m going to miss that too.

  Breaking our stare, I glance around the table.

  “I’m stepping down as president,” I declare. “I’m taking a deal and confessing to murdering the paramedic in exchange for full immunity for the club.”

  “You can’t do that,” Wolf shouts. “I won’t fucking let you do that, Parrish.”

  “It’s not your call to make,” I holler.

  “We can fight the gun charges,” Pipe asserts.

  “You can’t fight murder,” I tell him, slicing my eyes back to Blackie. “And you’re not going away. Your place is here. Not with the club but with my daughter.”

  Looking down, his hair falls into his face and I watch his shoulders shake.

  “Look at me,” I demand.

  His eyes find mine.

  “Take care of her,” I plead. “Take care of the baby.”

  “Jack—”

  “I hope it’s a girl,” I say over him. “I hope you get to know that bond a father has with his daughter. Cherish it, man, fucking cherish it, because one day some guy with long hair is going to come around and he’s gonna steal her heart.”

  “I can’t let you take the rap for this. Lacey will never forgive me. She needs you Jack.”

  “She needs you more,” I reply. Leaning forward, I place a hand on his shoulder. A beat of silence passes between us and I force a smile.

  “Make sure my grandchild knows he or she had a grandpa and that he loved them very much.”

  “You’re talking like your dying,” Blackie growls.

  “No,” I say with a shake of my head. “But by the time your kid is old enough to visit, I’ll be too far gone, and I don’t want the memory of me in a straight jacket to be the only one she’s got.”

  Drawing in a ragged breath, I thread my fingers through my hair and look across the table.

  “That being said, I think that it is in the club’s best interest to have Wolf take the gavel. He’s the only one here who truly understands what I’ve tried to create here and I’m certain he will lead this club away from tragedy. He’ll keep you all breathing and take the club to a place where you can be proud to be a Knight.”

  Lifting his eyes to mine, I see the boy, not the man, the fifteen-year-old kid who saved my ass and got sent to juvie. We were brothers before we knew the definition of brotherhood and we’ll be brothers in our next life too.

  “Any objections?”

  The room is silent.

  I’m not surprised.

  Wolf is the heart of this club and everyone here knows that.

  Standing up, I lean over the table and grab Blackie’s patch. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve mine as well and make my way to the new president of the Satan’s Knights.

  The lone wolf is now the king.

  Next to him, I lay a hand on his shoulder and hand him my patch.

  “Godspeed, my man.”

  Taking the patch, he stands and draws me into his arms.

  “You’ll always be my brother,” he says against my ear. “And you will always be the pulse of this charter.”

  Slapping my hand to his back I pull back and watch a single tear slide down his cheek.

  “I appreciate that,” I tell him, raising my hand to his bearded cheek. “Look out for my family, will you? Keep Blackie straight and make sure Reina has everything she needs. I don’t know the details of the deal or how long I’ll be gone. I might die in there for all we know, I don’t want her dying out here. She’s got a lot of life to live, see to it that she does that.”

  Before he can object, I push him away and slap Blackie’s patch against his chest.

  “Pick your VP, Wolf,” I say. As I step backward, I watch Wolf stare at the two patches in his hand and slowly lift his head. Turning to Pipe, he hands him the vice president patch and I take another step towards the door.

  I’m going to miss these fuckers.

  I’m going to miss every one of these bastards.

  Even the ones that broke my balls over the years.

  “Reina’s waiting for me,” I rasp as I brace my hand on the frame of the door. All eyes turn to me and I give them one last wicked grin.

  “We had one fuck of run, didn’t we? It wasn’t always easy for us, but we showed everyone you a
in’t gotta be blood to be a family. I love you my, brothers,” I tell them. “That’s what you are, you know? You’ll always be property of Parrish.”

  You’ll always be mine.

  Chapter Forty-one

  The door opens and automatically I tighten the sash on my silk robe. Unwilling to look at Al, I glance out the living room window and notice the dark sky. Realizing, I’ve wasted the good part of the day grieving my body, I stand and draw the blinds shut.

  “Lady?” he questions.

  The concern in his voice causes me to flinch and silently, I collect my bearings before turning around. Not meeting his eyes, I stare at the leather covering his shoulders.

  “How’d it go?” I ask hoarsely.

  Instead of answering me, he crosses the room and closes the space between us. Engulfed by the familiar scent of his cologne, I close my eyes. He takes my hand and I start to object when I feel him close my fist around something. Releasing my hand, I open my eyes and look at the object resting in my palm.

  President.

  Putting my own emotions aside, I lift my chin and finally meet his gaze. I’m at a loss for words and struggle to read him. There isn’t a trace of elation in his eyes. If anything, he looks just as empty as I feel, making it clear this is no victory. Congratulations aren’t in order for the new president of the Satan’s Knights.

  “Will you sew it into my cut?” he asks hoarsely.

  “Of course,” I reply, watching him shrug out of his vest.

  With the patch in one hand, I take his other and lead him into the kitchen. Retrieving my sewing kit from the cabinet, I take a seat at the table, next to him, and as he lays the leather on top of the wood, I thread the needle. No words are spoken between us as I stitch the patch onto his vest. I guess neither of us is in the mood to discuss our demons or help one another work through them.

  As I insert the last stitch, I clip the thread. Running my finger over the patch, my eyes trail to the pink ribbon he stitched into his leather the day I was released. I trace the loop before pushing back my chair. With his vest in my hand, I step around the table and meet his gaze.

  I never thought I’d find a love like this.

  I didn’t think good men like Al existed in the world.

  But he proved me wrong.

  He made me fall in love and taught me it’s okay to lean on someone.

  He restored my faith in mankind and showed me leather can be as soft as silk.

  I’ll never regret trying it on for size.

  I’ll never forget how beautiful leather and silk are when they’re blended together.

  As long as I live, I will look back on my time with Al and know I was not alone. For a brief pause in time, I was loved.

  The thing about love is when it’s true, it’s selfless and you realize the heart sometimes must let go for the greater good of the other person in the relationship.

  Draping his vest over his shoulders, I run my hands down his arms and squeeze his biceps.

  “There,” I declare. “All done.”

  Closing a hand around my wrist, he pulls me around his body.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he whispers.

  His words are more of a request than a demand. A plea from him to me. I should spare us both the heartache and deny him but how do you deny a man who has given everything to you and has asked for very little in return. How do you say no when his eyes are begging you to help him escape Satan? Remembering I promised to be by his side, my mind and heart become conflicted.

  In the end, the heart overpowers the mind and I take his hand.

  He follows me to my bedroom and closes the door behind him. Without looking at him, I release his hand and round the bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him remove his cut and hang it on the doorknob. As he continues to undress, I make work of taking the pillows off the bed.

  “Where are Adrianna and Lauren?” he asks, as he steps out of his jeans.

  “Lauren was going to come by after the arraignment, but I told her not to and Luca came down with a fever.”

  “So, you’ve been by yourself all day?”

  “Yes,” I reply, drawing down the comforter.

  “Lady, look at me.”

  If I look at him, I’ll break and that isn’t fair to him.

  “Lady, I won’t ask again.”

  Raising my chin, I slowly force my eyes to his. Standing in the middle of my bedroom with nothing but his boxers, I take in every inch of his chiseled body. While he might not always have resembled a Greek god, he’s worked hard since his heart attack at getting fit and living a healthier lifestyle. He’s perfect in every sense of the word.

  “Do you need me to help you with the drains?” he questions softly.

  “I did it myself.”

  “I should’ve been here—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have and I’m glad you weren’t,” I snap.

  His face falls but I don’t relent. Instead, I walk around the bed and stand directly in front of him.

  “I can’t do this, Al.”

  “You can’t do what—”

  “You and me,” I cry, struggling to control my emotions.

  You.

  You deserve more.

  You deserve beauty and grace.

  You deserve a woman who is whole.

  A woman who won’t look at you and wonder if you’re looking at her in disgust.

  A woman who won’t require pity.

  You deserve to be free.

  “If this is about the club—”

  “This is about me,” I interject, pulling roughly at the sash of my robe. “It’s about me loving you enough to spare you of this,” I shout, angrily tearing my robe from my body. “Look at me,” I demand. “This is not what you deserve.”

  His eyes remain on mine.

  “Don’t fucking tell me what I deserve.”

  “Look at me.”

  “I am looking at you.”

  “Look at my scars!”

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, he lifts his arm and points to the puckered flesh running from his armpit to his ribcage.

  “I was thirty-one, doing a two-year bed when some fucking white supremacist decided to cut me,” he reveals. Turning to the left, he points to another scar on his shoulder. “Got this one, running from a bunch of drug dealers in East New York and this one,” he spins, producing his back. “…this one is special, this one I got in juvie when a guard tried to rape me.”

  The gasp escapes my lips as he turns back to me.

  “I’ve been shot and stabbed, beaten to the point of unconsciousness and I got scars all over me that prove I’m no good. They also tell the fucking story of a man who has survived. Look at my scars, Lady, and tell me, do you love me any less?”

  “No,” I cry. “I love you more.”

  So much more.

  More than I ever dreamed possible.

  His gaze lowers and I hold my breath as he stares at my breasts, at the angry lines that mark me a breast cancer survivor. He steps closer, and a whimper escapes my lips as he lifts his hands and traces my two scars with his thumbs.

  “You’re beautiful, Lady and these scars, these scars are beautiful too. They tell your story and it’s a fuck of a good story,” he rasps. Moving his hand, he takes my chin and forces me to stare into his eyes.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper.

  “I love your body,” he adds.

  “You love sex too,” I counter.

  “I don’t think you’re ready for that yet but, say the word and I’ll toss you on that bed and fuck you into another dimension.”

  “Al, you can’t possibly—”

  “Don’t tell me what I feel, Maria and don’t ever fucking doubt that I want you. It’s you and me, baby. You and me, scars and all until the end.”

  “We get one life,” I whisper.

  “Live yours with me,” he pleads.

  Instead of words, I wrap my arms around his neck and press
my lips to his.

  Life is short, and in the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take.

  Al and I aren’t perfect.

  We come from two different worlds but what we’ll never be to one another is a regret.

  When the book closes on our story, the reader will walk away believing in love.

  The one thing that conquers all.

  The End

  Epilogue

  Walking inside the quiet chapel, I stare at my seat at the head of the table. Two months ago, I was voted in as the president of the Satan’s Knights and to say it’s been one helluva ride would be putting it mildly. On top of dealing with the transition of power, I also worked diligently at keeping the values Jack sacrificed his sanity to create, intact. His run as president may have come to an end but as long as I hold the gavel, property of Parrish will be the core of our existence. Every choice I make, ever law I break, I’ll take a piece of Jack with me.

  I once told Linc, we all need religion and not all of us kneel for the cross.

  Now, more than ever, I believe that.

  God isn’t for everyone and most times we don’t like the answers he gives us. Sometimes we don’t need to look to the heavens for guidance. Sometimes, we find our faith in the men who came before us and when I question mine, I won’t just reach for my grandmother’s rosary beads. I’ll think back to the man who brought me into the club. The man who taught me the fundamentals of loyalty, respect and honor. I’ll think of Jack Parrish and what he would do. The choices he would make and the answers he’d provide. And when the burdens are heavy, I’ll remind myself of everything he overcame. I’ll think about his unconventional ways, his crass mouth and the sinister smile he gave the world. I’ll even remember his fucking maker, because as much havoc as that cunt caused, she was also the biggest part of him.

  Pulling out my chair, I take my rightful seat and stare across the room at the framed photo of the originals; Jack, myself and Pipe. We were in our early twenties and on top of the world. Nothing could touch us. We were fucking invincible.

  I suppose it was a different world back then, a world where outlaws fought for justice the old-fashioned way and the cops closed their eyes.