“What’re you talking about?” Nikki asked, as she joined us.
“Loving a bad boy,” Adrianna said with a laugh.
“Isn’t it fun?” Nikki asked with a mischievous smile on her face.
Yeah, loads.
They returned to the clubhouse an hour later but aside from Jack who took a few minutes to talk to his daughter, the rest of them were off doing whatever it was badass bikers do when on a mission.
“Lauren? Are you still finding yourself?” My mother asked as she took a sip of…was that whiskey?
“Uh, yeah, mom. It’s kind of a process,” I said.
She nodded.
“Do your mom a favor and don’t join the ranks of Griselda Blanca. One career criminal in the family is enough,” she said, throwing back the rest of her drink.
“Maria, the manicotti is done,” Grace called.
“I’m coming,” she shouted over her shoulder before mumbling under her breath. “Cooking Christmas dinner for a bunch of criminals wasn’t how I saw this day going.”
My mother was drunk.
This should be fun.
The door opened, the one some of the men had disappeared behind, and Riggs emerged strapping on a bullet-proof vest.
“Goddamn!” Nikki hissed. “I’m making Mikey buy a motorcycle.”
Two weeks ago I would have had the same reaction but now, after knowing I was having his baby, all I felt was a huge lump in my throat.
What if he doesn’t make it back?
He’ll never know…
My feet made my decision as they walked straight toward him.
“Ink’s dry, brother,” Riggs told Jack, handing him a vest. “We gotta move,” he added.
It’s now or possibly never.
“Riggs, can I talk to you?” I asked, stepping in front of him.
“Can it wait?” he snapped, his eyes cold and uninviting, a side of him I had never seen before. “Don’t really have much time to fight with you people on whether it’s called sauce or gravy and I’m not in the mood to argue about my life choices, the ones you mob folk seem to love to criticize. So, no Lauren, not now,” he said, fitting his helmet to his head and turning toward Jack. “I’ll be outside,” he stated, before walking out the door.
I didn’t find my voice until the engines roared to life outside.
“No problem, just wanted to tell you to be careful because you’re going to be a father,” I said to no one.
“What did you say?”
Shit.
“Lauren?”
I slowly turned around and through my tears I stared into my mother’s shocked eyes.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.
Keep moving.
It was what we kept telling ourselves as we raced against the clock to get Reina and Blackie back. There was no time to think, when one of your own is at risk, you don’t think anyway, you just act. We were high on adrenaline and the promise we would destroy Jimmy Gold.
It was our job.
It was our purpose.
Motherfucker, was going down.
The Satan’s Knights would crucify that bitch.
We parked our bikes behind an Italian restaurant on Mulberry Street, strapped our guns to our bodies, ski masks firmly in place, not giving a fuck we were walking the streets of Manhattan with rifles hanging off our shoulders.
We needed to keep moving.
And that’s what we did, moving our asses to Mott Street, like the pack of badass criminals we were. There was no trace of the men we were on a daily basis, the group of guys content on smoking weed and joking around in the Chapel.
We were unleashed.
Animals released from their confinements, free to stalk and capture their prey.
We rounded the corner, snapped ourselves into assailant mode, grabbed the guns that were draped over our shoulders and cocked them.
Locked and loaded, time to make our move.
The cut was easy to spot as the Dragon patrolling the front door to the apartment flicked his cigarette and turned around.
His eyes focused on the guns pointing his way.
He opened his mouth but the words never made it passed his lips.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Jack popped bullets through his throat.
See ya!
He dropped to the floor, and we ran through the front door. The cocksucker would bleed out before we were finished.
Keep moving.
There was another Asian brother guarding the hallway. Poor bastard didn’t have a chance to reach for his gun because Pipe put a bullet in his head. His body didn’t even have time to hit the ground before we charged up the stairs. Bones blew the head off the one at the door, his brains splattered across the walls decorating the white paint in red.
We painted their walls with their own blood. Lucky for them red was their signature color.
Another one bites the dust.
I kicked open the door, and the mayhem continued. The naked women cutting the heroin screamed trying to take cover, and the two Dragons inside the apartment began to shoot.
“Go, I’ve got this,” shouted Wolf as he crossed his arms, a gun in each hand shooting at anything and everything, no regard for life.
Keep moving.
“Get down on your knees,” Jack hollered to the drug bitches. “NOW!”
I grabbed one broad looking to make a run for it, threw that bitch in a head lock and pressed the barrel of my gun into her head.
I don’t play bitch.
“Pack the motherfucking drugs in the bags,” I hissed against her ear.
She whimpered and I pressed the gun deeper against her flesh.
“NOW,” I shouted.
Wolf took a break from shooting shit and helped us shove the kilos into a duffel bag. That man was a monster with a gun, a goddamn killing machine.
“Close your fucking eyes or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Jack hollered to one girl crying under the table.
We handed the stuffed bags to Bones who zipped them and dropped them into the hallway.
I glanced at my watch.
Ten minutes.
Exactly how long we took to kill eight people, grab all their fucking heroin and sign over our lives to Sun Wu.
“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” Bones shouted, grabbing a bag and heading for the stairs. I followed Jack and Pipe, tucking my gun away and grabbing two of the bags. We were half way out the door but Wolf was still upstairs playing God with the cutters.
“Wolf!” Jack called.
Strike Two.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Keep moving!” Pipe yelled.
“Not without Wolf,” Jack shouted back.
Wolf emerged from the top of the stairs, his face splattered with blood.
“Let’s go,” he ordered, bounding down the stairs.
“You killed them?” I asked him, pulling my mask off to stare at Wolf in shock.
Strike Three.
“No, I played fucking Chinese checkers with them,” he hissed, throwing the strap of one bag over his shoulder. I watched as he swiped his sleeve across his cheek, removing the drops of blood that painted his face.
We painted their walls and now our hands with the Dragons’ blood.
Three strikes.
Three mistakes.
But no time to dwell.
Keep moving.
We ran as fast as we could, away from the faint sounds of motorcycles and sirens, away from the Red Dragons’ territory and into Vic’s old stomping grounds. We loaded up the cage with the bags and Bones jumped into the back as the prospect took off and headed back to the clubhouse. The rest of us took to our bikes and peeled the fuck away from the war we had just created.
There was barely any time to unload the cage when the call came through that Bianci had set up a meet with Jimmy through some drug lord. I didn’t ask for details because anything that had to do with Bianci was like six degrees of separation. It was never an easy explanation wit
h him. But that motherfucker always came through for our club.
We had an hour to do something with these fucking drugs before we hauled ass to Pier 33 to read Jimmy his last rights.
“What the fuck are we going to do with all these drugs?” Pipe asked, holding up the two suitcases.
“Oh we’re taking them with us,” Jack declared.
We all exchanged curious glances but none of us would question anything at this point. What was the use?
This was Jack’s show now.
The Bulldog showed his teeth.
The Knights were gunning for blood.
It would all be over soon.
Keep moving.
At the pier we spread out, taking cover behind shipping containers and waited for Jimmy Gold. Bianci had set up the crazy mobster by luring him to the docks to meet with a drug dealer. Some guy named, Sanchez. It was easy to spot him; Anthony and Mike had worked that fucker for hours. He was a bloody mess with a laser bullseye between his eyes. My eyes followed the laser beam across the docks to where Anthony and Mike stood with their guns cocked and ready.
The sun was rising.
Time was almost up.
I turned around, spitting the toothpick I was rolling around between my teeth onto the floor. I reached for my gun as the fog lights of Jimmy’s signature Escalade rolled into the shipping yard.
“We’ve got company, boss,” I alerted Jack.
He stared at the headlights, watching as they closed in before turning around.
“Stand down,” he ordered.
“What?”
“Jimmy is mine,” he clarified. “But he won’t be alone, you take care of whoever he’s with,” he said.
“I got you,” I said, ripping back the safety as the truck rolled to a stop. The driver opened his door, and I moved to pop him, but Jack grabbed my cut.
“Do not make a move until I give you the word,” he whispered, eyes glued to the Escalade.
“What word would that be?” I asked, wondering when we decided to use code before we started killing fuckers. If Jack started barking like a fucking dog, I was hanging up my cut. Two men flocked to Jimmy’s side, and they started for Sanchez.
“Fuck it, just go,” Jack said, releasing his grip on my cut.
“Thanks,” I muttered, walking out from behind the crate. I eyed Bones across the yard and he nodded, stepping out from behind the container he was hiding behind.
Two shots.
One from my gun.
One from Bones.
Jimmy’s men dropped and as the sick fuck looked at his men, Jack’s fist wrapped around the gold chains on his neck and yanked him back.
See ya, motherfucker!
We kept moving.
Never stopping.
Not until we had Blackie and Reina.
I would be living off of cherry fucking pie when this shit was over.
We rode our bikes to Vic’s club, Temptations, the fucking place where all this shit started, the same place it would all end.
Mike pulled Jimmy from the cage, spitting in the sorry fuck’s face as Bianci unlocked the boarded up club and threw him inside.
“He’s all yours,” Anthony said, holding the door open for Jack.
A duffel bag on each arm, Jack glanced around at all of us before following Jimmy inside of the club.
“See you on the other side,” he said, disappearing into the club as Anthony shut the door.
We waited outside while Jack got his revenge on that son of a bitch and prayed he wouldn’t kill him before he got the location of where Blackie and Reina were. Jack took his time, making Jimmy pay for all his sins, and that bastard had many.
Slow torture.
It was the best kind.
The only kind.
Finally he emerged from the club, wiping the blood from his glove covered hands on Jimmy’s beloved fur coat.
“I got the location. Give it a minute or two. When he screams put the fire out and leave the drugs next to his body. Then call Jones, he and his partner are waiting on word to make the arrest,” he said, making his plan clear. He was setting Jimmy up to take the fall with the Red Dragons.
Smart move.
If only it worked.
“Tell Vic, a deal is a deal and when I give my word, I don’t go against it,” Jack added.
Ah, so “Tony Soprano” would be the one to deliver this fuck his fate.
Props.
“Riggs, gonna need a hand,” he added, splaying the blood covered coat on the curb like the piece of trash it was and climbed onto his bike.
“I got you,” I replied, as Jimmy’s screams echoed off the walls of the abandoned night club.
Keep moving.
It’s almost over.
Chapter Seventeen
The longest twenty-four hours of my fucking life but I was still going, still breathing, still fighting because I was a goddamn Knight and it was my duty.
I brushed my shoulders off and kept moving.
We arrived at the location and the shit was real bad, worse than I ever imagined. Jimmy had been shooting Blackie up with heroin, making him re-enact his wife’s death. Sick fuck. I hope Jack gave him everything he deserved.
Reina was gagged and bound to a chair and the both of them looked like they were knocking on death's door.
I ran to Blackie who lay lifeless on the concrete floor while Jack ran to Reina. She’d survive but our vice president barely had a pulse.
“He’s not breathing. What do I do?” I hollered over my shoulder at Jack who had untied Reina.
“Catch,” he ordered.
I dropped Blackie’s wrist and held my hands out to catch the vile and syringe he threw me.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked frantically.
“Naloxone, you need to inject it into his muscle and administer CPR,” he explained, grabbing his phone. “Riggs, do it! He’s going to die,” he bellowed.
I took a deep breath, unpacking the new syringe and popping the top off the glass vile of the Naloxone.
“I need an ambulance,” he barked into the phone before looking back at me. “Fill it to 1 CC,” he instructed.
I did as he told me, filling the syringe and ripped the shirt from his bicep. I felt around for the hardest piece of muscle, and without hesitation slammed the needle into his flesh and released the Naloxone.
I pulled the empty syringe from his arm and looked back at Jack.
“Now what?”
“Breathe for him,” he yelled.
It’s funny how you don’t think you’re paying attention to things, like the CPR lesson I took ten years ago, but I guess some shit just sticks with you.
“Ambulance will be here soon. Just keep doing it,” he said, glancing at his watch. “After two minutes he’ll need another injection.”
He dropped Reina’s hand and moved toward us, falling to his knees on the other side of Blackie and re-filled the syringe.
“Stay with me, brother,” he pleaded. “I need you breathing,” he added.
I continued to breathe air into him until Jack pushed me off, so he could give him the second injection.
“Is this shit going to work?” I asked, before he pulled the syringe from him again and I went back to breathing life into Blackie.
Don’t fucking die.
The paramedics arrived and pulled me off Blackie. They shouted things to one another, working vigorously to save his life, administering cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Jack informed them of the Naloxone we gave him and asked why it wasn’t working.
Because he was already in cardiac arrest.
They rushed him to the hospital, and I followed the ambulance with my bike so Jack wouldn’t have to leave Reina’s side. They rushed Blackie into the emergency room and forced me to wait in the waiting room with all the other helpless souls.
I had gone from taking life with my own hands to standing by as one was taken from me.
Standing by, helplessly as I depended on doctors to take care of my br
other reminded me of Lauren and her decision to quit nursing school. I was just a biker, nobody’s hero, but the men and women in there trying to reverse the damage caused by Jimmy’s hand—those people were heroes.
Kitten.
I dropped into a chair in the waiting room and waited for my brothers to arrive. Jack was the first one flying through the door with his banged up pie goddess tucked tight against his side. He urged her to get checked out too and disappeared into triage with her. I don’t think he will let her out of his sight for a long time coming.
I didn’t blame him.
Not one bit.
Again, I thought about Kitten and the rejection that took over her features when I blew her off.
I think it’s safe to say she wouldn’t be down to cuddle.
Sometimes a man just needed to cuddle.
Especially after the hell I’ve lived.
The rest of the club showed up as another ambulance and a cop car pulled up. Jimmy was burned badly, his body covered with a sheet as they wheeled him into the ER with the blue and whites glued to his side.
That motherfucker was going to rot in prison.
But first he’d rot on a gurney with his insides exposed because his skin was melted off.
Prick.
Hours passed before we heard word from the doctors. Blackie suffered a heart attack from all the drugs and he was in critical condition. The next twenty-four hours would be critical for him. They already had to give him another dose of Naloxone and he was in a coma. It was all a blur. I don’t really remember if he was in the coma because of the drugs or if they had medically induced it, but he was out for the count. His body had been tried and tested and still he hung on a by a thread.
Blackie was a bull.
Jack ordered us all to leave, to go back to the compound and recharge our batteries before we took a chance a piece staying with our vice president. He kept a prospect with him until he himself could get back there after he got his woman situated and made good on a promise he made to his daughter.
By the time we pulled into the compound it was approaching dusk, making it way over the twenty-four-hour mark and pushing close to forty.
I was going to sleep for a fucking week.
At least that was my plan, but I was learning the hard way, plans changed.
By the hard way, I meant Maria Bianci charging at me, wielding a pool stick the minute I stepped foot through the door.
The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition Page 101
