The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “He gave Christine all the attention I wasn’t giving her anymore, made her feel things I gave up on making her feel, and promised her all the things I couldn’t. He used her, played on her broken emotions and convinced her I would wind up dead because of the club. I found out they were having an affair, put two and two together and confronted her but she had already made a deal with him. She would get the drugs from me and prove I was dealing the shit that killed those two kids,” he said, solemnly. “Instead of giving me up she gave up her life.”

  As similar as the stories were they were different.

  As similar as Lacey and Christine were…they too were different.

  I was Lacey’s one and only.

  I was supposed to be Christine’s one and only too.

  Christine gave her life for mine.

  And I’d give mine for Lacey’s.

  I covered my face with my hands and felt Riggs pat me on the back. A groan escaped my lips as I dropped my hands from my face and pinned Riggs with a stare.

  Don’t be me, man.

  Hang on to that woman of yours.

  Hold that baby of yours and fucking enjoy life.

  You only get one.

  “Jack’s been trying for a long time to get this club on the right track, to give us some peace. He thinks he can turn us into a legit club and make us proud to call ourselves the Satan’s Knights—but he’s in over his head. We’re in too deep, and every time we think we are pulling ourselves out of the hole, some other fucking threat comes along. Whether it’s a man in a fur coat or a fucking Chinese emperor, there will always be a fucking cancer that will drag us down.”

  Truth.

  I glanced down at my hands, turning them over and displayed my palms.

  “See these hands? They have a lot of blood on them and that’s all I see when I look at them, all the blood and all the faces of the people who bled from these hands.”

  They didn’t have Lacey’s though.

  I could still close my eyes and see her pretty face and not her blood on my hands.

  “Blackie…” he started.

  I shook my head and interrupted him.

  Let the devil teach you something.

  “You got something good with Bianci’s sister, stop trying to prove yourself, man, you paid your dues. Now, take a step back and don’t let that girl doubt she has you because when you don’t have her anymore you’re going to feel it,” I promised as the words got stuck in my throat.

  And when you feel it you’re going to wish you were dead.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Something was wrong.

  This time I didn’t have to wait for the sadistic voice to poison me with foolish thoughts.

  This time I felt it with every fiber of my being.

  With every crack of my heart.

  The inbox you are trying to reach is full.

  I disconnected the call and shoved the phone into my pocketbook before I ran my fingers through my hair and stared up at the gray sky willing myself not to cry. I blew out a breath and tried to tell myself that I was overreacting that I was used to bad things happening and didn’t know how to enjoy the good.

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling my world was crumbling, and I didn’t even receive an invitation to the end.

  I grabbed my mother’s keys from my purse and started for the campus parking lot when I heard someone call my name.

  “Lacey, wait up!” I turned on my heel and saw Brandon running across the grass with a smile on his face.

  “Shit,” I muttered. Why won’t this guy get the hint?

  “You in a hurry?”

  “Actually, I am,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go grab a quick bite,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he flashed a smile. He had such perfectly straight teeth and a smile so white he looked like a poster boy for Colgate.

  “That would be nice Brandon but I’m…I’m seeing someone.”

  “The old biker guy? Come on, Lace, you’re not serious are you?”

  “Lacey,” I corrected through gritted teeth.

  Only the people who loved me called me Lace.

  “Yes, the biker and as for his age…,” I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, let’s just say I skipped past the two decades a guy feels he needs to be an adolescent. Blackie’s a man, not a boy trying to become one.” I smiled sweetly.

  Brandon’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  Exhibit A.

  Poor bastard didn’t even know when he was being schooled.

  He had about another decade of the stupidity left.

  “Thanks for the offer. I’m sure you’ll find another date,” I added, turning around and leaving the dumb-fucked boy in the grass.

  I made my way to the parking lot, found my mom’s car and was about to climb into the car when I spotted the Harley parked two rows over. My eyes moved from the chrome to the man straddling it, taking in the unmistakable reaper sewn into the back of his leather vest. I slammed the door to my car and stalked across the two rows, watching the prospect turn around and meet my gaze.

  I had seen him a few times when Blackie was still in the hospital and my father was keeping a watchful eye out, making sure Blackie was protected. I didn’t remember his name though, causing me to glance at the patch that declared his road name.

  Mack.

  Where the fuck was Blackie?

  I lifted my eyes to his and crossed my arms under my breasts as I studied him.

  “Who sent you?” I asked, hanging on to whatever strength I could muster up before I had no choice but to surrender.

  He remained perfectly still and silent.

  “Was it my father? Was it Blackie? Where are they?” I demanded.

  Nothing.

  I uncrossed my arms and shoved my palms against his chest.

  “Answer me goddamn it! Are they okay?” I screeched, holding back the emotion threatening to surface.

  “They’re fine,” he finally said.

  I should’ve felt some sense of relief but I didn’t. All I felt was another crack shatter my heart.

  “But that’s all you’ll tell me isn’t it?” I dropped my hands from his chest and stared into his crystal blue eyes that were blank.

  I took a retreating step, glanced at his bike before diverting my eyes back to his.

  “Better straddle that bike we’re going for a ride Mack,” I sneered, turning on my heel as I power walked back to my car.

  My hand trembled as I opened the door and quickly slid inside the car. I gripped the steering wheel as the hot tears fell from my eyes.

  Told you he didn’t really want you.

  Told you it would all end.

  Told you he’d chew you up and spit you out.

  But you didn’t listen.

  Now you’ll suffer the truth.

  I dropped my head against the steering wheel and wondered if I could shake the crazy. I pushed back, started the car and forced myself to concentrate and block out the doubt that threatened to ruin me.

  Blackie had told me himself that the club was in a bad place, danger lurked around every corner and we needed to keep things quiet between us until it was all straightened out.

  He said that.

  I didn’t imagine it.

  If there was a threat he would be the one protecting me. He wouldn’t send some prospect to guard me for a multitude of reasons but mainly because no one watched out for me like Blackie did.

  Because no one cared for me like he did.

  He told me he couldn’t give me up.

  It wasn’t a lie.

  Every moment we spent together was not something I conjured up in my head. Those moments were pure, and they were beautiful.

  They were real.

  Every kiss.

  Every unspoken I love you.

  Every time he held me in his arms and squeezed me to make sure I was real.

  I didn’t imagine any of that.

  And I su
re as hell didn’t imagine the way he smiled.

  I couldn’t have.

  I didn’t imagine the rhythm of his heartbeat that played for me when I laid my head against his chest or the way he looked at me like I was his savior.

  Like I was an angel.

  You’re no angel.

  Maybe not.

  But for a moment in time, I was his angel.

  I don’t know what made me think back to that first night, but I remembered pulling up to the clubhouse and seeing Blackie’s bike knowing with every ounce of life in me he’d make it okay.

  He’d take away my pain.

  I chose to think my maker was granting me a gift by allowing me to recall the memory. I held onto it and I chased that memory all the way back to the clubhouse, hoping for a repeat.

  It could happen.

  Tell me it could.

  Please?

  I pulled into the compound, didn’t even bother parking the car and pulled it right in front of the Dog Pound. I climbed out of the car, slammed the door and spotted Riggs sitting on top of a picnic table in front of the clubhouse. He lifted his head and my eyes zeroed in on the bottle he was holding onto for dear life. His eye was swollen and a fresh bruise grazed his cheek.

  “I should tell you not to go in there,” he mumbled.

  “Are you okay?” I questioned, taking a step closer to him as he doubled over in pain clutching his ribs.

  “Run,” he ground out.

  I disregarded his injury and lifted my eyes to his.

  “What?”

  “Turn around and get the hell out of here Lacey. It’s a fucking war zone here—hearts are breaking all over the place,” he slurred, raising his hand from his abdomen to his chest rubbing the spot between his pecs.

  “Heart,” he whispered. “What a joke.”

  Listen to him.

  I shook my head, swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to believe my heart and not my mind. I left Riggs to wallow in whatever misery he was succumbing to and walked into the clubhouse.

  One day I will look back on tonight and wish I had listened to Riggs because the moment I stepped inside the Dog Pound I became a casualty of war.

  I lost the war with my mind.

  I lost the war with Blackie.

  I lost everything.

  Blackie lost too.

  He didn’t even turn around to see who had walked in, too engrossed in snorting the line of cocaine off the bar to notice me.

  Too busy fucking losing his battle with drugs.

  “So, is this why you’re not answering my calls?” I questioned as I stalked across the room to the bar, slapping my keys on the table as I grabbed a hold of his hair with my free hand and lifted his head.

  I turned his cheek and forced his bloodshot eyes to meet mine.

  “Why?” I whispered.

  He stared at me quietly, licking his lips before he brought his hand to his nose and sniffled.

  “Why what?” he asked, turning back around using a credit card to push the left-over coke into a line.

  No, God…I had to stop him.

  I had to do something.

  I thought my purpose was to show him a new way, to show him there is more to life than grief but it was clear my purpose in Blackie’s life was to save him from himself. I stepped around the bar and bent my head, blowing the coke across the wooden bar with a big burst of air from my lungs.

  I never feared Blackie until that moment.

  Until he looked at me and I swore I saw the devil in his eyes.

  And then I realized I wasn’t looking at Blackie anymore but I was now face to face with Satan’s knight, the Devil’s soldier.

  “Don’t like it, girl? Don’t like what you see?” he asked as he pushed back his chair and stumbled onto his feet, gripping the back of the stool to steady himself.

  “What’s the matter?” he taunted. “Got no love for the drug addict? No love for the man I truly am? This…,” he gritted, pounding his chest with his fist. “This is me, Lace, this is Dominic Petra the man you hold on a fucking pedestal.”

  I shook my head and bit down on my lip to stop the tears from spilling because this wasn’t about me, this was about him. This was his war.

  I was just an innocent victim of it.

  “No it’s not,” I insisted. “The man I hold in such a high regard is the man who wants to better himself, the man who has been dealt a shit hand in life but plays his cards until the bitter end, hoping the dealer will throw him a queen.”

  “That man is a myth, something you dreamt up inside that pretty little head of yours,” he hissed, lifting his hand to his head. “He don’t exist.” He pointed to me and then himself. “Neither do we anymore,” he ground out. “Go dream a different dream, girl.”

  He knows I exist.

  You can’t hide me anymore.

  I was standing in front of Blackie, watching his lips move, listening to his voice but I couldn’t understand why my maker was controlling him. Every word that came from his mouth was something my mind would say to drag me down.

  These weren’t Blackie’s words.

  They were the words of my maker.

  I dropped my head into my hands and fought for control.

  For clarity.

  For Peace.

  And then it occurred to me I struggle every day to tame something I have no control over. Being an addict, that’s a choice, something you can control. I have watched him for two months choose himself over drugs but today he chose to be an addict. Today he chose to lose.

  I dropped my hands and lifted my head to stare at him with vengeance.

  Vengeance for not believing in himself, for not seeing what I saw, for not loving himself enough to love me.

  “People have problems they can’t control, real issues that inebriate them and then there’s you who every single problem you have has been self-created. When are you going to stop doing this to yourself?” I shook my head. “Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

  “Who says I’m not happy?”

  “It won’t work. You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen you happy now. I’ve seen you smile and I’ve seen you laugh,” I paused, brushing away the tears that fell from my eyes.

  “I saw you, the man behind the mask and the layers of leather you use as armor. I fell in love with that man. I saw the real Blackie; I saw Dominic Petra.”

  “Dominic Petra died a long time ago,” he sneered, grabbing the bottle off the bar and taking a swig. He didn’t even flinch as he chugged the poison. “And the man you think you know is nothing more than a guy who got his kicks off banging a young girl, someone who wasn’t touched, someone he could take advantage of. Your father sheltered you too much. He should’ve brought you around here more, then maybe you wouldn’t dream so much. But you’re young, there’s still time for you to learn…”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t cheapen what we are because you’re fucking high.”

  He placed the bottle back on the bar and leaned in close pinning me with a cold hard stare.

  His eyes were dead.

  Just like his soul.

  Another crack in my heart.

  “What we are is nothing,” he hissed. “You are nothing to me but Jack’s daughter and a virgin pussy I got to play with.”

  I didn’t even realize my actions until I felt the sting on the palm of my hand and saw the red handprint on his cheek.

  It’s over.

  “Again,” he ordered.

  “No,” I shouted.

  “Again!” he demanded, crooking his finger beckoning me to inflict more pain on him.

  I backed away from the bar, shaking my head as tears rolled down my face. He dropped his hands and took a step back himself.

  “Get out,” he rasped. “Get out and forget you ever saw me.”

  It was all a lie.

  I told you so.

  I grabbed my keys from the bar before walking out from behind it and started for the door. I had nothing left to give, no fight l
eft inside of me and so I surrendered.

  I stopped in front of the door and slowly turned around to meet his gaze.

  “I could’ve been your queen. All you had to do was let me,” I whispered through my sobs, before turning back around and walking out the door.

  There are two sides in a war and only one winner.

  So how come we both lost?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  After my wife died I relived her death for six months straight. I’d wake up drenched in a cold sweat from the nightmare of looking into her lifeless eyes and being the one who forced them closed.

  Whoever says history doesn’t repeat itself never walked a day in my shoes.

  For the last month, since the night I ended things with Lacey, her face has haunted me. I relive the moment I looked into her eyes and told her she was nothing but her father’s daughter and a piece of pussy. It’s the look reflected in her eyes as she rears her hand back and slaps me that consumes me, night after night—the look of pure defeat and unexplainable heartbreak.

  She loved me.

  Heard that shit with my own ears.

  And she’ll never know how much I love her.

  I lived life without fear until I fell for Lacey and, Boots threatened to use her against me. Not once in all my years on this earth, have I been afraid of anything. But after that message came through on my phone, that picture of her at school—I knew fear.

  I hurt her.

  I bruised her ego and broke her heart.

  I wounded her with my words.

  I saved her from me.

  I saved her life.

  I can live with the guilt of my actions as long as she’s breathing.

  As long as she’s safe.

  If you can even call this shit living.

  No, this shit isn’t living.

  I know what living is and for a short while I lived and I lived hard.

  Living is holding her in my arms.

  Living is watching her face light up when I walk into a room.

  Living is Lacey’s smile.

  Her laugh.

  The way she blushes when I tell her she’s beautiful.

  Her kiss.

  And her touch.

  Living is watching the woman you love take what she needs from your body and as she’s doing it, she looks into your eyes and you can see forever.