The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Living is loving Lace.

  This is death.

  The death of a man wo was never good enough to live and share a memory with someone as pure as her.

  I could’ve done it another way but even now, after time has passed, I can’t think of another way where it would’ve worked. Lacey saw through me, she saw past the demons and the self-destruction. She saw the remnants of my soul and a glimpse of who I wanted to be.

  I had to make her hate me.

  Take that beautiful love she had for me and turn it into ugly.

  I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to her, no matter how much I try to tell myself I had no choice, my angel didn’t deserve to believe she was worthless in my eyes.

  She wished for me to live.

  She wished for me to smile.

  And she wished to be the one who made me smile.

  She got her three wishes.

  My only wish for her is to know she is everything good left in the world.

  She’s beauty, and she’s hope.

  She’s strength, and she’s passion.

  She’s the light you look for when you’re stuck in the darkness.

  She’s just…she’s an angel.

  She was my angel.

  And now she’s free.

  I bent my head, pressed my finger against my left nostril and sucked up the line of coke through the right one.

  “Fuck, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” I heard the new guy Stryker mumble. I had been too consumed by my thoughts to hear the door open He stared at the residue on the counter as I straightened up and glanced at him through the mirror.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I growled, glaring at him through the glass.

  Wolf had done his job, found four lost souls willing to join the mayhem, and Stryker was one of them. He was twenty-eight years old, drifting from one charter to the next, looking for his place within the club and thought he’d find it here in Brooklyn. We had just voted these guys in—watched as they cut through the stitching of the patch declaring them each a nomad, replacing it with one that declared them a brother of Brooklyn.

  Now, it was time to introduce them to the fucked up shit they signed up for. It was time to introduce them to Sun Wu and the Red Dragons to give them a taste of blood. Rocco Spinelli gave us the heads up on a shipment Wu was receiving down at the docks. Jack was ready to strike—it was time to send a message back to the Chinese motherfucker who shot up Pops.

  Saddle up, boys because we’re going to intercept their shipment.

  “All right, but man, I gotta take a piss and we need to get our asses in gear,” Stryker argued, crossing his arms as he diverted his eyes from the coke back to my face.

  “I don’t share,” I ground out.

  “Not my thing,” he retorted. “Didn’t know it was yours,” he added as I bent down to rip another line but with his eyes drilling a hole into my back I couldn’t fucking do it. I grabbed the towel and put it under the water before I soaked up the remaining coke and turned back to him.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know kid,” I said, twisting the towel in my hands as I stared at him. “You stick around long enough, you’ll uncover all our secrets and collect a few of your own.”

  “We all got secrets man,” he replied. “Some of us hide them better than others, but every one of the Satan’s Knights has a tale to tell or we wouldn’t be brothers,” he added before he glanced down at my bare chest. “Nice tattoo,” he commented.

  I looked down at the new ink that covered the left side of my chest.

  “You play?” he questioned.

  “Play?”

  “The notes, man, you play an instrument?”

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head as my hand covered the music notes that marked my chest. “Bathroom’s all yours,” I ground out before stepping around him and leaving him behind.

  I grabbed the first black shirt I could find and was about to pull it over my head when I glanced at the mirror, at the tattoo I got three days after I broke Lacey’s heart.

  I’ve learned as life goes on that the things we hold close to us, the memories we cherish of the people we love, they fade from our minds. We forget the moments that change us and give us purpose.

  I didn’t want to forget.

  I wanted to hang onto that slice of heaven I had and even when the drugs drag me down and force me to black out, I want to stare at the reminder.

  A reminder of a dance I shared when I thought I’d never dance.

  I wanted to remember Leather and Lace.

  Take the story and the dance with me when I died.

  Music notes.

  To a song that reminded me of a girl who changed me.

  A girl I didn’t see coming.

  A girl I loved and always would.

  I pulled the shirt over my head, secured the vest and slid my arms through my leather jacket, tucking my gun into my waist band and grabbing an extra magazine. My club was waiting for me outside ready to move, thirsty for blood, eager to reclaim the name our predecessors gave us.

  Revenge took over our souls as we rode silently, full of determination, leaving whatever shred of decency any of us had at the clubhouse and unleashed the animals we truly were.

  The Satan’s Knights were back.

  We were stronger.

  Harder.

  We had been fucked with for too long and now it was time to brush the dirt off our shoulders, remember the criminals we were, and destiny that awaited us. Jack led us to the pier and killed his engine first. The rest of us followed suit, pulling our weapons and crouching down as we ran up the pier where the vessel was docked. Sun Wu and the Dragons were nowhere in sight, not scheduled to unload their shipment for another hour. Jack paused at the container and passed an envelope to Rienzi, Rocco Spinelli’s foreman, before he snapped the plastic seal off the doors giving us access to Wu’s merchandise.

  There were wooden crates stacked from the floor to the ceiling, filling the entire container. The clock was ticking, forcing us to hustle and get the fucking job done before Wu showed up and made this shit messier than we planned.

  Stryker and Deuce, another fool who decided Brooklyn was the place he wanted to call home, charged in first, tucking their guns away. I kept my eyes trained on Stryker, curious about the man who claimed we all had secrets and watched him get down. The guy looked like he had trained for this shit as he got down on one knee, placing one palm over the other while Deuce put his boot clad foot onto Stryker’s hands hoisting him up. Deuce pulled a crate from the top and dropped it onto the floor beside us. Neither of the nomads stopped what they were doing to the see what the fuck Wu was selling, they demolished the first row of crates, proving their worth to the club.

  The last crate they dropped opened and Wolf sifted through it with the tip of his gun.

  “Well, well, looks like Wu wanted to get fucked after all,” he mocked, as he held up a pink dildo.

  Riggs strolled curiously over to the crate, pushing around the contents, and pulled out a bunch of sex toys.

  “I bet this one is labeled butt plugs,” Pipe said, prying open the top of another crate.

  “Dump it,” Jack ordered.

  Pipe raised an eyebrow, questioning Jack.

  “You sure about that, boss? Bet we can turn this shit for a pretty penny,” he countered.

  We weren’t about to start pushing dildos on the street. This move was to show these motherfuckers we would not sit back and take it in the ass anymore. It wasn’t about taking their shit and turning a profit but more about sending a message—you don’t fuck with us.

  “Dump the fucking shit,” Jack barked, as he lifted a crate over his head and threw it into the water.

  I grabbed the next crate and hoisted it into the river. As Stryker and Deuce unloaded the container, one by one we silently dropped the merchandise into the Hudson. Looking around at my brothers, I could see the aggression painted on their faces.

  Stryker was right.

&n
bsp; We all have secrets.

  We all have nightmares that haunt us.

  And being the devil’s soldiers provided us with an outlet for the torment we all suffered.

  We emptied the container, dropping the last of the sex toys into the river, creating quite a sight.

  “Pack it up,” Jack demanded, as he reached into his back pocket and produced a can of spray paint and nodded toward Rienzi. He closed the container, locking it up with a new plastic seal before taking a step back and letting Jack do his thing. He pulled the cap off the bottle, throwing it into the water before putting his finger on the aerosol can and writing a message to Wu.

  Fuck you.

  In bright red letters across the door.

  Jack took a step back, admiring his handy work then dumping the can of paint into the water and turning around to face us.

  “Clear enough?”

  “Still think we should’ve fucked him with one of his toys,” Wolf clipped.

  “Message is clear,” Pipe confirmed, smacking Wolf upside the head.

  Jack and I stepped toward Stryker, Deuce, Cobra and Linc, offering them a pat on the back, impressed with their efficiency. I extended my hand to Stryker as I met his gaze.

  “Welcome home,” I muttered.

  “Thanks, man, nice to finally have one,” he said, cracking his knuckles as he stared back at me.

  We all got secrets man. Some of us hide them better than others, but every one of the Satan’s Knights has a tale to tell or we wouldn’t be brothers.

  We were half way down the dock when Jack fell into step beside me.

  “I’ve had my head wrapped around this shit with Wu for weeks—working with Spinelli to find the right time to make our move,” he started, stopping in his tracks and turning to me. “You’re using again,” he accused, running his fingers through his hair. “I turn my back for a second, thinking you finally got your shit together and when I turn around you’re more fucked then before. What’s your deal Black? What demon caught you this time?”

  “Not your problem,” I ground out, turning to face him. “If I want your two cents I’ll ask for it, but until then do us both a favor and worry about yourself and your own demons—let me handle mine,” I sneered, turning around and stalking down the pier.

  I paused when I heard the roar of the engines, glanced at our parked bikes and knew shit was about to go down.

  “Shit, we’ve got company,” I shouted over my shoulder as I pulled out my gun.

  Everything moved in slow motion as the Red Dragons started shooting at us. Without hesitation, we ran down the rickety peer toward the enemy, our guns drawn lighting the shipping yard a blaze as we fired back.

  It’s not the story behind us that makes us the Satan’s Knights it’s this. Taking the lives of people and doing it without remorse. It’s the blood that decorates us as our bullets pierce their heads and their brains splatter back at us.

  I swiped the back of my hand over my eye and pulled back my hand staring at the crimson that painted my skin.

  Blood.

  That’s what it’s all about.

  Life is comprised of moments, joyful ones and tragic ones. We all have two faces, but the lucky ones can merge both expressions, they can take the good with the bad and understand that life is sometimes not what you expect.

  Sometimes life is more and sometimes it’s less.

  Not everyone can be happy all the time.

  And so we learn to hang on to the happiness and use it as a crutch to get us through the sadness that envelopes us and let it guide us back to the joy.

  If you’re one of the lucky ones.

  I stared at the two masks hanging from the mirror above my dresser. One mask featured a smile while the other displayed a frown. My freshman year of college I took a drama course, and the professor gave us these masks to use as a tool to summon the emotions of the characters we were portraying.

  I dropped the class but kept the masks because for me they were so much more than a tool. Those masks are who I am.

  The smile conveys how I feel when my maker is silenced.

  The frown reminds me it will all come crashing down, and I was only smiling during a brief pause from my truth. My maker will return and bring me down from whatever manic state of happiness I was now experiencing.

  I’m not one of the lucky ones.

  Over the last month I have slept more than anything else because when I sleep…I dream and in my dreams, I see him.

  I dream of our story.

  I dream of the smiles.

  And then I wake, try to hang onto the happiness of the dream, pray it guides me out of the depression I am in…but it doesn’t.

  I want one more chance to smile.

  One more chance to be a girl in love.

  One more chance to be normal.

  It doesn’t come.

  It never comes.

  And so I close my eyes again.

  Maybe next time.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I awoke to the sound of a knock on my bedroom door but didn’t bother turning around. I knew it was my mother and I knew the look on her face would break my heart—what was left of it. I kept my back towards her, laid on my side

  as she stepped into my room and closed the door softly behind her.

  “Lacey, it’s almost noon,” she whispered.

  I didn’t answer.

  A moment later I felt the dip in the mattress as she laid beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist.

  “My sweet girl,” she murmured, smoothing down my hair. “My beautiful, sweet girl. Please talk to me,” she pleaded.

  “I’m fine,” I said numbly.

  “You’re not fine and I’ve ignored it too long,” she whispered. “I know what’s going on Lacey,” she revealed.

  Slowly, I turned around, brave enough to face her, wanting her to take away my pain.

  Desperate for the love only a mother could give.

  Maybe just maybe she could be the one to help me through this. Not that long ago I felt like I was walking in my mother’s shoes, falling in love with an outlaw, trying to see the good in him. She did it.

  And when it failed when she was no longer his…she survived.

  Maybe this wasn’t about the maker.

  Maybe it was just about my heart.

  I didn’t know anymore.

  “You loved daddy didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “And it hurt when it was over didn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “But you’re still standing. The world kept moving for you,” I murmured.

  “And it will for you too,” she assured me. “You just have to let it. You have to realize you have nothing to be ashamed— ““I’m not ashamed,” I interrupted. “I fell in love and for two months of my life I had it all…everything I ever wanted. He may not have been perfect in your eyes or someone you or daddy would’ve picked for me but what we had was perfect.”

  I watched as she blinked and tried to mask the confusion in her eyes.

  “Two months?”

  “Yes, for two months I was Blackie’s girl,” I admitted. “No one knew and now I’m wondering if I imagined it all.”

  “Lacey,” she started.

  “Please, don’t. Don’t tell me it was wrong because it was the only thing right in my life,” I argued.

  She closed her mouth and remained silent.

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said.

  “Talking about it might help,” she replied. “Lacey, I can’t sit here and watch you suffer like this anymore. I can’t sit here and go through this again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s like watching it happen all over again, only this time it’s my child I’m losing and I’ve already lost one,” she gasped, lifting her hand to cover her mouth as she shook her head.

  She knows.

  She knows she’s stuck with the damaged kid.

&n
bsp; Look at what you’re doing to her.

  Look at her cry.

  “What I’m trying to say is— ““What you’re trying to say is you think I’m crazy,” I rasped as I climbed out of the bed and stared back at her.

  “No, Lacey, I’m not saying that at all,” she argued, getting out of the bed to quickly walk around it, grabbing a hold of my hands as her eyes pleaded with mine.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I’m not crazy,” I insisted.

  “No you’re not,” she agreed, through her tears.

  “I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be fine,” I struggled. “I’m not like him. I’m just sad.”

  “You’re just sad,” she repeated.

  “I’ve been cooped up in this house too long and it’s getting to me,” I pulled my hands back and turned around, walked to my dresser and lifted my phone. “I need to be around other people. I need to live a little and I need to forget.”

  “Lacey,” my mother tried.

  “I’m fine mom,” I demanded, stepping back when she extended her hand to take mine. “Leave me be,” I warned.

  She stared at me helplessly.

  I remembered that look in her eyes.

  It was there the day my brother died.

  I closed my eyes, remembering my mother run down the street, seeing my father hold their lifeless son in his arms. She collapsed onto the ground and my father placed Jack’s body into her arms, allowing her to hold her baby one final time. I could still hear the cops trying to convince my parents to let him go and the shrill cry that escaped her mouth when they tried to take him from her. It was my father who wound up taking him from her arms and it was he who laid him on the gurney. They didn’t cover him like they do in the movies, they let his parents, our parents, see him one final time just as he looked when he slept instead of bringing a sheet up to cover his angelic face.

  I opened my eyes as the tears streamed my cheeks.

  I was the reason that day existed in our hearts.

  I was the reason my mother lost her son.

  I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms tightly around her small frame.