The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  My eyes lock with his as I realize this is goodbye, the last time Vic and I will be face to face. What started off as an alliance between outlaws to keep New York clean of drugs became a brotherhood of sorts. We were different and yet the same, both of us ruled different aspects of our city and our partnership allowed us to maintain control over our interests. When I first met Vic, I knew nothing about the man other than what the newspapers printed but then he shook my hand and from that very first handshake I knew he’d have my back and my club’s.

  “I came here looking to raise hell on your ass for springing this shit with Rocco on me,” I start.

  “He’ll do for you and your club what I no longer can,” he interrupts. “He’s young and he’ll probably make a ton of mistakes, just like you and I did when we were first starting out but he’ll always back your club.”

  I shake my head as I continue to stare at him.

  “You don’t know defeat do you, brother?”

  “Defeat is for the weak,” he announces, bowing his head for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine again. “Rocco wasn’t my plan, Anthony always was, he was the man who I wanted to take control over my business. He was my plan, but he was also my daughter’s plan. I had to choose between Anthony being the man who ruled my empire or the man who guarded my daughter from that same empire. Plans change, Jack, you know that better than anyone.”

  “Ain’t that a fact,” I sigh, leaning forward on my elbows as I pin him with a hard stare. The man could read people and I knew when he looked back at me he saw the sincerity in my eyes.

  “I got you, Vic, and I got your girls as long as I’m breathing I’ll always make sure they are. Business will always be business but family is family. I can’t make any guarantees on the streets but you have my word your girls will always have a place in the Satan’s Knights family.”

  I extend my hand across the table, watching as his eyes divert from mine to my hand and back. He slides his hand into mine, his grip just as firm as all those years ago.

  The first handshake when he had my back.

  And now the last handshake when I promise to always have his.

  Dead or alive.

  Heaven or Hell.

  “You’re good people, Parrish,” Victor says.

  “You’re not so bad yourself you guinea bastard,” I joke, giving him one final firm shake before dropping our hands. Victor chuckles, tipping his chin toward me as I brace my hands on the edge of the table and push out my chair to leave.

  “See you on the other side, brother,” I rasp, standing on my feet.

  “I’ll have the scotch waiting for you, Parrish.”

  I could see it—me and him knocking back a couple of shots before we tangoed with the devil and paid for our sins in the afterlife.

  Until then, brother.

  I turned, starting for the correction officer guarding the metal detectors when I heard Vic cough. I don’t stop, I just keep walking, reaching the guard before I turn around and peer back at him. He was hunched over the table, coughing into his hand. One of the C.O.’s was behind him, helping him to his feet but he brushed him off.

  I turned and strode out of the visitor’s room before he lifted his head and found me staring at him, leaving his pride intact—for it was all he had left.

  I walked away from the prison and made my way to my bike, feeling as though Vic was already gone. I fitted my helmet to my head, about to straddle my bike when I heard my phone go off. Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out my phone and glance at the screen to see Cobra was calling me.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Prez, we got trouble,” he replied.

  Of course we do.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “The kind that requires a lawyer and your ass at the seventy-ninth precinct.”

  “Going to be awhile before I get my ass anywhere. I’m leaving Otisville now. Where the fuck is Blackie?”

  “Don’t know. I called him too but he ain’t answering,” he replied.

  “What about Wolf and Pipe?”

  “Yeah, they’re being cuffed as we speak.”

  “Fucking hell,” I seethe before ending the call and thumbing through my contacts to get Blackie on the horn. Motherfucker knows better than to ignore my calls.

  He picked up on the fourth ring proving my point.

  “Yo,” he answered.

  “Don’t fucking ‘yo’ me. Where the fuck are you and be careful how you answer me. I ain’t in the mood to hear some shit about you and Lace.”

  “I just left my N.A. meeting,” he explained.

  I couldn’t get mad at the fucker for not answering his phone—not when he was off bettering himself and making a life for him and my girl.

  “Cobra called—some shit with the cops is going down. Wolf and Pipe were arrested. I don’t know if anyone else was too but their bringing them down to the seventy-ninth precinct. I’m leaving the prison now but it will be awhile before I get back.”

  “It’s been too fucking quiet,” he growled into the phone. “I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” I say before disconnecting the call and shove my phone inside my pocket, revving my engine before peeling away from the prison.

  Blackie was right—it’s been too quiet.

  Only Satan knows what’s coming.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cracking mu knuckles, I step away from my bike and climb the steps of the precinct, throwing on my game face as I reach the top step. These fucking pigs want to play with us then bitch we’re going to play. I roll my neck, working out the stiffness as I prepare myself to face officer douchebag, Greg Brantley—the motherfucker who has a hard on for me since the day he first laid eyes on my first wife, Christine.

  I push open the doors and stride into the police department, waiting for the bells and whistles to go off signaling my arrival but that shit doesn’t happen. I ignore the cop pushing paper at the front desk as my eyes scan the room searching out Brantley, knowing for sure he’s the one behind this bullshit.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Where’s Brantley?” I clip, pulling my shades down as my eyes drill holes into the female officer in front of me. She licked licks her lips as she stares at me for a moment, girl my people and your people don’t play nice together.

  “I’ve got this, Bailey,” dickface croons as he makes his way toward me. “What’s the matter? Parrish having a mental breakdown so he sent you to bail his boys out?”

  I flash him a smirk as I glance around the room.

  “Everyone with a badge has a pair of balls,” I say, turning to Officer Bailey. “I’m sure even she has a set hidden somewhere,” I accuse before pinning my eyes back to Brantley. “Why don’t you bend over and show her where you tuck yours away.”

  The grin on my face widens as a gasp escapes Bailey’s mouth and Brantley grounds his teeth.

  “What’s the matter, Officer Bailey, you didn’t know Brantley over here is a pussy dressed in blue?”

  “Keep talking, Petra and I’ll throw your ass in a cell too,” Brantley threatens.

  “On the same fabricated charges you cuffed my brothers on?”

  “We have a witness placing five men wearing the Satan’s Knights patch robbing J & G liquor store, nothing fabricated.”

  I narrow my eyes, taking a step closer to him as I grind my teeth.

  “You came charging into the Dog Pound and arrested five of my guys on petty larceny?”

  I was two seconds away from snapping this motherfucker’s neck in front of the whole fucking precinct. Brantley smiled at me as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. I debate popping a cap in the back of his head as he turns around and takes the call.

  “Petra,” I hear Jones call and peel my eyes away from Brantley’s head and the vision of his brains splattered on the floor. I shake my head as I close the distance between me and Jones and I grab the front of his uniform.

  “What the fuck, Jones?”


  He glances over my shoulder and I followed his gaze toward Brantley, watching as he hurries out the front door of the precinct. I look back at Jones and shove him back, releasing my hold on him.

  “I don’t give a fuck about that cunt. Now, I’m going to repeat the question one more fucking time,” I tell him, dropping my voice down to a whisper. “Club pays your ass a lot of money for things like this not to happen, so again…what the fuck, Jones?”

  “I was on a domestic call when it came over the radio. I couldn’t fucking leave the call I was on to go to the clubhouse they’d fucking know I was in your pocket. I came here as soon as I could. He brought them in on bullshit charges, he keeps saying he’s got a witness but I’ve searched every fucking interrogation room and haven’t found anyone. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he’s up to something,” he mutters, taking another sweep of the busy room before tipping his chin toward the hallway. “Follow me and I’ll take you down to the holding cell before he gets back.”

  I follow him down the narrow hallway, down three flights of stairs to the rat infested basement where the holding cells are. Before we even round the corner I hear them; Pipe, Wolf, Riggs, Bosco and another voice I couldn’t place.

  “This is a bunch of bullshit, when I get out of here I’m suing the city,” Pipe hollers.

  “Brantley you fuck, tell your mother to get the lube ready because I’m going to fuck her six ways to Sunday when I get out of here,” Wolf adds.

  “Let me out! I’m not part of the cult. I don’t even have a tattoo. I’ve never owned a leather jacket in my life,” the unfamiliar voice whines.

  “Keep talking. I’m going to tie this bitch up,” Riggs grunts.

  “Ignore him,” Bosco mutters.

  “Man, I’m itching to hit something so be careful who’s side you choose,” Riggs warns.

  We round the corner, and I clear my throat, making my presence known to my men as my eyes zero in on the only one of the five that didn’t belong to me.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “He came to pay us a visit, crying he had information for us before the police showed up,” Riggs says, using his fingers to mimic a gun pointed at Ronan Summers, and pulls the imaginary trigger.

  Summers was the father of the little shit that tried to rape my girl. He’s a gambling junkie that hooked up with the Corrupt Bastards MC and some online gambling site they had. When he couldn’t pay he offered up his son, Brandon, the Bastards sent Brandon in to get close to Lacey. The cocksucker decided he would take things a little further and tried getting inside my Lace.

  Depending on who you ask, Brandon is lucky to be living, some might argue he’s better off dead being as he’s permanently deaf and fucked mentally from the brain injury. I would’ve preferred him dead and buried but then Lacey wouldn’t have been able to get him to drop the charges.

  Yeah, like I said, lucky to be living.

  Skeptically, I stare at Ronan watching as Riggs grabs him from behind and wedges him into a headlock.

  “If I find out this shit has anything to do with you,” Riggs seethes.

  “Let him go,” I order, earning a glare from Riggs.

  This isn’t the first time Ronan has showed his face around the clubhouse spewing nonsense about having information we might be interested in. We never pay him any mind though, send the fucker on his way figuring he’s looking for a handout. Usually he cries that Brandon’s medical bills are choking him but he’s a degenerate gambler and a fucking liar too. I like my money in my pocket just as every one of my brothers.

  However, this shit with Brantley came out of nowhere and maybe it’s time someone listened to what this fuck has to say.

  Ronan’s eyes were wide with fear as they settled on me.

  “Why,” he stammers as his eyes move nervously around the cell choosing Wolf to hide behind. “Don’t hurt me man!”

  “For crying out loud,” Wolf bellows, grabbing Ronan from behind him. “Would someone hear this little jerk-off out so he stops showing up at the clubhouse? I’d rather be locked in a cell with officer dick bag than this guy.”

  “I offered to shoot him,” Riggs says.

  “Why were you at the clubhouse?” I demand calmly.

  “Like I’ve told you before I have information I think you might want,” he says, ducking behind Wolf again. “Maybe if you listened to me before we wouldn’t be in here.”

  “Start talking,” I say, crossing my arms against my chest. I tip my chin toward Riggs and watch him grab Ronan by the back of his neck and push him forcefully against the bars.

  Ronan looks over his shoulder at Riggs who shows his teeth like a feral animal, clearly Riggs was out of patience and missing his kitten.

  “Well, why don’t we talk figures first?” Ronan suggested.

  Riggs kicks him behind the knees and he drops to the floor.

  “How about I leave your ass in jail?” I question through my teeth as I bend down to level with him.

  “Times up,” Jones announces, grabbing the back of my cut and pulling me back from the bars. Standing straight, I turn my head as I hear the distinct sound of footsteps bounding down the metal stairs.

  Brantley walks over to us jingling a set of keys.

  “Turns out the witness said the five men he saw weren’t wearing a patch after all,” he sneers. “You’re free to go but I’d watch my back if I were any of you thugs,” Brantley warns as he unlocks the cell.

  “Thanks for the advice,” Pipe replies, flipping him the bird.

  “I think I’ll just stay,” Ronan offers.

  Riggs kicks him in the ass.

  “Move it,” he shouts behind him.

  Wolf was the last to exit the cell, turning around to smile at Brantley.

  “Payback’s a bitch officer and her twins name is karma. I always loved twins how ‘bout you?” Wolf laughs as he thrust his hips and humped the air. “Can’t wait for them to fuck you.”

  I shove my hands inside my pockets and shrug my shoulders as I lock eyes with my enemy.

  “Always a pleasure, Brantley,” I taunt before following my men.

  “I’d sleep with one eye open if I were you, Petra,” Brantley calls out.

  “I already do,” I reply, not bothering to turn around. I reach into my jeans and grab my phone, dial Cobra and order him to bring the cage around to the front of the station. My eyes fixate on the back of Ronan’s head as I wonder what this little shit knows, if anything at all.

  Wolf grabs two handfuls of paperwork off one of the detective’s desks and throws it up in the air like confetti before we step outside.

  “Did you have to?” I grunt.

  “Yes, of course,” he insists. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here—” His words cut off as he collides with Riggs.

  “Fucking shit! Why’d you stop walking?” Riggs questions Ronan, but the fucker was paralyzed, looking like he saw a ghost. I step around Wolf and Riggs to study Ronan’s face and follow his eyes across the parking lot to where Jack was pulling off his helmet.

  Jack strode across the gravel toward the biker I was sure we’d never see again. Charlie Teardrops was one of the few surviving members of the Corrupt Bastards. After I was released from prison, Jack and I found retribution on the fucking club that sent Brandon after Lacey. We slaughtered those fucks, including their president, Boots. Charlie wore the teardrops tattooed to his face as proudly as he wore his cut. Those teardrops symbolized the murders he committed for the patch he wore on his back.

  Charlie averted his eyes to me before he looked over my shoulder, causing me to turn and watch as Ronan tried to make a run for it. Quickly, I grab him by the back of his neck and whisper against his ear as I lean over his shoulder.

  “You wanted to talk, spook, we’re going to talk,” I promise.

  Cobra pulls the van up in front of us and Pipe opens the back doors. I eye Riggs, wait for his nod before he grabs Ronan’s arms and pulls it back igniting a shriek from the man before he throws him
into the back of the van.

  “You’re mine fuck-face,” Riggs declares, climbing in behind him. Once the boys were in the back of the van, I shut the doors and smack the side of the van giving Cobra the okay to get out of here. The van peels away as my boots pound the gravel and I make my way next to Jack catching the tail end of their conversation.

  “You miscalculated, Parrish, by assuming my club was dead in the water. The Corrupt Bastards are very much alive, stronger than before and deadlier than ever. I hope your boys enjoyed their time with the NYPD.”

  “Watch who you’re threatening, Charlie,” Jack seethed. “Remember what happened the last time the Corrupt Bastards threatened the Satan’s Knights.”

  “Not a threat,” he said, lighting up a smoke. “I’m just giving you fair warning I want control over the docks and will stop at nothing to get it. Now that Pastore is up the river, the way I see it you can either relinquish your control or I can take it from you.”

  “Why in the Devil’s names would I do that?”

  Charlie took a drag of his cigarette before flashing a cocky grin toward Jack.

  “I have resources bigger than you and your mob friend, Parrish,” he says pointedly.

  Jack steps closer to him, takes the cigarette out of his hand and glides the glowing tip to Charlie’s face, stopping just before the cigarette meets his cheek.

  “I always admired the ink on your face, maybe when I pull the breath from your lungs I’ll mark my face just as you did.”

  Charlie shakes his head unfazed by Jack’s words as he stares back at me.

  “Your days as the ‘Bulldog’ are numbered, going to turn your ass into dog meat.”

  “You and what army?” Jack sneers, flicking the ashes onto Charlie’s lap before letting the butt fall to the ground. He crushes it with his boot before turning around to face me as he dismisses Charlie. “We all good?” he questioned me.

  I nod my head before watching Charlie tip his chin to someone standing behind me. I didn’t give into him, knowing well enough he was provoking me and focused on my president.