The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Always, brother,” I answer.

  Jack nods before turning back to walk to his bike and I take that as my cue to do the same. I catch a glimpse of Brantley standing on top of the steps of the station staring back at us. Charlie revs his engine and speeds out of the parking lot, saluting Brantley as he drives past him.

  “Didn’t see that one coming,” Jack comments as he fits his fingerless gloves to his hands.

  Yeah.

  Me either.

  But then again we never usually see the mayhem; that shit creeps up on us time after time and bites us in the ass.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gritting my teeth, I walk into the Dog Pound and take in the mess. Tables have been flipped, chairs broken and the mug shots that hung proudly on the walls have been thrown across the floor. Mack was busy sweeping up shards of broken glass while Linc and Deuce worked on turning the couch back to its rightful place. The rest of the guys had parked their asses at the bar as Bosco grabs a bottle of whiskey and the few glasses that Brantley and his crew hadn’t fucking broken. He fills their glasses, offering me one, but I brush him off, ignoring all of them as they stare at me, not ready to delve into this shit storm just yet.

  Not without the help of a bottle of scotch.

  I pour that shit straight down my throat.

  The fiery liquid harshly warms my belly, but it’s not enough. I throw my head back and swallow more, waiting for the liquor to take the edge off. Placing the bottle down on top of the bar, I zero in on the man sitting in the center of my brothers, tied to a bar stool with a gag in his mouth and Riggs’ gun pointed to his temple. He stares back at me, his eyes wide with fear, just the way I like them.

  “Someone going to tell me why this fuck is here?”

  “Says he’s got information we want,” Blackie offers as he walks up behind Ronan and grabs his shoulders. “Isn’t that right?”

  Riggs slams his shot glass down on the bar as Ronan starts to mumble. He grabs a fistful of his hair and smashes his face into the bar.

  “Motherfucker just nod your fucking head,” Riggs growls.

  My eyes sweep around the room at my disgruntled club and the decision becomes clear. I need to grab the reigns on this shit.

  “Church, now and bring him,” I say tipping my chin toward Ronan as I grab my scotch and head into the chapel. Their stools scrape against the floor behind me as they rise and follow suit.

  “Where is Cobra?” Blackie asks, taking a head count of everyone.

  “He had some personal shit come up,” Deuce announces. “He’ll be back by sunrise.”

  That didn’t work for me. He wasn’t a nomad anymore and his place was at this fucking table. I point a finger at Riggs and motion to Ronan.

  “Remove the gag,” I order.

  Leaning close, Blackie whispers so only I can hear his words.

  “Got real spooked when he saw Charlie outside the precinct,” he informs me.

  “Ouch!” Ronan cries.

  “Oh, you’re such a pussy,” Riggs hisses, balling up the gag and throwing it into the center of the table.

  “You got our attention Ronan, time for you to talk and before you even ask I’ll clue you in on some shit. I don’t give a fuck if you’re broke, if you and your family are living off white rice. Don’t give me some shit that your son’s medical bills are hammering you; this is the face of a man who doesn’t give a fuck. I don’t want your sob story I want your motherfucking truth and if you think you will walk out of here without giving it to me, then you’re more fucked than I thought because my man Riggs is itching to pull the trigger on your ass.”

  “Just waiting for the nod of your head boss,” Riggs adds, pulling his gun from his leathers and placing it in front of him on the table. “Bang! Bang! Motherfucker.”

  “Kill me because I’m as good as dead anyway,” Ronan cries. “And not because I owe Charlie sixty grand but because he saw me with you guys.”

  “Ronan, start at the beginning,” Blackie demands.

  “I’m not saying shit until I have your word you will protect me,” he replies crossing his arms against his chest.

  Riggs lifts his gun and aims it at him, pulling back the safety.

  “Shit,” Ronan whimpers. “Fine, Charlie’s been building a new club with whatever Bastards are left, you know the ones you didn’t kill?”

  “Smartass,” Blackie mutters.

  “Keep talking!” I shout.

  Ronan swallows hard as he stares back at me. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for—remorse? I’ve got none. Was he trying to size me up and call my bluff? That shit wouldn’t happen. I mastered the art of staring a person down and if this motherfucker was waiting for me to blink he’d be waiting a long time. A person’s whole world can change in the blink of an eye and with the number of enemies I have chomping at the bit I know better than to close these fucking eyes—not even for a half a second.

  “About a month ago Charlie showed up at my house, he had copies of Brandon’s medical bills and swore he’d help me get rid of them. He told me that the Corrupt Bastards were very much alive and under his thumb, he was rebuilding the club with the help of some guys in pretty high places. He gave me a business card and on the back was a website to a brand new gambling site he created. He offered me a credit of fifty grand,” he explains.

  “They don’t have that kind of cash flow,” Pipe interrupts. “Charlie has to be working with someone who has serious dough, someone who doesn’t have a paper trail and easy access if he can rebuild and offer a credit of fifty grand on the strength of a couple of months.”

  “Brantley got a call when I was there, before Jones brought me down to the holding cell and he walked outside. Ten minutes later he comes downstairs and releases everyone, we go outside and find you talking to Charlie,” Blackie says, lifting his eyes to mine as he works out the scenario.

  “What you getting at Black?”

  “Brantley was stalling until Charlie showed up so we would see him and know he was the fuck behind this whole thing,” Blackie explains.

  “He was waiting at the station when I pulled up,” I comment, scratching at the scruff lining my jaw.

  “It’s bigger than Brantley, maybe he’s got Officer Dickhead in his pocket but he’s got someone giving him cash to rebuild and it ain’t no cop,” Pipe adds.

  “Um, guys…” Ronan starts.

  “I’m getting too old for this shit and I think we all agree this club has seen enough surprises to last a lifetime. We need to find out who the fuck he’s working with and we need to find out quick,” I order, reaching into my pocket to grab the pack of gum—fucking gum.

  I let out a growl, shaking my head as I pop six Chiclets into my mouth.

  “Fucking hell,” I sneer. “Riggs get a tap on Charlie’s lines. Pipe, you look into his books and one of you start tailing Brantley,” I boom, pointing between Linc and Deuce, deciding which one I was going to pick. I focus my eyes in on Linc. “You. You stick to the cocksucker like a fly to shit,” I order. “He so much as blows a light I want to know.”

  “What if he takes a shit?”

  “You tell Blackie,” I reply.

  “Hello?” Ronan whines, raising a hand.

  “Did anyone tell you to fucking talk?” Riggs barks back at Ronan.

  “That motherfucker is too cocky. Whoever he’s working with is a big fucking name,” Blackie says, still mulling it over.

  “We’re going to need someone on the inside,” Wolf adds. “Gotta put life inside that clubhouse.”

  “Hello! Guys! You’re forgetting something.” Ronan exclaims.

  “What’s that?” I huff as I pin him with a glare.

  “I need protection from your club,” he demands.

  “Now why the fuck would we do that?” Blackie asks, finally leaving his thoughts on the table and joining the land of the living.

  “Charlie saw me with you guys which makes me dead meat. I owe him money and he’s going to think I went to you lookin
g to settle my debt,” he rambles.

  “Isn’t that what you did?” Blackie asks.

  “You’re missing the point! Did you hear me at all? He will kill me!”

  “Thank fucking Christ someone will end your miserable existence,” Riggs says, glancing around the table. “Is it wrong to wish I was a Bastard?”

  I lean back in my chair, chewing my gum as I size up Ronan. He wants protection, protection he shall get. But, I’m not a generous motherfucker and that shit comes with a price.

  “Come here, Ronan,” I coax, crooking my finger as I eye the watch on his wrist. He pushes back his chair and stumbles to his feet, shuffling toward me. “Take off your watch,” I instruct, feeling the eyes of all my men.

  He fumbles with the clasp, removing the cheap stainless steel watch from his wrist before he hands it to me. I lift the watch, turn it over and examine it thoroughly before turning my eyes back to Riggs.

  “Heads up,” I warn, tossing the watch across the table into his waiting hand. One glance into my fucking eyes and Riggs sees deep into my twisted mind. Knowingly, he turns the watch every which way before shoving it into his pocket.

  “I’m on it,” Riggs assures.

  “Hey!” Ronan starts.

  “You’ll get it back, Riggs is just going to polish it up for you,” I lie. “You want protection from my club, I’ll give that to you but there’s a price.”

  “I don’t have any money,” he cries.

  “I don’t want your money,” I say calmly as I lean forward and grab a hold of his shirt, dragging his body down so we are at eye level. “You’re going to be my eyes inside the Corrupt Bastards' clubhouse. You’re going to go back and tell them we beat the fuck out of you, turn this shit around so Charlie doesn’t suspect your lips were loose. You’ll hang around and beg him to give you more time to pay your debt, even offer to get in with us. You’re going to show up bloody and you’re going to tell that motherfucker you want revenge on the Satan’s Knights.”

  “But none of that happened. You didn’t beat me up,” he argues as I released my hold on him and smile.

  Riggs walks up beside me and rears his fist back.

  “Yes we did,” he says as his fist collides with Ronan’s jaw.

  “Pack it up boys,” I adjourn, slamming the gavel down as everyone rises from their seats and Ronan drops to his knees as Riggs pounds his face. “Riggs has a job to do,” I chuckle, striding toward the door.

  “He’s going to fucking kill him,” Linc states.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I can’t contain my grin as I watch Riggs throw Ronan a beating.

  “Break it up after twenty minutes,” I tell Linc before walking out the door.

  I stop in my tracks when I spot Reina sweeping up the glass in the common room. She lifts her head when she hears us barrel through the door and locks eyes with me.

  “Sunshine,” I greet.

  “You boys were busy I see,” she says sarcastically, lifting the dustpan full of glass. She was wearing a Harley Davidson tank top that fit snugly across her breasts and her belly. The evidence of my baby growing in her belly was staring me in my face. I fucking loved it. I thought Reina was fucking beautiful the moment I first laid eyes on her but seeing her pregnant with my kid, beautiful didn’t do her justice. She was happy. Fuck that was gorgeous.

  It’s fucking true what they say—a happy wife, a happy life.

  “Jack,” Blackie starts, placing one hand on my shoulder.

  “Later,” I grunt, walking away from him and straight for my woman.

  She winks at me, continuing the task of dragging the broom across the floor, taking care of my clubhouse just as she would my home, knowing they were one. I grab the broom from her hand and toss it across the room before wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her against me.

  “What do I owe the pleasure?” I murmur as I run my mouth along her jaw.

  “I thought you were visiting Vic,” she whispers, her fingers toying with the ends of my hair. “I picked up my dress and didn’t want you to see it in the house so I thought I’d leave it in your room upstairs.”

  I brush my lips across hers.

  “Hmm,” I hum, taking her bottom lip between my teeth.

  “Jack,” she breathes.

  “Yes, Sunshine?”

  “We have an audience,” she whispers.

  “I don’t give a damn,” I hiss, sliding my hands down to cup her ass.

  She cups my face with her hands and pulls back an inch to study me.

  “I love you, Parrish, and I like lovin’ on you in private,” she scolds, a smirk playing along her full mouth.

  A groan escapes my lips as I think of all the ways I love on her—starting with that mouth. Yeah, I was going to fuck her mouth first then I’d spread her out and feed off her pussy before I slam my cock home deep inside her. I’d give her lovin’, all the lovin’ she needed.

  “Upstairs. Now,” I order, smacking her ass.

  She laughs as she unravels her arms from my neck and turns to the room full of watchful eyes.

  “Oh! I came here for another reason,” she announces.

  “Sunshine…” I groan. She swings around to pinch my forearm before turning back to my brothers.

  “I left everyone’s wedding invitation on the bar,” she says. “They’re all addressed, so just find which is yours.”

  She pauses, scrunching up her face as she glances from face to face.

  “Where’s Riggs?”

  “Busy,” I mutter.

  “Help!” Ronan cries.

  “Ain’t no one gonna help you,” Riggs shouts from the chapel.

  I roll my eyes and take her hand, leading her away from the chaos and toward the stairs.

  “I wanted to make sure he got his invitation,” Reina says, looking over her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Reina, we’ll make sure we give it to him,” Blackie says, closing the door to the chapel.

  “Don’t get any blood on the floor,” she calls as I lift her into my arms. “I’m done cleaning up after you guys.”

  Reina got my blood flowing on a regular day but seeing her step up, owning the role as my ol’ lady, well, that undid me. It made me feral, turned me into a fucking savage. Poor Sunshine, she was going to get a dose of Parrish like never before.

  Chapter Twenty

  I open my eyes. God has granted me another day. It didn’t matter that when I woke I felt as though a cinder block was resting heavily on my chest. My lungs working overtime for each breath they push out. I was still alive.

  Every night, before I lay my head on my cot, I count down the days until my transfer and before I close my eyes, I pray to my Heavenly Father to keep me alive until then. Last night it was thirteen days, today it will be twelve. Almost there.

  It’s not about the last hit and that’s probably the only reason he’s keeping me alive. Every day I wake is another day I get to reminisce about my family. I’ve got three visits left and today my phone privileges are reinstated. I’m entitled to one phone call per month, and it turns out that since it’s the end of the month, I’ll get this month’s and one more before the transfer.

  Today I don’t have to stare at a picture and relive the last thirty years of memories. Today I get to hear my bride’s voice. Grace used to speak with a tenderness to her tone, she used to look at me like I was her everything, her whole damn world. Now the tenderness is gone from her voice and when she looks at me she tries to hide the anger boiling inside of her. My sweet Gracie is full of resentment and the beautiful love we created is dying right along with me.

  This isn’t how we’re supposed to end—a love like ours isn’t supposed to turn ugly. I remember in the beginning I felt like I was on top of the world and it wasn’t the rush of the mob or the greed of power, it was Grace’s love that made me soar to the top. She made me feel invincible every time I looked into her eyes and knew I had the love of a good woman. We had old school love, the type that makes a man wonder how he
ever got so lucky in his life. We had the type of love people write songs about, and I’m not talking about that crap you hear on the radio these days, I’m talking Frankie Valli, ‘My Eyes Adored You’ or Elvis’ ‘The Wonder of You’.

  I’ve got twelve days left.

  Twelve days to get my Gracie to fall back in love with me.

  Twelve days to restore that lovin’ feeling in her eyes and remind her why she fell in love with me in the first place.

  Twelve days to give us the ending we deserve and if I get it right, maybe one day someone will write a love song about the beautiful love we lost and found one more time.

  I close my hand over my mouth and cough, my throat raw from the endless coughing fits and my chest heavy from the attack on my lungs. Hunched over the sink, I turn the faucet on and dip my mouth under the stream of water, hoping to relieve the ache. I’m deteriorating much quicker than I expected. I guess I got cocky after surviving way passed the time the doctors initially gave me. After I refused treatment, they warned me it would happen just as it is. A snap of my fingers and everything would just go downhill, my body would shut down from the strain I was putting on it. Cancer was like a collision you knew was coming but couldn’t slam on the breaks quick enough.

  After five minutes of coughing and gasping for air, I try to straighten my shoulders and tap on the bars for the guard.

  My voice is barely recognizable, considerably hoarse as I speak.

  “I want my phone call,” I struggle, gripping the bars to steady me. My gray hair falls over my eye and for the first time I don’t bother to fix it. I peer at the correction officer and watch him shake his head.

  “Come on, Vic,” he mutters, fitting the key into my cell door and opening it. He offers me his hand but I brushed it away, squaring back my shoulders and hanging onto what is left of my pride as I stride down the cell block.

  When I first arrived here, the inmates used to stand behind the bars and cheer me—I was a fucking legend in here. Now, they look at me with remorse, even they don’t want the legend to die. It used to make me feel good, it used to be the thing that got me by, and then I realized it all means nothing. They’re hanging on to the Vic they know from the headlines, the man who beat case after case. They don’t want that man to die. They don’t give a fuck that leaving my family behind is killing me more than the fucking cancer is.