Eternal Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 6) (48 page)

He takes the pen and paper and writes his reply.

I hear you.

“You’re a dick,” I say, ripping the paper in half before throwing it back at him.

Blackie smirks as he shrugs on his leather jacket.

“Black,” I call out and watch his eyes turn back to me.

“You got this, brother,” I tell him.

I should be leading my club to retribution but if I can’t, there is no one better suited than the man standing before me. I won’t hold the gavel forever, someday I will pass that shit down, someday it’ll be Blackie sitting at the head of the table. It will be his job to bring Satan’s law to justice and now is the time to see if he’s capable.

We might plan the final ride for the Corrupt Bastards but this shit right here, this was Blackie’s test drive, riding front and center, leading the pack of Knights straight to Hell.

Where did that leave my daughter?

I suppose on a test drive of her own.

Could my sweet girl stand in the shadows of the acting president of the Satan’s Knights?

We’re about to find out.

Sitting on an empty oil drum in the middle of Pipe’s garage I turn to Riggs, watching as he pulls his hat off and runs his fingers roughly through his hair.

“Bro,” he starts, fitting the hat back to his head. “Where the fuck is everyone?” He asks tapping his fingers on the rolling tool chest in front of him. “I mean it’s not just me and you on this suicide mission, right?”

I sure fucking hope not.

Pulling a toothpick out of my jacket, I roll it between my lips and try not to dwell on the urge burning inside of me to seek something out and alleviate the itch to drink this whole fucking ordeal away.

“We’ve got company,” he announces as he jumps off the hood of the car he was sitting on and heads out to the lot. I follow him and watch as the flatbed truck, loaded with Harley’s, backs into the lot, stopping right in front of us.

“Merry fucking Christmas to us,” Riggs mutters, jumping onto the flatbed to inspect the brand new bikes as I walk around to greet the trucker opening the driver’s door.

“Either one of you Blackie?”

“Who’s asking?” I question as he waves a clipboard at me.

“Delivery from Jack Parrish,” he grunts, picking up his pants that hang beneath his belly and shoving his clipboard into my hands.

“You’re shitting me,” Riggs calls.

“Sign,” the trucker orders as he waddles to the back of his truck.

I glance down at the invoice for twelve new bikes and notice the make and models of them. These broads were beauties and cost twice the amount of our old ones. Placing the invoice on the hood of the truck, I pull out my phone and dial Jack’s house to confirm with him. Reina answers the phone since his hearing is still sketchy.

“Hey, Reina, do me a favor and ask Jack if he had something delivered to Pipe’s garage?”

“Sure, give me a minute,” she says and I hear her shuffle around and Jack’s loud muffled growl. Riggs and the trucker start unloading the bikes as a van pulls into the lot and parks right beside the bikes.

“Give me the phone,” I hear Jack call.

“Blackie, you’re on speaker,” Reina adds with a huff.

“Told you my club won’t be ridin’ with borrowed pipes and I meant it. Break them bitches in and make them sing pretty for me,” he says.

“You hear that, Blackie?” Reina questions.

“Loud and clear,” I respond. “Take care of the big guy, Reina. I’ll be in touch,” I add before disconnecting the call. Stryker, Deuce and Cobra climb out of the van and curiously stare at the bikes.

“A present from the Bulldog,” I explain, signing the invoice on the clipboard.

“Guess today is a good day for the Satan’s Knights,” Cobra mutters as the three of them open the back doors of the van and pull out a piece of wood. Turning it over, they prop the wooden slab against the side of the van and the reaper carved into the center stares back at me.

“We need to put some legs on it and sand this beast down but next time you speak to the Bulldog, tell him we dug his fucking table out of the rubble,” Stryker says, running his hand carefully along the splintered edges.

“You called church didn’t you?” Deuce questions, reaching into his pocket and producing a meat mallet.

“It’s not the original but it’ll do,” he adds as I stare at the silver mallet with the
Bed Bath and Beyond
ticket still attached to it.

Fighting back a smile, I take the mallet from his hand and tip my chin toward the table.

“That’s it, go on, you know you want to,” Riggs encourages as he steps behind me and the trucker peels away from us, without twelve new motorcycles. I tighten my grip around the silver kitchen utensil and bring the head down to the table top and bring my first meeting as acting president to order.

Riggs clasps his hands over the back of my shoulders.

“Let’s tag some toes, motherfuckers,” he cheers.

I’m about to order them to drag the table into the garage when I hear the distinct sound of engines blaring. Without hesitation I reach behind me and draw my gun out of the waistband of my jeans and aim it at the gates. Riggs, mimics my stance and together we start for the gates. Stryker, Deuce and Cobra are right behind us, the adrenaline vibrates through the air as the bikes draw closer.

My finger steady on the trigger I watch the first bike turn into the lot.

“What the fuck?” Riggs says next to me, keeping his gun just as cocked and ready as Pipe leads a pack of at least ten bikes. I narrow my eyes as Pipe breaks in front of me and throws down his kickstand.

Lifting his helmet from his head, he turns to face me, bloodshot eyes peer back at me. There is nothing left of the man, his eyes are as dead as his soul and his body is just a shell, just a place to house the vengeance pulsing through his veins.

I avert my eyes to the men pulling up behind him and zero in on the Satan’s Knight’s patch sewn into their leathers.

“Brooklyn meet Bergen County,” Pipe introduces, tipping his chin to the gun in my hand. “You going to shoot the men here to help us or are you going to invite them to your table?”

Lowering my gun with one hand, I size up the president of the Bergen County charter, a man who goes by the name of Smoke.

“Word on the street is there is no Brooklyn charter,” Smoke says, dismounting from his bike.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to believe everything you hear?” I retort, tucking my gun into the front of my jeans.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Better off letting them believe you’re dead that way they don’t expect to see your ghost,” he counters, holding out his hand. “Time for you to put those rumors to rest and show everyone what you’re made of, Blackie.”

I’ve been Jack’s right hand for years, been the talk of many, on the outside I’m nothing but a recovering junkie, a hothead who lost his way when he lost his wife. No one speaks of my loyalty to the reaper on my back, or the men I stand with. They don’t know what I’m capable of, what happens when I’ve been pushed too far. They don’t know the reason my road name is Blackie, they don’t know it’s because I’ve faded more lives to black than most—without consequence, without regard.

They tried fading us to black and now it’s their turn to fade. There won’t be any mishaps. There won’t be anyone left standing, not a fucking fly on the wall of their clubhouse will survive what we’re going to do. It’s not a test of physics, there won’t be some little prick in a basement making a bomb to strap to an unsuspecting asshole. No, revenge will be at the hands of the men surrounding me and it will be executed the old fashioned way, where we take life with our bare hands.

I lead my men and the men of the Bergen County charter into the garage and brief them on what I plan to do. An operation that seemed hopeless a few days ago springs to life and retribution is so close I can taste it. With the help of the other charter, the new bikes and enough ammo to take out a village we have a strong chance of wiping them out, especially if they don’t see us coming.

Surprise them.

Introduce them to the ghost of the Satan’s Knights.

Make them fade to Black.

My body is here lying on the couch next to Reina’s but my mind isn’t, my mind is out there, with my brothers fighting to take back what is ours. Even before I was the president, as long as I’ve held my patch I’ve been on the front lines. I don’t know what it’s like to be left behind while my boys are off riding and avenging.

I glance down as Reina reaches for my hands and rests them on top of her belly. I bury my face in the crook of her neck as the baby kicks against my hand. It’s my kid who reminds me that sometimes we all need to take a step back and appreciate the little treasures in life. The blessings.

She lifts her head from my chest and I stare at her lips as she says another name.

“Chloe,” she suggests.

I recite the name in my head and shrug my shoulders, not sold on the name. We’ve already decided on the name if the baby is a boy but this girl thing is rough. I don’t remember doing this with Connie when she was pregnant. I’m not sure if it’s because I didn’t have an interest back then or if it was because I was out on the road for most of her pregnancies. Probably a bit of both.

“What about Dana?” I say.

“I think we should just keep praying for a boy,” she replies and I actually hear every other word clearly. I’m noticing that I favor my left ear more so than my right.

The bell rings and Reina crawls off me and tries to lift herself off the couch but it’s a losing battle. I feel the smile tug at the corners of my mouth and lean forward to kiss her. Pregnancy suits Reina, makes me wish I was a little younger—we wouldn’t stop at one.

“I’ll get it,” I tell her, patting her knee for her to stay where she is on the couch. I grab my shirt off the back of the couch and pull it over my head as I walk to the front door, never expecting Grace Pastore to be on my door step.

“Hi, Jack,” she says, forcing a smile on her worn face. Vic’s wife is a looker but these days she looks so damn tired, so damn heartbroken.

“Come in,” I say, moving aside for her to enter before kicking the door closed and ushering her into the living room where Reina can help me communicate with our guest.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she starts as Reina holds out her hands to me and I help her onto her feet so she can greet Grace.

“Of course not,” Reina says. “Can we get you something? Coffee maybe?”

She shakes her head and turns to me.

“I came to congratulate you on the wedding,” she pauses, cocking her head to the side. “But now that I’ve said it, it sounds ridiculous. I’m so sorry about everything that transpired on what should’ve been such a beautiful day.”

I didn’t even notice the present in her hand until she handed it to Reina.

“Thank you, Grace,” Reina says, taking the present from her.

“Have you heard anything from Vic?” I ask and I immediately regret the question when her smile falters and she shakes her head.

“I don’t expect to either,” she answers, instantly wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “No news means he’s still alive, so I hang on to that and hope he’s not suffering,” she says, turning to Reina who is staring down at a silver serving platter that has our names engraved on it. “Vic’s mother gave me one of those when we first got married and when the girls were born we added their names to it. We thought it was silly at first but after we had the girls we used that platter every night we ate dinner together as a family.”

“It’s beautiful,” Reina says, laying it on the coffee table. “And if we ever decide on a name, we’ll be sure to add it to the platter.”

“Grace,” I say, reaching out for her hand. Her tearful eyes lift to mine and I squeeze her hand. “Vic’s a lucky guy.”

“We were both lucky. It wasn’t just one sided,” she argues and then smiles sadly. “Love is precious, its frail, and it’s gone before some even have time to appreciate it.”

Her eyes drift between me and Reina before she continues.

“Enjoy these times, they may be bumpy, they may be hard but they’ll be a memory quicker than you realize.” She sighs wistfully, pulling me into her arms to embrace me. “If I know my husband as well as I think I do, I know he’d want me to come here today and wish you and your wife the best of luck and to tell you that.”