Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5) (26 page)

I glanced over my shoulder at him, our eyes locked and I tried to think of something to say.

I flashed him a smile and blew him a kiss, setting my mask in place, covering my features and the crazy that was already brewing inside of me.

Once I was inside, I turned around and looked at him one last time. He revved his engine, took one hand off the handlebars to give me a two-finger salute before he peeled away from the curb. I watched him drive off until he was out of sight—I stared at the spot in front of the house where he parked and wondered if he left a trail of skid marks on the asphalt. I wondered if they matched the ones he left inside of my head.

I stepped backwards into the house, closed the door and leaned my forehead against it. It was eerily quiet inside the house and my mind.

The calm before the storm.

I pushed off the door, turned around and started for the stairs, deciding that if I went to bed, maybe I could keep my maker silent for just a little while longer. My mind has allowed me peace for too long and was due to wreak havoc any moment, viciously tearing apart the best night of my life.

I have to remind myself I’m not the insecure type.

When I love, I love harder than anyone.

I whole heartedly believe I’m exactly what Blackie needs in his life.

I can make things better for him.

I can be the one who loves him unconditionally.

The one person who rescues him from the hell he thinks he belongs to.

Me.

I can do that.

But as strong as I can be, I am also weak.

Weak to my mind.

It’s like my mind knows exactly when to strike. It’s usually when I feel like I’m on top of the world then like any true villain my mind turns on me, the thoughts flood my head and I come crashing down.

Other girls are worried about their appearances. They think they aren’t pretty enough or thin enough. Their hair is brown when it should be blonde or curly when it should be straight.

Not me.

I’m comfortable in my own skin and never wish to crawl away from it, to peel it off and replace it with something else.

In a perfect world I’d be exactly who I am, minus my head.

If I could escape my mind…I would.

It’s the only thing about me I wish I could change.

I’m not sure which is worse.

Wishing for the perfect body or wishing for a different mind.

Sometimes I desperately want to tell my story, to share with the world what it's like to be mentally ill. However, that would mean accepting I am flawed and I can’t bring myself to do that.

I can’t say the words out loud.

I can’t look in the mirror and admit my truth.

I’m crazy.

I hate that word. It’s so harsh and ugly.

So I continue to sit alone and suffer.

I tell myself that even if I had the courage to confess I am a girl who struggles mentally there is no one in my life I would burden with my illness. Think about it, who should I tell? Who do I ask to help me with the nightmare I’m living? My father? The man who suffers from it himself?

Or my mother who blames my father’s illness for the reason she doesn’t have a son anymore?

Blackie isn’t an option either. He’s got his own struggles, his own torment and for the first time in a long time, he’s trying to make that right for himself. He’s got a long road ahead of him he sure as hell doesn’t need my drama added to his full plate.

And then there is that other word that scares me to death.

Lithium.

It works for my father but there are thousands of people whom never adjust to the medication and are constantly having their dosages changed. There is also the possibility that Lithium wouldn’t even work for me.

Another scary thought.

I’ll continue living, struggling and envying those of sound mind. I’ll enjoy the highs, embrace them, and push through the lows, hoping one day I’ll find the strength to admit to myself, my family and the world that I’m ill.

I’ll fight until there is no fight left.

I climbed into my bed, not bothering to change my clothes, and stared up at the ceiling.

He’s going to realize the truth.

He’s going to find out you’re not some perfect angel sent to rescue him.

You’re damaged.

You’re a joke.

You think you can help him but you can’t even help yourself.

I closed my eyes and felt the tears fall from the corners of my eyes as my demon emerged and brought me to hell.

After I dropped Lacey off I took a ride, killed a little time before I had to drag my ass to the methadone clinic. I’ll give Riggs credit, he’s a mastermind when it comes to computers he hacked into the clinic’s files and got the take home prescription approved. He even switched my case and provided me with a different counselor so my usual one wouldn’t get suspicious.

I should’ve went back to the compound to get some sleep before hitting the road but every time I closed my eyes I saw Lacey’s face and the fear she tried to hide from me when I dropped her off.

She doesn’t realize I have spent a long time looking at her and that I know every emotion conveyed on her face.

That mask she tries to hide behind, it don’t work with me.

I told myself I didn’t have time to get into it with Lace, work through her anxiety but I promised to handle it. I’m a man of my word but, the thing was, I didn’t have a goddamn answer for her. I didn’t know how to make this shit work for me and her. I didn’t know how I would turn to Jack and tell him I was about ready to claim his little girl. I didn’t know how to choose Lacey and tell Jack to go fuck himself because any way you sliced it that’s what I was ultimately doing.

I zipped the duffel bag, not even sure what the fuck I had thrown in there, slung it over my shoulder and started for the door. I nearly bumped into Jack as I shut the door and stepped into the hallway, flipping the glasses perched on top of my head onto my nose.

“Glad I caught you before you left,” he started.

“Just about to head out,” I said, as I locked my door. He tipped his chin towards the steps and we made our way downstairs into the common room.

“You sure you don’t want to take Bones with you?” he asked, flipping one of the chairs backwards before he straddled it.

“Nah, no need. Besides, Boots, that crazy son of a bitch isn’t going to want to see anyone’s face but mine,” I said, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. He passed me a cigarette and lit it for me.

“That shit needs to change. You mention that when you get face to face with the man,” he stressed, taking a pull of his cigarette. “You tell him I’m the fucking president and all deals go through me from now on. He wants to break bread; he’s going to break it at my table.”

I cocked an eyebrow as I blew out a ring of smoke. It was obvious he was on edge, fighting for control of some sort. I studied him closely, deciphering if he was on the verge of a breakdown or just morphing into his “Bulldog” persona.

“What’s got you twisted?” I questioned as he shrugged his shoulders and leaned over the chair.

“Got a lot of shit on my plate, Black. I think you know that,” he flicked his ashes. “Do I really need a fucking reason to be twisted?”

“I guess not,” I pushed back my chair. “Keep it cool Bulldog, ain’t got time for the maker so you put that motherfucker down,” I ordered as I rose to my full height. “I better head out before I lose my second wind,” I muttered.

“You don’t need to worry about me man,” he paused. “Keep doing what you doing, concentrate on you. I’m seeing pieces of my old friend break through,” he swallowed, gave me a quick nod. “Like it, Black, like it whole lot.”

I ground out the cigarette into the ashtray and turned my eyes to his. I bit the inside of my cheek as he reached out and patted my shoulder.

“Keep climbing, brother,” he encouraged.

As the words left his mouth I knew they’d sit with me for a long time, the same way they did when he told me to stand up and not drown. The only difference this time was the words he said gave me hope.

This hope thing was becoming my mantra. I was a man who coasted through life with nothing, let alone hope and now I had it in spades.

It amped me up to keep on the straight and narrow, to keep working on kicking the addictions, bettering myself so I could claim Lacey.

“I’ll keep in touch,” I said as he stood up.

“Keep yourself in one piece,” he warned.

I nodded, grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

“Black,” he called.

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you,” he said, simply.

Hope.

Yeah, I had that shit in spades.

Chapter Twenty-one

I wound up driving straight through, arriving in Boston just after being on the road for about five hours. My meeting with the Corrupt Bastards wasn’t scheduled until that night so I crashed at a motel catching a couple of hours of sleep and a quick shower. I picked a fine fucking time to have a sit down with these fuckers. The Yankees were playing the Red Sox and since the Corrupt Bastards' clubhouse was on the outskirts of Boston I had to drive through the fucking chaos, hoping there weren’t any checkpoints along the way and didn’t blow this shit out of the water. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over by some Beantown pig looking to make an arrest on a vehicle with New York plates.

It was almost eight o’clock when I rolled past the gates of their compound and parked my van close to the clubhouse, manually locking the doors to make sure these bastards didn’t fuck with my shit while I sweet-talked their leader into letting the two-hundred and fifty-thousand-dollar debt we had, slide.

I was familiar with the two guys hanging out in front of the clubhouse, no doubt awaiting my arrival. One of them was named Charlie and the only reason I knew that was because he had five tear drops tattooed to his cheek.

Five tear drops proudly declaring he took five lives.

That makes a face unforgettable.

“Look who the wind blew in,” Charlie mocked, rolling a toothpick between his lips. “Nice of you to show your face,” he added.

“Boots is expecting me,” I ground out, holding myself in check as he assessed me.

“That he is,” he affirmed, spitting out the toothpick and lifting his eyes to mine. A wicked grin spread across his mouth and had me reaching to check for my gun tucked into the back of my jeans.

A force of habit.

He turned to the guy next to him.

“Take him into the back. Boots been waiting long enough to see his face,” he ordered.

I was itching to put Charlie in his place, throw him up against the brick wall, shove my gun in his mouth and vow to tattoo a tear drop onto my face when I took his life.

I might still do that.

But on the way out.

After, I unloaded the fucking guns and made peace with Boots.

Every peace treaty has a little blood on it.

I followed the Bastard into the clubhouse, taking note not much changes around here. They still have all the fucking Red Sox memorabilia covering the walls mixed with the mugshots of all the Bastards rotting away for the oath they took.

This charter of the Corrupt Bastards, MC was completely different from the Satan’s Knights. While our club had certain limits, these guys had none. We were all up in arms over this drug shit we were neck deep in but these guys? Their primary source of income was drugs. Looking around the clubhouse, it was obvious they were swimming in product, feeding their whores as much as their bodies could stand. It was no wonder any of these sleazy broads could hold themselves up much less suck dick.

One would think that getting stuck with the product would be no sweat off their backs but any respective drug dealer who knows the game, knows every fucking gram counts. You stop looking at drugs as dust people snort, every rip is another dollar earned, the more money earned the more money spent on product and everyone knows the more product you have the more bills in your fold. It’s a vicious cycle.