Uncontrollable Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 3) (5 page)

“That all?” I asked, pushing off the counter and straightening my stance.

“Dee’s,” he stated.

I squinted, deciphering the name. “The little hole in the wall diner under the overpass?”

He nodded.

“What about it?” I huffed, not in the mood for riddles. Fuck, I wasn’t in the mood for much of anything.

“She works overnight, goes in around eleven, leaves about ten the next morning,” he added.

I glanced down at my boots for a beat before lifting my eyes to Anthony, staring at him silently. There were no words left between us. He said his peace and now it was up to me to decide what to do with it. I gave him a nod, my version of thank you, and turned to leave.

Dee’s Diner.

I knew the joint, back in the day it used to be the place Satan’s Knights congregated at after a run. Used to have the best fucking coffee in downtown Brooklyn.

I wonder if they still did.

On the open road, my mind drifted back to the night Danny’s house went up in flames. I didn’t remember much, just the amber flames before the house crumbled with my brother trapped inside. I sure as hell didn’t remember there being a woman. I didn’t give a fuck then and I shouldn’t give a fuck now.

I didn’t know what the purpose of me going to Dee’s Diner was. But I knew that’s where I’d park my bike. I wasn’t going to make nice with some broad that my brother dipped his dick inside. But maybe I’d ask her why the hell he was still sitting with a toe tag in the fucking morgue.

Hell, I didn’t even know what she fucking looked like.

Radiating innocence with that pale skin and blonde hair.

I turned my bike onto Court Street, riding straight toward Dee’s Diner. I could see the dated diner in the distance, the first letter on the sign flickering.

I’d order a killer cup of coffee and maybe a slice of pie.

Cherry pie.

Present Day

“Settle down,” I demanded, pounding the gavel viciously against the wood, trying to reign my boys in so we could hold church. I lifted my eyes to glance at the clock and shook my head. I was already fucking late.

“Goddamn it, settle down boys,” I growled, their boisterous voices lowering as their eyes settled on me.

“For fuck’s sake you’re like a bunch of bitches at a beauty parlor,” I hissed, throwing the gavel down and leaning back against my chair. “Now, let’s get down to business,” I said, diverting my eyes to our treasurer, Pipe. “How’d we do this week?”

Pipe leaned forward, glancing around the table at the brothers before cracking a grin. “We did good this week,” he declared, sliding envelopes across the table to the men. “Cain’s old man got his hands on some impressive guns. We need to move them quick though, before we get any heat from ATF.”

I glanced at Blackie. “Get on that, see if Gold has any use for them,” I said, watching as he lifted his eyes to mine.

“That’s not going to get Jimmy Gold’s attention these days,” he ground out, leveling me with a steady glare. “I’m working on it.”

I knew Blackie wasn’t on board with me offing the mobster—for no other reason than protecting the club from blindly walking
into a war with the mob. It wasn’t a question of me killing Jimmy, he understood my need for revenge, but rather he was concerned by the consequences that would undoubtedly fall on the club.

“It’s about time to decide if we patch in Riggs,” Blackie said, changing the subject.

“Agreed,” I replied. It was only fair that the man get his patch. He’s been sitting on Bianci for nearly five months now and has never given me shit. I stared down the table. “Yay or Nay on Riggs getting his colors,” I asked as I looked from member to member, their votes unanimous.

“Fuck yes, kid deserves it,” Blackie said, finally.

“Bones, get the little fuck over here so we can deliver the news,” I said. “Pipe, plan the kid a party,” I ordered. Lighting a cigarette, I slammed the gavel down on the table, adjourning the meeting.

“Aye, get the boy the finest pussy around,” Pipe added.

I stood up, grabbing my leather jacket that was draped over my chair and shrugged it on. “Tomorrow night we’ll patch him in,” I added.

“Where you hurrying off too?” Blackie asked, not lifting his head.

“Yeah, man, you’re always running out on us,” Pipe chimed in.

“Does the Bulldog have a piece of tail he’s chasing? Pretty little pussy you hiding from us?” Blackie taunted.

I fixed my eyes onto him, watching as he bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t smile.

“Fuck off,” I growled, pointing between him and Pipe. “Set everything up for tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Blackie said, giving into his laughter. “Get some for me too, brother.”

Pipe chuckled and gyrated, air-fucking the table. “Give it to her hard, Bulldog,” he said, throwing back his head and moaning.

I rolled my eyes and headed for the door as Blackie and Pipe began barking, the rest of the guys chiming in and starting to howl behind me.

I parked my bike in the usual spot, dismounted and strode toward the diner. I glanced over my shoulder, looking around the span of the parking lot for one of my brothers, sure that one, if not all, had followed me. If they did, I would catch so much shit for this. The truth was, nothing I said would justify why I spent five nights a week sitting in this dive. I don’t know why the fuck I’m here. It’s not like I was doing such a bang up job getting information out of Danny’s girl. I sat at that counter night after night with my thumb up my ass, staring at her like some fucking creep. She was fucking gorgeous. Miles of blonde hair I wanted to fist in my hands, and creamy white skin I wanted to brand with my teeth. Nothing I ever expected Danny to sink his claws into.

Lucky bastard.

May he rest in peace.

Her body was a mystery under those baggy clothes she wore, making me want to rip them off of her and see what she was hiding. That girl was hiding more than her body though. She had a shitload of secrets—it was as obvious as the body she was hiding beneath those clothes. It was enough to make a sane man lose control.

Fortunately, I wasn’t sane and losing control over some pretty blonde wasn’t an issue.

A shrill scream tore me away from my thoughts and I pushed through the door of the diner. A couple huddled in the corner booth looked toward the kitchen in horror.
I followed their eyes, stalking around the counter to where the kitchen was and stopped in my tracks.

Reina was holding her arm over the hot grill, shaking her head uncontrollably as she cried.

“No, no, no,” she chanted. “Not again. Please not again,” she begged, tears falling from her eyes.

“Hey,” I whispered, advancing toward her. I placed my hand on her shoulder causing her to flinch. She turned around to face me and took a retreating step backward, trembling as she held her arm. Her eyes were dull and for a split moment I was transcended to a time where I could relate to what she was feeling. I recognized that lost look in her eyes, seen it a million times before, whenever I looked at myself in the mirror. I realized in that moment Reina reminded me of myself whenever I had a manic episode—although I didn’t remember much of my episodes. Usually, I woke up to be told the awful truth of my actions. I knew enough to know she was looking at me and her body sensed I was there but her mind didn’t. I remember bits and pieces, objects and people surrounding me but never could hear their words. They were just there. And right now, in this moment, I was just there to Reina. Just an object.

“Hey, you can’t be back here,” the cook shouted, walking into the kitchen from the back door. “Reina, you know better than to let the customers back here,” he hissed, walking toward the grill. “Shit, I asked you to watch the food!” He said, in disgust as he grabbed the tongs and removed the charred remnants of food, dropping them onto a dish. “Can’t step out for one damn minute,” he muttered.

I lifted my eyes to him and glared at him viciously. “She fucking burned her arm,” I growled, before settling my eyes back on Reina.

Her eyes were closed as she shook her head, battling her demons, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes.

“Reina, hello? Earth to Reina,” the cook said, rolling his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

It took every ounce of control I could muster not to slam this pricks face into the grill and singe the motherfucker’s face off. I didn’t know where the sense to protect Reina from this jerk off came from, wasn’t sure I liked it either. I couldn’t help myself, so I lunged for his throat. My feet didn’t get a chance to move, frozen in place at the sound of her gentle plea.

“Please take me away from here,” she whispered, her brown eyes pleading with mine. Killing the cook became a distant thought, replaced by the unexplainable need to save her from herself. Like a moth drawn to a flame I was at her mercy.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” I whispered.

“Please,” she repeated, letting go of my wrist as she wrapped her hand around her injured arm.

I looked at her for another moment, glancing down at her arm before diverting my eyes over her shoulder at the cook, daring him to say another word. He opened his mouth before his eyes fell back to Reina and snapped it shut again.

“Where’s her stuff?” I asked him roughly.

He tipped his chin toward the diner and I placed my hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go, Sunshine,” I murmured.

She hesitated for a second before she relented and let me guide her back to the front of the diner. I bent down, grabbing her purse and jacket from underneath the counter then rose to my full height. She robotically took her jacket from me, draping it over the arm of her uninjured hand. I looked down at her arm and caught a glimpse of the raw flesh. Already it had a sheen to it as the skin stretched and changed to a nasty shade of purple. Realization set in, crippling me as it became clear she hadn’t just fallen victim to a simple accident in the kitchen of the diner. She was reliving the traumatic experience she shared with my
brother.

I took her injured hand, felt her body tense at my touch, and guided her out of the diner toward my bike. I slid my helmet from one of the handlebars and turned around, offering it for her.

“You ever ride before?” I asked, as she stared at my bike.

She shook her head, and I sighed. I threw my leg over and straddled the bike, bracing my hands on the handlebars as I looked at her.

“Climb on and hold on tight,” I instructed, watching her pretty little lips part. I couldn’t help think how I wouldn’t mind repeating those same words under different circumstances. I shook my head, shoving my thoughts and my desires aside.

“The hospital isn’t that far of a ride from here,” I said.

Her eyes snapped to mine, and she shook her head. “No hospitals,” she uttered. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

“That burn looks pretty nasty, Reina. You should have it checked out.”

“No, I said no.” She took a retreating step back. “It isn’t that bad,” she said, her voice sounding detached. “It’s nothing.”

I realized the burn that ran along her forearm was in fact nothing compared to what she probably had endured in that fire. Bianci’s voice haunted me, reminding me she had been badly burned, so much so she had been hospitalized for weeks. My eyes traveled the length of her trying to determine where she had been burned in the fire and then it clicked. The baggy clothes she wore were an armor for the scars that marred her body.

“I just want to go home,” she whispered.

“Okay,” I conceded. “Just tell me where you live.”

“The Southgate projects,” she mumbled, taking another step toward my bike, staring at the helmet in her hand like it was a foreign object. She slowly lifted it on top of her head and I reached out and fastened the chin strap. She awkwardly assessed how she would climb onto the bike before placing her hand on my shoulder and throwing her leg over.

One touch and I was branded.

She positioned her feet and scooted closer, the warmth of her body pressing against my back. She fumbled with her hands, placing them on my shoulders first then dropping them to rest at my hips. I exhaled and reached for her hands, wrapping them around my waist.