Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5)(16)

I turned around, walked out the door, closing it behind me before I banged my head against it.

Give me a dire situation, a rival club looking to f*ck with my brothers and I’ll take every one of them out. Give me a motherf*cking gangster and let me bring him to his knees. Give me an addiction, and I’ll function. Give me a shitload of grief and I’ll push through it. Give me a tombstone with my wife’s name and I’ll bring flowers every Saturday.

Fuck, give me Jack in the middle of a debilitating breakdown and I’ll bring him back.

But don’t give me this.

Don’t give me Lacey.

Don’t make me want to do right by her when all I know is wrong.

Don’t give me Lacey when I’ll never be able to keep her.





Me: One.

My Maker: Too many to count.

Today I won the battle.

I was the one in control.

Not my mind.

Not Blackie.

Just me.

Just my heart.

Have you ever wanted something so badly? Have you ever been one of the lucky ones to get the one thing you want more than anything? It doesn’t matter how it comes to you, how it finally becomes yours, all that matters is that it did. You don’t get to bask in the glory because someone or something quickly tries to take it from you.

My maker has been taunting me since I left the Satan’s Knight’s clubhouse, filling my head with all the things Blackie probably came here to say.

He doesn’t want you.

He used you to forget.

He doesn’t really see you.

He told you what he thought would get him laid.

He didn’t know you were an inexperienced virgin.

He’ll never look at you the same.

He will say it was a mistake.

He’s going to tell you it should’ve never happened.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He danced with me.

He kissed me.

He held me in his arms and looked at me like I mattered.

Like I wasn’t a mistake.

Like I was something he wasn’t sure of.

Tomorrow it could all fade to dust but today…today I won.

I held on.

To Blackie.

To myself.





Chapter Five





The bell chimed over the door as I entered the florist across the street from Green-Wood cemetery. The woman behind the counter was in her early seventies and she was taking a phone order. She lifted her head, peering at me over the rim of her glasses and smiled. The shop used to be her husbands but after he passed away their two sons took over but Roseann came in every weekend to help her boys out. She lifted a finger, signaling she’d be just a minute. I nodded, reaching into my pocket grabbing a few bills from the knot of cash I was carrying. I put the money on the counter and leaned my back against it, waiting for her to finish the order.

My phone vibrated inside of my pocket forcing me to pull it out and check the message. It was Jack; I had ignored his calls leaving him no choice but to text me. The message was short and to the point letting me know he was on his way back to the Dog Pound. The Bulldog would have to wait though. I’ve been coming here every Saturday for years now, since the first weekend after Christine’s death and had never missed one. I wouldn’t start now.

“Here you go, two dozen pink roses, extra baby’s breath,” Roseann said from behind me, holding the bouquet.

I turned around and took the flowers from her, leaning over the counter to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks, Ro,” I said, pulling back.

She rolled her eyes as if to say there were no thanks required but then she cocked her head to the side and studied me for a moment.

“Wish I could’ve met her,” she said.

“You wouldn’t have met her if she was alive,” I replied honestly. “Never bought her a flower while she was here, not a single rose.”

Roseann remained silent as she frowned. I guess she pegged me as the doting husband and not the shit one I truly was. I slapped my hand against the counter.

“Keep the change,” I said. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Take care, Blackie,” she called after me as the bell chimed and I exited the florist. I jumped back into my truck and crossed Fort Hamilton parkway, driving into the tremendous gated cemetery. I parked across the road, turned on my hazards and started up the steep grassy hill. I spotted the prior week’s bouquet, the roses had started to wilt and change color.

I reached the tombstone, laying the fresh bouquet at my feet before bending down to remove the cone with the partially dead flowers making her name visible against the stone. My stomach still twists each time I see Christine Petra carved into a tombstone. It’s the reason I buy two dozen roses and not one. It’s the reason Roseann adds extra white shit to the bouquet because the minute I stick the fresh flowers into the cone, her name becomes obscure. I changed the water, tossed the dead flowers into the trash can and replaced the cone with the new bouquet, blocking her name from my view.

“Hey babe,” I said, rising to my feet, brushing the dirt from my knees. “I don’t have much time today but I didn’t want to miss a Saturday,” I explained. “I never ask much of you, figure I’ve taken enough from you but I need a favor and I don’t know who else to turn to.”