Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5)(62)

“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 f*cking time to have a sit down with these f*ckers. 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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.

One I knew too well.

The guy leading me through the clubhouse stopped in front of a door and tipped his chin.

“Straight through there,” he instructed.

I brushed passed him, rapped my knuckles against the door before turning the knob and walking into the room. Boots was sitting behind the desk with one of the club whores spread eagle in front of him. His head was bent as he ripped a line off her tits.

“Fucking hell,” I seethed, watching as he lifted his head his beady eyes met mine.

He slapped the whore’s tits, nearly knocking her off the desk with the power behind his hand.

“Get out,” he hollered.

“Boots, you promised me!” she whined, scrambling to her feet as she slid off the desk.

“Fuck you,” he sneered. “Now get the f*ck out of here.”

She stared at him for a moment before turning around and looking at me. I swore for a moment her eyes pleaded with mine but I looked passed her and directly into the eyes of the enemy.

“I patiently waited for this day,” he started, sniffling.

The whore slammed the door behind her as I pulled the chair out in front of his desk and dropped into it. I leaned forward to pull out my gun and hold it up to him before nodding at him, awaiting the same gesture of respect. I removed the clip and placed it on top of the desk, cocking a brow and expected him to do the same.