Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5)(80)

“We all got secrets man,” he replied. “Some of us hide them better than others, but every one of the Satan’s Knights has a tale to tell or we wouldn’t be brothers,” he added before he glanced down at my bare chest. “Nice tattoo,” he commented.

I looked down at the new ink that covered the left side of my chest.

“You play?” he questioned.

“Play?”

“The notes, man, you play an instrument?”

“No,” I answered, shaking my head as my hand covered the music notes that marked my chest. “Bathroom’s all yours,” I ground out before stepping around him and leaving him behind.

I grabbed the first black shirt I could find and was about to pull it over my head when I glanced at the mirror, at the tattoo I got three days after I broke Lacey’s heart.

I’ve learned as life goes on that the things we hold close to us, the memories we cherish of the people we love, they fade from our minds. We forget the moments that change us and give us purpose.

I didn’t want to forget.

I wanted to hang onto that slice of heaven I had and even when the drugs drag me down and force me to black out, I want to stare at the reminder.

A reminder of a dance I shared when I thought I’d never dance.

I wanted to remember Leather and Lace.

Take the story and the dance with me when I died.

Music notes.

To a song that reminded me of a girl who changed me.

A girl I didn’t see coming.

A girl I loved and always would.

I pulled the shirt over my head, secured the vest and slid my arms through my leather jacket, tucking my gun into my waist band and grabbing an extra magazine. My club was waiting for me outside ready to move, thirsty for blood, eager to reclaim the name our predecessors gave us.

Revenge took over our souls as we rode silently, full of determination, leaving whatever shred of decency any of us had at the clubhouse and unleashed the animals we truly were.

The Satan’s Knights were back.

We were stronger.

Harder.

We had been f*cked with for too long and now it was time to brush the dirt off our shoulders, remember the criminals we were, and destiny that awaited us. Jack led us to the pier and killed his engine first. The rest of us followed suit, pulling our weapons and crouching down as we ran up the pier where the vessel was docked. Sun Wu and the Dragons were nowhere in sight, not scheduled to unload their shipment for another hour. Jack paused at the container and passed an envelope to Rienzi, Rocco Spinelli’s foreman, before he snapped the plastic seal off the doors giving us access to Wu’s merchandise.

There were wooden crates stacked from the floor to the ceiling, filling the entire container. The clock was ticking, forcing us to hustle and get the f*cking job done before Wu showed up and made this shit messier than we planned.

Stryker and Deuce, another fool who decided Brooklyn was the place he wanted to call home, charged in first, tucking their guns away. I kept my eyes trained on Stryker, curious about the man who claimed we all had secrets and watched him get down. The guy looked like he had trained for this shit as he got down on one knee, placing one palm over the other while Deuce put his boot clad foot onto Stryker’s hands hoisting him up. Deuce pulled a crate from the top and dropped it onto the floor beside us. Neither of the nomads stopped what they were doing to the see what the f*ck Wu was selling, they demolished the first row of crates, proving their worth to the club.

The last crate they dropped opened and Wolf sifted through it with the tip of his gun.

“Well, well, looks like Wu wanted to get f*cked after all,” he mocked, as he held up a pink dildo.

Riggs strolled curiously over to the crate, pushing around the contents, and pulled out a bunch of sex toys.

“I bet this one is labeled butt plugs,” Pipe said, prying open the top of another crate.

“Dump it,” Jack ordered.

Pipe raised an eyebrow, questioning Jack.

“You sure about that, boss? Bet we can turn this shit for a pretty penny,” he countered.

We weren’t about to start pushing dildos on the street. This move was to show these motherf*ckers we would not sit back and take it in the ass anymore. It wasn’t about taking their shit and turning a profit but more about sending a message—you don’t f*ck with us.

“Dump the f*cking shit,” Jack barked, as he lifted a crate over his head and threw it into the water.

I grabbed the next crate and hoisted it into the river. As Stryker and Deuce unloaded the container, one by one we silently dropped the merchandise into the Hudson. Looking around at my brothers, I could see the aggression painted on their faces.

Stryker was right.

We all have secrets.

We all have nightmares that haunt us.

And being the devil’s soldiers provided us with an outlet for the torment we all suffered.

We emptied the container, dropping the last of the sex toys into the river, creating quite a sight.

“Pack it up,” Jack demanded, as he reached into his back pocket and produced a can of spray paint and nodded toward Rienzi. He closed the container, locking it up with a new plastic seal before taking a step back and letting Jack do his thing. He pulled the cap off the bottle, throwing it into the water before putting his finger on the aerosol can and writing a message to Wu.

Fuck you.

In bright red letters across the door.