Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5)(81)

Jack took a step back, admiring his handy work then dumping the can of paint into the water and turning around to face us.

“Clear enough?”

“Still think we should’ve f*cked him with one of his toys,” Wolf clipped.

“Message is clear,” Pipe confirmed, smacking Wolf upside the head.

Jack and I stepped toward Stryker, Deuce, Cobra and Linc, offering them a pat on the back, impressed with their efficiency. I extended my hand to Stryker as I met his gaze.

“Welcome home,” I muttered.

“Thanks, man, nice to finally have one,” he said, cracking his knuckles as he stared back at me.

We all got secrets man. 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.

We were half way down the dock when Jack fell into step beside me.

“I’ve had my head wrapped around this shit with Wu for weeks—working with Spinelli to find the right time to make our move,” he started, stopping in his tracks and turning to me. “You’re using again,” he accused, running his fingers through his hair. “I turn my back for a second, thinking you finally got your shit together and when I turn around you’re more f*cked then before. What’s your deal Black? What demon caught you this time?”

“Not your problem,” I ground out, turning to face him. “If I want your two cents I’ll ask for it, but until then do us both a favor and worry about yourself and your own demons—let me handle mine,” I sneered, turning around and stalking down the pier.

I paused when I heard the roar of the engines, glanced at our parked bikes and knew shit was about to go down.

“Shit, we’ve got company,” I shouted over my shoulder as I pulled out my gun.

Everything moved in slow motion as the Red Dragons started shooting at us. Without hesitation we ran down the rickety peer toward the enemy, our guns drawn lighting the shipping yard a blaze as we fired back.

It’s not the story behind us that makes us the Satan’s Knights it’s this. Taking the lives of people and doing it without remorse. It’s the blood that decorates us as our bullets pierce their heads and their brains splatter back at us.

I swiped the back of my hand over my eye and pulled back my hand staring at the crimson that painted my skin.

Blood.

That’s what it’s all about.



Life is comprised of moments, joyful ones and tragic ones. We all have two faces, but the lucky ones can merge both expressions, they can take the good with the bad and understand that life is sometimes not what you expect.

Sometimes life is more and sometimes it’s less.

Not everyone can be happy all the time.

And so we learn to hang on to the happiness and use it as a crutch to get us through the sadness that envelopes us and let it guide us back to the joy.

If you’re one of the lucky ones.

I stared at the two masks hanging from the mirror above my dresser. One mask featured a smile while the other displayed a frown. My freshman year of college I took a drama course, and the professor gave us these masks to use as a tool to summon the emotions of the characters we were portraying.

I dropped the class but kept the masks because for me they were so much more than a tool. Those masks are who I am.

The smile conveys how I feel when my maker is silenced.

The frown reminds me it will all come crashing down, and I was only smiling during a brief pause from my truth. My maker will return and bring me down from whatever manic state of happiness I was now experiencing.

I’m not one of the lucky ones.

Over the last month I have slept more than anything else because when I sleep…I dream and in my dreams I see him.

I dream of our story.

I dream of the smiles.

And then I wake, try to hang onto the happiness of the dream, pray it guides me out of the depression I am in…but it doesn’t.

I want one more chance to smile.

One more chance to be a girl in love.

One more chance to be normal.

It doesn’t come.

It never comes.

And so I close my eyes again.

Maybe next time.





Chapter Twenty-eight



I awoke to the sound of a knock on my bedroom door but didn’t bother turning around. I knew it was my mother and I knew the look on her face would break my heart—what was left of it. I kept my back towards her, laid on my side as she stepped into my room and closed the door softly behind her.

“Lacey, it’s almost noon,” she whispered.

I didn’t answer.

A moment later I felt the dip in the mattress as she laid beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist.

“My sweet girl,” she murmured, smoothing down my hair. “My beautiful, sweet girl. Please talk to me,” she pleaded.

“I’m fine,” I said numbly.

“You’re not fine and I’ve ignored it too long,” she whispered. “I know what’s going on Lacey,” she revealed.

Slowly, I turned around, brave enough to face her, wanting her to take away my pain.

Desperate for the love only a mother could give.

Maybe just maybe she could be the one to help me through this. Not that long ago I felt like I was walking in my mother’s shoes, falling in love with an outlaw, trying to see the good in him. She did it.