The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(124)

“Take another class, do whatever it takes, girl,” he murmurs against my mouth, softly sucking on my lower lip. “As soon as you get that degree I’m putting a ring on that finger and then you’re gonna get that tattoo you want so bad,” he rasps before covering my mouth with his.

I thread my fingers through his hair, pull on the ends and wait for him to say the words I’ve been waiting to hear.

“I’m back, girl.”

Yeah, Blackie’s back.

And he’ll keep coming back time and time again.

And these arms of mine will always be waiting.



Pipe’s standing in the kitchen, his hands braced against my counter, his eyes trained on the knife laying on top of it.

“Brother,” I say, jolting his gaze from the pocket knife. Beady, drained eyes stare back at me and the cockiness I felt upstairs when I saw Blackie alive and well disappears.

“Mission accomplished,” he says solemnly. Two words. Two words that declared victory for our club but they were lack luster coming from Pipe. “The insurance adjusters will assess the compound this week, if there isn’t enough to cover the rebuild you have plenty of equity in my garage—pull it out and rise up.”

“You talkin’ like you’re going somewhere,” I accuse, crossing my arms against my chest as I continue to stare at him, dreading the words he’s about to say.

“I’m done,” he declares, shrugging off his cut. “Riggs would be good in my position; the kid is a whiz.”

“Pipe, brother, I know—” he cuts my words with a glare.

“You don’t know,” he spits. “Like I don’t know what it’s like to watch my kid die you don’t know what it’s like to find your wife with her neck slit.”

I snap my mouth shut and grind my teeth. Another man would’ve been dead for bringing up my boy but I know Pipe’s just hurting. He was there for me when I buried Jack, stood by my side and reeled me in every time I tried to join my boy in eternity. He gets a pass.

He turns his cut over and picks up the knife, inching the blade under his patch and cuts stitch after stitch.

“You're right, I don’t know what you’re feeling but I know whatever it is it’s made you raw and you need to heal.”

My words are ignored, and he continues to pull the stitches out until his patch is free. I watch on as he shrugs his cut back onto his shoulders, pockets the knife and hands me the patch.

“That patch is who you are,” I argue.

“That’s not who I want to be anymore,” he sneers. “Take the fucking patch, Parrish,” he seethes, extending his arm. “TAKE IT!”

I snatch the worn patch from his hand and grab his cut with the other, stepping to him as I set my eyes on his.

“I’m taking the fucking patch, Pipe, but you’re coming back for it. Clear your head, get your shit figured out but you get back on that bike and you come home. Your patch and your chair will be waiting for you. I will be waiting for you.”

Without another word he pulls out of my grasp and glares at me before charging out of the kitchen like hell was on his tail—maybe it was.

Reina steps into the kitchen as I throw Pipe’s patch on the counter and fight the urge to throw something.

“Jack,” she shouts, demanding my attention. Turning my narrowed eyes on her I see the phone she’s holding against her chest. “It’s Bianci.”

Of course it is.

“Victor passed away,” she says solemnly.

I heard the three words.

Read them off her lips too.

And wished I did neither

.





Chapter Fifty-One




The call came from the warden. Thinking back now I don’t remember what he said but I know there was no remorse in the deliverance of his words. And why would there be? To him he was just a number, just a problematic inmate, a criminal who turned his prison upside down. He was happy to be rid of him.

I had been preparing myself for the inevitable and I think that’s why I didn’t react at first. I held my composure and called my son-in-law, Anthony. Bless his big heart, the man brought my daughters, and together we told them that their father had passed.

I was sure watching my children mourn their father would be my undoing but still I didn’t shed a tear and was able to be the rock they both needed. The girls stayed with me that night and just like when they were small, and Victor would work through the night; they crawled into the king-sized bed I shared with their father and snuggled close.

Victor’s body was released and flown back to New York, Anthony and I went to identify his body. I wish I never stepped foot into that morgue because the man beneath the sheet was not the man I married; he was not the handsome, dapper man I met at Studio 54. He was skin and bones and all the suffering he did in the last few weeks of his life stared back at me and it became evident that my husband died a miserable death. A man who was loved beyond measure died alone and imprisoned with a failing body and broken heart.

I left Anthony in the morgue and ran out of there as quickly as my weak legs would allow and desperately tried to erase the image from my mind. I closed my eyes and begged Victor’s soul to paint me one last picture and envision the young man with the charcoal gray suit and the black turtleneck. The man who promised to marry me and make a life with me. I closed my eyes and remembered our last visit and the way we promised one another we would remember the other.