Uncontrollable Temptations (Tempted #3)
Janine Infante Bosco
Dear Reader,
As always I want to start off by thanking you for reading my work. It’s so humbling to me that you’re taking a chance on my words and my characters, a feeling that won’t ever get old. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Uncontrollable Temptations is the third story in the Tempted Series, and is something like I’ve never written before. It’s dark and gritty just like the world Jack Parrish lives in. It’s about a man wishing he had control over his actions but is inebriated by his mind.
This story came to me from Jack’s point of view, and I debated making it strictly come from him. However, there were certain things that you needed to see and understand through the heroine’s point of view to get a better feel for Jack, things he couldn’t see about himself.
I’ve brought back the characters from the first two books in this series and introduced you to a whole new group of men…The Satan’s Knights. Please keep in mind while reading that these men are not scholars, they aren’t meant to speak grammatically correct. Go with it, even when you see the word, ain’t, (I know it’s not really a word) and I promise you it will all come together. You’ll realize it is the authenticity on how they speak to one another, how they think and how they live. It’s their way.
Please be advised this story is for mature audiences.
Please be advised that while I try my hardest to give you a realistic story, it still is fiction.
And most of all…enjoy because you are now #PropertyOfParrish
Love,
Janine
Dedication
To my husband Paul
I kept moving because you inspired me too.
These characters are everything they are because of your encouraging words.
Prologue
Thirteen years ago
There was no God, no higher power I prayed to hoping to relieve me from my sins. No one would grant me penance for all the wrong decisions I’ve made. There was only the devil, and I tangoed enough with him in my twenty-five years to know I was at his mercy. There was nothing I could do but eat the crow he threw at me. I’ve swallowed a lot of shit in my life, losing my parents, my wife cheating on me, my brother turning his back on me and becoming a federal agent. But there is one thing you don’t swallow, one thing you never get over, one thing that stays with you, forcing you to question everything you know in life—that is losing a child. No parent should outlive their child. No parent should have to pick out a casket for their baby. And no parent should have to sit in a funeral home as a man dressed in a cloak prays over their son’s lifeless body.
I wanted to believe the man who offered his condolences to me and my ex-wife, to trust his God would take care of my boy. I wanted to relish in the comfort of knowing a loving man would hold his arms wide open to embrace my sweet boy and welcome him into eternal life. I closed my eyes as his words cut through me. He spoke of a promise that someone would be there to take care of the innocent boy I created. Someone to guide him with a steady hand and be there for him when was he scared and missing his mama.
Someone to take care of him better than I had.
I leaned forward, dropped my head into my hands, unable to stare at him lying there in that box. He looked so peaceful it was almost as if he was sleeping, just a little boy holding his Harley Davidson teddy bear as he took a nap.
Only—he wouldn’t wake. Not for me to chase the monsters under the bed or see the dawn of a new day.
Not this time.
I’d never look into the eyes of my son and see the innocence of a child staring back at me.
I pulled my head back and lifted my eyes glancing at my brothers standing on either side of my son’s coffin. Our president on the left and the vice president on the right. They weren’t my brothers by blood—I had one of those too. I had raised him after our parents died but like everyone else in my life, I lost him. Still, I thought he would’ve shown up, hoped he’d put our differences aside and stand beside me as I lowered my son into the cold earth.
I used to think having a brother meant I’d always have a friend, someone always there to have my back, but I didn’t understand what having a brother truly meant until I became a patched member of Satan’s Knights Motorcycle Club. Those men were my brothers, men that never left my side or my boy’s side. They were the men who would always have my back and they would be the men standing beside me as I say goodbye to my child. We didn’t need blood. We had loyalty. We had respect. We had the stuff that held people together when blood didn’t.
I knew it was just something they did out of respect and they would do it for any of the brothers, but seeing them stand guard over my boy brought me a sense of comfort. They didn’t think it was my fault.
They didn’t blame me for the things I couldn’t control.
There were two people that blamed me for everything. My mother, who was dead, and my ex-wife, who sat beside me sobbing.
My mother hated me. When she looked at me she saw her father reflected in my eyes. I wish she would have looked at me and seen that I was just a boy that couldn’t control himself. Maybe if she had, she would’ve been the kind of mother who sought help for her damaged child. Instead, she inflicted more pain on me, made me believe I was the devil reincarnate and not someone who needed help. Maybe if she had, then my son would be alive.