Lethal Temptations (Tempted #5) (16 page)

“Hurry up, I have a refrigerator I need to pick up,” he mumbled.

The nurse buzzed me in and I ran through the glass doors, leaving my accomplice to his pity party. I went over to the nurse’s station and after I found out which room he was in, I started for him.

I was driven by my need to see him, to make sure he really was alive and that he didn’t leave me. I wanted to hold his hand, lace my fingers with his, and thank him. Not just for switching places with me but for every single time he’s been there for me, choosing my life over his.

I should’ve given his condition more thought, if I would’ve prepared myself maybe then my heart wouldn’t have stopped for the split second it did when I laid eyes on him. He looked so different lying there, powerless and at the mercy of the machines keeping him alive, so fragile. He didn’t look like the badass biker most men feared and woman tried to conquer, he wasn’t the hero sent to rescue me, or the poor widow who didn’t know how to grieve.

He was just a man.

A man who had been knocked off his chrome pedestal, a man flawed and fractured by the shitty hand dealt to him. He was Dominic Petra, not Blackie, not one of Satan’s Knights, not even the man I call Leather but, simply Dominic.

We weren’t Leather and Lace.

We were strangers.

It was that moment, with the steady hymn of his heart rate playing in the background, Dominic Petra and Lacey Parrish first met.

We were both stripped of everything we’ve come to know about each other.

We were the flawed characters of a story.

He was the addict who chose the wrong path.

And I was the mentally ill girl who loved him.

I’ve never admitted that to anyone.

That I think I’m ill.

Or that I love him.

I don’t know when it happened, if it was something that grew over time or what but, it felt as if I had been doing it my whole life…like I was born to love both Dominic Petra and the fractured soul of Blackie.

I walked to the side of his bed as my eyes swept over in him, taking in every machine, wire and tube attached to him, the one that breathed for him, the one that monitored his heart rate and the other half a dozen—I had no idea what their purpose was. I leaned over, gently I brought my fingertips to his cheek.

“Leather,” I whispered, as a tear escaped the corner of my eye.

As much as I wanted to know the man Blackie was before all the pain, the man in the photograph he kept in his room, I never wanted it to be like this.

Our timing has always been off.

An alarm sounded forcing me to drop my hand from his face and divert my frantic eyes to the machines as a nurse came into the room.

“What’s happening?”

“The I.V. finished,” she explained, disconnecting the empty bag from the pole and replacing it with a full one. My eyes followed the tube and saw it was plugged into a port in his bicep. She must’ve noticed I was staring at the port strangely because she explained.

“His veins were collapsing, so we had to put the port in his bicep,” she said, glancing back at the machine. “Everything is good. I’ll give you some privacy,” she added.

I nodded, waiting for her to leave the room before I lifted his hand, turning his arm over and stared at the bruises that angrily marked his skin. I bent my head, trailing my lips over the track marks.

I lifted my eyes, peering up at his face from under the fringe of my lashes, wishing to God he could hear me.

“Everybody deserves a rewrite,” I whispered. “Even you. Come back to me Blackie, let me help you this once, just like you’ve always helped me. We can rewrite our story together. I’ll help you silence your addiction the way you silence my mind,” I promised as I gently placed his hand back down beside him.

I brought my hand up to his head and touched the hair that hung shaggily around his face, brushing it back with my fingers.

“I remember the first time I saw you like it was yesterday. I thought you were the most handsome guy I ever laid eyes on,” I smiled, blinking away the tears that temporarily blinded me. “All these years later and it’s still true, no one else compares. You had me then Blackie, you had me at ten years old, you’ve always had me…and I want you—no, I need you to know you’ll always have me. I want you to stop pushing me away. I want you to accept that I’m a part of your life. Stop thinking it's wrong because nothing that feels this right can ever be wrong. There is a lot of wrong in your life, change that, or don’t but, leave what’s right, what’s good…leave us, let us be. I promise you we’re worth it. Give me a chance to make you smile like you used to in that picture you have in your room. I’m not asking you to forget about her, or change your past. I’m asking for you to let me help you rewrite the rest of your life. It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t need to keep punishing yourself.”

You’re wasting your breath.

Once an addict, always an addict.

You’ll always be Jack’s daughter and nothing more
.

I shook my head, not willing to allow my maker take control of my mind. I was in control and I needed to hang onto it with everything in me because today Blackie needed me. I didn’t have time to succumb to the lies my mind tried to make me believe.

I embraced the truth, the truth I’ve always known---Blackie needs me as much as I need him. He saw me long before that night I went to the clubhouse and asked him to look at me---the real me. He tries to deny it; he fights it but he feels it…the unexplainable connection between us.

They say everyone has a soulmate.

And his broken soul belongs to mine.

I leaned over his body and pressed my lips to his forehead.

“You’re my hero,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his nose before pulling back and wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands. “Wake up and I’ll be yours.”      

Chapter Twelve

You know you’ve committed too many sins, fucked too many people and ruined too many lives when the devil don’t even want your ass. I should be dead but even Satan didn’t want to save me from the nothing I had become. Nope, that prick bastard turned his back on me too.

That’s when you know you’re fucked and you start to wonder if you’re fucking immortal. When I get the fuck out of here I’m going to Atlantic City, putting all my cash on Black because motherfucker I can’t lose.

I beat the odds every-fucking-time.

Now, I was sitting in a hospital bed, hours after waking up from a coma. One I apparently had been in for nearly two weeks and trying to make sense of everything. When I first woke up I freaked the fuck out and judging by the frightened look of the nurse, held some sort of resemblance to the exorcist. I had a tube down my fucking throat and couldn’t speak until they took it out. I tried to pull the damn thing out myself but the jerk off doctor stuck my hands in restraints and gave me a sedative because being out cold for two weeks wasn’t enough.

Once the sedative wore off they returned to brief me on my condition. They think I’m a junkie and that I did this shit to myself. While there is truth to their conclusions they don’t know that there was a woman who I got clean for and another that I wanted to stay clean for. They don’t know that I intercepted Jimmy Gold from taking Lacey or that in the larger scheme of things I sacrificed my veins for the innocent kids growing up on the streets of New York.

A social worker was sent in to discuss treatment options and facilities. They started me on methadone since my heart was too weak to withstand the withdrawals and now I had a choice. I could continue with the methadone once I was released from the hospital or go to an in-patient drug rehab.

“I know you’ve been through a lot and we’ve dumped a lot of information on you, but for now we need to concentrate on strengthening your heart and getting you well enough to tackle the addiction,” the social worker explained.

I turned my head.

“I tried calling her,” she said after a moment and I snapped my eyes back to hers. “The girl that visits you,” she explained. “But she’s not on your contact list,” she continued as she glanced down at the restraints binding my wrists. “There’s been a brigade of people coming through these doors for you, a lot of people pulling for you, but her?” She shrugged her shoulders as she untied the restraint. “It’s painfully obvious she needs you the most,” she conceded, raising my free hand before placing it on the bed beside me. Her gaze met mine as she patted my hand. “Make it count, Mr. Petra.” She paused. “Addiction affects not only the person using, but the people who love that person, well, they suffer too.”

She patted my hand before turning around and walking out of the room.

I didn’t need to question who the girl was.

I knew it with every fiber of my being.

Lace.

And the idea of her sitting vigil at my side, wishing for me to wake up and be the man that sees her, gutted me more so than waking up only to realize the devil chewed me up and spit me out.

I faintly heard a commotion come from somewhere outside my room and tried to focus on that instead of my insides that were churning. I turned my head just in time to watch the pack of men, wearing that unmistakable cut, bulldozing their way through the nurse’s station.

“There he is,” Wolf cheered as he was the first to enter my room. He was quickly pushed to the side by Jack. His eyes locked with mine as he started straight for me. His expression was unreadable or maybe I was in too much pain to decipher it, either way I didn’t know what to expect. He pushed the machines out of his way, bent down, and took my head in his hands.

“My man,” Jack said, kissing my head before he leaned back and pinned me with a stare. “Left side of the table’s been empty, brother,” he explained hoarsely.

Two weeks being out of commission, off my bike and away from my chair at the table was too long. I left my brothers in the middle of chaos and confusion, went back on my word when I said I’d demolish Jimmy, and ruined the deal with the Corrupt Bastards.

I shook my head slightly.

I should feel some remorse, guilt maybe for all the shit I put my club through over the last couple of weeks but I don’t. I would do it again. I’d take the needle, let that bastard shoot me up with whatever the fuck he wanted. Give me another heart attack, do whatever the fuck you gotta do, but don’t touch her.

Not Lace.

And not because she was Jack’s daughter.

“I’m sorry,” I said, lifting my eyes to Jack.

Sorry for taking your little girl and making her mine.

“You got nothing to be sorry for,” Jack replied. “I owe you everything,” he reiterated. “You saved Lacey, and you kept Reina sane,” he continued. “You sacrificed yourself for the club and that shit deserves a whole lot more than a thank you. Need you well, Black, need you to reverse this shit Jimmy has you strung out on, knocking on death’s door,” he growled. “Whatever it takes, we’ve got you,” he insisted.

I remember him pleading with me after Christine died to get myself clean. He promised me we’d change the direction of the club, kick the drugs to the curb and make her death count. And mostly he lived up to his promise but Jack never banked on this shit with Jimmy surfacing. Yet, here we are and now I’m hooked on methadone, compliments of the hospital. The last few years, staying clean, trying to honor my wife the only way I knew how… all went to shit.

“Ay!” Pipe agreed.

I went against my word the first time I sat in front of Jimmy, chose revenge over my vow to Christine when I stuck that needle in my arm but I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it was a step I had to take to make my way to the G-Man. But Jimmy, that motherfucker, took two weeks of my fucking life and made me break another vow to my wife. Two fucking weeks meant two Saturday’s I didn’t bring flowers to Christine’s grave.

“Did we get him? Gold is he…” My sentence trailed off as my jaw clenched with anger.

Two fucking weeks.

He better be dead.

“Oh, we fucking got him,” Jack assured. “Lit that motherfucker up,” he added.

“How?” I demanded.
      I wanted to know everything, from the shock and horror in his eyes to the way his flesh smelled when the flames ate away at him. But before he divulged the sweetness of Jimmy’s demise, Jack needed to explain how he pulled this shit off without me and the deal we made with the Corrupt Bastards.

Jack turned around and pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward Riggs.

“This son of a bitch right here, saved the day, your life and my sanity,” he declared.

“And still no fucking pie,” Riggs replied, shaking his head in disgust.

Riggs? He got the drugs for the deal? I know for a fact he didn’t get that shit from the Corrupt Bastards because they wouldn’t deal with a new face. I was the one that shook on our agreement. They were funny like that, or maybe smart, depending on how you look at it.

“What about the deal?” I questioned.

“We made a new deal,” Jack answered.

I stared at him for a minute before narrowing my eyes in confusion.