“That’s my call, not yours. Now, get the fuck on your bike and a word to the wise, brother, the first shot was free, but if you ever think about taking a second, well, be prepared to pay the cost,” I warn before throttling my engine.
Leaving him in front of the cemetery, I peel away from the curb. Visions of Lacey’s face dance before me and regret seeps into my soul.
There is no time to make it right.
No time to apologize.
No time to tell her I love her.
No time to assure her we’ll get through this.
The devil don’t sleep and he sure as fuck don’t wait for no one.
Times up, motherfucker.
Chapter Nineteen
Blackie
By the time I arrived at Jack’s the alcohol was starting to wear and the paranoia began to settle in. I was sure if anyone looked at me, they’d be able to tell I was fucked up, so I made a pit stop at the bodega around the corner from Jack’s house. I snatched a pair of cheap sunglasses from the rack in front of the register and fitted them to my face. Even with the fucking armor, I felt transparent. Before the clerk rang me up, I made my way to the back of the store and grabbed an energy drink. I placed that and the Tic Tac’s on the counter and pointed to the sunglasses on my face. As the man tallied my total, I spotted a package of Stacker 2’s. There were two capsules in the package, and I knew if I crushed and snorted them, I’d reverse the sluggish effects of the alcohol.
I paid the man and made my way back to my bike. There, I reached behind me and took out my gun. Using the heel of the clip, I crushed the capsules on the seat and dropped to my knees. It was broad fucking daylight and I was snorting amphetamines off the leather seat of my Harley. If that didn’t scream junkie, nothing did.
Sniffling, I brushed my hand over the leather, wiping away any excess. I rose to my full height and threw my leg over the bike. Flicking open the can, I downed the energy drink, dropping the empty can into my saddlebag. The shit started to hit me as I rounded the corner. Jack’s house came into view and I pulled my bike behind the others that lined his driveway. There was no sign of Riggs yet and that gave me a chance to pull my shit together before I faced Jack and the rest of my brothers.
Or at least it would’ve if Jack hadn’t jumped right into business. He didn’t give a fuck a few guys were missing. Time was of the essence and we’d catch the others up to speed once they arrived. In the meantime, Jack filled us in on his plan. He didn’t pause to hear anyone’s opinion. There was no vote. There was just our president and his manic quest to keep the people he considered his, safe. Too bad the only people he was keeping safe was Mac and Ryder. The rest of us would ride to our deaths, giving Jack Parrish one final hoorah.
If we survived, the fate of our club would be changed. We all knew it, Jack included. Yet, no one objected. Riggs and the others arrived and like the loyal soldiers we were, we followed him to an old paper factory in downtown Brooklyn.
Javier and his men arrived while we waited in the back lot of the building and as they filed out of their overpriced SUV’s, we dismounted. In another time and place, we would not be bowing to a man like Javier. The man was half my size and even in my fucking state, with sweat dripping from my brow and my heart racing, I knew I could snap the little fuckers neck right in half.
Pipe steps in front of Jack and I, blocking my view of Javier and his men as he fixes his eyes on Jack.
“Stryker and Cobra hid the guns inside the machines,” he tells him. Instantly I narrow my eyes, wondering when the fuck they had the opportunity to do that. “Thirty pieces for a meeting with Sergio. If he wants more, that can be negotiated but for a price and at a later date. No funny business Parrish,” he warns. “I got a kid on the way I wanna see be born and three others I still got to help raise.”
His words sucker punch me in the gut and I think about my own child. Wishing I would’ve taken the sonogram photo off the counter before I left, I lift my hand to my chest and rub at the ache. What I wouldn’t give to look at that grainy black and white photo one more time.
“The six of you stay out here,” Jack says, pointing to Stryker, Cobra, Deuce, Linc, Bas and Needles.
“You sure you don’t want me to go in there with you? I speak Spanish,” Deuce offers.
“So, does Blackie,” Riggs taunts, cocking his head to the side as he stares at me. I remove the sunglasses from my face and meet his gaze. The guy forgets I’m nothing if not a seasoned, functioning addict. I’ve done more scores fucked up than I’ve done them straight.
Seeming satisfied with my appearance, he gives me a curt nod.
“These little taco loving motherfuckers aren’t going to get over with their native tongue.”
Bas and Jack exchange a few words as the sweat continues to drip off my body. I feel my pulse quicken and I stop myself from swaying. Forcing my head into the game, I look at Jack.
“Let’s get this over with,” I tell him.
Together, with Pipe, we close the distance between us and the Sinaloa cartel. Jack greets Javier and we start for the abandoned factory. As we reach the door, I stop in my tracks and watch as Javier enters the building.
“You sure about this?” I ask without looking at Jack.
“No turning back now,” he replies all too confidently and drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go, Black, the Devil awaits.”
The first time I got clean, I kept a small stash of drugs in a drawer in my room at the clubhouse. It was for security purposes. Drugs were all I knew. They were my fucking life. Everything centered around getting high. When I say I’m a seasoned, functioning addict, I’m not lying. There was a time in my life when I couldn’t function if I wasn’t high. I couldn’t ride, I couldn’t fuck, I couldn’t think. I didn’t think I’d survive without poison.
One day I opened the drawer, and I took out the needle and the bag of heroin, ready to melt it and inject it into my bloodstream. The tourniquet was tied around my arm and my vein was popped and ready to go. The longer I stared at the drugs and the needle, the more I hated the sight of them.
In that moment, I had lost the desire.
I was done.
I didn’t want to function on dope. I wanted to remember how it felt to live. I wanted to learn how to live through the good and the bad. To feel joy and cope with pain. I didn’t want to run no more. I didn’t want to hide from my feelings or escape my truths.
I didn’t remember life without drugs but right then and there, I wanted to live the rest of my life making it count for something.
I untied the tourniquet and flushed the drugs down the toilet. I got clean for a little while and then I realized my life still didn’t count for shit. As long as I was a member of the Satan’s Knights, I’d never do any kind of good. We make excuses for ourselves. We hide behind acts of vigilante justice but at the end of the day, we’re no better than the motherfuckers we’re meeting here today.
We’re supplying them with guns, guns they’ll likely push onto the streets and into the hands of the misguided youth. Their drugs will find the weak. Someone’s son. Someone’s daughter. Maybe a young mother who can’t clean up her act. They’ll kill and we’ll turn our heads. We’ll argue it’s not our business, that we got what we bargained for. We’ll look at Mac and Ryder and say it was worth it.