Uncontrollable Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 3) (27 page)

I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and powered it on for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Jimmy Gold wasn’t going to take advantage of Blackie—he would not get the upper hand. It was time to bring the motherfucker to his knees.

My phone chimed, alerting me of the several voicemails I had missed, so before I called the cocksucker I played the messages.

Hi Dad, it’s me…Lacey. I know today is a rough one, but I wanted you to know that I’m here…I’m still here. Love you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and saved her message, making a mental note to give my girl a call, maybe take her for dinner. Guilt, it was a bitch.

Parrish, it’s Gold. I’m not a very patient man, that being said, this is the third time I’m calling you to discuss our partnership. Call me back.

“Asshole,” I muttered, hitting delete.

Yo, it’s me.
Blackie’s voice slurred through the end of the phone.
We’re good with Gold. Only problem was Reina got thrown into the mix. You might want to wife that bitch because she gave Jimmy a stellar performance. Good girl you got there, brother. Sorry for giving you so much shit. Anyway, I gave her my car, and she’s hunting for you. Here’s to hoping she can pull you away from your misery.

I thought about Blackie facing the choice of whether he should shoot the heroin or put a bullet between Gold’s eyes. I bet his wife’s face flashed before him as he emptied the syringe into his vein, I bet that nearly killed him. I thought of Reina witnessing that shit and how she had already been a victim of Jimmy Gold’s brutality, how she was marked by him in a way no one ever should be branded.

Jack, I got news. The kind you don’t talk about over the phone. Call me back.
Bianci’s voice boomed.

A lot could happen in twenty-four hours.

This message is for Jack Parrish. I am a clerk at the state medical examiner’s office and we are calling regarding the release of Daniel Gregorio’s remains. Please call us to discuss arranging a discharge. You can reach me at 718-556-5481, thank you.

I dropped the phone from my ear and stared at it in disbelief. Was my mind playing me again? I ended the voicemail playback, not wanting to listen to another since they all seemed to be one worse than the other.

Time to saddle up motherfucker, I told myself as I rubbed my hands vigorously over my face. I mentally made a list of things to do, starting with a shower and then I’d make my way to the Dog Pound and take my meds, like the good maniac I strive to be.

Be better, asshole.

Be better for Lacey.

Be better for Reina.

Make Junior proud.

He’s safe now.

My list was pretty cut and dry. The tasks not all that hard, but each one just as important as the next.

Call Lacey. Let her know I didn’t bite the bullet.

Meet with Bianci.

Show that prick Gold, who the fuck is boss.

Claim my brother’s remains and lay him to rest. It’s only right I bury him properly after I took his woman.

Make it right with Reina.

I pulled my bike in front of the compound, slowly lifting my helmet off my head and glanced around the lot. Bianci jumped out of his truck and rushed toward me. I diverted my eyes to the passenger side of his truck and watched a woman step out. She looked familiar, similar to
his wife yet older. Realization set in as she came closer. Her eyes were dull, her face tired and worn, all a result of standing beside the man she loved. They say the people who sit
quietly behind the scenes are the ones affected the most. Staring at Grace Pastore I became a believer.

“We got trouble,” Bianci stated, eyeing his mother-in-law.

I tore my eyes from Grace’s and was about to ask him what he was talking about when my cell phone vibrated inside my pocket. Blackie’s truck rolled through the gate of the compound and out of the corner of my eye I watched as he parked in his usual spot. The door opened to the compound and a sickening feeling crept inside my gut as Riggs, Bones, Pipe and Wolf emerged. The band of brothers felt it too, the nagging warning of impending doom.

I glanced down at the phone and lifted the screen to Bianci to show him Gold was calling.

He nodded, giving me the green light to answer the phone. I accepted the call and lifted the phone to my ear.

“What can I do for you, Jimmy?” I asked, keeping my eyes trained on Grace who turned to Anthony with pleading eyes.

“Three…two…one,” Jimmy drawled into the phone before disconnecting the call. I looked down at the phone perplexed.

“He hung up,” I said, lifting my head. Bianci took a step back, eyes sharp as they spanned the property.

“Talk to me Bianci,” I ordered.

The thing about lists, about plans, is that they usually go astray—but then again all the planning in the world wouldn’t have prepared me for what was about to happen.

      
A blast erupted, amber lights all aglow as Blackie’s truck was blown to smithereens. The impact of the explosion threw us back, knocking some of us to the ground, others dropping voluntarily to take cover.

A lot could happen in twenty-four hours.

Ever wonder what would’ve happened if you turned left instead of right? If someone hit the backspace button on the story to your life? What would change? Would you be surrounded by the same people? Would you love them or hate them? Who decides that shit anyway? They say you have one life to live and to make the best of it but that’s not really true, is it? We aren’t the scribers of the pages to our stories. There is someone else writing them, someone else deciding who stays and who leaves, who we love and who we hate. You’re not in control of your destiny, it’s already written for you. It’s been decided and the final proof submitted for editing. No more backspace button—the moment you breathe your first breath your story is published.

Growing up, I remember my grandma telling me that the Lord only gives us what we can handle.

He’ll never give you more than you can chew, darling.

Those were the words of wisdom that brought me to church after the fire, and those same words brought me here today. It was a weekday so the chapel was empty, but still I sat in the last pew. I stared at the altar, diverting my eyes to the crucifix that hung above and wondered if the man crucified was the scriber of this story.

I don’t know why I made Blackie drop me off at the church. It’s not like I’m a religious person. It’s true, I only believe in God sometimes because most of the time I can’t believe that there is a man who sacrificed his own life and sits idly watching as others suffer. Shouldn’t he intervene with his divine powers?

Maybe my perception of who God is and what his powers are is off. But I can’t help but wonder why people preach that God is great when I look around and see so many people suffering. Why did Danny die and I survive? How did his brother’s life intertwine with mine? Did I go right when I was supposed to go left? There were no signs pointing which way to go. I kept moving and collided with Jack.

Jack.

My eyes zeroed in on the eyes of Jesus.

“Why did you give him to me if your plan was only to take him from me?” I asked the empty church. Again, there were no signs, no flickering candle, not even a saint appearing before me to answer my question. I was back at the fork in the road.

Do I go right?
      

Do I go left?

I wasn’t suicidal but I could understand why people chose to end the vicious cycle. They’re grasping for control of their story—not willing to sit idle and wait for the next blow.

“People falsely believe God is the controller of our destiny. He is there walking beside you, holding your hand as you do all the work,” a voice said, from behind me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I said that out loud,” I swallowed, staring into the eyes of the priest. He smiled warmly and gestured to the space beside me.

“May I?”

“Of course,” I whispered, sliding over to give him room to sit beside me.

“What is troubling you, my child? Is it your faith you are questioning or your own life particularly?” He asked me softly, as he worked the rosary beads in his fingers.

“I guess both,” I admitted honestly. I stared at him for some time and wondered if he was the sign. Was he going to tell me which way to go? Was he going to be the one to make sense of all my questions?

“I don’t go to church,” I blurted. “I’m not sure why I am even here but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Are you running away from something that is troubling you?”

I thought about the question and shook my head. “The old me would’ve run a long time ago. The new me is fighting not to run back,” I said, throwing my head in my hands and groaning. “I’m not even sure I make sense anymore.” I pulled my hands back and stared at the priest, “I’m in love.”

He smiled, “One of life’s blessings.”

“Yeah?” I questioned, wondering if he had ever been in love. You know, maybe, before he became a man of the cloth. Was that allowed? Probably not, I conceded because falling in love wasn’t a blessing it was a nice big
fuck you
—but I couldn’t tell that to a priest with Jesus staring down at me.

“Sure,” he said, rolling his thumb over the crucifix he held in his hands. “Love is raw and beautiful, reminding us that imperfections hold beauty too because no love is perfect, is it?”

Maybe he was in love once.

“No I suppose it’s not. It can be ugly sometimes,” I added.

“Is this one of those ugly times?” He questioned.

“I guess,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I fell in love with my ex-boyfriend’s brother, not knowing they were brothers.” I turned and looked at the priest. “My ex, he died. Would he still be considered my ex-boyfriend even though there was technically no break up?” I dismissed my question with my hand. “Forget I asked that…you must think I’m crazy.” I bit my lip, the word crazy leaving a sour taste in my mouth. “I take that back, crazy is cruel. It’s such a shallow word. Ignorant and derogatory is what it really is.” I mumbled.

The priest dropped his hand to mine.

“Why don’t you slow down and start from the beginning,” he suggested.

I stared into his warm, inviting eyes as he nodded for me to trust him.

“Danny,” I whispered, “he’s my ex-boyfriend and he was murdered.” The priest’s eyes didn’t change—I’m sure he had heard it all. He waved his hand encouraging me to speak freely. “I came home one night and found him dead, lying in a pool of his own blood. I was heartbroken, but more than that I was terrified of being alone. Danny was all I had and had only been with him for a short while. I think I loved the idea of us more than I actually loved him. I know it’s horrible but how do you love someone you barely know?” I think it’s okay to fall in love quickly, it’s something we can’t control, the heart wants what it wants, it ties itself to another heart without your consent. However, when it came to Danny, I fell in love with the myth not the man.

I left out that what I knew was all a lie. That shit was still fresh and not completely processed in my mind. A Fed? Come on now! I’m not even going to touch that one.

“I know loss, I’ve never held onto anyone I love. Not one person. My mom, I’m sure I loved her when I was a baby, it’s natural. But she loved her drugs more than she loved me. My grandparents, I loved and I knew they loved me, they cherished me, but they died too. Then there was Danny. He was kind, and made me laugh, which was foreign to me. I wasn’t so lonely anymore with him. So when I saw him lying dead, his eyes open, I lay down beside him and returned the favor because no one should be alone when they die. It didn’t matter, I was too late, he was dead already. I couldn’t just leave him so I wrapped my arms around him and hung onto the feeling of belonging to someone before I couldn’t anymore.”

I took a deep breath, marveling at how easy it was becoming for me to share these parts of myself. Months ago I wouldn’t have.

“The house went up in flames, the fire spreading so rapidly, completely unattainable. I felt it, the fire eating my flesh but I couldn’t leave him. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smoke, welcomed the burning of my skin and accepted my fate. I would not be lonely anymore. I’d be with Danny.”

I smiled at the priest as he stared at me.

“Obviously I turned left when I should’ve gone right because I’m still here and he’s not.” He remained silent. He didn’t have the answers, no one did. I looked back at the cross, thinking he was supposed to have all the answers.

“I was burned badly, I needed several surgeries and I have had skin grafting done. My scars are ugly and for a long time I let them define the rest of me. I believed I was damaged because I was destined to live life being lonely,” I pointed to the cross and continued, “thought that was what he wanted for me,” I boldly stated, before turning back to the priest. “So I became the lonely girl, sheltered and just existing, not really living.”

I sighed. “But then I met Jack. He was rough around the edges, an alluring bad boy that most women can’t deny. I’m sure you’re familiar with the cliché. He’s the guy you want to fix, the guy you think you can change or at least wish you’ll be enough for him to change. At first, I thought the appeal of him was how he made me feel. He noticed the reclusive girl hiding behind the counter of a diner and he brought her out of her shell. I don’t even think he tried very hard, he pushed my buttons and expertly so. I was putty in his hand, a woman at his mercy because Jack Parrish was everything missing in my life.”