Forbidden Temptations (Tempted Series Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Dedicated to

  Dear Reader,

  Prologue: May 2012

  Chapter One: 8 Months & 6 Days Later

  Chapter Two: June 2005

  Chapter Three: 2013

  Chapter Four: 2013

  Chapter Five: 2013

  Chapter Six: June 2005

  Chapter Seven: 2013

  Chapter Eight: 2010

  Chapter Nine: 2013

  Chapter Ten: 2014

  Chapter Eleven: 2014

  Chapter Twelve: 2014

  Chapter Thirteen: 2014

  Chapter Fourteen: 2014

  Chapter Fifteen: 2011

  Chapter Sixteen: 2014

  Chapter Seventeen: 2014

  Chapter Eighteen: 2014

  Chapter Nineteen: 2014

  Chapter Twenty: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-One: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Two: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Three: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Four: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Five: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Six: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: 2015

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: 2015

  Chapter Thirty: 2015

  Chapter Thirty-One: 2015

  Chapter Thirty-Two: 2015

  Chapter Thirty-Three: 3 Months Later

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Present Day

  Epilogue

  Other Books By Janine

  About The Author

  © Copyright

  SNEAK PEEK

  Dedicated to

  Jennifer, Trish, Michelle and Rachel

  Thank you for your helping hand, making Forbidden Temptations everything I hoped it to be.

  I’m so thankful for you ladies.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for choosing to read my book. It humbles me so much that you have taken the time to read something I have created.

  Illicit Temptations was meant to be a stand-alone and not part of a series. However, the characters have taken on a life of their own and I couldn’t be happier. This next book in the series, Forbidden Temptations, is truly a piece of my heart and I am already working on the next two books that follow Anthony and Adrianna’s story.

  There are a few things I hope you keep in mind while reading this book. Remember, this is a work of fiction and while I try my hardest to deliver a story that is realistic, there will also be aspects of it that are not. The characters in this book are not meant to be collegiate men. They aren’t meant to speak proper English. They are street guys and you will find a lot of slang in this book. You will find the characters speak of Anthony’s time away in prison. They will call it jail, they will call it prison, they will say he did a bid and they most certainly will say he was locked up. In my experience, this is how people actually speak. While they may know the difference between jail and prison, they aren’t stopping to differentiate the two before speaking.

  Again, thank you for taking the time to read Anthony and Adrianna’s story. I hope you love them as much as I do.

  Lots of Love,

  Janine

  Prologue: May 2012

  I had eight months and six days left of sleeping on this piece of shit bunk bed, in this piece of shit jail cell with an annoying little fuck for a cellmate. To say my life had turned to shit was an understatement. I was doing a three-year bid for possession and distribution of narcotics; if that’s not a fucking joke I don’t know what is. I have done a lot of fucked up shit, most of it illegal, but I never did drugs. Never sold them and never fucking snorted them, so it was pretty fucking funny that I went away for both. I didn’t have a say in the matter though; if I wanted to climb the ranks in the mob, I had to do whatever the fuck I had to do. So, when the boss told you that you needed to do a bid – you did it. The same goes for when the boss tells you the sole purpose of being incarcerated is to murder the man who ordered the hit on his Underboss. You don’t ask questions – you just do it. Too bad that plan went astray when my mark moved to a maximum-security prison before I could get the job done.

  I stared up at the ceiling trying to tune out the little shit that was in the cot below me running his mouth. I swear to God he loves to hear himself talk.

  “Overheard the C.O.’s talking about your next fight Bianci. They’re worried that you’re going to get your ass kicked like you did the last two fights.” Cheech said pointedly, getting my attention with that.

  He was right, I got my ass handed to me and was still sporting a black eye as proof, but not because I couldn’t fight. I was built like a machine. My power was undeniable, and when you put boxing gloves on me, I was a goddamn bull, fucking indestructible. I had purposely thrown my last two fights because I wanted to feel the pain. Each hit a reminder that I was a greedy bastard living in a self-created hell. I had destroyed everything that mattered to me. I had destroyed her.

  “I don’t give a fuck what people are saying. They’re only concerned about who they’re going to bet on and which inmates are going to bring them the sweet payoff,” I replied angrily.

  The correction officers here were a bunch of jerkoffs, always thinking they’re invincible just because they had a badge. It made me want to look at their smug faces and tell them they weren’t real cops, that their mother’s probably made them take the city test because they knew their sorry asses wouldn’t amount to shit. These guys didn’t respect their badge or bleed blue, they fucking bet on the inmates, slipped us cigarettes, and turned their fucking heads so we could beat the living fuck out of one another. My boss, Victor, had half these guys in his pocket and if my mark hadn’t been shipped to maximum-security, they would’ve locked me in a room with him and walked away so I could murder him. Don’t get me wrong, they were fine with me, but that’s because they didn’t have much of a choice. If they wanted that extra cash in their pocket, they had to treat me like a fucking king or Vic would cut them off.

  “You going soft Bianci?” Cheech asked, trying his best to rile me up. He probably had half his commissary down on my fight.

  I cracked my bruised knuckles, debating if I should tape them now or wait since I still had time before the fight. The C.O.’s wouldn’t be bringing us out to the yard until after visiting hours were finished. Sunday’s were a big day for visitors and the hours stretched long, everyone and their mother trooped it up here to see the guys. Me? I didn’t get visitors, not on Sundays, not on any days, not really even on holidays.

  It wasn’t always like that. When I was first incarcerated, I had many visitors. Victor and the guys would come up to talk business with me and make sure I was keeping my head. Vic was really concerned that I’d go fucking crazy in the pen. I kept my cool, keeping to myself, spending most of my time boxing, and at night, when I closed my eyes, I’d dream of her.

  She didn’t visit me much in the beginning but she did write to me on a weekly basis. The letters stopped after one visit, when I told her I didn’t want her coming up here anymore. I just couldn’t stand sitting across from her looking into her sad eyes, knowing I was the reason she looked so broken. I broke her heart the day I stepped on that state bus, and then I completely crushed it the day I made her believe that I didn’t love her anymore. I told her she needed to stop coming to visit me because she was only making a fool out of herself.

  She was no fool.

  I was the fool. The fool that pushed her away and let her go.

  I didn’t just love her; I fucking cherished her. That woman owned me; my body, my soul and my black heart.

  I jumped off the top bunk needing to shake her from my head, I positioned myself on th
e concrete floor and started to do push-ups. It was the one thing I did to distract myself whenever I thought of her. Sometimes I would feel my arms burn from the vigorous repetition before the ache in my heart dulled, or the vision of her gorgeous face faded from my mind. I wondered if I’d ever forget her luscious full mouth or what it felt like kissing her until her lips swelled, or even just looking into those chocolate eyes that looked at me like I was something, even though I was nothing. Would I always be haunted by the memory of long, brown hair that I’d tangle my fingers through, or her body that I had worshipped like it was my temple?

  I grunted as the sweat beaded on my forehead, pushing my body up and then dropping my weight half way off the ground, doing it over and over in an effort to erase her from my mind. I ignored the sound of the bars sliding open and pretended like I didn’t hear the C.O. had just stepped inside my cell. I prepared myself to block out what would happen next, telling myself I didn’t give a fuck, that no one came to see my sorry ass anymore or that it didn’t sting when Cheech left our cell because his woman came from Yonkers to see him.

  “You too Bianci,” the correction officer said, forcing me to pause mid push-up. “Something happen to your hearing when Gomez knocked you out? I said you too, now let’s go.”

  I rose to my feet, slowly turning around to glance at him. Cheech patted me on the back and stepped out of the cell following the other officer into the visiting room. The C.O. raised a single eyebrow as he crossed his arms against his puffed out chest.

  “Move it Bianci, I don’t have all day.” He grunted impatiently, before mumbling something about losing fifty bucks on a schmuck like me. My wide shoulders brushed past him through the tight entryway of the cell and I made my way down the cellblock. I could make out the inmates whispering as I passed by, wondering just as much as I was, who the fuck could my visitor be. The C.O. walked me through a door handing me off to another officer who would take me to the visitor’s room.

  I tried to go through the list of people that were approved to see me, trying to figure who I’d have to face, but then again, it didn’t matter, whoever was here probably only came on Victor’s behalf anyway. I cracked my knuckles as the C.O. opened the metal door to the packed room, the loud sounds of hundreds of people talking washed over me, forcing me to look around at the mostly happy reunions of the prisoners with their loved ones.

  I froze in my tracks, all the noise faded away as my eyes landed on her. She had her back to me as she sat alone at one of the metal tables. I might not be able to see her face, but I had memorized every single thing about her before I had left – and I’d know that backside anywhere. Her hair was a dead giveaway too, always so shiny. If I touched it, I knew it would feel like silk under my fingertips. I should turn around and deny the visit, go back to my push-ups and try to forget that Adrianna Pastore existed, but my feet moved towards her betraying my common sense.

  The truth was I could never deny myself of her. I had set my sights on her when we were teenagers. I tried to talk myself out of having her but she consumed me from the moment I laid eyes on her. I had to make her mine. The shitty thing about that was, after I finally had her I got cocky and arrogant and thought I’d never lose her. I wasn’t fucking around when I said I never did a drug, but still – I was a junkie. I was addicted to Adrianna and was too weak to deny myself a fix of her.

  I rounded the table feeling her eyes on me as I took the seat in front of her. I tried not to look at her right away, knowing that when I did, I’d start to feel that burn in my chest I seemed to get every time I looked into those eyes of hers. I clenched my fists in my lap so I wouldn’t reach out and take her face in my hands, trace my fingers over every perfect feature on her face and kiss her until they carted me back to my cell. I blew out a breath, lifted my head, and succumbed to my own torture as my eyes met hers.

  Those sad eyes held me captive, wishing like hell that I had never left my fucking cell; because the brokenhearted girl sitting before me tore my heart to shreds. She was pale and had circles under her eyes that made her look like she hadn’t slept in weeks, yet still she looked stunning. Even on a bad day, she could turn the head of any guy she encountered. I could just imagine what the C.O.’s said when she strut her tight ass through the metal detectors.

  “What happened to your eye?” She whispered softly, lifting her hand to touch the bruise under my eye. Hesitating, she drops her hand instead, deciding against it and folds her hands neatly on top of the table.

  Thank Christ, because I can’t handle her touch, not when I’m fucking trapped in a cage.

  “What’re you doing here A? Pretty sure I told you not to come here no more,” I ground out, diverting my eyes to the inmate next to me sharing a laugh with his wife and son. I wonder why he’s in the can, wonder what choice he stupidly made that took him from his family.

  Her eyes filled with water as she shook her head slightly.

  “I don’t know what happened to you,” She whispered as she leaned in closer. My eyes instantly dropped to her chest, indulging in the tiny bit of cleavage she had on display. Her tits looked twice the size I remembered them to be. I definitely knew that tonight, when I laid in bed trying to forget her, I’d jerk off to that little glimpse of heaven she was giving me right now.

  “Is someone bothering you here? You need to open your mouth if someone is instigating you. I can call the attorney and have you switched if that’s what is going on,” she rambled.

  I lifted my head abruptly, shaking it in wonderment, trying to figure out when she would stop having my back. One look at me with a black eye and she was ready to go to bat for me, call a lawyer or a fucking congressman to get me switched to a different jail. She was a good girl, and I was a lucky son of a bitch to have had her in my corner. I hope the next guy knows how fucking lucky he is and treats her like gold. I hope he has the sense to hang on to her and doesn’t blow it like I did.

  “I don’t need your help Adrianna,” I clipped angrily. “So if you would just get to the fucking point and then be on your way.” I look away from her knowing I’m hurting her but I don’t have a choice. She has to hate me because I can’t handle her loving me.

  “For the life of me, I can’t understand why I don’t hate you. I want to hate you, I want to hate you so bad, but something inside me won’t let me.” She says sounding defeated.

  “You should hate me,” I replied as I turned my head and leaned forward so my cold eyes stared deep into hers. “You should hate me with everything inside of you. You should fucking despise me A.”

  “But I don’t,” she whispered, her eyes searching hopefully for something as she looks at me.

  “I don’t want you coming here anymore. I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you. I don’t need you looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you can’t live without me,” I replied angrily. “It’s not fair to you because I live just fine without you every day.”

  “Is that why you let people beat on you? You’re doing so well in here that you’re someone else’s punching bag?” She tilted her chin toward my eye. “Yeah, you’re doing amazing in here.”

  “Has nothing to do with you,” I lied, knowing that every fucking thing I did revolved around her, but she didn’t need to know that, she needed to forget me. She needed to let me go.

  “I didn’t come here to fight with you,” she said, before looking down at her hands. She remains silent for a few moments then lifts her head and I see the tears making their way down her cheeks. It’s agony watching her cry. Pure fucking torture.

  “Look, whatever you came here for doesn’t matter,” I respond, while gripping the edge of the table. “You need to leave.” I push back my chair and mentally prepare myself to walk away from her again.

  “Anthony there is something I have to tell you,” She cried. Like full fledge crying. I didn’t get up like I planned, instead I remained perfectly still as I looked at her expectantly.

&nbs
p; “Yeah … what’s that?” I said, irritated that I was still there watching her cry.

  “I’m pregnant,” she whispered, closing her eyes unable to look at me.

  It’s the strangest thing, because for a split second I’m elated and it’s as if I’ve waited my entire life to hear those words come from her mouth. Then I realize she’s not having my baby, and that realization hits me harder than anything ever has before, it breaks whatever’s left of my heart.

  “I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else,” she whispered sadly, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “It wasn’t planned,” She continued, trying to ease the blow of her carrying another man’s child.

  I’ve really lost her.

  “Please say something,” she begged as she stared at me.

  “What the fuck do you want me to say? Congratulations? You really didn’t have to drive all the way here to tell me you’re knocked up.” I pushed my chair back for real and stood up. I stared down at her thinking it wasn’t all that long ago that I wondered what A would look like pregnant. Looking at her now had exceeded anything I could’ve ever dreamed. My eyes drift down to her flat stomach and tried to picture what she’d look like in a few months. I opened my mouth to tell her that she was going to be a great mother, but I quickly closed it giving her one final look, taking her in one last time before I walked away from her again. The difference this time; it would be the last time I walked away.

  “Anthony…,” she pleaded as I walked passed her straight towards the metal doors. The C.O. buzzes me into the hallway and I hear the doors slide close behind us as we walk the long way back towards my cell.

  Adrianna’s pregnant. How was I ever going to wrap my head around that?

  I stepped into my cell just as the officer locks me up. I turned to him and grunt,

  “You want to make money? Bet on me.” Almost feeling sorry for my opponent as I grab the tape and prepare to tape my knuckles. The need to punch something or someone consumes me. I want them to feel what I feel. I know that when I put my gloves on I will be fighting for all the things I let slip through my fingers. My opponent doesn’t stand a chance, he will suffer the wrath of me losing the love of my life for good.