Riding The Edge Read online

  “What the fuck is this clown talking about?” Riggs hissed, keeping his gun trained on Artie.

  “Stop playing me,” Artie demanded. “I know you’ve been partnering with Yankovich for over twenty years! All those crimes you told me he committed, your fucking club had a hand in and I want to know why you were trying to set me up with that sick fuck. Were you after my kids? Did you think you could take my daughters and sell them on the black market like you sold all the others you mentioned?! Answer me Parrish!”

  Silently, Jack stared at Artie before lowering his gun.

  Snapping out of my trance, I stepped forward and shook my head. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end for us. We were destined to go out with our guns blazing, defending everything Jack sacrificed his sanity to build. A cunt like Yankovich didn’t get to decide when we were over and a deceitful motherfucker like Cain didn’t get a pardon just because he was a pussy who took his own life.

  They don’t get to fucking win.

  “Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” Blackie growled.

  “Maybe he’s confusing us with Rush and the Albany charter,” Stryker suggested, taunting one of Artie’s men with the barrel of his gun.

  “Artie,” Jack advanced, lowering his gun to the floor. Kicking it toward him, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I swear to you, on my dead son’s soul, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever it is you think you know, I don’t, so the best way for either of us to get answers is talk without guns pointed in one another’s face. Me and you. Man to man. Now, Stryker is right. It came to light that a Satan’s Knights charter up in Albany was involved with Yankovich.”

  “Fuck that,” Bas argued. “Not the whole charter was involved, just fucking Rush.”

  “Stand down,” Blackie commanded Bas.

  “Rush took Cobra’s sister. He bought her from Yankovich. That’s the girl we rescued.”

  “I’m no fool, Parrish,” Artie argued. “I’m not talking about Rush. I’m talking about this charter. I’m talking about Cain.”

  “Parrish,” I called desperately.

  “Not now, Wolf,” Jack snapped.

  At my wit's end, I moved to stand between Jack and Artie’s gun. Lifting my head, I locked eyes with my president and watched him stare at me in bewilderment.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I need to talk to you,” I said hoarsely.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, he snarled and grabbed a hold of my vest. Pushing me out of the way, he advanced toward Artie like a man on a mission.

  “What about Cain?”

  “Parrish, listen to me goddamnit!” I bellowed.

  If anyone was going to share the deceit of Cain, it was going to be—not some fucking gangster with wounded pride.

  “Oh, I see what you’re doing,” Artie began, laughing sarcastically. “You’re going to blame it on the crazy and pretend you didn’t know your president was wheeling and dealing with Yankovich, right? You’re going to tell me you were having a mental breakdown at the time and don’t remember Cain taking the little girls off the street. That your pockets didn’t get fat on the drugs he was selling overseas. Is that how you’re going to play it? You sick fuck.”

  “He didn’t know,” I ground out, meeting Artie’s gaze. “No one knew Cain’s involvement with Yankovich.”

  The second the words left my mouth, I turned to Jack and peered into his narrowed eyes.

  “But you did?” he questioned, closing the distance between us.

  “Not exactly,” I admitted, drawing in a deep breath. Beads of sweat spread across my brow like a rash as I struggled with my words. “I found out a week ago.”

  “What did you find out?” Pipe snarled from behind me.

  Hearing his strained voice, another realization dawned on me. I had been too consumed with Jack’s response to the truth that I didn’t think how Pipe or Blackie might be affected by the news. The four of us were all that was left of the originals. We had formed this brotherhood together and received our colors under Cain’s rule. The truth wouldn’t only send Jack into a manic breakdown but it would also devastate Pipe and Blackie too.

  Swiping a hand over the front of my face, I shook my head.

  “Everything Artie is saying is true, Jack,” I revealed hoarsely. “Cain was working with Yankovich for years.”

  “No,” Jack said defiantly. “I would’ve known that,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief. Lifting his chin, he looked past me. “You,” he rasped. “Did you know Cain was in bed with Yankovich? Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

  “No,” Pipe growled. “I didn’t know,” he said, turning his gaze to me. “You better start talking Scotto,” he ordered, lifting the barrel of his gun.

  Over the last thirty years, I’ve always been the brother they call upon in their times of need and have fought tooth and nail to save this club. Fighting out of every dark alley and impossible situation to defend their honor, I have proved my loyalty over and over.

  But, secrets and lies are the cancer of a man’s soul. Exposed, they eat away all that is good and leave nothing but destruction in their wake. They ruin the strongest bonds and turn brothers against one another. They prove the best intentions sometimes fail and leave you staring down the barrel of a gun.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know, everything I uncovered over the last few weeks. All the missing pieces we’ve been searching for, I found them but, before we get into this we need to figure out how we’re going to save Linc,” I demanded.

  “What’s Linc have to do with any of this?” Jack questioned.

  “Linc is Cain’s son,” I revealed to the silent room.

  The burden of truth slipped from my shoulders and I exhaled a breath of relief.

  Little did I know; the Devil was just getting started.

  You see, while I was too busy worrying about saving another man’s son, Yankovich was busy killing mine.

  Chapter One

  The odor of gasoline clings to my body, reminding me how easily Jack ordered my brothers to tie me up and drench me in petroleum. In the blink of an eye the thirty plus years I dedicated my life to the club meant nothing. The sacrifices I made, all forgotten. They say blood makes you family and loyalty makes you kin but, all it takes is one lie to make you the fucking enemy.

  Revealing the truth about Cain, I waited on bated breath for Jack to strike a match, for his maker to feed him the courage he needed to order my death. What came next was far worse than any form of torture the deranged president of the Satan’s Knights could’ve conjured. I can still feel my heart pounding violently inside my chest as the car turned into the lot of Pipe’s garage. I can still taste the bile that inched its way up my throat as the car slammed into the wall and two of my sons emerged covered in my eldest’s blood. The enemy we had been hunting, the motherfucker who had been terrorizing our club, Vladimir Yankovich, made his way into my home, took my niece Kelly and shot my son.

  Watching my boys carry Nico out of the backseat of his car caused time to stop for me. My betrayal to the club, the secret of Linc’s identity and Cain’s sins faded. I struggled against the ropes that bound me as my so-called brothers circled my dying son. Helplessly, I begged them not to let him die like a fucking animal. I don’t know who called the paramedics, nor do I remember who untied me. All I recall is the blood that seeped from Nico’s wounds and the echo of the gunshot after Jack shot one paramedic before ordering the other to save my boy.

  Now, he lies on an operating table at the mercy of a fucking surgeon who don’t know him. I want to believe the man removing the bullet from my kid cares about him but, my faith in hospitals is tainted. Running my fingers through my thick mane, I stare at my middle son, Vincenzo. Feeling the weight of my gaze he lifts his head and I focus on the spot of dry blood smeared across his cheek.

  “Go wash up,” I order. “You’re covered in his blood,” I add before diverting my eyes to my youngest son, Frankie. Sitting with his head in his ha
nds, his shoulders slouch as he tries not to cry in front of me. “Frankie, boy, come on. Go get cleaned up.”

  Dropping his hands from his face, he gives me a slight nod as he rises to his feet. Looking between the both of them, my throat starts to close. God didn’t give me a lot of blessings in this life, but he gave me my three sons. Shamefully, I let my duty stand in the way of being the father they deserved. I paid my way in child support and left the brunt of raising them to their mothers’, but they were, and always will be the first thing on my mind when I open my eyes and when I leave this hellish earth, it’s their faces I’ll picture as I draw my final breath.

  Hug your kids. Hug them tight and don’t miss the chance to tell them how much you fucking love them because I can tell you for a fact, should the day come where you’re standing in my shoes, it’ll be your biggest regret.

  Wrapping my hands around their wrists, I pull Vincenzo and Frankie to my sides and send a prayer up to the man upstairs for my other boy fighting for his life.

  “I love you kids,” I say roughly.

  Nailing a kiss on the top of each head, I break away from them and tip my chin towards the restrooms.

  “Go wash up and call your mothers,” I tell them. “Let them know you two are safe.”

  “You want us to get you coffee or something?” Frankie questions.

  “I’m good, kid,” I say, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “But go get yourself something,” I add, reaching into my pocket to pull out some money.

  “I got it, Dad,” Enzo says. “Should we call anyone?”

  “I’m going to call Patty and tell her,” I reply, scratching the beard covering my jaw. If there was ever anything, I never wanted to do, it’s this. No one wants to call their ex-wife and tell her that her greatest fear is now our reality, that our son has been shot and is in critical. That the reason she fucking divorced me is the very reason our son may die.

  “Anyone other than Patty?”

  Lifting my eyes to his, I read between the lines. If I’ve taught my kids anything, it’s that family isn’t always blood. Since diapers, they’ve regarded Jack as their uncle and have spent more holidays with him than they have with my own sister. In times of despair, if they can’t reach me or their mother, they know to call Jack. More than that, they know firsthand if it was Jack’s son on the operating table, my place would be at my chief’s side. After all, I missed Enzo’s birth because I was standing next to Jack as he picked out his own boy’s coffin and yet there is not a fucking trace of leather standing beside me when it’s my boy bleeding on the table.

  “There’s no one else,” I reply roughly.

  Shoving one hand in his pocket, Enzo nods and throws his arm around his brother’s shoulders. I watch them walk towards the restrooms and when they disappear behind the doors, I lean against the wall and swipe my hands over my face. I can count on one hand how many fucking times I’ve cried.

  One fucking hand, five fucking fingers.

  “Jesus Christ, don’t you people ever get sick of hospitals?”

  Dropping my hands from my face, I lift my head and follow the sound of the deep Brooklyn accent that belongs to Maria Bianci, a mouthy Italian who is both, hellfire and holy water. Aside from her son, Anthony, she also has a daughter, Lauren, who happens to be Riggs’ old lady. In the time since those two have been together, Maria has seen her share of mayhem. In fact, a few years ago our roles were reversed. She was the parent waiting on word if her daughter would survive a gunshot wound and I was the guy roaming the halls.

  I watch idly as she pulls her phone from her designer purse.

  “Since I don’t have any missed calls from my daughter in hysterics, I’m going to guess that wonderful soon to be son-in-law of mine is in one piece,” she comments, dropping it back in her bag. Hiking the strap on her shoulder, she cocks her head to the side and continues to stare at me.

  “So, who is it this time?”

  Stepping closer she gets a whiff of the gasoline and her high heels come to a skidding halt on the linoleum. “For the love of God, what the hell happened to you? Please don’t tell me you idiots tried knocking off a gas station.”

  Any other day, I might’ve played into Maria’s bullshit—riled her up some and gone head to head with her. Pushed all her buttons until I got a rise out of her. Not today. Today, it's taking everything in me to hold it together, to keep myself from showing the fear that’s consuming me.

  “What’s the matter Wolf, cat got your tongue?” she continues to go on. Keeping a safe distance between us, she stretches out her hand and touches my overgrown beard. “You need a shave and a shower. While you’re at it—”

  Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I pull her hand away from my face. Whatever she was going to say dies on her tongue and her brown eyes peer into mine. In an instant, I bare my soul to a woman who hates everything I represent. In that moment I hate it too.

  Keeping my fingers wrapped around her wrist, I swallow the lump lodged in my throat and force the dreaded words no parent wants to speak.

  “My boy took a bullet to his chest,” I ground out, releasing her. “In there fighting for his life and ain’t a goddamn thing I can do to help him.”

  She turns back to me and her brown eyes soften as she brings her hand to her chest.

  “Oh God, Al,” she says.

  The fact that she refers to me by God-given name and not my road name isn’t lost upon me. Maria knows me for my leather which means she knows me as Wolf, the self-proclaimed beast who ain’t afraid to hunt alone. Yet, in that moment, she calls to me as a parent and nothing more. Nothing less.

  Her eyes dart around the empty waiting room and back to me.

  “Where is everyone? Do they not know? Should I—”

  “Everyone knows,” I interject, reaching into my cut for my phone. Maria’s eyes go wide as she continues to stare at me.

  “Then where the hell are they?”

  I don’t answer. Mainly because I know she doesn’t really want the truth. She doesn’t want to know they’re either dragging the enemy to Hell or have lost the battle altogether. That there is a good chance Nico won’t be the only one full of lead. Ignoring the question, I pull up Patty’s number. As I’m about to hit send the glass doors of the waiting room slide open and I hear my ex-wife.

  “You son of a bitch!”

  Pocketing my phone, I lift my eyes to Patty as she charges for me. Instinctively I widen my stance and brace for the impact of her fists.

  “Where is he? Where’s my son?”

  “Surgery,” I reply roughly.

  Like a fucking pussy, I keep my eyes trained to her cheeks, to the streaked mascara staining her olive skin. Still to this day, I hate seeing her cry. I don’t know if it’s because she’s the first girl I ever loved and though that loved burned out, I never forgot it or simply because she’s the mother of my son. Maybe it’s knowing I failed her and been the cause of so many of her tears. Whatever the case, the sight of her crying twists me.

  “You promised me, Al!” she shrieks, beating my chest. “You swore on your grandmother’s rosary you would keep Nico safe and out of this shit! You broke a lot of promises, but I never thought you’d break this one.”

  “Patty—”

  “Don’t you Patty, me,” she snaps, pushing her long brown hair away from her face. “All these years I thought it would be you. That, one day, I’d be washing dishes and hear it on the news that you’d been shot. I never thought I’d hear my sons name.”

  “I was—”

  “Shut your mouth,” she hisses, poking her finger into the center of my chest. “It should be you in that operating room,” she sneers. “Your choices, your life.”

  Dropping her finger from my chest, she takes a step backward.

  “I’ll never forgive you for this and if something happens to my—”

  “Now, you listen here, Patty and you listen good,” I growl, cutting her off and closing the distance between us. “Got a lot of fuck
ing respect for you. Gave me that boy and turned him into a good man. I ain’t gonna take any credit for that but, you didn’t make him by yourself. We gave him to one another and everything you’re feeling, I’m feeling too. I’d trade places with him if I could and if something happens to our son, you won’t have to say a motherfucking word.”

  Another promise.

  One I won’t have any trouble keeping.

  ‘Cause if Nico doesn’t make it, I won’t forgive myself and a world without my son, ain’t a world worth livin’ in.

  “You want to blame me, go ahead. You want to start a scene, go on and do that too. But if you want to do something to help our boy, fold your hands and pray. Cause the man upstairs ain’t got nothing left for me but he might take pity on you.”

  Mustering up enough fucking courage to look her in the eye, I watch her wipe away her tears.

  “Bleeding too, Patty,” I add hoarsely.

  The woman don’t owe me a fucking thing. Not a reply and sure as fuck, not an apology. Still, she gives me her eyes and holds out her hand.

  “Give them to me,” she orders.

  I met Patty a month out of juvie. She was the counter girl at Rosalie’s bakery and I was the punk shaking down the owner. She knew I was trouble and still, she slipped me her number inside a box of cannoli’s. Gave me her virginity a month after we started dating and I gave up the streets the day I found out she was pregnant. Gave her my last name too and like a fool, I promised to give her the world.

  Life got hard on us. Drowning in debt, no electric and a newborn became too much for us. Too much for me. It became clear being a laborer wasn’t going to help me make good on any of my promises. One score got the lights back on, another put diapers on Nico. Before I knew it, we weren’t living paycheck to paycheck, and I was a patched member of the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club. It was the beginning of my life as a brother and the end of my life as Patty’s husband.

  There was no lack of love.

  There was a lack of trust.

  And without trust you can’t build so we got stuck and eventually she kicked my ass out.