The Devil Don't Sleep Read online

  Jack, however, was insane and held Cain on a pedestal. Uncovering the secrets of the man he looked up to and realizing the club he cherished was built on a foundation of lies, clearly fucked him. Any man with a pair of working eyes and an ounce of sense knows it’s going to take a whole lot to rebuild the Satan’s Knights.

  “I came here for a reason,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Put a prospect outside your apartment the minute we got back and been waiting for you to return, unsure if you would,” he pauses. “I wouldn’t have held it against you if you didn’t. Hell, if you walk out that door now and never return, I still won’t. But should you return, I give you my word, I’m going to make this right. We’re going to turn this around. If it’s the last thing I do before I die, I’m going to make this club right, make every life lost through the years count for something. All the sacrifices and hardships, they’ll be worth it because we’ll be able to hold our heads high again. My work as the leader of this club isn’t done. I still got life in me and a vision for the men in leather.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and taps his index finger to his temple. “It’s all up here,” he continues. “In the twisted mind of a mentally ill man, there lies a future for every Knight.”

  There is something to be said about his determination. In spite of the odds being heavily stacked against him, Jack won’t give up. Not on his club, or his beliefs and certainly not on the people in his circle. It makes every poor bastard with a leather cut and a reaper on his back, wish to be property of Parrish.

  “I believe you,” I reply. “I believe in you,” I amend. Being an underdog myself, it’s hard not to root for Jack Parrish. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  As the words leave my mouth, I remember the photograph in my pocket and blow out an exasperated breath. “I mean, I am but, I’ll be back.”

  “Right,” he says, eyeing the duffel bag. “Family emergency,” he adds, lifting his gaze.

  “Got word my brother died,” I explain. Saying the words out loud still don’t make me feel a shred of remorse and when I look at Jack, I can tell he senses my bitterness. Before he can offer me his condolences or, ask me to explain the lack of emotion in my voice, I continue. “It’s complicated and I don’t know what kind of mess I’m going to find waiting for me but, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You don’t need to tell me about complications when it comes to brothers. Had an estranged brother myself but that’s a story for another time,” he says, taking a step forward. Pausing in front of me, he cups his shoulder. “Ride safe and your seat at the table—fuck,” he grunts. “We don’t have a fucking table anymore.”

  I don’t point out the fact we don’t have a clubhouse either and that we’ve been congregating in a garage for months.

  “Semantics,” I say instead, bending down for my bag. “Appreciate the gesture though,” I add as I straighten my shoulders. Rolling his neck, he nods.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you out,” he says.

  Exiting the apartment, I lock up and we walk the length of the hallway in silence. Reaching the stairs, I follow him down the five flights. Outside, I notice the sun rising as we make our way to our bikes. I strap the duffel bag to the back of my Harley before turning back to Jack.

  “Thanks for checking in,” I tell him.

  “Its what brothers do,” he replies.

  I bite back the urge to correct him and tell him not all brothers are the same.

  Some have your back.

  Others wedge a knife when you’re not looking.

  If only my real brother was half the man Jack Parrish is, then maybe I wouldn’t be headed to hell.

  To the one place where the Devil never sleeps.

  Where he comes disguised as the woman I hate to love.

  Chapter Three

  My father, may he rest in peace, was a man who believed in morals and ethics. For someone who dropped out of school at the tender age of twelve, Cole Turner was wiser than anyone gave him credit for. His position as president of the Satan’s Knights MC allowed society to label him an outlaw and in the small town of La Grange, Kentucky being an outlaw meant you were destined for nothing and of course, you couldn’t possibly know a fucking thing about life or the world. To be honest, I don’t think anyone paid much attention to my father. Not even his brothers, the men who should’ve hung on his every word. However, despite all the eye-rolling, some of his wisdom managed to stick with me and as I veer off the interstate, I can still hear his raspy voice.

  Sometimes, son, someone else’s bad decisions bring us to the right place.

  Of all the things he said to me, I’m not sure why it’s that one that calls to me. Maybe it’s the realization that I’m about to ride through the streets I swore I’d never return to and face the people I wrote off without so much as a second thought. I often wondered if there’d ever be a valid reason that would draw me back to this town but always decided nothing mattered enough to drag me to hell. I sure as fuck never imagined returning to La Grange because Junior met his maker. Hell, I’m not sure my own mother’s death would’ve been enough to bring me back. Yet, here I am, turning onto Main Street fighting back the memories.

  A red light causes me to stop in front of Billy Bob’s Convenience Store and instantly I lose the battle. It seems like only yesterday Mac and I were running through those front doors, two six packs tucked under our shirts with Billy wielding a shotgun, chasing our tails. Her laughter filled my ears then like it does now and I remember her climbing into the flatbed of my pickup, ordering me to drive away. Billy was about to shoot the rubber off my tires but, Mac pulled out an ace and flashed her perky tits at him. The poor bastard was so thrown he shot himself in the foot and even managed to take out his toe.

  Unwillingly, my lips curve at the memory and before I can curse myself the light turns green. My pipes blare as I pick up speed, riding through the town, purposely avoiding every back road because they harbor even more memories. Like the nights we spent parked in Mr. Johnson’s field fucking until the sun came up or the lake tucked behind her Nana’s house where we would skinny dip. Passing Miller’s Ice Cream Parlor, I’m hit with our first date. She ordered pistachio ice cream and had old man Miller drench the cone in wet walnuts. Watching her lick that cone was torture. It was also a beautiful fucking prelude because two weeks later, Mac got down on her knees and reenacted the scene with my cock, worshiping me like I was her favorite flavor. To this day, it was the best fucking blowjob of my life.

  Jesus, this fucking town is like a tomb.

  A vault of memories based around two people who, like my old man, were never destined for much.

  Turning off Main Street, I hit another light and this time I notice the familiar aging faces of the townspeople staring at me, wearing the same scowls they did ten years ago. Then, Mac was on the back of my bike and our reputation for causing trouble had them all up and arms. Now, I’m not so sure why I deserve their distrust but it’s apparent they don’t want me in this town any more than I want to be here.

  Flipping them the bird, I blow the light and round the bend, catching my first glimpse of the barbed wire fence surrounding the Satan’s Knights compound. At the sight, the exhaustion of being on the road for hours, without any sleep, settles in and I vow to make this as painless as possible. Knowing this place is like a terminal cancer, that it will suck the fucking life out of me, I concoct a plan for myself. I’ll hear Mooney out, assess Mac’s situation and get the fuck out of dodge.

  In and out.

  If I’m lucky, if the Devil’s got any kind of mercy for me, I’ll do what the fuck I got to do and get out before I even catch a glimpse of Mac.

  Slowing in front of the gates, I notice the two patrol cars stationed across the road and just like that, any hopes of this going smoothly dies. Entering the lot, I pull my bike in front of the converted warehouse and park beside the long line of Harley’s. Dropping down my kickstand, I kill the engine and shake the pins and needles from my legs before plant
ing both feet on the asphalt. Next, I remove my helmet and my eyes do a quick scan, passing over the somber faces of the group of men huddled around the distressed picnic table. Ignoring their scrutiny, I turn to my attention to the door and spot the splattered blood staining the frame. It dawns on me that I’ve been so wrapped up in the memories of Mac that I haven’t given much thought to what the fuck I might be walking into. Staring at the blood, it’s clear there was a war here. One that ended with Junior in the morgue and Mooney fearing for Mac’s life.

  Entering the clubhouse, I pause as a foul odor engulfs me. Foolishly, I expected it to look the same as it did as when I left with paint chipped walls and furniture as old as me. I thought it would smell of stale smoke and cheap pussy. Instead, it smelled and looked like death. The old wooden furniture splintered and shattered. The floors soiled with dried blood and that odor…decay of the human kind.

  “It’s too late for the cavalry,” my mother’s voice sounds.

  Tearing my eyes away from the mess, I follow the sound of her voice. Perched on a stool, she sits at the bar and pours herself a refill. Before there was the show Sons of Anarchy and Gemma Teller, there was Milly fucking Turner. Born into the life, she met my old man at patch party. At sixteen she became pregnant with Junior and a year later he married her, making her the first lady of the Satan’s Knights. After my pops was killed, she wasn’t willing to give up her title as matriarch. His body wasn’t even cold before she started fucking the next in line for the gavel. Six months later she married Crank and hyphenated her name securing her place in the club.

  Placing the empty bottle of whiskey on the bar, she pushes a cigarette between her lips. Striking a match off the edge of the bar, she lights the end and I watch as she takes a long pull before turning her attention to me. All the years of boozing and smoking haven’t aged her. She still looks just as she did when I was a kid. Wearing tight jeans and a tank top declaring her property of Crank, she doesn’t look like a woman who just lost her son in a massacre but rather, a woman on the prowl.

  Taking another drag, she cocks her head.

  “But you’re not here to save your daddy’s club or even your brother’s life, are you Sebastian?”

  Shaking my head, I stride towards the bar and pull out the stool next to her.

  “No, I’m not,” I reply, taking a cigarette for myself. I’m in more need of a big fat joint but beggars can’t be choosy.

  “And I don’t suppose you’re going to offer me your condolences,” she adds, watching as I blow a billow of smoke.

  “Nope,” I say, turning to her. “He’s better off dead,” I add, leveling her with a glare.

  The woman in front of me may have brought me into this world but she never let me forget the purpose of my existence. I was conceived out of convenience. Back then, she never could’ve suspected my father would be murdered. In her diluted mind, he’d reign over the Satan’s Knights until he was old and withered. Then my brother would take his place, keeping our family at the head of the table. It was a solid plan, but still not enough for a control seeking Milly. She needed reassurance. Should anything happen to Junior, she needed a spare.

  She needed me.

  Until she didn’t.

  Until she had Crank between her legs and at the head of the table and Junior waiting in the wings.

  Without a purpose for her spare, she discarded me like I was a piece of trash stuck to her cheap as fuck stilettos. She put her golden child on a pedestal and moved Heaven and Hell to give him whatever he desired. The apple don’t fall far from the tree and mommy bending over backward wasn’t enough for the greedy motherfucker.

  I had one thing.

  One fucking thing I cherished.

  And he took it.

  With the help of the poisonous bitch who bore me, Junior snatched her right out from under me.

  “Which leaves her,” my mother sneers.

  “She’s got a name,” I say, grinding the cigarette into the ashtray.

  “And it ain’t worth my spit,” she hisses, leaning into me. “I knew from the minute you started sniffing around her, she was nothing but trouble. Prissy, prim and proper has no place in this world but you wouldn’t listen. Hardheaded just like your father.”

  “You warn Junior off like you did me?” I growl, knowing very well she didn’t.

  “And miss that bitch fall from grace? Never,” she retorts, lifting the glass to her lips. Clenching my jaw, I watch as she drains the last of her drink before slamming the glass back on top of the bar.

  “Grow the fuck up, Sebastian. Stop blaming me for your girl skipping into your brother’s bed. I didn’t hold her legs open for him. It sickens me that she got her claws in the both of you,” she says, pausing for a beat. “The only good that came from her, is Ryder.”

  Ryder.

  At the mention of his name, my throat grows tight and I struggle to swallow. Not only did I let myself walk into this shit hole blind, I neglected to prepare myself for another blow. It’s not like I forgot I had a nephew. The image of Mac pregnant with my brother’s baby stuck with me. It fucking haunted me every time I let myself think about her. The nights I got drunk and tried to fuck her out of my mind always ended with me sobering up to the memory of coming home from jail and seeing the swell of her belly for the first time. Like a fool, I smiled, thinking time had stood still for five years and that baby was mine. A moment later the smile fell from my face as Junior served me a dose of reality, placing his hands on her belly, claiming her and the baby as his. It was then, in that single moment, when I first understood what Mooney meant when he said the devil don’t sleep.

  Recovering from the blow, I draw in a deep breath. When something remains out of sight, it’s easy to ignore the wounds that are still agape. Now not only would I be dealing with Mac but, it looks like this visit might force me to meet the boy I tried so hard to forget existed.

  That sounds fucking horrible.

  “It wasn’t Mooney’s idea to call you,” she reveals, lighting another cigarette. “I knew you wouldn’t give a damn about your brother’s death or that the club is under attack but if you knew that bitch was in danger, well, you’d come running.”

  She pauses, taking another drag as her eyes flit to mine.

  “While I might not give a flying fuck about that girl, I’ll do anything for Ryder. Anything,” she repeats. “I’ll eat shit and swallow my pride if it means that boy remains unscathed by all of this,” she says, waving her hand around the empty clubhouse.

  Her eyes fill with tears as she bites the inside of her cheek. Leaning closer to me, she points a finger against my chest and continues.

  “The people who killed your brother made it clear this was just the beginning,” she rasps. “They’ll be back, and they’ll keep coming back until there is nothing left but a stack of bodies.”

  Closing my hand around her wrist, I pull her hand off me.

  “Crank won’t let it get that far,” I tell her.

  As a president of a club under attack, he’s going to have to retaliate. He can’t, in good faith, stand by and let another club wipe the Knights off the grid.

  “Fuck Crank,” she growls. “This isn’t some bullshit territorial war between clubs. Your brother fucked the Mexican cartel, Sebastian. He killed a drug lords daughter,” she sneers. “They don’t give a fuck about Crank. They want Mac and Ryder.”

  Shocked, I release her wrist and stare at her. A mixture of anger and fear coil inside of me, threatening to erupt. That fucking bastard is lucky he’s dead because if he wasn’t I would’ve cut his dick off and force fed it to him before popping a bullet in his head.

  “Now, do you understand why you’re here?”

  Focusing my attention back on her, I clench my fists.

  “Your cunt of a son put a bullseye on Mac and their boy and you want me to clean up his mess.”

  She shakes her head.

  “No, your job isn’t to clean up after Junior. That’s my job.”

 
“Your job,” I repeat.

  She’s out of her fucking mind.

  “That’s right, my job,” she reiterates, shoving that finger back in my face. “I know you don’t owe me a thing, that you don’t owe Junior anything either, but that boy is innocent. If you put your pride aside and got to know him, you’d see that too.”

  I hate everything about what she is saying.

  Mainly because it’s true.

  The kid is almost six years old and I don’t know a goddamn thing about him.

  I pushed him so far out of my head, I forgot about him and now, this faceless little boy, Mac’s little boy, is relying on me to save him.

  “Pretend it’s your father asking you to do it,” she adds.

  The manipulative bitch knows very well I’ve got a weak spot when it comes to my old man.

  “My father wouldn’t have to ask me to protect Ryder. You and I both know if he was alive today, none of this would be happening,” I growl.

  “You think you know everything,” she replies, shaking her head.

  “I know enough,” I grind out, swiping a hand over my face. “Where are they now?”

  “At her grandmothers. Mooney is with her,” she replies.

  Swiping her smokes, I pull another cigarette and tuck it behind my ear before pushing back the stool and rising to my full height. Without another word, I turn my back to her. My gaze sweeps around the clubhouse one final time as I make my way toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” she calls from behind me.

  Reaching the door, I glance over my shoulder.

  “Where do you think I’m fucking going? If you want to say goodbye to your grandson, you got until the morning. We roll out of here at six.”

  “Where are you taking them?”

  I’m taking them to the fucking moon, lady.