Reckless Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 4) (28 page)

“Chapel, now,” he bellowed, switching his gaze to me. “Get him cleaned up and checked out,” he ordered, before moving toward the door that Bianci was standing in front of.

Guy had balls.

Or maybe heart.

Someone should give the poor sucker a patch—I think he misses the life.

“Riggs became my business when you put him on me and he’s staying my business because of the kid he and my sister are having,” Bianci ground out.

“Aww, you love me,” I said mockingly.

Anthony diverted his eyes to me, silencing me with a glare.

“You people live for one another—me and my people live for family. So, you keep living for yours and I’ll keep living for mine,” he paused, pointing toward me. “I’ll stand back, let you do your thing but a hair on his head gets harmed, all bets are off,” Anthony warned Jack.

I guess he didn’t catch my new do.

“Like I said before, Bianci…go home,” Jack ground out, walking around him and into the Dog Pound.

Bianci stepped aside, and we all followed Jack into the clubhouse. When it was my turn to limp my ass across the threshold, Anthony reached out and cupped my chin, turning my head and staring at my dope haircut. I peered at him, watched his blue eyes darken in a way I’d never seen. Before I could say a word he dropped his hand and started for his car.

The Satan’s Knights had a doctor on call for situations like this. Wolf had already made a call and the doctor was waiting for me when I stepped into the Dog Pound. I don’t know if it was the adrenaline or the goddamn need for revenge but my injuries didn’t bother me, I tried to make light of them. Even when the doctor had to stitch my fucking forehead. Good times.

My bike was fucked.

My cut was gone.

And I had a fucking haircut I didn’t want.

Doc took his sweet time patching me up, making me look like Frankenstein. When he was done I hurried to put my clothes on and meet the guys in the Chapel. I didn’t care if I had to ride bitch, since my bike was a fucking canvas now, I wasn’t being left behind.

I grabbed a baseball hat, fitted it to my head and made my way down to Chapel just as they were walking out.

“What’s going on?” I asked, watching as two of the prospects carried in one of the crates. The deal with Wu obviously hadn’t gone down and now we had access to all the guns. Wolf pried the crate open and started dispersing the guns around the room.

“Sit this one out,” Jack said to me, as he fitted his vest around his chest and draped a rifle over each arm.

“Yeah, no thanks,” I said, snatching one of the guns from Wolf and turning to one of the prospects. “Give me the keys to your bike,” I demanded, holding out my hand.

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Now,” I hollered, as he glanced over my shoulder at Jack.

Jack sighed, shaking his head for a second before lifting his eyes to meet the prospect’s eyes.

“Give them to him,” he conceded.

I didn’t know the plan, didn’t even care what it was—I followed Jack with the borrowed bike, hell bent on revenge. The gory kind.

We pulled our bikes in front of a Chinese restaurant close to Mott Street and Wu’s house of heroin. They weren’t kidding when they said they were in the mood for Chinese. We dismounted, pulled out our guns and then Wolf announced our arrival by emptying a clip of bullets into the glass door. The glass shattered and Jack stepped through the frame of the door, his boots crunching the glass as he walked in.

“You should invest in bulletproof glass,” he suggested, as the Dragons drew their guns on us.

They shouted in Chinese again and Wolf took another shot, this time his bullet shattered the fish tank that took up half the wall, the water pouring out everywhere. “Flipper” and his posse escaping confinement.

“Fucking English,” he demanded. I guess all the Chinese talk was pissing Wolf off too.

I watched on as Jack stepped closer to the table where Sun Wu sat, sipping his fucking green tea, unfazed by this shit. A Dragon stepped closer, and I shot at his feet.

“Take another step and I’ll make you dance motherfucker,” I warned, and the bastard laughed.

Bang! Bang!

He yelped as the bullet pierced his shoe.

Dance motherfucker.

Make it rain!

I lifted my head and all the guns were aimed at me.

Ah, fuck.

“Damn it, Riggs,” Wolf growled, reaching for his rifle.

“Should I add the glass to your tab?” Wu asked Jack in the middle of my quest for a rain dance and Wolf trying to save my ass. I think Doc hit me up with some pain killers because I was feeling loopy.

“You made your point Wu, now tell me what you want so we can put this shit to bed,” Jack demanded.

Wu laughed, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“That’s funny,” he said, rising to his feet, and walking around the table. He wasn’t armed but remained calm as Jack cocked his gun and ripped back the safety. There was another Chinese exchange between him and his club. Jack kept his gun close as he narrowed his eyes, watching every move Wu made.

“You stole from me and now you expect me to close my eyes to that?” Wu shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re used to dealing with, maybe all your mafia handlings have made you forget your place…it doesn’t work like that here, Bulldog,” he stated, holding out his hands as one of his men handed him a leather cut.

He unfolded the cut.

My fucking cut.

“You see here, when you take from the hand that feeds us we expect a full payment,” he explained.

“Yeah, I got your fucking message,” Jack fumed. “I’ll get you your fucking money but then it ends. This beef gets squashed, we’re even because if you want to get down and dirty motherfucker, you marked one of my brothers and I don’t take that lightly,” he ground out.

“Your brother is lucky he’s breathing, Jack, don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m finished with any of you. I marked your brother but you’ve taken blood from me. I have three men to bury and a dozen whores to dispose of, we’ll never be even.” He affirmed.

Then he turned around and draped my cut over the table. He pulled a knife from his back pocket and dragged the blade along the seam of the reaper sewn into the back of my cut. He ripped the patch from the leather, turned back around to face Jack and threw my cut at me.

“You’ve taken three of my brothers, seems only fair I take three of yours.”

“Don’t threaten me or my fucking club Wu,” Jack commanded.

“For now, my money will suffice, but the Knights and Dragons alliance is dead,” he informed.

Jack advanced toward Wu and the Dragons turned their guns from our heads to Jack’s, in return our guns moved across the room, from one Dragon to another, itching to pull the trigger.

Jack brought the barrel of his gun to Wu’s lips, running it across the seam.

“Don’t underestimate me Wu, I’ve killed for a lot less,” Jack whispered, as he shoved the gun between Wu’s lips. “If you ever touch another brother of mine again, I’ll make you howl motherfucker, make you beg like the fucking dog you are,” he hissed, reaching down and grabbing my patch from Wu’s hand. He pulled his gun from his mouth and took a step back. “Don’t underestimate me,” he repeated.

“A quarter of a million dollars, Bulldog, or I’ll shove that gun you had in my mouth up your ass, then you’ll know what it’s truly like to be fucked by a Dragon,” Wu added.

Jack laughed, turning around to face us and handed me my patch before looking over his shoulder at Wu.

“I’ll bring the lube,” he sneered. “Let’s go boys,” he ordered.

We followed Jack out, walking backward through the restaurant with our guns held high in case one of these assholes decided to get stupid with us. We were halfway out the door when Wolf decided to send another message, walking back through the shattered door, the crazy fuck shot at the ducks that hung in the front window.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” Pipe asked him.

“Fuck you, the kid said he wanted to go hunting,” he argued, pointing to me. “It just happens to be duck season,” he said as he climbed onto his bike.

“Quack, quack, bitches,” he called over his shoulder.

I loved Wolf, truly loved him.

Shit, that was kind of gay.

“Yo,” Bones called as he revved his engine. “We need to get your ass home and I don’t mean the Dog Pound,” he said, daring me to argue. “Your girl’s worried about you,” he added.

My girl.

“She knows what happened?”

“Nah, but she knows something is up. When we couldn’t get a hold of you I went to the apartment,” he explained, kicking up his kick stand. “Dude, you fuck that up and you’re the dumbest man on the face of the Earth,” he continued.

“You got a thing for my Kitten, Bonesy?”

“Man, every man breathing wants a woman like your Kitten,” he replied, peeling off in front of me.

Yeah, I imagine they did.

I heard the doorknob jiggle and sprang to my feet, hurrying toward the door. It swung open before I could get to it and Riggs stumbled into the apartment.

“Oh, thank God,” I said, rushing to meet him. Instead of over thinking everything like I usually did when it came to him, I did what I felt and wrapped my arms around him.

“Aww, Kitten, I missed you too,” he said, wrapping one arm around my waist. I heard the sharp hiss escape his mouth and I pulled back, gasping as I took in his face.

“Riggs,” I whispered, lifting my fingertips to his bruised cheek.

“It looks worse than it really is,” he offered, kicking the door closed, dragging me against him and turning the dead bolt on the door.

I twisted in his arms and rose on tiptoe to inspect his eyes. They were mostly swollen shut and a butterfly stitch was placed in the corner of his right eye.

“It looks clean,” I commented, cupping his face with my hands and turning his cheek to inspect the other eye. There was blood in the corner of his eye, hinting to a bleed but nothing too severe. I dropped my hands to his shoulders and ran them down his arms. I had never seen him in anything other than jeans—tonight Riggs was wearing a loose pair of black sweats and a gray fitted hoodie, looking less of a biker and more like a laid back trainer. I don’t know where he had the time to workout but he definitely made it his business.

No one ate chocolate pudding and cookies and looked as good as he did.

I wanted to drag the zipper of his hoodie down with my teeth and trace his abs with my tongue.

I bit my lip and rubbed my sweaty palms against my thighs.

“Are you okay?” I asked, hoarsely.

“I’m fine babe,” he assured, taking my hand and walking us toward the couch. He paused and bent down to lift the baseball bat that sat next to the couch. He winced again, sighing heavily in pain, before straightening up and glancing back at me with a smirk.

God, that smirk.

“Practicing your swing?” He teased, sitting down on the couch and pulling me onto his lap.

This was new.

“It’s a precautionary measure,” I insisted.

“Right,” he laughed. “Little Miss Safety,” he quipped, reaching up and pushing my hair over my shoulder. “Sorry I missed batting practice, Kitten,” he said huskily, as his eyes dropped to my lips.

“I know enough to know I’m not supposed to ask questions but…” I wrapped my arms around his neck, “…it’s kind of hard not to ask, looking at you like this,” I said, as I ran my fingers up the back of his neck where the rim of the backward baseball cap rested.

“Lauren,” he protested as I pulled the hat off his head. “Shit,” he ground out.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded, moving the hat out of his reach as he tried to take it back.

“My barber got mad at me,” he tried to cover, offering me his smile, knowing I was a sucker for it. But it wouldn’t work this time. He usually wore a hat but the few times he didn’t—I loved Riggs’ hair. It was the perfect length to run my fingers through, and even though I hadn’t done it all that often, if ever, some asshole with a razor robbed me of the chance.

“I hope you didn’t tip him,” I replied, playing along with my handsome…friend.

I hated that.

More today than yesterday and even more tomorrow.

He leaned back against the couch cushions and lazily stared back at me, watching as I cocked my head to the side to inspect the damage. I noticed the numbers shaved into his hairline and ran my fingertip along the fuzz, tracing the two, then the five and finally the zero.

“I can fix it,” I said, turning back to meet his gaze. “Make it all even for you,” I explained.

“Florence Nightingale is a hair stylist too?” He questioned, as his hands ran down my sides, playing with the hem of my shirt.

“I’m a jack of all trades,” I replied, brushing the hair away from his face. “What do you say?”

“If I say yes does that mean you’ll get off my lap?”

I nodded, holding back the frown that threatened my face—that was kind of a dickhead thing to say.

“Then, no,” he said, treating me to a wink.

And there he went being sweet again.

I smiled widely at him, prying his hands off my hips and climbed off him.