Page 5 of Riding the Edge
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 hands, 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.
