The tattoo at the base of her spine holds my attention, the design of a joker surrounded by thorned roses. It reminds me of the day I had to watch my wife die - what felt like a thousand times - through a surveillance video. The symbol of the tattoo visible on her murderer's forearm, a gang stamp on his skin. That day, my hope died, my future turning in a different direction when the Chief pulled me into his office to stop me from looking into something that would get the rest of my family killed. I was pulled off the case and watched it get put into the evidence room, where it would just collect dust. I knew becoming a cop would be a dangerous job, but going undercover as a rookie came with a price I never saw coming. I knew who her murderer was, but could do nothing about it. It all came back to the cartel gang on the east side and I was ready to go in guns blazing, to take down their leader for putting a hit on my wife. I was willing to die to be with my Helen again, but I never made it that far.
I drive aimlessly around for an hour, feeling the pressure of the semi-automatic gun on my passenger seat. Logan is in the back in his carseat, sleeping peacefully with a bag of goldfish clenched in his tiny fist. I pull the car over, place my head against the steering wheel, and feel my world fall apart around me. My own son doesn’t fully understand what’s happened to his mom, but he knows she won’t be coming back.
What kind of father am I to just let his mother’s killer keep walking around freely? Not when he could be taken down, so he can’t harm anyone ever again. For once the law isn’t on my side, so I have to take it into my own hands. But what if I don’t make it out of this alive? What will happen to my boy? Will I become a monster just like them?
My choice stared right in front of me, the drug house I was watching for six months straight, where Alejandro has his cocaine made down in the basement. I was about to take him down, and had most of the evidence that we needed, but that was before he sent one of his men after me. He destroyed me without causing any physical harm to my body, and I am about to return the favor. Making my decision, I glance at my boy one more time in the rearview mirror and then open the door while grabbing my revolver from the passenger seat.
It is raining, and within seconds I’m soaked to the bone, but I couldn’t care less. Revenge is fueling me, making it easier, step by step, as I walk across the wet grass that silenced my black boots when I got closer to the house. I’m a man on a mission, to carry it through no matter the outcome, but I don't make it that far. Just before I make it to his front steps, a hand comes over my mouth and I am being dragged to the side of the house. Shoved up against the peeling paint, I blink rapidly against the rain, making it difficult to see. Fighting instincts come over me, but as I try to swing my fist at his face, he blocks me and holds his forearm over my windpipe to restrict my breathing. With his face so close, I take in his pale skin, tall form, and almond shaped brown eyes that are laughing at me.
“Franco Russo, Los Angeles cop, a father, and now a widower… Do you think this is a good idea storming into the lion's den? Don’t you seek full vengeance, and climbing to the top without dying?” he asks me, releasing the pressure on my throat and stepping back.
He looks like the devil dressed in a business suit, just waiting for me to sign a contract that will forever leave me soulless.
“Who are you?” I croak out.
“My name is Jin and I’m going to make sure you have your revenge, Franco. You and I are going to help each other.”
Years later and I think Jin is still the devil in disguise, but he kept his word as he watched me cut off Alejandro's head, my dead wife’s killer's blood staining my fingers. It was only the beginning. I left his boy alone, Dom, who now runs the cartel, but I don’t give a shit as long as he stays on his side of town.
“Franco, please. Deeper,” Diana groans out loudly from under me, panting like a bitch in heat.
I thought marrying a woman who was completely the opposite of my Helen would make her disappear from my memories. So that she doesn’t haunt my every waking moment, but she’s still here. She’s everywhere. I feel myself starting to go soft, the thought of my dead wife always does that. Movement by the door catches my attention and my hips jerk deep into Diana at the sight that greets me. Dark brown hair, expressive big eyes and it’s almost like Helen is standing right there in the doorway. Blinking rapidly, the vision of her is gone and replaced with Diana’s daughter, Tillie. She looks frozen in the doorway, not knowing what to do with herself, but she hasn’t glanced away.
There’s something about her, a lost hope, no way out but a warmth you can’t help be drawn to. Without breaking eye contact, I pound into Diana harder, rattling the bedframe and wishing she wasn’t the one under me. To feel that smooth, warm caramel skin under my fingertips, her big perky breasts bouncing at every thrust of my cock into her tight cunt. My breathing picks up, feeling myself coming closer to the edge and seconds away from coating her mother’s cunt with ropes of cum. I notice movement over Tillie’s shoulder and see the burning hatred of icy blue eyes staring back at me just before the door suddenly jerks closed with a slam. Diana doesn’t even notice as she screams out in pleasure, but the image of Tillie’s big brown eyes staring at me helps send me over the edge.
Breathing heavily and collapsing onto my side, I lay there staring up at the ceiling as Diana cuddles into me. What kind of man am I? Suddenly craving a woman who reminds me of my dead wife because she radiates a warmth that a moth seeks. I’m that moth. I can fix her, that damaged piece which no doubt comes from spending time with the Demon Jokers. I was looking for a replacement who was the exact opposite of my late wife, but I’m starting to wonder if I chose wrong.
“Let me up. I have to get ready for work.” I’m already pushing Diana away from me as I get out of bed with a quiet groan.
I’m beginning to wonder just how far a man like myself will go before enough is too much.
What more could I break that isn’t already broken. You can’t put back together a shattered man, unless he’s willing to help pick up the pieces. There isn’t hope for me, I’m already a lost cause.
Tillie
“No, he’s not a cop. He’s the Chief of the Los Angeles precinct,” Dalton states simply with an eye roll, staring at me with his all too knowing violet eyes.
I have a hard time looking at his cut, the way the leather molds to his broad shoulders, and the smell of engine oil makes it hard to breathe, but holding his gaze helps center me. Flashbacks and triggers are close but far in between at the same time. I’ll be fine one minute and the next I’m stuck, back in that cold, dark basement. It could be a smell, the way people crowd close to me, a certain word, and all of a sudden I’m there, in the dark, feeling my flesh scrap against the concrete floor…one of the Demon Jokers breathing heavily over me as he ruts into me bone dry. I like to think most days I’m okay, that I can survive anything thrown at me, but I feel like a ticking time bomb. I hate to show any sign of weakness in front of anyone, so I put a smile on my face and keep walking forward even when I stumble.
So, yeah, the leather cut he’s wearing hasn’t triggered me. Maybe it’s because of the patch embedded into the black leather, the devil sprouting bat-like wings from its spine. It’s completely different from the cuts of the Demon Jokers, and Dalton won’t ever know this but the smell of engine oil actually brings back good memories for me with Uncle Rig in the shop. That reminds me. I’m fucking pissed off. It’s already getting old, them looking into my past and finding small snippets that I’d rather move on from, but the mention of Uncle Rig is like a noose around my neck. I can’t let that go. It gives me something to focus on instead of what I saw this morning with Franco - nope. Not going there. I can’t. It’s not much different from the club, Lorrie used to fuck Payne in front of me all the time. As if she had something to prove, and I had to sit there in a room full of bikers, pretending it didn’t bother me. What makes my stomach twist now is how Franco was staring at me. It’s the same look men get in their eyes when I dance on stage. Greed and lust.
Focus, Tillie, take your anger out on something else.
My gaze collides with Logan’s over my shoulder as I glance around, all the emotions of the last few days are bubbling up and he’s one of the people who keeps it going. How dare Logan keep my own shit from me and share it with the rest of the guys?! It’s none of their business!
“You motherfuckers tricked me! I’ve been thinking the police were going to show up to take me away any second because of you numb nuts. I didn’t know one was sleeping in the same house!” My tone comes out strained as I yell at Logan, who just calmly stands there staring at me and shrugs.
“It’s not my problem. Maybe you shouldn’t show up at a stranger's house in the middle of the night? Then again, you're probably just pretending since you came here for a reason, isn’t that right? Have you always been this pathetic?” Logan’s gaze roams me up and down with his upper lip curled, his honey eyes raking over my sundress with a look of disgust. “Why are you wearing a dress? Go change, you're showing too much skin and I don’t feel like killing anyone today, at least not until noon,” he commands without bothering to look me in the eyes, as if he just dismissed me and it just pisses me off even more.
Before I can fully turn around to punch his smug face, Nicky reaches out and stops me.His hand over my wrist has enough pressure to tell me he’s not letting go until I calm down. I glance back up at him, about to tell him to get his hands off me, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s glaring at Logan over my shoulder and hisses under his breath while dragging me closer to his body.
“The dress stays on,” he tells Logan with so much authority behind his voice that it makes me shudder, but not in fear.
What is it about the sound of a male’s voice going lower in pitch and deadly quiet, barely a whisper, that makes you want to throw your underwear at them? I’ll never understand it and it’s very new to me.
“I’m not an object. You can’t tell me what to do.” I grind my teeth and feel my pulse pounding hard in my neck.
Nicky quickly cuts his gaze towards me and he actually huffs under his breath like I’m a disobedient child.
