Page 22 of The Tempted

Chapter Eight

The following day I was woken up by Anthony’s foot kicking my ass out of bed. Literally, the bastard pulled the sheets off me and nudged my bare ass with his sneaker hard enough that I rolled completely off the bed. I could kill the fucker for interrupting what was a very gratifying dream. Well, it was just about to get to the gratifying part before I found myself on the floor peering up at Anthony. I opened my mouth to ask him what the fuck his problem was but instead I was told that I had ten minutes to shower and dress because we were going to the shooting range.

I suppose it could be worse, right? I mean I’ve heard people bitch about training for their new job sitting around pushing papers and stuffing envelopes. I get to drink, play with guns, and walk around with a permanent set of blue balls. I had it made.

The drive to the shooting range was the usual torture I had already come to expect when one was trapped in a confined space with Anthony. It was full of silence and the occasional grunt. My friend was an ogre. Unfortunately, for me, the quiet only forced me to think of Nikki. She consumed my thoughts most of the time. I guess it could be deemed a good thing, allowing me to escape the reality that my mother was gone or that I felt as if I was starring in a bad reality show…, America’s Next Gangster.

I went to bed night after night thinking about Nikki even dreamed of her while I slept and when I awoke each and every morning she was the first thing on my mind. I was infatuated with her. I wanted her fuck I wanted her as much as I wanted air. However, I knew even if it was possible, even if I had her just for one night it would never be enough. She’d have my balls in a vice claiming me as her own even if she didn’t intend to. But that could never happen. I could never have her. Not even for one night.

We drove down a dirt road, the kind you see in the movies. You know when they whack a guy and dispose of the body deep in the wooded area where the authorities can’t find it? Yeah, we were taking that road. My palms were sweating as we proceeded down the road that seemed to never end until it finally brought us to what appeared to be a warehouse. There were very few cars parked diagonally in front of the building, but there were over a dozen motorcycles.

Anthony parked the truck at the far end of the lot so when we walked towards the entrance of the shooting range I was able to assess the motorcycles noticing that they were all beautiful pieces of machinery. I paused in front of one of the motorcycles checking out the chrome detail but was quickly interrupted by a smack upside my head from Anthony.

“Keep it moving Mike they’re waiting for us,” he said.

I think I whimpered as I tried to imagine who was waiting for us. He pushed open the doors, and I followed him into the shooting range. I’m not sure what I expected a shooting range to be like. I don’t think I gave it much thought, but I wasn’t expecting the twenty or so bikers glaring at me as the welcoming committee that’s for sure. All eyes were on me sizing me up with their grim expressions. These men made Victor and his goons look like choirboys.

One of the bikers stood up walking around the front counter to stand in front of me his cold gaze washed over me. I tried not to gawk at him, but fuck, he was a scary looking motherfucker with his tattered jeans and his leather cut. His arms were covered with tattoos that trailed up to his neck and he wore a bandana tied around his bald head. My gaze drifted down to his leather vest again noticing the patch on one side that read President.

“This guy here is Vic’s fresh meat?” Scary bald biker president asked Anthony.

“Yeah, this is Michael Valente,” Anthony said as he shook the man’s hand. The president’s hand released Anthony’s mid shake as he turned his attention back towards me.

“This is Val’s son? Get the fuck out of here,” his eyes looked back to Anthony who nodded.

“I guess you knew my father,” I said.

He spits out the toothpick he had been chewing onto the floor. I held my stance as the fucking thing landed next to my shoe.

“Yeah, I knew your old man,” his face softened if that was possible and a slight trace of a grin worked its way across the grim line of his mouth. “He was a fucking legend,” he cocked his head to the side taking a step closer to me, his eyes zeroed in on me. “You got the chops he had?”

“Time will tell,” Anthony said, patting me on the back. I was thankful that he answered for me because I couldn’t pry my lips apart to speak a single word.

The president gave me one final look before turning around to walk towards the counter. The back of his vest had what looked like the grim reaper surrounded by flames and embroidered letters that read Satan’s Knights. I glanced around at the rest of the bikers noticing that they all had the same cut on. I wanted to laugh at the whole scenario, but really there was nothing funny about learning how to fire a gun at a shooting range owned by bikers that called themselves Satan’s Knights. I should’ve brought a flask with me.

He reached behind the counter, grabbing a clipboard that contained some papers. He shoved the clipboard into my hands and pulled a pen from his back pocket. I took the pen and looked towards Anthony.

“Just fill it out,” he said with a nod. He reached into his back pocket, producing a thick envelope. I watched him hand it to the president. “Victor sends his regards, Jack.”

Jack took the envelope weighing it in the palm of his hands before stuffing the envelope into his pocket. He smiled at Anthony. “Always a pleasure doing business with Vic. How’s business?”

Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “As good as to be expected with the new club opening. Victor wanted me to mention opening night to you.”

“Victor knows me and my men aren’t really into the night club scene,” Jack said rather amused as he lit a cigarette.

“He was hoping that if need be you would be able to assist in providing protection. He’s not expecting any issues, but wants to ensure if something should arise that you have his back.”

I lifted my gaze from the clipboard to gauge Jack’s reaction. He blew out a heavy cloud of smoke crossing one leg over his other knee. He leaned back in his chair seemingly contemplating his answer and then looked at Anthony.

“My men will be on call,” Jack said, turning to look at me. “You about done kid?”

I glanced down at the blank papers. Shit. I shook my head and started to fill out the paperwork. I was signing a consent form confirming that I didn’t have a criminal record and that I was not a felon. I found it pretty comical that I had to attest to the fact I had not committed a violent crime or I wouldn’t be allowed to fire any of the weapons when this place was crawling with criminals. Anthony didn’t have to fill out a consent form this place was corrupt!

Once I had completed the paperwork Jack, who most of the men called Bulldog walked us to a room where they kept all the weapons. Actually, Anthony was the only one who called him Jack. I later found out that they all had nicknames for one another only they weren’t really considered nicknames but instead were called road names. Jack “Bulldog” Parrish the president of Satan’s Knights had a pretty intensive collection of firearms helping me choose one that was best fitted for me.

I selected a twenty-two-millimeter. The semi-automatic was light yet powerful which was perfect for someone like me who was just carrying it for protection. I had to wear goggles along with a pair of protective earphones that protected me from the sound of the guns going off.

Jack watched from the sidelines as Anthony showed me how to hold my stance instructing me to keep my legs shoulder width apart. He explained that when I fired the gun I’d feel the power of the gun and if I didn’t keep myself correctly positioned the force of the gun would push me back.

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