Page 6 of Parrish

Chapter Three

Jack Parrish

Holding Reina’s hand, we make our way outside, into the parking lot where Wolf and Pipe are waiting. Knowing shit is about to get heavy, I lift my free hand to my nose and breath in the scent of Reina’s arousal on my fingers, hanging onto the shred of nirvana for as long as I can.

As we near the two men leaning against their Harley’s my eyes move to the patch sewn to the right side of Wolf’s kutte. It’s the same fucking patch I proudly sported for nearly two decades. The very one that declares me a has been and him, the president of the Satan’s Knights Brooklyn charter.

Next to him, Pipe wears another patch, one that belonged to my former right-hand and son-in-law, Blackie. As a man who lived his whole life on borrowed time, I knew for certain my days as president were numbered. Fuck, I even planned for it. I’ve spent the last few years grooming Blackie to be my successor and if I had to choose a vice president for him, a second in command, I would’ve chosen Wolf. I knew if anyone could keep my son-in-law alive and able to take care of my daughter Lacey; it was the man standing in front of me. Like me, Wolf’s love for this club knows no bounds.

It would’ve been a fine plan, but the Devil don’t give two fucks about plans. He pisses on the best ones and rewrites destinies without remorse. As my mental health declined, Lacey found out she was pregnant with their first child, and Blackie struggled with his sobriety. You see, Lacey is as fucked as her old man and relies on Lithium to keep her sane. However, now that she’s pregnant, her doctor is taking her off her meds until the baby is born. Being the man who sees me through my crazy, Blackie couldn’t bear the possibility of Lacey losing her mind and started hitting the bottle and who knows what else—the man was once hooked on everything from coke to fucking heroin.

When the deal went down with the Sinaloa Cartel, Blackie was drunk and while he saved my life by taking a bullet, he also fucked himself by dropping his gun. Now, the feds got his prints on the gun and some half-ass confession from some Mexican prick. Taking the heat for the man who completes my daughter’s life, was never a question and partially the reason I’m going to prison for the next thirteen fucking years.

Blackie handed in his patch, dedicating his life and time to getting sober and caring for Lacey and the baby. He couldn’t make his new family his main priority and still hold a rank, so Wolf chose Pipe to sit at his right.

Now, the two men standing in front of me are the men I trust to take care of my club and my family. They are the men who will keep everyone who has become property of Parrish, breathing. They will look after my wife, make sure she is safe and has everything she needs. They will be the men who take my son Danny to baseball games and cheer for him in the stands, making sure he always has a male presence in his life, teaching him the ins and outs of this crazy fucking world. Lastly, Wolf and Pipe will be the first ones at the hospital when my grandchild is born, and I have no doubt they will take my role as grandfather until I return.

Peeling my eyes away from them, I turn to Reina and squeeze her hand. She lifts her gaze to me and I stare at her freshly fucked face in awe. I’m not a man who has been on the receiving end of a whole lot of blessings, but God beat the Devil and blessed me with her.

“Give me a minute,” I say, lifting my free hand to her face. My thumb traces her lower lip and I think about all the ways that mouth has pleased me. My maker can take a lot from me, she can replace my common sense with paranoia, but she won’t take Reina from me. That cunt doesn’t get to take my Sunshine.

Wrapping her hand around my wrist, she turns her head and presses her lips against my palm.

“Hurry,” she whispers against my skin. “I’ve got twenty-four hours with my husband, I don’t want to waste a second.”

Twenty-four fucking hours.

That’s what it’s all come down to.

If that ain’t fucking sad, nothing is. I like to think of myself as a man who guards his emotions. Like no one can figure out what I’m thinking, I want to believe no one can tell what I’m feeling. To the world, I’m a fucking enigma. No one can see my heart is breaking. Not even the woman it beats and breaks for.

Forcing a smile, I bend my head and touch my mouth to hers.

“Gonna give you the best fucking twenty-four hours of your life, Sunshine,” I vow, releasing her hand. Giving her lips another peck, I tip my chin towards my bike. “Go saddle up, baby, I’ll be right there.”

It’s one last ride for Mr. and Mrs. Parrish and we’re going to burn a fuck of a lot of rubber tonight.

Reina hesitates for a second before she turns and starts for my bike. My gaze falls to her ass as I watch her walk away from me. Yeah, I’m fucking blessed.

I’m also fucked.

Sighing, I turn to Wolf and Pipe and watch them push off their bikes as my boots swallow the distance between us. Standing before them, I watch Wolf cross his arms against his broad chest. He raises an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for me to deliver the ill-fated news of the deal. As I’m about to reveal the length of my sentence, Pipe pulls out a pack of smokes and lights a cigarette.

Snatching it out of his hand, I bring it to my lips and take a drag. After Reina told me she was pregnant with our son, I quit smoking. I’ve been chewing on fucking toothpicks for years, trying to suppress the craving but with the clock fucking ticking on my freedom, now seems like a good time to treat myself to a little fucking cancer.

Feeling a little light-headed, I blow out a ring of smoke and force my eyes to Wolf.

“Thirteen years,” I finally reveal, quirking my lips as if it’s no big deal—as if thirteen years is the equivalent to thirteen fucking seconds.

Wolf’s face falls, and he uncrosses his arms.

“I hope you told the D.A. to suck dick and shove his deal up his mother’s cunt,” Pipe growls, lighting another cigarette.

Turning my attention to him, I genuinely smile.

I like his choice of words. I like them a lot.

The old Parrish, the motherfucking Bulldog, would’ve told Ritzer exactly that, but the light has dimmed on that persona.

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