Page 2 of Blackout

Like today.

Today, I wanted to tie a tourniquet around my arm and shoot my veins from here to kingdom come. Instead, I came home and abandoned the weight of my burdens by sinking between my wife’s legs. I got lost in her sweet body and ignored the fact that the day I’ve been dreading is fast approaching. That day being the one when Jack Parrish loses his mind altogether and I take his place as the president of the Satan’s Knights MC.

It's a role he’s been grooming me for years to take on. Instilling all his wisdom and beliefs, sharing his vision for the club and making me lead in situations when he’s more than capable of leading himself. If you ask Jack Parrish whether I’m ready to take his place or not, they’ll be no hesitation, only conviction as he says yes.

But no one ever asks me if I’m ready.

Just like no one ever asked if I wanted the role in the first place.

For as long as Jack has had the gavel, I’ve been his V.P., the man who sits at his right. The guy who stands between him and any loaded gun. I’ve sacrificed myself on the sword more times than I care to admit. I’ve thrown my sobriety down the toilet and have done more stints in jail than any other motherfucker with a reaper on his back. Loyalty, respect, and honor—I’ve got it all in spades. I just don’t have a lick of it for myself.

Focusing my attention back to Lacey, I draw out a ragged breath and lift my eyes to hers. Hope radiates from her dark irises and I swallow the lump in my throat.

When Jack first took office, people called him a liability. They said a mentally ill man couldn’t possibly lead, that he’d act on impulse and recklessly get us all killed. Over the years, he proved himself. He took the hopeless pessimists and made them believers. If a deranged man can lead, then surely a recovering addict can follow in his footsteps.

Maybe I can lead my brothers.

Maybe I can be the man my wife needs me to be.

Maybe I can be someone’s father.

“You want a little Petra running around this house?” I ask hoarsely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

God, if we have a baby, I hope she looks just like Lacey.

Cocking her head to the side, she splays her palm against my cheek and smiles at me. I swear that smile touches every part of my soul.

“I want ten little Petra’s running around this house,” she replies with a hint of amusement in her voice.

A laugh escapes the back of my tight throat.

“How about we start with one?”

Her eyes light up at the suggestion and the smile that spreads across her face makes me fucking feel invincible. Then again, drugs will do that to you. They’ll erase your pain and make you think you can conquer the world.

“Yeah?” she questions, pushing her fingers through my hair. “You want to make a baby with me?”

I want so much more than that. I want to give her the whole world. Every dream, every desire. I want to tie a perfect bow around them and give them to her. I suppose a beautiful baby is a good place to start.

“Yeah, girl,” I whisper hoarsely. “I want it more than you could ever know.”

More than drugs.

More than power.

More than anything.

Cradling the back of my head, she leans down and brushes her lips against mine. I move my hands to her hips. My fingers bite deeply into her smooth skin as I take advantage of the position and flip her onto her back. She squeals and I finally pull out of her but keep myself firmly planted between her legs. Breaking the kiss, I lean back and stare at her beautiful face. Almond shaped eyes that are equally magnetic and compelling as they are mysterious, shine with unspeakable joy and a faint blush accentuates her high, exotic cheekbones that are kissed by long dark eyelashes. Her perfectly straight and dainty nose rests above a tempting mouth and completes the perfect package that is Lace.

I think about the first night I saw her.

Really fucking saw her.

The night she became mine and not just Jack’s daughter.

Oh, I didn’t mention that? Yeah, I’m that guy. I crossed that line. I robbed the fucking cradle and snatched my best friend’s daughter right from under his nose and I’m not sorry for it either. Given the chance, I’d do it all over again, no questions asked. The only thing I’d change is the way I took her virginity. If I got a rewrite at that, I wouldn’t have been high when I threw her up on my desk and fucked her that first time. She was hurting, looking for someone to comfort her on the anniversary of her brother’s death and I was looking to fucking inflict pain on myself. I still remember the shame I felt when I stared at my dick and found it coated with her innocence. Not a fine moment for a self-loathing motherfucker like me.

Back then, I didn’t know she was suffering in silence, that she had the same mental illness as her father. All the signs were there, I was just too fucked up to notice them.

---