Page 34 of Magnetic Temptations

“She’s right,” I add. “Men like him will want to taunt you, anger you, and make sure we all know that he’s the one in charge.”

Mamba mutters some less than savory words under his breath. “What makes men like him so damn coo-coo?” He draws out the word cuckoo and makes it sound like a kid is speaking.

“That’s still a mystery,” I answer Mamba’s question. “Sometimes it’s chemical, it could be due to a birth defect, or it could plainly be because of a person’s abusive upbringing. No case is the same, circumstance-wise. We may never discover what causes somebody to act irrationally and live evil-minded.”

“Outsiders think we’re criminals and question our mindsets as well as our intentions for living the club life,” Ella mentions. “My mom was once asked by a stranger what screw was loose in her brain to accept the lifestyle my dad leads.”

“What was her answer?” Mamba questions.

“That he’s hung like a racehorse and has moves like Jagger,” Ella snickers, bending over and smacking her knee. How she does that without tripping since we’re still walking impresses me. However, the mere thought of Uncle Shamus’s genitalia, in any capacity, has me gagging. Ella twists her head and looks over at me, outright laughing. “Right? At first her answer made me nauseous, but then I thought about it and figured that’s how I would’ve answered. Eventually, I found it funny. Can you imagine the look she must’ve received when she stated that?”

“Classic Star-like rebuttal,” Mamba chortles. “The old ladies are the shit. I hope when I find my forever girl she’s just as witty and smart as they are.”

“She will be,” Ella concludes, reaching over and patting the back of his shoulder. “We’ll make sure of it or scare her away and kick her to the curb. We’ll always have your back, Mamba.”

“I’m not sure if I should be appreciative of that or keep any woman I find attractive away from your crazy ass,” Mamba teases Ella as we make it to the crop of land where our two adversaries are separately tied to the chunky base of two trees.

Laura sends us women wide, fearful eyes. I can see the begging in her eyes, but neither Ella nor I are here to save her. She’s the one who made the choices she did and stuck to her guns. At any point in time, she could’ve ended the entire charade and reached out to authorities. There are other agencies that she could’ve gone to outside of Trucktown that would’ve investigated Benji, and this would’ve all stopped before it got to the degree that it has. Myles would be home if she’d thought things through and wasn’t so damn greedy. Money hungry bitch. Money helps keep a roof over your head, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t make anybody happy—you have to find that emotion within yourself.

My head turns from one man to the other, eventually landing on mine. He and Maverick, who at some point left Cotton’s side and has joined the others, are standing with spread feet and crossed arms, leering at a knocked out Benji. I leave my group and walk up in front of him, reaching up and winding my arms around his neck. Lifting up on my tip toes, I lay a kiss on the edge of his chin. He wraps his around me and nestles me closer to him.

As his head rests on my shoulder, he tells me, “There were no signs of Myles at his house. I’m worried, Mane. Where is my brother and what has this motherfucker done to him? I’m conflicted. My religious upbringing and my current feelings are warring with each other.”

While I can’t know how he feels since our ‘religious upbringing’ was centered around self-defense and holding our liquor, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if any member of my family was missing? I’d be striking first and taking names last, plain and simple.

“How so?” I ask, leaning back and looking in his blown-out eyes. He’s going through the various stages of anger simultaneously. If I can’t get him to express his feelings and talk them out, he’ll snap. I know I need to see him angry at some point, but not when one of his brothers has been abducted, or a life-long friend has been bamboozled by a poor excuse for a woman.

“I want to strangle him with my bare hands until he draws his last breath,” he remarks.

His words send a thrill coursing through me. I guess it’s because I’m used to that type of man—I’ve been surrounded by them my whole life. My father makes some of the most heinous serial killers look normal, for fuck’s sake.

“That’s not a surprise to me, Mason. You have every right to want that after what he’s done to your family.”

“It’s unethical and immoral, but I’ve found since Julia, I’m flip-flopping from wanting to enact revenge on people like her or gathering enough evidence to have them put away for life, leaving them in the hands of the other inmates to dish out justice on my behalf,” he rationalizes, sighing. “My brain and heart aren’t on the same page with this, and it makes me fidgety.”

I mean, I’m pretty positive that between the DreamCatchers as well as the people that Pops and Luca know from their days in organized crime that he could have that particular wish come true, but at the same time, he has a lot of rage from what Julia did to him that he could work through. Using Deputy Asshat and Laura, of course.

Thinking my words over before opening my mouth, I eventually have my thoughts straight in my head and tell him, “As a therapist, I am obligated to try and convince you to let the law take care of it. But… the daughter of the DreamCatchers original chapter president feels the exact opposite. There are some people outside of our realm who are criminally insane that’ll never be rehabilitated and should be put down like the dogs they are.”

That probably puts me in a morally gray area, considering my profession, but I didn’t get it to help mainstream people. I got it to help those that we rescue through Kings. So in my mind, violence is not off the table considering what’s been done to Mason’s family and his friend.

He momentarily clamps his eyes shut as he mulls over my words. Whatever conclusion he’s made seems to lift the weight from him and he leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “Thank you, beauty. I’m done being burdened by the church. You’re right, there are some who are beyond help and it’s up to those of us who choose not to be bound by man’s law to take out the trash.”

“Y’all ready to get this party started?” Tex asks, coming up to where we’re pressed together, hitting the switch on the taser, one he must’ve taken from Benji’s police issued equipment, and sparking it. “Isn’t it pretty?” he asks, his eyes lighting up in euphoria at the powerful flash of electricity emitting from the handheld device.

I snicker because the guys have ‘played’ with one before so they’d know how they worked. Remembering how Jagger wiggled on the ground as he pissed himself while tears and snot rolled down his face nearly has me in hysterics. Jagger sees me and immediately realizes where my thoughts have gone because he glares at me while flipping me off with both hands. Shrugging, I tune back in to the conversation around me.

“Why did your better half decide to stay behind and keep an eye on the clubhouse? He knows, better than anyone, that he needs to be present to reel you in when you get a new toy and go all starry-eyed,” Dad barks out his annoyance, his chest heaving from the exertion of his stunted, hitched breath. I’m not sure why he’s wound up or shocked by the things that make my uncle tick, we all know that Tex is unstable at the best of times. Not even Malice, his life partner alongside Jessia, can wholeheartedly reign him in when he’s excitable.

“Can I wake him, please, Gun?” Tex begs, his hands in a pleading position, his finger still on the trigger which lights up his face, showing his instability. He looks ominous and creepy as he comically widens his eyes.

Instead of stepping back as instinct should have me doing, I giggle. Maybe the therapist needs therapy because I’m not reacting the way someone with the advanced degrees I have should. What I should be doing is talking him down, but I’m not and I won’t. Long ago, I accepted every member of my family for who they are, insanity and all.

“I say we let him light Deputy Douchebag up,” Kruger announces with an emphatic nod of his head. “Do you think ole’ Benji boy will piss his pants?” That question is a little too prayerful instead of being a scientific inquisition.

“Yes, Kruger. I do believe he’ll piss his pants,” Dad answers, looking up to the dim night sky, the only illumination peeking through the trees coming from the beam of the moon, for some much-needed patience. “Hydro, what do you think? Should we let Tex play?”

“I’m with Kruger,” Hydro answers. “I think we should let Tex light him up and make him dance.”

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