Uncontrollable Temptations (The Tempted Series Book 3)
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Authors: Janine Infante Bosco
Tags: #By Janine Infante Bosco
Uncontrollable temptations
By Janine Infante Bosco
Contents
Playlist Uncontrollable Temptations:
Other Book in The Tempted Series
As always I want to start off by thanking you for reading my work. It’s so humbling to me that you’re taking a chance on my words and my characters, a feeling that won’t ever get old. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Uncontrollable Temptations is the third story in the Tempted Series, and is something like I’ve never written before. It’s dark and gritty just like the world Jack Parrish lives in. It’s about a man wishing he had control over his actions but is inebriated by his mind.
This story came to me from Jack’s point of view, and I debated making it strictly come from him. However, there were certain things that you needed to see and understand through the heroine’s point of view to get a better feel for Jack, things he couldn’t see about himself.
I’ve brought back the characters from the first two books in this series and introduced you to a whole new group of men…The Satan’s Knights. Please keep in mind while reading that these men are not scholars, they aren’t meant to speak grammatically correct. Go with it, even when you see the word, ain’t, (I know it’s not really a word) and I promise you it will all come together. You’ll realize it is the authenticity on how they speak to one another, how they think and how they live. It’s their way.
Please be advised this story is for mature audiences.
Please be advised that while I try my hardest to give you a realistic story, it still is fiction.
And most of all…enjoy because you are now #PropertyOfParrish
Love,
Janine
To my husband Paul
I kept moving because you inspired me too.
These characters are everything they are because of your encouraging words.
Thirteen years ago
There was no God, no higher power I prayed to hoping to relieve me from my sins. No one would grant me penance for all the wrong decisions I’ve made. There was only the devil, and I tangoed enough with him in my twenty-five years to know I was at his mercy. There was nothing I could do but eat the crow he threw at me. I’ve swallowed a lot of shit in my life, losing my parents, my wife cheating on me, my brother turning his back on me and becoming a federal agent. But there is one thing you don’t swallow, one thing you never get over, one thing that stays with you, forcing you to question everything you know in life—that is losing a child. No parent should outlive their child. No parent should have to pick out a casket for their baby. And no parent should have to sit in a funeral home as a man dressed in a cloak prays over their son’s lifeless body.
I wanted to believe the man who offered his condolences to me and my ex-wife, to trust his God would take care of my boy. I wanted to relish in the comfort of knowing a loving man would hold his arms wide open to embrace my sweet boy and welcome him into eternal life. I closed my eyes as his words cut through me. He spoke of a promise that someone would be there to take care of the innocent boy I created. Someone to guide him with a steady hand and be there for him when was he scared and missing his mama.
Someone to take care of him better than I had.
I leaned forward, dropped my head into my hands, unable to stare at him lying there in that box. He looked so peaceful it was almost as if he was sleeping, just a little boy holding his Harley Davidson teddy bear as he took a nap.
Only—he wouldn’t wake. Not for me to chase the monsters under the bed or see the dawn of a new day.
Not this time.
I’d never look into the eyes of my son and see the innocence of a child staring back at me.
I pulled my head back and lifted my eyes glancing at my brothers standing on either side of my son’s coffin. Our president
on the left and the vice president on the right. They
weren’t my brothers by blood—I had one of those too. I had raised him after our parents died but like everyone else in my life, I lost him. Still, I thought he would’ve shown up, hoped he’d put our differences aside and stand beside me as I lowered my son into the cold earth.
I used to think having a brother meant I’d always have a friend, someone always there to have my back, but I didn’t understand what having a brother truly meant until I became a patched member of Satan’s Knights Motorcycle Club. Those men were my brothers, men that never left my side or my boy’s side. They were the men who would always have my back and they would be the men standing beside me as I say goodbye to my child. We didn’t need blood. We had loyalty. We had respect. We had the stuff that held people together when blood didn’t.
I knew it was just something they did out of respect and they would do it for any of the brothers, but seeing them stand guard over my boy brought me a sense of comfort. They didn’t think it was my fault.
They didn’t blame me for the things I couldn’t control.
There were two people that blamed me for everything. My mother, who was dead, and my ex-wife, who sat beside me sobbing.
My mother hated me. When she looked at me she saw her father reflected in my eyes. I wish she would have looked at me and seen that I was just a boy that couldn’t control himself. Maybe if she had, she would’ve been the kind of mother who sought help for her damaged child. Instead, she inflicted more pain on me, made me believe I was the devil reincarnate and not someone who needed help. Maybe if she had, then my son would be alive.
What is wrong with you? You’re crazy!
I could still hear her shouting at me, taunting me, until I started to doubt myself. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, but the more someone tells you you’re crazy, the more you start to wonder if you really are.
After she died no one called me crazy. Not the same way she had.
You’re a crazy motherfucker, Bulldog!
You’re fucking crazy, brother.
Sure, I did some fucking things that would have my brothers thinking I might have had a screw loose somewhere but they didn’t look at me and ask what was wrong with me. They just made me think I was a badass motherfucker who didn’t give a shit. They wiped away the doubt my mother instilled in me and gave me back the confidence she stole from me.
I turned and watched Connie rise to her feet, her body trembling as she started for the coffin. I wanted to reach out to her, to wrap my arms around her, desperate to grieve with her. She was the only one who knew exactly how I felt.
But she hated me. She blamed me.
Please, get help!
There is something not right with you, Jack.
I’m begging you.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her boyfriend wrap a steady arm around her waist as she kneeled before our son and sang him a lullaby. I blinked, tears falling from the corners of my eyes as her voice traveled through the quiet chapel.
“Sleep, baby, sleep. Your daddy’s away. Sleep, baby, sleep. And mommy will pray.
Sleep, baby, sleep
Your daddy’s away
Sleep, baby, sleep
And mommy will pray”
I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand as her voice hitched as she sobbed. I hated seeing her cry, always did. We were one another’s first love. I watched her turn from a girl to a woman and then made her a mother. We were twenty years old when our daughter, Lacey, was born. Twenty-one when we married, twenty-two when Jack Jr. was born, twenty-three was the year it all fell apart and twenty-four was the year it ended. Now, twenty-five, we’re burying our baby—both of us dead inside.
Connie leaned over the coffin, peppering Jack’s face with kisses as she cried and pleaded with him to take her with him. Her boyfriend wrapped both arms around her, prying her away from the coffin. She turned in his arms, buried her face against his chest and let out an anguished cry that tore through my heart. She lifted her head, her angry eyes meeting mine, and she stilled.