Page 126 of Riding the Edge

“I don’t give a fuck if you got to confess to the fucking thing yourself. You get my guys out of this fucking hellhole and you make sure those charges don’t stick. Blackie’s got a kid on the way.”

“Wolf,” Reina calls. “There’s more.”

Jesus fuck.

I don’t know how much more I can fucking take.

“Jack is in a bad way. After the last episode, he stopped taking his medication. He’s refusing to cooperate and is denying his right to an attorney…” Her words trail as her voice cracks and tears fill her eyes. “He won’t see me and is demanding to speak with you.”

Without hesitation, I reach for her and bring her into my arms. A sob escapes the back of her throat as I look over her head at the attorney.

“Will they let me see him?”

“I told them the only way they will get him to cooperate is by allowing you to speak with him and give him his medication. Apparently, the last thing the City of New York wants is an unmedicated Jack Parrish on their hands because they agreed but, I have to warn you, they’re probably going to videotape your conversation. Do not—I repeat, do not, give them anything. The only chance we got is playing on his insanity.”

Releasing Reina, I meet her eyes.

“That okay with you?”

Biting her lip, she reaches into her purse and pulls out an orange prescription bottle and offers it to me.

“Tell him I love him.”

Taking the bottle from her hands, I lean forward and press my lips to her forehead before turning back to the attorney.

“Let’s do this.”

Hesitating for a moment, the lawyer springs into action. I’m brought inside a room where I am thoroughly checked for any kind of contraband and before I know it, I’m being led by a team of FBI agents to the interrogation room they’re holding Jack inside.

The door opens, and my gaze falls on my fearless leader. Already dressed in prison blues, he’s handcuffed to the table.

“I already told you mutts I’m not fucking talking to anyone but Wolf,” he growls, keeping his eyes trained on the table. Slamming his shackled wrists against the metal, he hollers. “Bring me Alfonse Scotto or you all can suck my dick.”

“Parrish,” I shout.

At the sound of my voice, he lifts his head and his dark eyes bore into mine.

Soulless.

Lifeless.

Hopeless.

“I’m here, brother. I’m here,” rasp.

One of the feds moves inside the room and turns on the video camera. A little red light glows on the camera, alerting us that we’re being recorded, and he sees himself out, leaving me and Jack alone. I start for the table, pulling the chair across from him out, I take a seat. Swallowing, I reach into my pocket and pull out the prescription bottle, placing it gently in the center of the table.

Like the crazed lunatic he is, he stares at the bottle and laughs hysterically.

My eyes dart between the camera and the mirrored glass I’m sure the feds are standing behind.

“That shit can’t save me now,” he says, drawing my eyes back to him. “It’s the end of the line, brother.”

I shake my head.

As much as I like to think I’ve prepared myself for this, I realize I haven’t. I think in the back of my head, I assumed he’d prevail just as he always does, that this was just another battle in the life of Jack Parrish and his run with the Satan’s Knights. I forgot every story has an end.

“It’s time you call a vote.”

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