Crucifixed (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 2) by B.B. Blaque (interesting books to read for teens txt) 📗

gone on to live a normal happy life, even if it was with that club. As I lay there playing everything over in my mind, I realized I wasn’t just keeping him in limbo—I’d damned him to an agonizing, living hell.

Why, God? Why have you let me be so stupid and hateful?

It wasn’t God . . . it was all you and your self-serving shit!

My death will set him free. It’ll be the only thing I can ever give him that’s selfless. I’ve betrayed him and God too many times just for my wanton desires. How could I be so horrible? I lured him into that confessional. I knew exactly what I was doing, even if I didn’t understand the magnitude or ramifications of it. Just like always, I wanted him to fuck my brains out and let me off the fuckin’ hook. See, Crucifix, I’m using my words. There is almost nothing worse I could’ve done to him. I didn’t want to lose him to all the others he was having sex with, even though he was untouchable to me. We were something that should’ve never happened and it’s all my fault!. My jealousy over someone taking my beautiful Gio from me was too much. What if I would’ve lost him? I lost him anyway until I found him again. A silly childish flirtation brought me here. Fuck me, it brought him. I don’t count anymore.

My last prayers need to be for him and I must take the biggest penance of all—death. I got up to get my brush and sat back on the bed. With the hard bristles rubbing across all the lashes, I started to pray from the deepest part of my heart.

Father, God . . . I know I’ve become worthless and until this moment of enlightenment, I didn’t realize what an absolutely evil person I’ve been. Please help me face death with a calm heart because I know dying is what I deserve. It will give Gio freedom from the torment he’s suffered for too long. The cross is not his to bear. All his bad acts come back to my transgression that day. I won’t ask forgiveness, because I am beyond redemption or any leniency. I will gladly trade my black soul for his salvation. Angel of Mercy—Michael—please take me so that he can start to live. Please, I ask you all to hear my prayers and help make it right. Amen.

14

Sold My Soul

When it was time to leave, I grabbed my kit. I hadn’t used it on anyone in a long time, and no one ever deserved it as much as those fucks. It wasn’t like the one priests usually carry when they visit patients hospitals to administer last rites. My holy water was anything but—a mixture of piss, water, and rubbin’ alcohol, not a damn thing holy about it. I didn’t have communion wafers, but I did have some half-dollars to shove in their mouths so they could try to pay their way outta Hell. Fat chance of that.

I shoved the flask with the water into my vest pocket, along with the coins and a few other things. Then I slipped my rosary beads around my neck, even though I knew it’s not where they belonged. The priests from that parish gave them to me, and it was only fair I have them present when they died.

I rode up to the Bronx to meet everyone at Fordham University. No one needed to know our business, and none of them would even think of us at a prestigious college like that. We were headed up toward West Point, to Rosethorne. Before the night was done, I’d have Fi where she belonged even if it was kickin’ and screamin’. She’d suck it up eventually.

Before anyone got there, I sat on the bike, pulled the beads off my neck, and decided to talk to God. It’d been awhile since I’d done it officially, but it seemed like a good time to say a prayer.

God . . . I know I’ve been an asshole, but I think you know my story, even though we had a pretty big fallin’ out. Needless to say, I’m not the guy I was supposed to be, but I could be worse. I’ve got a list of sins I can’t even begin to count . . . you probably know those too. I’m not tryin’ to ask forgiveness here. We both know that’s outta the question. I sold my soul for her safety a long time ago . . . you weren’t there for me in my time of need and I turned out okay. All I’m askin’ is that you help me get through this night and keep her safe. She’s all messed up, but we both sorta started behind the eight ball without much hope. Give her a break, God. I can, and she’s been nothin’ but a pain in my ass and don’t even get me goin’ on what she’s done to my heart. This ain’t about me, and that’s cool. I don’t ask for much, but this is a big one. Make sure she gets out okay. If I die in the process, so be it. I’m good with it. No hard feelin’s. Amen.

I only had a couple of minutes to wait before I heard bikes ridin’ up. It was Blitz and FOCUS. Casket and Hazard weren’t too far behind in a cage. We didn’t even get off the bikes before takin’ the hour ride north toward West Point. When we rolled up on Rosethorne, it was almost what I’d imagined it to be—massive, with brown stone walls and lots of trees. Big columns stood out front and there were windows that seemed to go on for days. It had a huge gate around it and the grass was the greenest I’d ever seen. Just like everything about Bish, it was