Walking The Line (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 3)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Contents

  -Foreword-

  ©Copyright All Rights Reserved 2020

  -Prologue-

  -One-

  -Two-

  -Three-

  -Four-

  -Five-

  -Six-

  -Seven-

  -Eight-

  -Nine-

  -Ten-

  -Eleven-

  -Twelve-

  -Thirteen-

  -Fourteen-

  -Fifteen-

  -Sixteen-

  -Seventeen-

  -Eighteen-

  -Nineteen-

  -Twenty-

  -Twenty-one-

  -Twenty-two-

  -Twenty-three-

  -Twenty-four-

  -Twenty-five-

  -Twenty-six-

  -Twenty-seven-

  -Twenty-eight-

  -Twenty-nine-

  -Thirty-

  -Thirty-one-

  -Thirty-two-

  -Epilogue-

  -Acknowledgements-

  Other Books by Janine Infante Bosco

  About the Author

  -Foreword-

  It’s been a while since I’ve written a foreword or what I used to call a Dear Reader for a book. I think after a while, I just felt like I was repeating myself and those who were familiar with the Knights already knew what to expect. They knew things were about to get buck wild. The fucks were going to fly, and the grammar wasn’t going to be on point because the men in leather are rough around the edges, they’re not scholars.

  So why, Walking the Line? Well, this book is not like any other book I’ve written, and while it is part of a trilogy, and an extended series, it also stands in a class of its own. It’s not just about romance, it’s a true testament of brotherhood.

  I knew this story was going to break me, and maybe that’s why I saved it for last. You see, when I was twenty-three, I met a little boy at a bowling alley. His name was Frankie, and I had no idea how much that boy would touch my heart. I didn’t know I could love another woman’s child or that I could see him as so much more than just my husband’s son. That I could love him just as profoundly as I love the two children, I would later give birth to.

  But life tries you and teaches you that you are so much more capable than you give yourself credit for. That our hearts are so much bigger than we think. That they have so much love to give.

  As many of you know, my marriage didn’t work out. Paul and I made a lot of wrongs. But we made one right, and it was the greatest one of all because we gave the gift of brotherhood to our three boys and that’s a gift money can never buy.

  I always swore I’d never write a book where the hero shared the same name as one of my children, but I crossed the line and wrote this book, knowing very well I’d be challenging myself as a mother.

  This book is a true love story. There is no fluff. There’s hardly any sex. It speaks of something greater. There’s a message to be found between these pages and I hope it reaches you.

  So, here’s to brotherhood.

  Here’s to family—both the kind you’re born into and the kind you create yourself.

  We started this journey with the Parrish family, and we end it with the Scotto family. We leave here both Property of Parrish and Property of Bosco.

  See you on the other side,

  Janine

  For Frankie, Joseph & Paulie

  If dad and I did anything right in this world, it was the three of you.

  May you always stay as close as you are.

  Love one another, boys.

  We sure love the three of you.

  ©Copyright All Rights Reserved 2020

  Walking the Line

  (Satan’s Knights Prospect Trilogy, Book Three)

  By

  Janine Infante Bosco

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Published by Janine Infante Bosco

  Edited/formatted by: Jennifer Bosco

  Cover Design by: JB’s Book Cover Obsession Design

  Cover Model: Justin Michaels

  Photographer: R + M Photography

  Edited/Proofread by: Back2TheWall Editing

  -Prologue-

  Nico

  “She’s your brother’s wife.”

  Prior to sneering those words, Riggs slapped me across my cheek. The sting seared my skin just as his words sent a spear through my heart. He had it all wrong. Blackie was no brother of mine. Sure, Lacey might be his wife, but long ago, on an ice cream truck parked in front of the original clubhouse of the Satan’s Knights, she promised to be my forever.

  She doesn’t remember that day, but I never forgot about it.

  We were just two kids raiding the frozen treats, pretending to be normal, ignoring the fact that our fathers were ruthless criminals and we were confined to a compound because a rival club threatened to kill us all. There was a spot of chocolate on her lip and for the first time in my life, I had the urge to kiss a girl and not just any girl, the fucking princess of the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club. As young as I was, I knew Lacey Parrish was completely off limits and if I ever wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a patched member of his club, I needed to push Lacey far out of my head.

  So, that’s what I did.

  I pushed her smile and those beautiful brown eyes out of my head. I ignored my racing heart every time she entered a room and the way my hands always seemed to get clammy whenever she was around. The older we got, the more distance I put between us.

  And for what?

  For fucking nothing that’s what.

  The princess still fell for a pauper and her dad didn’t seem to mind all that much. Good ol’ Jack Parrish gave Blackie his fucking blessing. He didn’t even blink an eye that the man itching to get in his little girl’s pants was thirteen years older than her or that he had a fucking drug problem. No one sent Riggs or any other member for that matter, to slap sense into Blackie and no one ordered him away from Lacey. The sanction of brotherhood and all the rules that went with the patch didn’t apply to Jack’s former right hand. The motherfucker didn’t walk the line, he shit all over it and he came out the winner.

  I followed the rules and respected the boundaries put in place by Jack and my father, and I got nothing. I got a fucking barren kutte with a prospect patch and I had to catch a motherfucking bullet to get that much. If that ain’t a kick in the ass, I don’t know what it is.

  So, fuck the rules.

  Fuck brotherhood.

  It’s all a bunch of bullshit.

  Gripping the wire fence, I throw my leg over it. My boots weigh on the tiny slab of concrete as I carefully balance myself on the edge of the overpass. I reach inside my kutte, pulling out a flask and unscrew the cap. Bringing it to my lips, I toss the cap into the air watching as it spirals in the wind before getting lost in the traffic below me. The cars speed on the highway like little flashes of light and the more I stare, the blurrier everything seems to become.

  I don’t want to die.

  But I don’t want to live like this anymore either.

  Today broke me. I couldn’t fake a smile or crack a joke if my life depended on it. I blamed my foul mood on my little brother’s unfortunate situation, but it had nothing to do with Frankie getting his teenage g
irlfriend pregnant. Sure, I felt for my brother—I mean, he legitimately has no luck whatsoever. The poor kid finally gets laid for the first time and not only does the condom break, but he knocks up his goody two-shoes girlfriend in the process. To make matters worse, her father is the district attorney, the same motherfucker who has been trying to lock up our father and the rest of the Satan’s Knights for a while now. Something I found out this morning when Frankie asked me for money. Apparently, they’re keeping the kid and hiding it from her father. I don’t know how a sixteen-year-old girl is going to hide her pregnancy, but I suppose they’re off to a good start since I just forked over five hundred dollars so she could see a doctor.

  I probably should’ve advised him to tell our father, especially with Frankie being eighteen, but I handed him the money in a hurry because Lacey was waiting for me.

  That’s where the breaking part comes into play.

  She looked gorgeous.

  Her long brown hair flowed in waves around her pretty face, accentuating every perfect feature from her naturally long lashes to her full lips.

  Then there was the dress.

  That fucking dress ruined me.

  It was cut low to show off her cleavage, hugged every sexy curve and molded to her swollen belly like a second skin. Lacey was always a ten, but pregnancy put her beauty in a different category, it couldn’t be measured or rated.

  It was that intense.

  That fucking over the top.

  It was painful to look at her because all that beauty was for another man. I didn’t realize my mistake until she got in my car and I started driving to the rehab facility. I was in love with a married woman.

  To really twist the knife, I drove said married woman to visit her husband in rehab. I sat outside while they reunited and when she came out with those waves all messed from his hands and her lipstick smeared, I pretended I was happy for her.

  Like I wasn’t fucking dying inside.

  I dropped her off and hightailed it to Big Nose Kate’s—not to work, though. Fuck that shit. Somewhere in that joint, there was a bottle of whiskey with my name on it, waiting to erase every ounce of pain my broken heart experienced. I was three shots in when Riggs appeared. Apparently, I didn’t do as good of a job as I thought I had in hiding my feelings for Blackie’s wife, because my stepbrother in law or whatever the fuck he is to me, decided to call me out on it.

  He got one good shot to the face before I filled my flask and took to the wind. How I wound up here, I’m not so sure.

  My eyes drift to the headlights whizzing by below.

  I don’t want to die.

  I just don’t want to hurt anymore.

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter hoarsely. “What the fuck am I doing?”

  Pushing my fingers through my hair, I take a step away from the edge. I toss the flask as far as I can and grip the wire fence with both hands.

  A car door slams in the distance, startling me and I nearly slip. My fingers instinctively tighten around the wire fence like a vice and suddenly I’m all too aware that I’m two steps away from jumping off an overpass into oncoming traffic.

  Swallowing hard, I push down the panic and turn around. I go to hitch one leg over the fence when I spot a girl. Freezing with my leg in the air like some sort of circus act, I watch as her head lurches over the fence and she vomits.

  What the actual fuck?

  Dropping my leg, I continue to grip the fence and stare at her as she throws up her breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  The drivers zooming down the highway below us better pray they have washer fluid.

  She finally stops throwing up and lifts her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She turns slightly, and her eyes connect with mine. That’s when I notice the tears streaming down her face. It’s also about the time she realizes I’m standing on edge of a fucking overpass.

  Those sad eyes go wide with fear.

  She takes a tentative step in my direction and I quickly try to pull myself together. Tearing my gaze away from her, I hoist myself over the fence and brush my hands over my kutte, trying my best to act as if I wasn’t just contemplating jumping.

  “Were you just…” her words fade, and I lift my head in time to watch her hurry towards the fence again.

  It’s like watching a fucking exorcism or some shit and for some fucked up reason, I can’t bring myself to look away. A smart man would turn the fuck around and walk towards his bike. He’d get the fuck out of dodge before she stops regurgitating and starts asking questions.

  I’m clearly not the sharpest tack in the shed because I stay rooted in place.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I call.

  More barfing.

  Christ.

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, my eyes dart towards the running car on the side of the curb and back to its owner. With a whimper, she moves away from the fence and drops to the ground in a heap.

  Leave, Nico.

  Turn the fuck around, get on your bike and go.

  Just go.

  “Are you drunk?” I grind out.

  My fists clench at my sides as soon as the words leave my lips.

  Traitor.

  The girl shakes her head.

  “Nope,” she replies, drawing her knees to her chest. She wraps her arms around them and lifts her chin, her green eyes find mine. “Just pregnant.”

  If there was ever a question of whether the Devil exists or not, there isn’t anymore. He’s real and he’s currently fucking with me.

  “Of course you are,” I mutter, combing my fingers roughly through my hair. “It’s like I got a fucking magnet for knocked up broads. They all somehow gravitate to me.”

  She quicks an eyebrow at me.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I hiss, waving her off with my hand. I don’t know if it’s instinct or stupidity, but I turn and head for my bike. Not to leave, though—that would be the right thing to do and we’ve already established I’m fucking dumber than a bag of rocks and not a fan of doing what’s right.

  Reaching into my saddlebags, I pull out a bottle of water and make my way back to preggo. Her head is down when I return and all that light brown hair of hers hangs in her face. Muttering a curse, I crouch down before her and shove the bottle of water towards her.

  “Here, drink this,” I grunt.

  Lifting her chin slowly, she brushes her hair away from her eyes and takes the water. Twisting the cap off roughly, she angles her head back and chugs it as if her life depends on it. The more I sit here, the more I question my sanity. I’m beginning to wonder if I have some kind of underlying mental issue when it comes to pregnant chicks. Is this a sign of mommy issues? My mom was no Carol Brady, but she was still a good mom, on a scale from one to ten, I’d give her a solid eight.

  Preggo drags the bottle away from her lips and brings her eyes to mine. Those eyes are wild, man. It’s like someone bottled every shade of green and all the earth’s gold and blended them together.

  “You’re staring at me like I’m the one who was just standing on the edge of an overpass,” she says, and I quickly pull myself out of the green and gold abyss. “Were you going to jump?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I glare at her.

  “I wasn’t going to jump.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she replies, setting the bottle of water on the floor between us. “You know there are helplines for that kind of stuff. Things are never as bad as we think they are, there is always someone, somewhere, who is worse off.”

  That’s deep for a girl who appears to be so young.

  “How would you know?” I question, raising an eyebrow. “What could you possibly know about life, you look like you’re twelve.”

  “Actually,” she begins, pausing to roll up her sleeve. Eyeing the watch on her wrist, she smiles faintly. “As of five minutes ago, I’m seventeen.”

  A fucking teenager.

  Thanks, Lucifer, you’re on a fucking roll down there tonight.

  “Teen pregnancy is
quite the epidemic these days,” I mumble under my breath.

  If she hears me, she doesn’t respond. An awkward silence settles between us, the sound of the cars traveling down the highway the only noise. I glance over my shoulder at the fence and the girl’s words ring in my ears. Suddenly, I’m hit by the severity of what I was about to do. My throat tightens and my chest constricts.

  This strange girl with the hypnotic eyes is right.

  Nothing is ever that bad.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  The question sounds like a plea and I look at her, lifting an eyebrow expectantly.

  “There’s a package of crackers on my passenger seat, can you grab them for me? I’m afraid if I get up, I’ll throw up again.”

  With a jerk of my head, I get to my feet. The voice that was pestering me to leave is nowhere to be found as I make my way to her car and I’m not sure what that means. I grab the crackers and reach over the console, turning the car off. I leave the keys in the cupholder between the seats, and head back to the green-eyed teen, shoving the package of crackers into her open palm before taking a seat next to her.

  I’m fully aware there is no logical explanation as to why I’m making myself comfortable beside her. Maybe I’m just not ready to go home. Maybe I’m afraid to be alone with my thoughts. Whatever it is, I don’t want to leave.

  Not yet.

  I turn my head, watching as she nibbles on a cracker. My gaze wanders to her belly and for a split-second, I feel a frown tick the corners of my lips. It’s almost as if I was expecting to see Lacey’s belly and not the flat one that’s there.

  Issues, man.

  I got the whole subscription.

  “What are you in your first trimester?”

  Her eyes snap to mine.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Magnet for pregnant chicks, remember?”

  She doesn’t respond. Maybe it’s not as funny as I think it sounds. Maybe it makes me pathetic. I shake the notion from my head and tip my chin towards her car.

  “You left your car running. I turned it off.”

  She waves a hand and shoves the rest of the cracker into her mouth.