Shifting Gears (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 1)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “What’s the matter, Moses? You’re looking a little green,” Riggs observes, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and one out the window of the SUV. Both hands have yet to be on the steering wheel at the same time and I wonder if he rides his Harley one-handed too. Shrugging, I chalk up his driving style to being a New York thing and push the thought out of my head. A horn blares behind us and before I can look over my shoulder, I watch Riggs flip his signature shades on top of his head. He pokes his head out the window in a flash, and my fingers itch to grab the steering wheel as he hollers for the offensive horn-blower to shove said horn up his mother’s ass. That’s a direct quote by the way and another sign I’m far from home.

  “Fucking truck drivers,” he growls, drawing his attention back to the road in front of him. Flipping the sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose, he draws in a deep breath. “Namaste, fucking namaste.”

  For a moment my troubles fade as he turns the radio up and flips to the AUX channel. Tranquil music fills the cab and my eyebrows jut in response as I suppress a chuckle.

  Was he this fucking crazy the last time I saw him?

  I suppose I was too preoccupied between guarding the fucking Charon books and taming my excessive hard on for Lydia to notice my newfound buddy was batshit crazy and in tune with his spirituality.

  “Wooosa,” he half chants, half cheers while pumping his fist in the air. Intrigued by his sudden outburst, I watch him take another calming breath before turning to me.

  “I told you we should’ve stopped in Brooklyn first,” he says, reminding me of the sixty-seven restaurants he offered to take me to. According to Riggs, I won’t get the true New York experience without sampling all his favorite foods. I’m not against it, but it’s barely noon. I want a cup of coffee, not one of those little fried pancakes with Coolwhip he keeps raving about. “At least I would’ve been dealing with this traffic on a full belly,” he argues.

  “So, what you’re saying is the reason you told that truck driver to shove his horn up his mother’s ass is that you’re hungry?”

  “No, I told him to shove his horn up his mother’s ass because cunt seemed too harsh and I’m not hungry. I’m fucking hangry.”

  His hand leaves the steering wheel again as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. The guy has his spiritual healing tunes ready to go but he doesn’t have the Bluetooth set on his phone. Priorities, I suppose. Lifting the phone to his ear, he performs another trick and begins to steer the SUV with his knees. I make a mental note to download the Uber app when we get to Kate’s. Correction. If we get to Kate’s. It’ll be a miracle if we survive this car ride and until I figure out what I’m doing about a pair of wheels, I’m not riding with this guy ever again.

  “Hey, Mama Leone, it’s your favorite non-son-in-law,” he greets, a sly grin creeping across his lips. “I’m about to merge onto the West Shore Expressway. If this asshole in front of me decides to drive, I should be at Kate’s in ten minutes. Tell me there’s food…yeah, I got him,” he says, turning to look at me. Dragging the phone away from his ear, he curls his lip. “She wants to know if you like meatballs?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I hiss as I check to make sure my seatbelt is secure. Call me a pussy, but I ain’t going out in a car wreck. Fuck that shit. If that’s how this shit ends, it’s going be two wheels, not four.

  “Listen, man, I know you’re like a fish out of water and all that jazz but the number one rule of survival here is never deny Maria Bianci a chance to feed you,” he says, peering at me over the frames of his sunglasses.

  I temporarily forgot Maria was also Wolf’s main squeeze. I wouldn’t dare insult the president’s, old lady. Not when I’m banking on him giving me a place to crash for the next couple of weeks and especially not after hearing how handsy she is with a frying pan. According to the reckless driver sitting beside me, Maria Bianci is lethal with pots and pans and swings better than any major league baseball player.

  “Meatballs sound great,” I croak. The serious expression on his face morphs into a teasing grin and the son of a bitch gives my shoulder a squeeze before finally looking at the road ahead of him.

  “Thatta boy, Moses,” he praises. Luckily the driver of the Saturn in front of us decides to pick up speed as we merge onto yet another highway as he finalizes his menu with his non-mother-in-law.

  Less than ten minutes pass before Riggs pulls into the tiny gravel lot next to Big Nose Kate’s. Another wave of anxiety washes over me as I climb out of the SUV and peer up at the saloon type bar. Lydia’s face and the memory of our night together flashes before me. All the ways she cried my name and demanded more of my hands, tongue, and cock. If I close my eyes, I bet I can still feel the prick of her nails against my back as I drilled into her over and over, ripping one orgasm after another from her body.

  But as sweet as all that is, the one thing that hasn’t left my mind since I tore myself away from her is the haunted look that never left her eyes. It was so easy to get lost in those irises of hers. In the pain hidden in the depths of them. Even when she was coming apart beneath me there was still this guarded expression that masked her pretty features. I tried not to dwell on it just as I tried not to think about her once I got back home, but all bets were off when she sent me a text after Riggs filled her in on my ma’s passing. She offered her condolences and told me she wished we lived closer to one another so she could hug me. That was the push I needed to book my ticket here. I don’t know if that makes me pathetic, pussy whipped or just a damn fool. Seeing as I’m wondering if I can cash in on that hug, I’m going to go with all the above.

  But first…meatballs. That’s a little hamburger rolled into a ball, right?

  “I’m starting to rethink this nickname of yours,” Riggs grunts as he starts for the steps leading to the bar. “Moses parted the sea. I can’t even get you to put one foot in front of the other.”

  Snapping out of my trance, I hike my duffel bag over my shoulder and lower the brim of my baseball cap with my free hand. There’s no going back now and as I repeat those five words in my head, I follow Riggs up the steps.

  “Thank fuck,” he mutters as he pulls open the door. “Another minute and I would’ve left your ass outside.”

  Ignoring the empty threat, I enter Big Nose Kate’s and instantly my eyes dart towards the bar. The girl I was hoping would greet me is nowhere to be found and judging by the smirk on Riggs’ face, my disappoint shows.

  “Looking for something?” he quips. Pushing his glasses onto the top of his head, he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Or rather someone?”

  Rolling my eyes, I drop my bag on one of the empty tables and shoot him a glare.

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  He laughs before tipping his chin towards the back of the bar.

  “Go on, Wolf should be back there waiting for you,” he says as he starts for the kitchen. My gaze falls from the reaper sewn to the back of his kutte and I stare down the narrow hallway that leads to the Satan’s Knights chapel. “Oh,” Riggs calls, pausing before he enters the kitchen to look over his shoulder at me. “If Lydia shows up should I tell her to meet you upstairs or do you want to go at it out here on the floor again? It’s business hours so you might want to be discrete.”

  Before I can respond, he laughs and disappears into the kitchen. Releasing a groan, I shake my head and start for the chapel.

  Banging Lydia on the floor behind the bar was not the best idea and neither was coming here.

  Still, I don’t regret the first.

  Only time will tell if I regret the second.

  Lifting my knuckles to the grain of the wooden door, I knock. Once…twice…then a heavy Brooklyn accent sounds from the other side.

  “Come in.”

  Whether its an order or an invitation, I’m not sure. You see the thing is, I have no idea what to expect when it comes to the president of the Satan’s Knights. People say Wolf has a kind soul, that he’s wise beyond his years and he’ll give you the shirt
off his back. In fact, I even heard a story on how he mortgaged his house to pay off one of the Knight’s medical bills. But in the next breath, those same people say he’s a ruthless motherfucker who will slice your neck if you wrong anyone in his circle.

  The last time I was here, most of my interactions were with Parrish, the former president of the club. The transfer of power was still fresh, and I got the feeling Parrish was still the one calling the shots even with Wolf holding the gavel. Now, from what Riggs has told me, Parrish is more on the sidelines, taking care of his family and Wolf is finding his groove as the man in charge. He’s embracing the power and looking to lead the Knights in a new direction.

  Pushing open the door, I enter the chapel. It’s nothing like I’m used to but then again, I’m learning everything here is different. At first glance, one might think this place is nothing more than a room the bar uses for private parties and maybe back in the day, that’s what the previous owners used it for. But one look at the reaper draped across the back wall and it’s easy to tell this is the holy land of the Satan’s Knights. However, there is no grand table centered in the room for the members of the club to congregate around. Instead, there are a bunch of the small restaurant tables pushed together and Wolf is seated at the end with the meat mallet in front of him and a lollipop in his mouth.

  Yeah, definitely not what I’m used to.

  Pulling the sucker from his lips, he uses it to point towards the door behind me.

  “Close the door, drop your phone in the basket next to it and take a seat.”

  I hesitate for a second before kicking the door shut. Retrieving my phone from my baron kutte, I do as I’m told and deposit the device into the basket next to the door. The room suddenly seems too small and I feel naked without the black and white Charon insignia sewn to my leathers. Cutting the patches from my vest before leaving for the airport was probably another hasty decision on my part.

  Apparently, it’s becoming my thing.

  “Despite my name, I don’t bite, kid,” Wolf bemuses.

  At his words, my gaze flits back to him and I nod, wiping my sweaty hands on my denim-clad thighs. Drawing in a deep breath, I cross the room and again, I hesitate. For all I know these guys have assigned seats. The last thing I want to do is fuck up by dropping my ass in an officer’s spot. Finally, I rationalize none of the others are present and it don’t really matter where the fuck I sit.

  “Sorry to hear about your mother,” Wolf begins once my ass is parked. “When I spoke with Scout earlier, he mentioned that she had been struggling for some time.”

  Not trusting my voice, I nod. The wounds from her passing still too fresh.

  Too raw.

  I don’t know if he senses my grief, but he leans his elbows on the table and his light eyes go soft as he fixes them on me.

  “She’s at peace, son,” he says. “I know that don’t make whatever you’re dealing with any easier, but she’s free and you gotta keep telling yourself that because it’s far too easy to drown in grief.”

  They were right.

  Wolf is wise.

  He’s also a perceptive man and the more he looks at me the more transparent I become.

  “Thank you, sir,” I reply, clearing my throat. “And thank you for opening your door to me. I appreciate it.”

  He leans back and crosses his arms against his chest.

  “I’m not that much of a noble guy, Bash,” he admits. “When I see an opportunity, I chase it. The circumstances that brought you here are unfortunate, but I like to think we both can benefit from your situation.”

  “You have my attention.”

  His lips quirk faintly, and he shakes his head.

  “Gonna need more than that,” he says. “I’m going, to be honest with you, I don’t know much about the Charon club. When Parrish first mentioned Scout, I had no fucking idea who he was talking about. The next thing I know a bunch of his men are crashing in Jack’s living room and we’re at war with the fucking cartel. We all worked well together under the circumstances, but you need to know things have changed since then. I don’t lead like Parrish, nor do I lead like Scout. That don’t mean I’m better than them. It just means we’re different. We have different expectations and when I say I need more than your attention, I mean I need your blood, sweat, and tears.”

  There is no mistaking the intensity in his eyes and it matches his tone of voice.

  “Nearly thirty years ago I made a choice,” he continues. “I bleed for the reaper on my back and there have been plenty of times where I’ve bled for my brothers too. I’ve loved and lost, struggled and knocked on death’s door and if I had to do it all over again, I would. Now, I get you’re at the crossroads of your life and maybe shifting gears is the answer, but this isn’t the Hilton and ain’t no one here going to leave a mint on your pillow. If you’re looking for a vacation, I hear the Bahamas is a nice place to visit.”

  “I’m—”

  “You’ve been a prospect for two years,” he interrupts. “Any particular reason?”

  My mouth snaps shut. I’ve asked myself the same question a lot over the last two years. I guess there was always one thing after the next standing in the way of me and my patch. Still, it stings, and I’d be lying if I said I‘m not a lil’ bitter over it.

  “Before I left there was talk of me getting my bottom rocker,” I defend.

  “And yet here you are,” he says thoughtfully. “Look, when Riggs brought up the idea of you coming here, we took a vote and unanimously decided you could prospect here as long as he vouched for you but if this is a temporary fix to heal whatever is broken back home, it ain’t going to work. I’m down two men with Parrish in retirement and Blackie in rehab. On top of that, I got Needles headed to Texas. This shit with the cartel isn’t over and with the transfer of power, I’m sure there will be many more spineless pricks who think we’re weak and want a piece of us. I need manpower and while I got my son, Nico, prospecting too, that kid’s head is so far up his ass I don’t even remember what his mug looks like. If you put that prospect patch on, it’s not going to stay on for long.”

  They forgot to mention Wolf is also a straight shooter. There is no beating around the bush where he is concerned and not too long ago, I yearned for Scout to make me the same offer, for him to welcome me into the club as a full-fledged member and not just a glorified gopher. A man as honest as Wolf deserves the same respect and as much as I want to tell him I’m his guy, I can’t.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I just buried my mother a couple of days ago. I didn’t even pack up her house yet. When I made the decision to come here…” My voice trails as I try to find the words and I watch him grind what’s left of the lollipop with his molars. He spits the stick out onto the table and crosses his arms against his chest.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know how permanent this arrangement can be,” I admit.

  “You got a wife back in Texas?”

  “No,” I reply.

  “Smart man. I got three ex-wives myself and they’re nothing but a headache,” he grunts. “A fucking expensive headache. Any kids floating around?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then I hate to break it to you but you ain’t got shit holding you back there.”

  I could argue that I have my club, but what’s the point. The only thing truly holding me in Texas is gone.

  “I heard about your tryst with Lydia,” he adds nonchalantly.

  My eyes snap to his and I watch him arch an eyebrow as he unwraps another lollipop and gages my reaction.

  “Don’t tell me you traveled all this way for some pussy.”

  “What? No…I…” I stammer like a fool.

  I mean I’m fucked but I’m not that fucked. Right?

  Just as I grab my balls and prepare to lay my cards on the table for Wolf, the door swings open interrupting my train of thought. Wolf’s gaze shifts toward the intruder and it’s like a switch is instantly flicked the moment his eyes l
and on Maria. A second ago he was tossing suckers, ready to rip my head off but all that is forgotten and he’s all smiles.

  “I’m interrupting, I know,” she says as she sashays her hips and walks around the table. Setting a huge platter of spaghetti and meatballs on the table, she wraps her arms around Wolf’s neck. Silently, he tips his head back and welcomes her lips.

  “We can fight about it later, but I wanted our guest to eat while everything was hot,” she adds before placing another quick peck on his lips. Turning her attention to me, she smiles warmly. “It’s nice to see you again, Bash. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Lady, we’re in the middle of—”

  Before he can revoke my man card by sharing his theory about me and Lydia with Maria, she covers his mouth with her hand and winks at me.

  “Lydia! Be a dear and bring us some plates,” she shouts. “Oh, and some silverware too,” she adds before turning to me. “Did you meet Lydia the last time you were here? Nice girl. Hard worker. She clashes with Nico a lot but that’s to be expected considering he never shows when he’s supposed to. You know, Al, we’re really going to have to talk to him about that.”

  “Yeah,” Wolf mutters, pulling her hand away from his mouth. “I’ll talk to him and to answer your question, Bash is familiar with Lydia, isn’t that right, son?” he questions with a smirk.

  Wolf is everything everyone says he is.

  He’s kind…to a degree.

  And yeah, he’s wise.

  A wise ass.

  “Here are the plates and…”

  At the sound of Lydia’s voice, I turn my head.

  “Bash?” she shrieks.

  Our eyes instantly lock and for the first time since my boots touched New York’s soil, the tension fades from my body. The anxiety and all the questions running through my head vanish. I may not know what the fuck I’m doing here but one thing I know for certain…the view is pretty fucking amazing.

  It's also hauntingly beautiful.

  -Two-

  Lydia