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

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Reaching for the phone, I realize it’s not a hoax. The fucking island is sinking. It’s another fine ‘welcome to New York’ moment to add to the growing list. I sit up, toss my legs over the side and quickly dismiss the alert. The quick movement doesn’t bode well for my hangover and my head instantly begins to pound. Rubbing my temples, I pull myself together and rise from the bed.

  Bits and pieces from last night flash before my eyes as I make my way out of the bedroom and I think about Lydia. Surprise, surprise. The girl hasn’t been far from my thoughts since I first laid eyes on her and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. But based on her attitude and the rejection she tossed my way I’m starting to think it’s time to cut my losses when it comes to the fiery bartender. The truth is, that’s probably the best move for both of us. Wolf has made it clear that while I’m here, my focus needs to be solely on the club and my new brothers. If I want to make a life for myself in New York, I can’t be distracted by chasing Lydia. I gotta file the memory of her and our night together in the vault inside my head.

  So what if she’s fine as hell and I’m sort of infatuated with that beauty mark above her lip, Lydia’s a dime a dozen. At least that’s what I’m going to start telling myself every time I think of her green eyes and smart mouth. I’m also going to forget that haunted expression I found hidden in the depths of those eyes and the hesitation I heard in her voice when she left.

  With that decided, I head for the kitchen. The apartment is smaller than I remember but neat. It makes me wonder if the Charons and I were the last to land here. It’s not like any of the ranking officers keep rooms. They’re all settled down and don’t keep a supply of whores on the ready. Hell, they don’t even have clubhouse parties on the regular. The Knights do Sunday dinners and barbeques and from what I heard last night, they’re big on kiddie parties too. They were all jabbing Wolf for hiring a clown for Linc’s welcome home party. Clowns really aren’t my thing but to each his own.

  Spotting the coffee pot on the counter, I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s a silver lining to every disaster and I just found mine. Now to locate the coffee. It shouldn’t be too hard, it’s a tiny kitchen. However, after opening all the cabinets and finding them bare, I realize I spoke too soon. There is no silver lining.

  I spot my duffel bag on the couch and wonder who brought it up here before I grab it and head to the bathroom. A quick shower revives me somewhat and I decide to brave the bar in search of coffee, Tylenol and some grub. I make it downstairs to the main room and just as I’m about to turn and head for the kitchen I see Lydia creeping towards the door with a backpack slung over her shoulder like a bandit in the night.

  Intrigued, I lean against the wall and watch as she keeps her back towards me and continues to tiptoe across the room. Knowing I’m going against my decision to cut my losses where she’s concerned, I clear my throat, making my presence known just as her hand closes around the doorknob.

  “Mornin’,” I call to her.

  At the sound of my voice, she freezes in her tracks. I wait for her to have one of her verbal outbursts where she thinks out loud, but it doesn’t happen. In fact, she gives me nothing and that bothers me. I push off the wall and start for her just as she turns around. Her eyes meet mine as her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag,

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping it off?” she questions, tearing her gaze away from me.

  Lifting a hand, she nervously combs her fingers through her wet hair, and I take the opportunity to appreciate her appearance. This flash flood thing isn’t so bad if it means I get to reap the benefits of Lydia getting caught in the rain.

  “Tell that to the alert I got on my phone,” I reply, cocking my head to the side as I continue to study her. My eyes drift to that beauty mark and I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch it.

  “Yeah, well, it’s bad out there so before it gets any worse, I should be going,” she rambles, hiking the bag over her shoulder again.

  She moves to turn around but stops when I step closer.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, pausing to figure my next move. My brain is telling me to let her go but every other part of my body is struggling to find a reason to make her stay. “I…may have said some stuff—”

  “Don’t worry,” she interrupts. “I only understand every other word you say anyway so, it’s all good. Besides, you were drunk. If I paid attention to everything people said when they were intoxicated, I’d be married to half the patrons in this place and the proud owner of a condo in Santa Monica.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms against my chest.

  “I take to mean you get a lot of marriage proposals?”

  Meeting my gaze, she shrugs her shoulders.

  “Occupational hazard.”

  I nod curtly and drop my hands to my sides. Drawing in a deep breath, I meet her gaze.

  “So, when are we getting hitched? If you want to do it today, I’m going to need a cup of coffee and a case of Advil first.”

  “Wait…what?”

  The armor she has built around her suddenly fades and a smile teases my lips.

  “Well, if I asked you to marry me—”

  “You didn’t…I…”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” I say, cutting her off. “My mother taught me better than to ask without a ring.”

  It was meant to come out as a joke, but as soon as the words leave my lips my mother’s face flashes before me and the humor dies. I think about the last time we spoke and how she told me she wanted me to live. To find someone to love and make a life for myself. Even with her being as sick as she was, I never imagined she wouldn’t be along for the ride. As foolish as it sounds, I never allowed myself to think of life without her and instead of preparing for her death, I held onto faith with both fists. Maybe that’s why I’m making all these rash decisions.

  “Earth to Bash…”

  Shaking the image of my mother from my head, I stare back at Lydia.

  “You didn’t propose. No need to freak out.”

  I shake my head, swallowing.

  “I wasn’t…I was…well, I was thinking about my ma,” I admit, rubbing a hand over my face. Reaching around, I cup the back of my neck and look away from her. Nothing kills a man’s game more than talking about his mother. Good job, Bash.

  “Bash…” Lydia calls softly as she drops the bag to the floor. “Hey, look at me.”

  My eyes slice to hers and the fieriness that always radiates from her melts away, introducing me to a softer side. A side I wasn’t sure she possessed. A side I wouldn’t mind more of.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers before reaching out to touch my bicep. She gives it a small squeeze and my hand involuntarily moves to cover hers. I feel her hand tense immediately at the touch and watch her guard fly up. It’s easy to sense she’s ready to bolt, for what reason, I’m not sure. All I know is I don’t want her to.

  That, and that I’m fucked when it comes to this woman.

  So fucking fucked they need a new word for how fucked I am.

  “How sorry are you?” I ask quickly.

  Those green eyes narrow and she moves to tug her hand free. My grip tightens and I flash her a smile.

  “Relax, darlin’ my mother raised a gentleman,” I say. “I’m not propositioning you…well, not for sex anyway. I need coffee. There’s nothing upstairs but a box of baking soda and I’m too hungover to tackle that beast,” I add, tipping my chin to the espresso machine behind the bar.

  “It’s not that difficult,” she argues. “If Nico can figure it out, I’m sure you can too.” In one quick tug, she manages to free her hand from my arm and bends to retrieve the bag. Hiking it over her shoulder, she juts a thumb towards the front door. “If all else fails there’s a gas station a couple of blocks up.”

  I poke a finger against my chest.

  “Not from around here, remember? I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll quit busting your chops if you take me to the store.”

  Sighing,
she places both hands on her hips and draws her lip between her teeth, contemplating the wager.

  “So, if I give you a ride to the gas station, you’ll stop flirting with me.”

  “I’m not really flirting with you.”

  “Oh, no? What do you call it then?”

  “I’m just being friendly.”

  “Right, so you weren’t staring at my boobs when I first turned around then?”

  “Oh, I one hundred percent was staring. You’re wearing a wet t-shirt, Lydia. In fact, I’m trying not to stare right now. So what do you say? Be my tour guide. I promise I won’t bite…well, unless you ask me to, and I’ll expect you to follow it up with a please too. You know…for extra emphasis.”

  “You’re a comedian.”

  “Nope, I’m really not funny at all, but you seem to have a different effect on me.”

  “Oh?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “Yeah, when I’m around you I forget I’m fucked up, that I just lost the only relative I had in this world and moved across the country on a whim. With you, I’m just Jake Alfonsi, and I like that. I like not having to figure out my next move or worrying if the one I made last was wrong.”

  Another man might’ve shoved his foot in his mouth after admitting that, but as I watch Lydia’s features go soft again, I realize I mean every word. I don’t have to question myself around her. She takes me at face value, even when she struggles to act as if I’m nothing but a thorn in her side.

  “Jake Alfonsi?”

  I wink at her.

  “You didn’t think my mother named me after one of Snow White’s dwarf’s, did you?”

  Her lips curve but she stops herself from giving me her full smile. Instead, she rolls her eyes dramatically.

  “Fine,” she huffs. “But if you’re longer than five minutes, I’m leaving you there. It’s not that far of a walk.”

  “Great,” I reply with a grin. “Let me just run upstairs and get my kutte and my keys.”

  With a quick turn on my heel, I jog towards the back of the bar. There’s no way I’m giving her a chance to change her mind. Especially when I think she just might just be the silver lining.

  -Seven-

  Lydia

  Grab the bag and get the hell out of Kate’s before anyone saw me or tried to rope me into working on my day off. That was the fucking plan but somehow it went down the shitter and now, instead of enjoying my day off, I’m stuck being Bash’s chauffer. It’s not a horrible job, just not one I signed up for.

  “Stupid,” I mutter, slamming my backpack on top of the bar. Roughly, I unzip the bag and grab the hooded sweatshirt I keep safely tucked inside.

  You ever have one of those days when you wish you never left your bed because the universe is set on destroying you? That’s the kind of day today is. After getting zero sleep last night I hurried out of my apartment as soon as it seemed like a reasonable hour to leave the house. Stupid me, didn’t bother to check the weather and so I got stuck in a torrential downpour.

  Apparently when your phone is dead, you don’t get those flash flood alerts.

  The rain didn’t let up and by the time I pulled up to Kate’s the skies decided to open some more. Resembling a wet rat, I let myself into the bar. Determined to stick to the plan, I quickly grabbed the bag. Only I didn’t make it out the door without Bash seeing me. The sneaky fucker didn’t make a sound until I reached the door and when I turned around I was too occupied staring at him to give a damn over the wet t-shirt clinging to my breasts or the fact I forgot to put a bra on before leaving the house.

  Chaz would be so proud.

  Bash noticed my flashing headlights and in between staring at them and complaining over his lack of coffee, he somehow connived me into driving him to the gas station.

  Me and my big mouth.

  “That’s harsh,” Bash says from behind me. “I’d say it’s accommodating.”

  Since Bash’s return I’ve learned two things. One, I need to see a doctor about this talking out loud thing I can’t seem to shake and two, Bash is a master at sexual innuendo. I guess we all have some hidden talent.

  Not bothering with a reply, I pull the sweatshirt over my head and tug at the drawstrings of the hood. Goodbye wet rodent, hello hoodlum. I grab the bag from the bar and quickly zip it up before slinging it over my shoulder. Bash makes his way in front of me and his eyes rake over me, taking in my get up.

  “Are we knocking off the gas station?”

  “Funny,” I mutter. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you weren’t a fan of mine.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Riggs,” I say, leading him out of the bar.

  “Well, that’s only because a certain bartender keeps making excuses not to spend any time with me.”

  “First of all, you’ve been here like twenty-four hours…”

  “It’s okay,” he says as we brave the rain and race down the stairs. “I’ll wear you down.”

  Reaching my shit box of a car, I ignore his comment and start for the driver’s side. Bash follows me, pausing at the door.

  “Give me the keys,” he says, displaying his open palm.

  At first, I assume this is some southern act of chivalry, that he’s going to open the door for me, but he quickly tips his chin towards the passenger side, silently ordering me to go around the car.

  “I’m not giving you my keys,” I protest.

  “I promise not to crash,” he replies, eyeing my side view mirror that’s being held together with duct tape. “What in Sam Hill…is this a classic or somethin’?”

  If this guy thinks a Toyota Corolla is a classic, he needs a trip to a car show. I hear they have a killer one at the Javits Center. I believe it’s even a three-day affair.

  “First, who is this Sam you speak of? Second, do I need to remind you, you’re new here? You don’t know where the gas station is.”

  “Valid point but listen what kind of gas station are you taking me to?”

  I look at him blankly for a moment.

  “Um…Sunoco?”

  “They got a mini-mart?”

  Losing my patience, I rub my hands over my face.

  “They got coffee and gum,” I say trying not to grind my molars. Drawing in a deep breath, I peer back at him and watch as he scratches the scruff lining his jaw, seemingly in deep thought.

  “I think I’m going to need a general store. I gotta get a couple of things.”

  I don’t know what the fuck a general store is.

  “You mean a bodega?” I question.

  “A bow what?”

  If it wasn’t pouring out, I’d start looking for the hidden cameras.

  “You said you needed coffee,” I hiss.

  “I do, but I also need some other necessities while we’re out…ya’ll got a Ricky’s or somethin’ around these parts?”

  I don’t know Ricky and I don’t know Sam. I just want to go home.

  He pauses to swipe a hand over his face. Blinking, he stares at me with a perplexed expression. “Why are we arguing in the rain?”

  Before I can say another word, he moves to the passenger seat and folds his tall frame inside my little car. Muttering a curse, I follow his lead and slip in behind the steering wheel. I chance a glance at him…another mistake because he looks adorable sitting in my tiny car, wringing out the t-shirt molded to his abs. I may not understand half the shit that comes out of his mouth, but he sure is pretty to look at.

  Christ, I’m so screwed.

  Tearing my eyes away from him, I send up a silent prayer to God that my car starts and sure enough when I turn the key, it purrs to life.

  He does exist.

  My fingers tighten around the steering wheel and that’s where it ends. I don’t shift gears. I don’t reverse out onto Arthur Kill Road. I’m frozen in place, staring out the windshield, on the brink of yet another panic attack and the only person to blame is the man sitti
ng beside me. Why does he have to smell so good?

  “I know I’m not from around here, but I believe you have to put the car in reverse and hit the gas if we’re going to go anywhere,” Bash points out.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull myself together and drop the car into reverse. I peel out of the gravel lot, onto the winding road and hit the gas. Bash slams a hand against the dashboard as I take a sharp left.

  “Jesus Christ, Lydia,” he hisses. “Slow down. The roads are wet.”

  “If you don’t like the way I drive, you can walk,” I say as I hit the brakes and stop at a light. Silence engulfs the car and I feel his baby blues on me. I want to comment on how rude it is to stare, but he snaps his fingers loudly, drawing my attention to him.

  “Oh, I get it,” he says with a smug grin. “Cranky Lydia only comes out to play when she’s nervous about something. I make you nervous.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’m not nervous around you.”

  I’m petrified.

  “Well, if I don’t make you nervous, then I have to go with option B.”

  “Which is?”

  “I turn you on.”

  Before I can attempt to wash the cocky grin from Bash’s face the car behind me honks impatiently as the light turns green and I take my frustrations on the gas pedal, slamming my foot down. The tires skid across the asphalt and I clutch the steering wheel as tightly as possible hoping Bash doesn’t catch on and realize I almost killed us by flipping my Corolla on Arthur Kill Road. But the nerve of him. I mean yes, I’m slightly turned on by him and maybe his cologne is some sort of aphrodisiac…

  “Yep, you’re definitely turned on,” he says, interrupting my silent tirade. Or at least I hope it was silent. The last thing he needs is to hear me admit he might be right. He’s already too big for this car. If his head grows any larger, I’m going to need to trade up or at least get a sunroof.