The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  #myhumpinputthebumpin #icame #sheroared #babynumberfour #magicsperm #myswimmerareolympians #takethatfakebruce #teamboy #teamgirl #wheelsorheels

  Trick or treat! Baby number four is on the way! Follow me on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Snapchat, your sisters ass and the pony express!! @themuthaeffintiger

  A hand closes over my shoulder as I man the grill, flipping burgers and dogs for forty people. Glancing over my shoulder I look at Jack."Why don't you take a break, Wolf?"

  "And let you take over? No way man, I've had your burgers," I argue. Jack Parrish may be a lot of things but he can't grill for Shit."Real nice thing you did here today, getting everyone together."

  Wiping my brow, I close the lid of the barbecue and turn around. My backyard is full. My brothers, their wives and kids even my own sons are here. Family—one big happy family, that's what we are.

  "Wish Pipe was here," I mutter as I take the beer Jack offers me and guzzle down a few gulps.

  "Yeah, me too, brother, me too," Jack says.

  "Motherfucker is stubborn," I add, lowering the beer from my mouth. As I'm about to reveal Pipe came to the garage, my middle son walks up next to me.

  "Hey, kid," Jack greets. "Jesus—when the hell did you get so big? I remember when you were little and your old man would bring you around the clubhouse and you'd hide my smokes."

  "I used to rob your weed too," my son deadpans, earning a slap upside his head. So what if the kids twenty-two years old and five inches taller than me.

  "What'd I tell you about revealing too much, boy?"

  "I thought it would be good to get everything out in the open," he replies with a shrug. "Especially since I want to ride with the Knights."

  Jack's beer sputters from his lips as my son glances between us both.

  "Have you lost your fucking sense?" I question. "I had to sell a fucking kidney to pay for that fancy fucking college you and your mother insisted you go to."

  "I dropped out," my son reveals.

  "Have kids they said," Riggs whispers as he steals a hotdog from the grill. "It’ll be fun they said..."

  Happy Fourth of July from the Satans Knights.

  #Pipe #SatansKnights If someone would've told me all those years ago when we were in juvie that I'd be standing in Wolf’s kitchen on Thanksgiving, crying while this motherfucker makes me slice five pounds of onions—I would've told them to fuck off. "Where is the apron I got you?" Wolf questions, taking a break from the tedious task of slicing garlic.

  "Fuck you and your apron," I growl. Dropping the knife onto the cutting board, I lift my shirt and wipe my watering eyes.

  "Suit yourself you bastard, I was just concerned your fancy plaid shirt would get dirty."

  "Layla and the girls picked it out," I grunt as I glance down at the brown and yellow fucking get up I'm wearing. Jesus Christ.

  Sensing my disgust, he tosses me the apron. One that reads, This Guy Needs A Beer.

  At least he didn't get us matching ones.

  "Put the fucking apron on and stop being a bitch."

  Taking it from his hand, I glance at the apron he's wearing...an apron that reads, May I Suggest The Sausage.

  More to come ??

  Excerpt

  Luca Bianci

  Adrenaline courses through my veins as I pull the satin hood over my head and make my way down the long hallway. With every step I take, the chants echoing through the sold-out arena become louder...clearer.

  Bianci! Bianci! Bianci!

  I’ve dreamed of this moment since the day my father handed me my first pair of Everlast gloves and introduced me to the heavy bag. Even wished for it.

  Now, it’s here and I could give a fuck less.

  “Luca,” my father calls from behind me.

  I don’t turn around knowing if he looks me in the eye he’ll be able to read my thoughts. He’ll know all the blood, sweat and tears I’ve shed mean nothing. He’ll see the doubt in my eyes and know for certain I’d give it all up. The money and the paid endorsements. The fame and the fans. I’d throw it all away. I’d tell all those people who paid top dollar to see me knock out some douchebag to go fuck themselves.

  Hell, I’d forfeit the fucking fight.

  I’d do anything but, it wouldn’t change the facts.

  I’m a winner in the ring but, I’m a loser where it matters most.

  “Son, look at me,” my father demands. The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument and I turn to meet his blue eyes. It’s times like this, when his gaze is so cold that I understand why he was once the most feared enforcer of the mob.

  “Where’s your head?” he questions.

  The urge to laugh washes over me and I’m tempted to tell him it’s back in Brooklyn.

  The very place where my fucking heart lays pummeled to a pulp, in the hands of a girl who I loved and lost.

  Dominique Petra was never meant to be mine. The odds were stacked against us way before either one of us were born. Back when our grandfathers ruled the streets of New York and our fathers committed sins just to stay alive. Still, I’ve always been a sucker for a challenge and being the underdog only made me fight harder to win her.

  And win her I did.

  All of her.

  Her heart.

  Her body.

  And her soul.

  She was the grandest prize of all and now, she’s nothing but a memory.

  A memory I can’t escape.