Drifter

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Turning the faucet off, I squeeze out the towel and move between her legs, bending down so I am level with her face and start to gently wipe away the blood.

  She flinches but allows me to continue until the traces of the nightmare are gone and all that’s staring back at me is my pretty girl. I run my thumb over her temple, careful of her injury and assess it.

  “I don’t think you need stitches,” I say finally, crouching down in front of her.

  “Of course I don’t,” she whispers. “I told you I was fine.”

  I nod as I cover her knees with my hands and draw in a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, pretty girl,” I rasp, lifting my gaze back to hers. “I’ll make it up to you,” I add, rubbing my palms over her thighs, squeezing them tightly, my fingers digging into the denim covering the soft skin I crave against mine. “Let me erase the monster from your mind and remind you of the guy you came looking for tonight,” I tell her as I undo the button on her jeans.

  “We’re back to that?”

  “No point in denying it, sweetheart,” I say, watching as she leans back and arches her hips so I can draw the zipper down.

  “You don’t play fair do you?”

  “What’s the fun in that?” I reply, slipping my hand inside her jeans to find the lace covering her. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” I slide my finger beneath the lace and trace a line between the lips of her pussy. “You told me you weren’t wearing panties.”

  “Mmm, yeah, I lied,” she moans, gripping my shoulders as she lifts her ass from the seat. “Just because I’m giving in doesn’t mean I’m not going to ask a bunch of questions afterward.”

  “After what?” I ask, pulling my finger out of her pants and bringing it to my lips. “Talk dirty to me, pretty girl.”

  “After I make you forget whatever it is that haunts you,” she whispers, leaning forward to take my face in her hands. Leaning her forehead against mine, she stares at me and I swear it’s like she’s looking into my irises hoping to find the answers to the questions she’s dying to ask. All the questions I’ll ignore.

  “You’re going to make me forget?” I ask as I thread my fingers through her dark hair, winding the ends around my wrist and gently tugging it.

  “Yeah, I am,” she states. “I can do that.”

  I wish you could, pretty girl.

  I lean into her and brush my lips across hers.

  “Stay the night with me and let me help you forget,” she murmurs against my mouth, her fingers clutching my jacket pulling me closer as she stares back at me waiting for me to agree.

  “I can’t promise you tomorrow,” I admit, hating the way her eyes dull from the rejection of my words and the frown that works her mouth—I fucking hate that even more. “But I can promise you tonight,” I add, covering her frown with my mouth as I kiss her thoroughly, affirming the promise with my lips.

  Bombs sound in my head.

  Cries ring in my ears.

  The trigger goes off.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  My lips attack hers in an attempt to bury the noises in my head and I beg my mind to resign and give my tortured soul to her on a silver platter.

  Make me forget, pretty girl.

  Take away the torture.

  My palms slide under her ass and I lift her off the seat. Stumbling slightly, I pause to gain my balance as she wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. She takes my face in her hands and takes control of the kiss, sliding her tongue over mine as she tugs the hat from my head and throws it behind her.

  I pin her against the wall in the hallway with my hard body and let my hands run down her neck until they reach her breasts. Cupping them in my hands, squeezing them until she moans into my mouth before I reach for the hem of her shirt and drag it up over her stomach, over her breasts and finally over her head. Throwing her shirt behind me, I bend my head and wrap her lace covered nipple with my mouth. She arches her back against the wall, giving me more of her, just as desperate to have me devour her as I am to take her.

  Take. Take. Take.

  It’s what I do.

  I take out every fucking nightmare, every mortifying experience a man who suffers from PTSD can have—I take it all out on her body.

  And she lets me.

  I reach behind her, unclasp her bra and free the pair of tits that are saluting me, begging me to take my aggression out on them. It’s her whole body that speaks to me; offering to take away the destruction war has left inside of me. A stronger man wouldn’t be so selfish, a stronger man wouldn’t drag anyone else into hell, but I’m not strong. I’m fucking weak and not just against the demons inside me but I’m weak against those eyes.

  So fucking weak to those eyes.

  “Look at me,” I growl, rolling her nipple between my teeth as I peer up at her. “You're mine tonight.”

  Her lips part, forming a perfect ‘O’ as I set her down on her feet and withdraw her erect nipple from my mouth. Slowly, I rise to my full height, reaching behind me with one arm to pull my shirt over my head as I kick off my boots.

  “Your turn,” I urge, tipping my chin. “Show me what you got, pretty girl.”

  Gina licks her lips before bending down and tugging the zippers on the sides of her boots. I get down on my knees and help her drag the leather down her calves. Lifting one foot at a time, I help her remove the boots before leaning back on my haunches to enjoy the view. I palm my erection, suck in a breath between my teeth and watch as she hooks her thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans and shimmies them down her legs. She kicks them off and leans against the wall wearing nothing but a pair of flimsy panties and the scrapes on her face from my episode.

  “C’mere,” I order.

  She doesn’t hesitate, closing the distance between us as she winds her arms around my neck and my hands grip her hips, swiveling them, watching her heavy tits sway with the imaginary rhythm her hips move to.

  “It’s working, pretty girl,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the skin just above her panty line. “All that’s on my mind is you,” I admit, easing down the fabric covering her pussy, kissing every inch I expose.

  “I went there hoping you’d be there,” she blurts, squeezing my shoulders as my tongue laps at her seam.

  “I know,” I say, working the panties down her thighs and forcing them further apart.

  “I wanted more.”

  “Gonna give you more,” I tell her as she steps out of the panties. I move my hands to the button of my jeans but pause, remembering the gun tucked into my waistband. Cautiously, keeping my eyes trained on hers, I reach behind me and pull it out of my pants, securing the safety before gently placing it on the floor beside me.

  Her eyes leave mine and stare at the weapon on the floor.

  “Eyes over here,” I tell her. “I won’t hurt you, Gina, not physically, never intentionally; you don’t have to be afraid of the gun.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispers. “Not even a little,” she adds, dropping to her knees in front me and reaches for my jeans. “That’s probably weird, right? I mean I don’t even know your real name,” she says as she slides her hands inside my jeans and strokes the length of my cock.

  I cup her chin with one hand, wrap my other around her waist and silence her with my mouth. The truth is if she kept on talking I’d probably give her everything she wanted, all my truth, the ugly truth and then and only then would she be scared of me.

  I lay her on her back and stand to step out of my jeans. Staring at her, sprawled across the floor of the hallway, her dark hair a contrast against the light carpet, my dick grows even harder. I wrap my fist around it, working my shaft as she spreads her legs wide and her sleek pussy stares back at me. My thumb swipes over the head of my cock, wiping away the pre-come before I drop back down on my knees and position myself between her silky thighs.

  I don’t remember asking last time, selfishly taking her bare and h
aving enough control to pull out before I came inside her. This time is different. This time I know when I sink inside of her I’m going to drown and lose all control. I’m going to take Gina up on her offer and maybe I won’t forget who I am, but my cock is about to take out my demons on that sweet cunt of hers.

  “Are you on the pill?” I ask as my thumb strokes her, finding her clit. Her hips lift and I replace my thumb with the head of my cock, teasing her as she grinds against me, seeking friction—hungry for it. “Give me the green light, pretty girl,” I growl against her breast, flicking my tongue over her nipple.

  “Yes,” she murmurs, writhing against me.

  “It’s on,” I declare, pulling her nipple out of my mouth and moving up her body, lining my cock with her pussy. I take her swollen lips between mine and do to her mouth what I’m going to do to her cunt. Teasing her, I rotate my hips before thrusting into her hard, forcing her to take every inch in stride until she’s so full she breaks our kiss and screams my name.

  Her limbs wrap around me, mimicking the serpent and the eagle tattooed to my chest. The words that accompany the ink suddenly have a different meaning as my eyes latch onto hers.

  Wrapped in her…all her.

  Then it happens.

  I forget.

  Temporarily, but I still forget.

  Pinning her arms over her head, I lose myself in her eyes, inside her body, and give her my demons as her soul works to heal mine. Like a junkie feigning for a fix, I drive into her, seeking a different kind of high—the kind that soothes the torment, the kind that makes you feel whole and not broken.

  Her body responds, meeting me thrust for thrust as her nails rake my back and her pussy swallows my cock, making it a chore to keep myself from coming. I reach between us, working my fingers over the sensitive nub that’s swollen hoping she’s ready because I’m going to explode, and I’d rather it be with her than without her.

  “Stryker,” she purrs, holding onto my shoulders as though I’m her lifeline.

  “You ready, pretty girl?” I ask breathlessly, running the tip of my nose along her jaw, pausing at her ear and taking the lobe in-between my teeth. “Give it to me, Gina,” I rasp. “Give and take, give and take,” I demand.

  I turn my head slightly, eyes glued to her face as she squirms in my arms. She closes her eyes tightly and claws my arms as her body quakes with her release. My dick welcomes the way her pussy tremors around it and I fuck her recklessly until I’m coming inside of her, filling her with what I give no one.

  But I give it to my pretty girl and I give it willingly.

  I’m fucked.

  So fucked.

  Knowing that doesn’t stop me from collapsing on top of her and rolling us around on the carpet so she’s laying on top of me. Knowing that doesn’t stop me from caressing her back or drawing lazy circles over her ass with my finger.

  It doesn’t stop me from never wanting this moment to end.

  And it sure as hell won’t stop me from fucking her again, and again.

  That’s exactly what I do, I spend the rest of the night blocking out my misery and let Gina engulf me in a whole different type of sin—the type that involves the generous heart of a good woman and the greedy fuck that takes and takes until he’s full.

  At some point through the night we made it to her bed and we haven’t moved in hours. Not that I’m sure I could move since my leg is acting up. The pain sears through me from the shrapnel embedded in my leg but I ignore it, focusing on Gina as she lays her head on my chest, her finger tracing the lines of the serpent on my chest as I drag my fingers through her matted hair.

  I don’t move until her finger stops and I think she’s asleep. Forcing my eyes to the window, I see the sun is coming up and realize I’ve stayed wrapped up in Gina longer than I’ve stayed anywhere in a hell of a long time. Careful not to wake her, I slide out from under her and prop her head on one of her fancy pillows. My eyes linger on her for a moment before I drag my bum leg into the hallway to retrieve my clothes.

  Groaning, I bend down and shove my legs into my jeans before lifting the gun from the floor. I stare at the weapon in my hand, hear her voice as she begs me not to shoot the kids fucking around on the corner and I start to lose myself in the fearful truth that no one is safe around me. I’m a loose cannon and whenever my mind strikes, dragging me back to that desert, back to war, I become the enemy. I’m no better than any terrorist. I’m a threat you never saw coming just like they are.

  “Trying to sneak away from me again?”

  I tuck the gun into the back of my pants and turn to face her.

  “I thought you were asleep,” I say, reaching for the rest of my shit.

  “Clearly,” she replies, crossing her arms. “Tell me something…”

  I pull the shirt over my head, pushing my arms through the sleeves and finally look her in the eye.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, appearing disgusted with herself.

  “Is it me?” she asks, running her fingers through her tangled hair. “I hate I even asked that. I’m not that girl, Stryker. I’m not insecure, I’m not, but you confuse me. You make me think you want to be here and then you disappear afterward. I’m not asking for much, only that I’m not treated like a regret.”

  “You think I regret you?” I question, stepping closer to her. “I wasn’t feeding you a line when I told you I can’t get you out of my fucking head. That’s a fact and here’s another one for you…I’m not done with you, Gina. Far from it. Another fact? You should probably run because I’ll ruin you. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be messing with a disaster like me.”

  She crosses her arms under her chest, holding the sheet she wrapped around herself like a security blanket.

  “You’re not a disaster.”

  “No, I’m a fucking nightmare,” I correct. “Now, give me your phone.”

  She doesn’t move right away, taking me in and I raise an eyebrow questioning her.

  It’s more of a dare than a question though. If she gives me her phone and I give her my number, we both know what’s going to happen.

  It becomes real.

  It becomes more than two strangers and a game of pool.

  It’s that lightning that crackles between us.

  Most people are afraid of getting struck by it, but as she hands me her phone and I add my number to her list of contacts, it becomes clear we’re not most people.

  We’re looking for lightning.

  We’re going to get burned.

  That’s a fact.

  Chapter Eleven

  When any one of the brothers takes an old lady, it’s a big deal, but when the president of the Satan’s Knights takes a bride it’s a no holds barred type of deal. Especially if your president is Jack Parrish, and he’s been fixing to have Reina become property of Parrish for some time. Truth be told, Jack has no patience, none whatsoever, so the threat of Charlie Teardrops rests on the back burner for today. Today, there isn’t anything standing in the way of Jack marrying his Sunshine.

  We all had a role in the circus unraveling at the Dog Pound. Deuce had spent the morning with Wolf and Pipe, stringing Christmas lights from the ceiling and blowing up latex balloons. Poor Wolf looked like he needed an oxygen tank, but God bless that man, he’d do anything for his club, even if he turned blue doing so. Linc made the mistake of telling Reina he could hold a tune and he got suckered into singing at the ceremony. He’s been stringing his guitar for an hour while I tie bows on the back of chairs. Some fucking gig this is. I suppose it could be worse, I could be Cobra who got saddled with the chore of being the assistant to the flamboyant florist. He’s been rearranging sunflowers for most of the morning.

  “Think this day deserves a toast,” boasts Pipe. “Get your asses over here,” he calls over his shoulder, relieving us from our ridiculous tasks. Linc drops his guitar on top of the bar and steps around it, lining up
shots for all of us as Pipe continues with his speech.

  “Never thought you’d take an old lady, much less marry one,” he says, taking one of the glasses Linc offers and places it in front of Jack.

  “Fucking threw me for a loop too,” Wolf admits, raising his glass.

  “And she’s hot,” Linc adds.

  That she is. Pregnant and all, Reina is a fucking ten.

  “The woman can cook too,” Wolf adds. “Not just a pretty face and a smoking piece of ass.”

  I turn my eyes to Jack and watch as his jaw tick.

  “Wolf,” he growls a warning.

  “Calm your tits, Parrish. Can’t help a man for appreciating beauty,” he argues, letting out a big belly laugh.

  “To Jack and Reina,” Pipe cheers as we all raise our glasses. “Here’s to health, wealth and the little biker that’s going to be running around this place.”

  “To Reina,” Jack says, lifting his glass. “And all the sunshine she brings to this place.”

  “To Sunshine,” we all reply in unison.

  I tip my head back and drain the whiskey from my glass before settling my gaze on Jack. It must be nice to come from such a dark place and find the will to live. I don’t mean to exist but to really live. Existing is waking up and going through the motions, it’s taking your orders in stride and living in the moment, never planning for tomorrow because tomorrow may never come.

  Living, that’s a horse of a different color. Living is staring terror in the face and waving your middle finger. It’s looking forward to sunrises and not dreading them. It’s getting lost in a woman that makes you feel alive, one who makes the blood pump through your veins and the promise of tomorrow.

  Lacey emerges, dragging Jack to the side before he takes to the stairs, chasing after his bride to be, leaving us to the bottle of whiskey.

  “I’ve got to jet out of here,” Pipe announces, tapping his finger to the face of his wristwatch. “Told Oksana I’d pick her up a half hour ago.”