Drifter

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I close the distance between us, cup her chin with my hand and stare at her silently for a moment. Battling with my conscience, telling myself the words that come next are not because I’m the fixing type. She isn’t broken and I’m just doing her a favor.

  “You got a choice to make, Gina.”

  I leave out the fact that I already made it for her.

  “It’s either the suit sticking to you like glue or me, and you doing this our way. I’m a drifter, always moving from one place to another and you’re a woman who needs her space. We can make this work. I’ll teach you how to stay alert, and as long as you do that, as long as those eyes are always open and you learn to listen to your instincts then I’ll give you your space. We’ll take your brother to the cleaners and make him pay for one of those fancy security systems and I’ll check on you daily.”

  She uncrosses her arms and lets them fall to her sides as she sucks in her lower lip and continues to stare back at me. Her gaze softens and her armor slips from her.

  “Make that nightly checks,” I state, winking at her.

  “You want to be my bodyguard?” she whispers the question as I let my gaze wander over her body.

  “Fuck yes,” I tease, bringing up my other hand to her face and cradling her cheeks. “What do you say; we kick this Johnny character to the curb?”

  “Okay,” she agrees, wrapping her hands around my wrists.

  “You realize he’s a criminal too, right?” Rocco says from behind me.

  “Shut it, pretty boy,” I growl, before leaning down and capturing her pouty lips with mine. Not giving a fuck that her brother is there or that I just fucking did what I swore I’d never do.

  I guess old habits die hard.

  Let’s just hope this time I get it right.

  Should she need someone to save her, let’s hope I’m the man who can.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Coffee.

  I need a fucking vat of coffee to make it through the rest of this day.

  Not giving a flying fuck if they kill one another, I leave the two criminals in the living room to duke it out over who has a bigger rap sheet and head straight for my Keurig. They can pull out their dicks and measure them against the wall for all I care—I’ve had enough of the A&E documentary my life has become.

  What happened to the normal dating scene? Where a relationship progresses over candlelit dinners, great sex and nights spent watching movies on the couch. Not where the guy you’ve technically never even been on a date with decides he’s going to be your bodyguard because your brother wants to play Al Capone.

  Rocco leaves, slamming the door behind him as I take two mugs out of cabinet and fill them with coffee. Turning around, I push one mug across the breakfast nook and lift my gaze to criminal number one.

  “So that just happened,” I say, bringing the mug to my lips. “Great way to start the day.”

  “I disagree. My day started pretty fucking good since I woke up with you all over me,” he replies, taking the cup I offered him. “Then your brother showed up, and I thought he was your boyfriend.”

  “Well, you think very highly of me,” I mutter, setting my mug on the counter before bracing my hands against the granite.

  “C’mon, that’s not what I meant,” he argues, flashing me a smile. “We don’t know each other very well.”

  “Well, that’s about to change isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is. It also seems like you were right about meeting that night in the restaurant. Looks to me like you and I were at the right place at exactly the right time,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

  “Watch it, Stryker…you’re starting to sound like a hopeless romantic,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes for good measure. I nearly spit my coffee out when his eyebrows shoot up to the top of his bald head.

  “Relax, Romeo. I don’t fall easily,” I assure him, crossing my arms against my chest as I chew on my lip and watch him sigh in a relief.

  Men are such pussies when it comes to love.

  And the ones who aren’t are the ones a girl like me never finds.

  “How’s this going to work? If you plan on moving in with me I’m telling you now, I’m not giving up my closet space,” I warn.

  “Not a problem, all my shit blew up yesterday remember?”

  I wince.

  “Sorry that was insensitive of me,” I reply.

  He shakes his head as he sets the coffee mug on the counter but continues to hold onto it.

  “I’m not moving in, pretty girl. The clubhouse might be in ruins but my home is with my brothers, with my club. Where that is? I’m not sure yet,” he says, then pauses for a moment and rubs his free hand over his head. “Do you have work today?”

  “It’s Sunday,” I tell him.

  “Okay, so then tomorrow we’ll start a routine. I’ll take you to work in the morning, check out the area so I know your surroundings and when you’re done, I’ll pick you up. I should have a phone by the end of the day so if you need me during work hours I’ll just be a phone call away. I’m going to need your brother’s number too, in case of anything.”

  “You have it all figured out,” I reply, not even bothering to hide the surprise in my voice.

  “Nah, I fake it well though don’t I?”

  “Extremely. What happens after work?”

  He cocks his head, pretending to be thinking but I see the smirk he’s trying to hide and the mischievous look in his brown eyes.

  “Well, a man’s gotta eat,” he says.

  “Yeah, I rarely cook,” I reply.

  “I wasn’t talking about food, pretty girl.”

  And there it is.

  My cheeks turn cherry red as he wiggles his eyebrows and laughs.

  “No comment,” I huff.

  “Red looks good on you.” The laughter dies on his lips as does the playful banter and all that’s left is the live wires of electricity sizzling between us.

  I lied.

  If he keeps looking at me like that I’m going to most definitely fall for him.

  I’m fucked.

  Clearing my throat, I change the subject in an attempt to resurrect that playfulness I’m starting to crave.

  “So, were you ever going to tell me you were in jail?”

  “No.”

  “Well, now that I know are you going to tell me why you were?”

  He brings the coffee mug back to his lips, hiding his smile before he takes a sip. I raise an eyebrow expectantly as he shrugs his shoulders and places the mug on the counter.

  “I’ve got a thing for bologna and cheese,” he finally answers with a smirk.

  Bastard.

  “Good,” I tell him, spinning around to drop my empty mug in the sink before I glance over my shoulder at him and smile sweetly. “That’s what we’re having for dinner.”

  “Well played, pretty girl,” he laughs, stepping around the breakfast nook. “You know…” He starts as he comes up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and his hands toy with the belt of my robe, wrapping the end around his wrist. “I’m starting to get hungry,” he whispers against my ear.

  “There are eggs in the fridge,” I mumble.

  “I don’t want eggs, Gina.” He yanks his wrist back and my robe becomes undone. His other hand moves from my waist and slips between the folds of my robe, spreading it open and exposing my body to his touch. My body melts into his as his fingers glide over my stomach, circling my belly button before inching lower and lower until his fingers are right where I want them.

  Teasingly, his fingers trace the lips of my pussy as he nudges my legs apart with his.

  “This is what I want,” he gruffly whispers as he spreads open mouth kisses down the side of my neck. My body aches for his touch and I arch my hips, grinding against his hand, begging him to do more than gently stroke me.

  His hand leaves me and slides up the silk covering me until his fingers pause at my mo
uth.

  “Help me out, pretty girl. Make my fingers disappear inside your mouth like they’re going to when I push them up your pussy,” he rasps.

  “Stryker.” His name sounds like a curse on my lips, a filthy word that women love to say and men love to hear.

  “Go on, pretty girl. Get them wet.”

  It’s easy to give in to his demands. It’s easy to fall for his dirty promises, and lucky for me he’s a man of his word, always following through with every dirty deed he says he’s going to perform.

  I wrap my lips around his fingers and suck them deep into my mouth, proving to him he’s not the only one who can play this game of his. I swirl my tongue around the two digits, generously lubing them with my saliva and take them as far back as my gag reflex allows.

  How’s that for a dirty promise?

  Judging by the growl that vibrates against my shoulder I’d say pretty fucking good.

  Maybe having Stryker as my bodyguard won’t be so bad.

  At least there will be this.

  So much of this.

  But with this comes all the other stuff girls swear they won’t do. They swear they can separate their hearts from their bodies and let sex just be sex. They swear not to fall for the guy that’s unattainable.

  They fail.

  I wrap my hand around his wrist and slowly pull his fingers from my mouth as he slides the robe from my shoulders and it pools around my feet. Stryker spins me around and sets his dark eyes on me.

  Feral.

  Hungry.

  So damn sexy.

  He moves quickly, pressing his hard body against mine and cages me against the counter. Without hesitation he shoves his wet fingers deep inside me, curling them, making sure I feel him everywhere a woman needs to feel a man.

  “You like that don’t you,” he growls, bending his head to rub his stubble over the skin between my breasts. Like the hickey he left the first night, he marks me as his, the tiny hairs are coarse against my smooth skin and the abrasions quickly appear on my skin.

  He could take a Sharpie to my tits, scribble his name and I wouldn’t care. Not as long as he kept moving his fingers in and out of me. Circling, teasing, outright finger fucking me. Yeah, he could brand me any fucking way he pleased.

  My breath becomes ragged.

  Sweat beads on my forehead.

  Goosebumps prick my skin.

  I’m going to lose my fucking mind.

  His mouth closes over my nipple, his teeth scrape against my sensitive bud as his fingers curl even deeper and I’m done.

  Just done.

  I curse his name.

  And I come.

  I come harder than I’ve ever come in my life.

  Sure I’m dead; I close my eyes and wait for Saint Peter to meet me at the gates.

  “Still didn’t get a taste,” Stryker mutters as his mouth leaves my chest and he drops to his knees.

  Saint Peter doesn’t come.

  But I do.

  Three more times.

  Then I’m the one on my knees, proving I’m a woman of my word and my promises can be just as dirty as his.

  That, and that I have a killer gag reflex.

  I should make an appointment with my shrink at the VA because if I wasn’t crazy before the PTSD then I’m sure I am now. The worthless doctor couldn’t help me deal with my anxiety or my depression but maybe he can write me a prescription for dementia. Clearly, I’ve got something wrong with me because I offered to be Gina’s bodyguard thinking, no, believing with everything in me, that I could keep her safe.

  Look at my track record.

  Not even a gold fish is safe with me.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I pull myself together as I walk through the corridor of the hospital and make my way to Linc’s room. According to the nurse at the front desk, he’s still out, but she assures me that’s normal given his condition. Who am I to argue?

  I’m about to walk into his room when I hear a familiar voice.

  The blonde cousin.

  I wonder who the fuck her father is. Is that Gotti guy still floating around New York?

  I’m fucked.

  Did I mention I’m fucked?

  “It’s really you,” Celeste whispers.

  She can’t be talking to Linc; at least I don’t think she can be. He’s unconscious.

  “I thought it was you that night but…” She pauses, “…all the tattoos.”

  “It’s been a long time, Cel,” Cobra replies.

  “It doesn’t seem that long, Jagger,” she whispers.

  Well, look at that Cobra’s got a name.

  “Cobra,” he corrects. “My name is Cobra now.”

  There’s a silent pause and I peek inside the room as Celeste lifts her pager from her scrubs and stares back at Cobra, Jagger, whoever he is to her.

  “I’ve got to go,” she says. “I hope your friend recovers quickly.”

  “Thank you,” he replies, tearing his gaze away from her to stare back at Linc who looks like he’s in a full body cast.

  Knocking on the door, I clear my throat before she turns around and realizes I’ve been eaves dropping.

  “Hey,” I greet them as I step inside the room and tip my chin to Linc. “How’s he doing?”

  “Excuse me,” Celeste says, brushing passed me as she flees the room like whatever history they revisited was one born from hell.

  “It’s too soon to tell whether he will walk again,” Cobra reveals as I pull a chair to the other side of Linc’s bed and sit down. I run my hands over my head and peer at my helpless friend lying perfectly still in the bed.

  “That’ll kill him,” I mutter, lifting my gaze back to Cobra.

  “I know,” he agrees, bowing his head. “But we need to stay positive because you know as well as I do the minute Linc wakes up and realizes he can’t move his legs, can’t walk, can’t ride…can’t do shit but lie there—he’s going to lose all will to fight.”

  “Even if that happens, if he can’t move his legs at first, that’s just temporary, right? He’s not going to be a paraplegic, is he?”

  “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even think the doctors know.”

  Silence coats us like a blanket and we both stare at Linc, hoping for the best, understanding we must prepare for the worst. He’s the first to break the silence and turns to me as he does so.

  “Where’d you wind up last night?”

  “Some girls house,” I say vaguely, not ready to share Gina or my role as her bodyguard with anyone. “What about you?”

  “Deuce got us a sweet deal on some motel off the side of the Staten Island Expressway. We’ll probably crash there until we know where the club stands.”

  “Any word yet?”

  “They admitted the Bulldog and Reina but Blackie was discharged. I saw him this morning, and he told me the cops roped off the compound and deemed it a crime scene which means no one knows when we will get in there.”

  He shrugs his shoulders and leans back against the chair bringing his hands to rest under his head.

  “The guy with the bomb was the same guy Jack sent into the Corrupt Bastards' clubhouse sniffing for intel.”

  “He’s the father of the kid who tried to rape Jack’s daughter, right?”

  “Yeah, he came to the clubhouse not too long ago, and the cops came charging in, arresting us all on bogus charges. Blackie got us released and brought Ronan, that’s the guy with the bomb; he brought him back to the clubhouse. Riggs roughed him up and wired his watch before sending his ass back to Boston as our eyes and ears. Charlie Teardrops must have gotten wind of it and sent him back to us with the bomb.”

  “Teardrops,” I repeat the name as it begins to click in my head.

  “Yeah, you know the guy…he took over as the Bastards’ president after Blackie and Jack ended the previous president. Didn’t Linc fill you in on all this when you got out of the can?�
��

  I don’t answer him immediately because Rocco’s voice rings in my head reminding me of this morning when he said every gang member with a tear drop tattooed to their face might be looking to fuck with him. Fucking with Rocco meant fucking with Gina and her safety. But this, this is too coincidental or maybe it’s not.

  Maybe Rocco knows what the fuck he’s talking about.

  “Anyway, Blackie didn’t come straight out and say it but I think he’s working on retribution for our club, for the prospects…for Pipe.”

  I lift my head, shaking away my thoughts and look back at Cobra when he mentions Pipe.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Not good. Deuce went by his house this morning but I haven’t heard anything since.”

  “And Wolf?”

  “He’s in ICU.”

  I slap my hands to my knees and pause for a minute before standing up.

  “I’m going to go pop in on him and see how he’s doing,” I say, watching as Cobra nods. “I’ll catch you later,” I add, before turning my gaze back to Linc. “Take care, buddy.”

  “Hey,” Cobra calls out as I turn and head for the door causing me to pause and look over my shoulder.

  “You want me to get you a room at the motel or will you stay with the girl?”

  “Yeah, get me a room,” I tell him, tipping my head in appreciation before walking out of the room.

  The room would sit empty until I got whatever was salvageable from the clubhouse, then I’d store it there, but as for sleeping there—well, that’s a different story.

  I’m not leaving Gina until I know for sure she’s safe.

  Until I’m sure the men responsible for blowing up the Dog Pound aren’t the same men looking to make a territorial move on her brother by putting a target on her head.

  Then and only then will I leave her side.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She wasn’t kidding about the bologna sandwiches.

  “What’s the matter?” she questions through a mouthful of bologna.

  I divert my eyes from the triangular cut sandwich in front of me to the chef who made it with such love and watch as she raises an eyebrow and takes another monstrous bite.