Drifter

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Stryker’s arms wrap around my waist as I open the door to my apartment and his mouth instantly goes to my neck, kissing the spot right below my ear. As we walk inside, he kicks the door closed and spins me around in his arms before he cups my chin with one hand.

  “Let me look at you,” he growls, as I drop my keys onto the floor and he stares at me.

  “You’ve been looking at me all night,” I whisper, reaching up to move his hand from my chin. “In fact, you’ve been outright staring at me like I’m going to disappear.”

  I lace my fingers with his and pull him further inside until he’s standing in front of the couch, I push him down onto it.

  “It’s my turn,” I declare, shrugging my jacket off my shoulders before chucking it to the side. “You got a problem with that?”

  He spreads his arms across the back of the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions as he spreads his legs and shakes his head.

  “Do you, pretty girl,” Stryker dares as I pull my shirt over my head before planting my left foot on his lap.

  “Will you help me?”

  Casually, he reaches out with one hand and tugs the zipper of my boot down then pulls it off and pats his lap, waiting for me to lift my other leg to remove my other boot.

  “I think I’ll keep you,” I tease, tucking my thumbs into the waistband of my leggings and shimmy them down my legs, stripping until I’m standing between his legs in nothing but my underwear.

  “Doesn’t take much to please you,” he mutters as his eyes travel the length of my body.

  “You do a good enough job,” I purr as I grip his thighs and slide down onto my knees.

  “I suck as a bodyguard,” he comments as my hands glide over his muscular thighs to the button of his cargo pants. “I should be teaching you how to rely on your senses, but instead—”

  “Instead, you’re going to sit back and let me give you the best blow job of your life,” I interrupt, popping open the button.

  “The best,” he repeats.

  “The best,” I confirm, dragging down his zipper.

  He lifts his hips, allowing me to pull his pants and boxers down to his boots. I unlace his work boots and he kicks them off before helping me free him of his pants. Kneeling between his legs I stare at his massive cock already hard against his stomach. His hand closes around his shaft and he slowly strokes it while temporarily immobilizing me with his feral gaze.

  Snapping out of it, I lean forward licking my lips and shove his hand out of my way. I take his girth in my hand before rubbing my thumb over the sensitive head of his cock.

  “Hmm, where should I start?” I ask myself out loud, not expecting an answer—not wanting one. I’m in charge now. It’s time for him to give me what I need, and that’s him completely undone. Bending my head, I open my mouth and press my tongue against the underside of his cock, slowly licking him until I reach his head. I close my mouth around him tightly sucking on the tip and I hear him sharply inhale.

  Lifting my gaze, I stare up at him through my eyelashes and watch as his eyes become hooded, but he fights to keep them open and on me. Not breaking eye contact, I take him deeper and deeper until his engorged head touches the back of my throat.

  My eyes water and I slowly drag his cock from my mouth, swirling my tongue around as I do. Taking a breath, I pump him with my hand, angling him as I bend my head and take one of his balls into my mouth. Again, my tongue goes to work before I suck on it and release it so I can do the same to its mate.

  “Christ,” he gasps, reaching for my hair. His fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer until I feel the bruising on my head and I release his other sac. He fists my hair, guides my open mouth to his cock and arches his hips off the couch as he fills me.

  I slap his thighs, pushing him back down and take back control, slowly sucking on him when I know he wants it fast. But the faster I go, the sooner it’ll be over and I haven’t had my fill of him just yet. I bring my hand to his balls, take time to massage them before I press my thumb to the sensitive skin between them and I feel the pre-come squirt against the back of my throat.

  I swallow.

  He curses.

  I suck harder.

  Give it to him faster.

  Just the way he wants it.

  “Gina,” he hisses his warning.

  I wrap my lips even tighter around him and give him my eyes.

  I’ve got you.

  His dick spasms in my mouth as the bitter taste of his hot release fills my mouth and slides down my throat. Everything he gives I take until there is nothing left inside of him, and then, only then, do I pull my mouth back and take a deep breath.

  “Get over here,” he orders breathlessly.

  My legs are stiff as I stand and I fall into his lap, into his waiting hands that grip my waist as he leans forward and covers my mouth with his. I relax in his arms, into his kiss as I wind my arms around his neck. It’s a moment of intimacy and the exact moment I realize my guard is down and my heart is free for the taking.

  Take it.

  Just don’t break it.

  Opening my eyes, I break the kiss and find him staring back at me.

  “Sleep with me,” I whisper.

  He opens his mouth but I place my finger to his lips, already knowing what he’s about to say, already knowing it’s not enough for me.

  “Not in the chair or on the couch. With me. In my bed. You’ve only fallen asleep in my bed once and you were up and out of it before the sun came up. I want to wake up with you next to me.”

  Silence.

  His eyes stare into mine and I can almost see the wheels turn inside his head as whatever is dragging him down antagonizes his conscience.

  “Please?”

  He pushes himself off the back of the couch, takes my legs and wraps them around his waist before he stands, holding me tightly against him. I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head against his shoulder as he carries me into my bedroom and lays me down on my bed.

  I stare up at him, waiting for him to answer me but he remains perfectly still, battling with himself.

  Then he gives me my answer.

  Reaching behind him he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the chair in the corner of my room. Standing before me, wearing nothing but his dog tags, he tips his chin toward the bed.

  “Move over, pretty girl.”

  The grin spreads across my face as I roll over and pull the comforter down. He climbs in beside me, wrapping his arm around me and pulls me into the crook of his arm before bending his head to kiss the top of my head.

  “Sweet dreams,” he whispers against my hair.

  And I hope, with me in his arms, that his are sweet too.

  It’s the same every time.

  The heat. The longing to be some place, any place other than where I am. It never changes.

  The sun beats down on me as I sit on top of a roof, counting the days until I go back home.

  Home.

  I don’t know where that is anymore, but fuck if that matters. I’ll sleep on the streets as long as beneath the concrete there is American soil.

  I’ve had enough.

  Enough of the heat.

  Enough of the sand.

  Enough of these motherfuckers that have no respect for human life. Not American life, not Afghani life, they just don’t give a fuck and they’ll kill their own, blow themselves up with no regard. It’s sick to think as passionate as I feel about defending my country these people feel as passionate about terror.

  I don’t give a shit what God you pray to, what you call him at the end of the day. I’m sure there isn’t a holier persona in this universe that condones this shit. No god would use an innocent child’s blood as an admission ticket to his heaven. Not even Satan himself would expect this form of torture from his disciples.

  Through the scope of my rifle I spot the woman dressed from head to toe in black, leaving only her eyes
exposed to the world. She’s got to be sweating in places a woman should never fucking sweat. I almost feel bad for the bitch, then I remember she’s a fucking terrorist and if I don’t kill her first, she’s likely to send my ass home in a wooden box.

  Waiting for the perfect shot, I wrap my finger around the trigger and then she throws the plot twist no form of intelligence could’ve predicted.

  She sends her child out in front of her with a bomb strapped to his back.

  She urges him to leave her and in that foreign tongue I imagine she’s saying all the reassuring things an innocent boy longs to hear his mother say.

  The voice inside my ear shouts at me to take the shot, commands me to do what I’ve been trained to do but my finger loosens around the trigger as the little boy lifts a handful of sand and watches as it sifts through his fingers.

  Simultaneously his mother’s voice echoes in his ears instructing him to press the button on his chest as the commander’s voice shouts at me to pull the trigger. The bile rises in my throat, the sweat beads over my brow and I wish for death as I deliver it, pulling the trigger.

  My bullet pierces him between the eyes, the impact throws his body in the air and he lands on his back as his mother runs toward him.

  I drop my rifle, lean over the wall of the rooftop as she drops to her knees and detonates the bomb, blowing her sons head off his body.

  She kills.

  She commits suicide.

  She does it all because her God told her to.

  And then she fades from me.

  Her son disappears too.

  I’m standing in front of the mirror, staring at myself, and though I know I’m wearing my normal street clothes, the man reflected at me isn’t—the man I’m staring at is dressed the exact way he was when he killed that little boy.

  A man in uniform with a gun pointed at his head and his finger wrapped around the trigger.

  BANG!

  My body jolts awake as the gunshot rings loudly in my head and sweat beads from every pore of my body. I’m not standing in front of the mirror. My head is still attached to my body and I’m not waiting for Satan to greet me.

  I didn’t do it.

  I never go through with it.

  I’m lying in bed, breathing but not living, simply existing until I look to my right and see the body next to me.

  Then I’m reminded I’m alive.

  And I made her a promise to spend the night with her.

  Anxiety tears through me like a cancer and the need to flee is ripe. I keep my eyes trained on her beautiful face, listen to her breathe and battle with myself to give her this one night.

  One night.

  One morning.

  To be the honorable man who lives by his word.

  Not the man with the rifle on the rooftop.

  Not the man in the bathroom looking to end his life.

  To be the man she wants.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The sun filters through the blinds as I open my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. Still groggy, I close my eyes again and then remember there’s a man who promised he’d be next to me when I woke up. My eyes flutter open, I roll over and stare at the left side of my bed and the man lying as still as a board as he stares up at the ceiling.

  “Stryker,” I whisper, reaching out for him and run my hand along his bicep as I wait for him to turn, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes trained on the cathedral ceilings of my bedroom, blinks once, twice, and then closes his eyes.

  “Is it morning?”

  “Yes.”

  His whole body becomes more relaxed at my response to his question and he releases a sigh before opening his eyes and turning his gaze to me. I notice he’s sweating, his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks physically ill.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t do this,” he rasps.

  I stare at him waiting for him to explain himself and watch as he opens his mouth but shakes his head, deciding against the words he was about to say.

  “I’ve got club business,” he reveals, pushing the comforter off him before he lifts his hands to his head and rubs his tired face. “I’m going to be on the road for a few days,” he adds, dropping his hands and staring back at me.

  Something's different. I don’t know what it is but I’m sure the man I woke up with isn’t the same one I fell asleep with. And as much as I want to believe what he’s telling me I can’t help doubting him and wonder if I pushed him too far.

  “Okay,” I say, swallowing back my fear and insecurities.

  He nods as his gaze lingers on me for a moment before he sits up and throws his legs over the bed. “I’m going to call your brother and make sure he has Johnny keep an eye out while I’m gone,” he says with his back toward me.

  “So…you’ll be back then.”

  I close my eyes, cringing as the words escape my lips and instantly wish for them back.

  That’s what happens when you let your guard down.

  You become soft.

  Feminine.

  A woman looking for acceptance.

  A woman wishing for someone to love her.

  Stupid.

  His hand pauses at my bedroom door and he turns around to face me.

  “A couple of days means a couple of days, Gina, not forever. I’m not a pussy when it comes to goodbyes. If the need to run ever finds me, I’ll say goodbye before my tires skid away.”

  “Good to know,” I whisper. Suddenly a chill rips through me and I pull the covers over my body and look toward the window at the sun.

  One night.

  One morning.

  One sunrise was all I wanted.

  “Pretty girl,” he calls, and I avert my eyes away from the window, surprised to see him walking toward me.

  Surprises.

  My mother taught me to trust in surprises.

  She said they are rare.

  Rare like the color of my eyes.

  He cups my chin and forces my gaze to his.

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” he huskily repeats. “You got me?”

  Get it together Gina.

  I wink at him and force a smile.

  “I’ve got you, soldier.”

  He searches my face for a moment, looking to call bullshit but instead nods his head before he bends his knees and covers my mouth with his.

  He doesn’t kiss me goodbye, he kisses me like he’s a man proving himself to a woman, but it’s more than that. It’s almost like he’s trying to prove something to himself too. I can’t figure it out and I give up trying, savoring his kiss, unsure when I’ll get another, but positive I will. I know what a goodbye kiss feels like and there is too much life passing from his mouth to mine for it to be the end of anything.

  One night.

  One morning.

  One sunrise.

  And the image of his back as he walks out the door as a parting gift.

  I did it.

  I laid beside her until her pretty eyes opened and greeted the day.

  Then I ran.

  Pussy.

  A big fucking pussy.

  I’m not a hero. I’m not worth the medal pinned to my dress uniform. I’m a fucking coward who lied to the girl he’s sleeping with, because spending another night in her bed, pretending I’m not fucked as the day is long, is another form of torture and I’m all stocked up on that shit.

  I have to pull my shit together, get my head on straight because tomorrow I can’t be a damaged Marine. Tomorrow hell will rise and the devil will reign. Tomorrow is the rebirth of the Satan’s Knights and the end of the Corrupt Bastards.

  Rest in peace motherfuckers, we’re coming for you.

  With the clubhouse being a pile of dust there aren’t many places to run to so I decide to visit Linc. I had a text message this morning from Cobra telling me that our boy had finally woken up, but he was real vague about the details and when I tried calling him after I left
Gina’s he didn’t answer. Arriving at the hospital, I park my bike and head to Linc’s room only to learn he was transferred to a different room. Stepping off the elevator I turn the corner and spot Cobra pushing Wolf’s wheelchair down the hallway.

  “Hey,” I call out, quickening my pace to catch up to them.

  Cobra stops in his tracks and turns to face me, his expression is unreadable. I divert my eyes down to Wolf.

  “No good,” he mutters, shaking his head as he scratches at the gray hairs lining his jaw.

  “What happened?” I question, turning my attention back to Cobra as I nudge my hand toward Wolf. “Should he even be out of bed?”

  “Probably not,” Cobra grunts, glaring down at Wolf who flips him the bird.

  “Fuck off, boy,” he argues. “Going to take a lot more than a cocksucker with a bomb and a faulty heart to drag this fat ass down to hell.”

  I raise an eyebrow toward Cobra and shrug my shoulders.

  “I’d say he’s as good as cured,” I pause, glancing down the hallway. “Did you see Linc yet?”

  “Yeah,” Cobra says, cocking his head to the side. “He can’t move anything from the waist down,” he reveals.

  “And this piece of shit hospital ain’t worth two cents. These hot shot fucking doctors want to deny his ass because he’s got no medical coverage,” Wolf hollers, making sure the staff roaming the hallways hears his loud mouth. “Ready to write the boy off and tell him he ain’t ever going to walk again because his insurance lapsed. I wonder if someone broke their mother’s legs if they’d feel the same way. Fucking Grey’s Anatomy wannabe sons of bitches.”

  “I’ve been dealing with this all morning,” Cobra says, stepping aside from the wheelchair. “Your turn.”

  “It's fine,” Wolf huffs. “I’ll give these money hungry bastards what they want and then I’ll make them suck my cock when our boy walks again.”

  A nurse walking passed us gasps and Wolf leans forward, reaching out to smack her ass.

  “Wanna be the first darlin’?”

  “Wolf!”

  I grab the handles of the wheelchair and move him so he can’t manhandle the fucking nurse.