Riding The Edge

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “When I found out Anthony was working for the mob, I lost it,” she whispers. “I had worked so hard, trying to give him and his sister a decent life that I missed the signs and I was angrier with myself than with his choice.”

  “You feared he’d wind up like his old man.”

  “Or mine,” she agrees. “He would leave money on the counter every morning and every morning I would stash the knot under my mattress. He thought he was helping me make ends meet, but I never spent a nickel of that blood money. After he went away, I put every dollar into a CD. When he came out, I gave him the passbook and begged him to turn his life around. He had already lost so much, I feared he’d lose his life next.”

  She pauses, cocking her head to the side.

  “As parents, we can only do so much. I might’ve failed him as a child, but I wouldn’t fail him as an adult. He opened the boxing gym with that money and gave himself a future without the mob.”

  “You raised a fine man,” I tell her. “Be proud.”

  “I’m proud of both my children but they deserve the credit, not me. A single mother may struggle but don’t doubt for one second, her children don’t as well. My children are the people they are today because they’re survivors.”

  “They got that from somewhere, Lady.”

  I watch her look away and draw in a deep breath. Ready for her argument, she surprises me by nodding instead.

  “I guess you’re right. When things seemed hopeless and life knocked me down, I always got back up.”

  “Well I’ll be damned,” I reply. “That might be the first time you agreed with me.”

  “That’s not true,” she retorts, bringing her gaze back to me. “I agreed to this dinner, didn’t I?”

  “Reservations and all.”

  “It’s nothing personal, Al,” she whispers.

  “I get that,” I say hoarsely. Clearing my throat, I cross my hands over the table and lean forward. “I represent a life you escaped but we’re not all the same, Lady. Some of the best people I’ve ever met are the people I’m honored to call my brothers. I’ll tell ya something else too—a biker is the safest man a woman can be with,” I add.

  Raising an eyebrow, she leans back in her chair.

  “Are you forgetting my daughter was shot?”

  Shaking my head, I reply.

  “Some things are out of our control. Yeah, your daughter was shot, but she survived because the man upstairs decided it wasn’t her time. If it was, she could’ve just as well got hit by a truck like she did that bullet and I promise you a civilian wouldn’t have jumped in front of that oncoming truck like Bones stepped in front of a bullet.”

  Diverting her eyes to her lap, she grows silent. Maybe I overstepped bringing up her daughter, but I felt compelled to defend my kind against the men who have burned her in the past. Not every man who is rough around the edges is a scumbag. Some of us know a good woman is a rare find and if you’re lucky enough to stumble upon one, you fucking treat her like a queen and if you don’t, you’re a broken pawn.

  Her phone rings inside her purse, causing her to swipe it from the table. Pulling out the phone, she lifts her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s my daughter, do you mind?”

  “Go ahead,” I reply.

  Attempting to give her privacy, I signal for the waiter and as she talks to her daughter, I order some appetizers for the table.

  “No, you sauté the onions until they’re translucent before you add the tomato sauce.”

  Looking back at her, she shakes her head and covers the phone.

  “She’s still trying to figure out how to cook.”

  That makes me laugh and as she continues to dictate the simple recipe to her daughter, I watch her. They exchange a few more words before she disconnects the call and shoves the phone back inside her purse. Lifting her now full glass, she downs half the wine.

  “Problem?”

  “I don’t know who is worse, her or Riggs.”

  “Come again?”

  “He got on the phone at the end to ask me about the job again.”

  She lifts her head abruptly and points a finger at me.

  “Wait a minute,” she says, suspiciously. “Are you part of this?”

  Having absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, I narrow my eyes and lift the beer to my lips.

  “Am I part of what?”

  “Oh my God, that’s why you asked me to dinner,” she mutters. “All that talk about bikers—you were trying to convince me to take the job.”

  “Lady, I got no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “The bar.”

  “What bar?”

  “Don’t insult me, Al.”

  Placing the bottle on the table, I lean forward.

  “I asked you to dinner because I wanted to get to know you better,” I tell her. “You’re easy on a man’s eyes too,” I add, reaching across the table to tuck a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. “Real fucking easy on the eyes.”

  “There’s that filthy mouth again,” she whispers.

  “Plenty more where that came from,” I say, dropping my hand away. “Lady, I don’t play games. What you see is what you get. You’re either gonna love me or you’re gonna hate me. There’s no in between.”

  Taking her lower lip between her teeth, her features soften as she cocks her head to the side.

  “Not lookin’ to play you any kind of way,” I assure her.

  “I assumed you knew,” she sighs, releasing her lip. “Riggs bought a bar out in Staten Island. He’s been renovating it and is going to offer it to the club to use as a clubhouse. The bar would still act as a business and he wants me to run it along with the kitchen,” she reveals, pausing for a moment. “What’s going on with you and the club?”

  Scratching the side of my face, I keep my eyes on her as digest the news about the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time Riggs used his own funds to bail us out of a jam and knowing Jack doesn’t like to accept a handout would explain why none of us knew about his plan. I gotta admit, it’s not a bad idea. The club can’t continue to operate out of the garage and it’s going to cost more to rebuild the compound than the land is worth.

  As far as Maria taking a job with the club—well, I don’t know what to make of that. If I hadn’t handed in my patch, I might’ve liked having her around all the time.

  “Al?”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, snapping out of my trance.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I handed in my patch yesterday.”

  Surprised at how easily I shared that, I stare at her, gauging her reaction.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m taking a step back from the Satan’s Knights.”

  “Why?”

  Deciding how to answer her question, I don’t reply at first. I’ve been distracted by Maria and too busy enjoying her company, that I temporarily forgot the fact I’m no longer an active officer and I’m not willing to ruin tonight by unloading my shit with the club. Still, it’s clear she’s not a woman whose questions you ignore.

  Instead of giving her the whole sorted story, I give her a deeper truth.

  “Got too busy making a living with my club, I forgot to make a life without it.”

  My admission is greeted with a helping of silence until the waiter interrupts with the appetizers. Once he leaves the table, Maria reaches across it and surprises me by taking my hand. It’s the first time she’s initiated contact tonight, and something tells me that’s a hard feat for her. Intertwining our fingers, she rubs my thumb with hers.

  “It’s never too late to find what makes you happy,” she says softly.

  Staring into her eyes, I jerk my head.

  “Maybe not.”

  “So does this mean I don’t have to call you Wolf?” she quips, releasing my hand.

  “Lady, you can call me whatever you want.”

  “I prefer Al,” she murmurs.

  “Yeah and I don�
�t mind it too much hearing it come from your lips.”

  Winking at her, I notice the faintest hint of pink creep up the column of her neck. Her cheeks flush and I’m instantly hit with the desire to pull more from her—to take as much as she’ll give.

  To push her boundaries and knock down her walls.

  Strip her of her fears and unravel her inch by beautiful fucking inch.

  And I want her calling my name over and over as I do it too.

  But instead of helping myself to her, I fill my plate with fried calamari and baked clams.

  After all, the night is young and suddenly, I got nothing but time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dinner was amazing, and I don’t just mean the food. While everything was delicious, it was the company I enjoyed most. Al was attentive and like he promised he would, he gave me his undivided attention which compelled me to give more of myself than I had given any other man.

  “I feel like this whole evening has been about me,” I say as we walk hand in hand along the streets of Downtown Brooklyn. After he paid the bill, he suggested we walk a few blocks down to Junior’s for a slice of cheesecake and cappuccino. By the time we reached our destination, neither of us had much of an appetite for anything other than each other and so, we continued walking aimlessly, holding hands like two teenagers and not the experienced adults we both claimed to be.

  Pulling me closer to his side, he glances at me.

  “I’m not understanding the problem,” he says.

  Coming to a pause, I step in front of him and tip my head back to stare into his eyes.

  “I want to know about you too, Al,” I tell him, splaying a hand against his chest. “How’d you get here?”

  “Still trying to figure that out,” he replies, reaching out to touch my cheek. Turning into his touch, I close my eyes for the briefest moment before pulling it away from my face.

  Spotting a bench, I use both hands to pull him towards it. We take a seat and he drapes an arm over the back of the bench as our thighs brush. After he revealed he was taking a break from the club, I had questions. However, it was obvious he was struggling with that bit of information and didn’t want to share more. Respecting that, I decided to focus on the other aspects of his life.

  “I told you about my marriage, why don’t you tell me about all of yours,” I suggest.

  “Lady, if we go down that road we’ll be sitting on this bench until the sun comes up,” he mutters as his hand falls onto my shoulder, drawing circles against my skin with his fingers.

  “Patty and you seem to get along well,” I prod.

  “I get along with all three of my ex-wives now that we’re divorced,” he admits. “I guess at the end of the day, I just wasn’t husband material.”

  He squeezes my shoulder, forcing my eyes to him.

  “What about you? You said you swore off marriage but judging by what that creep Lenny was saying last night, you didn’t swear of men.”

  “Are you asking me how many men I’ve been with or are you asking about me and Lenny?”

  “I’ll take whatever you feel like giving.”

  “After Carmine left, I didn’t so much as glance at another man for years. I was so busy with the kids that I never got a chance to process what came next for me. There would be days I missed having a man, but I realized you can also miss something without wanting it back. When I finally decided to put myself out there and date, I had already given up on happy endings, therefore, I never gave any man much of a chance.”

  “But you gave Lenny a shot,” he points out.

  “Lenny was a thing of convenience that wound up being another mistake,” I admit.

  It sounds better than telling him I woke up one day and decided I wanted to remember what it felt like to be touched by a man, to wake up and not be alone.

  “Any other Lenny’s?” he asks.

  “I’m forty-eight years old, Al. There were a few Lenny’s.”

  “And now?”

  Placing my hand on his denim cover thigh, I turn my head and meet his narrowed eyes.

  “Now, I’m sitting on a bench with you.”

  His gaze darts to my mouth and like a magnet, I’m drawn to him, slowly inching closer. Sliding a finger under my tank top, he toys with the thin strap of my bra, sliding it down. My breath hitches as he continues to stroke my shoulder gently. The soft touch drives me crazy and heightens my senses. Suddenly, I find myself trying to make sense of my attraction towards him and why I’m silently willing him to put his mouth on me. Squeezing my shoulder, he pulls me closer and bends his head, touching his forehead to mine.

  “Like your scent, Lady,” he murmurs. “Like it a fuck of a lot,” he growls. His beard brushes across my skin and before I can stop it a moan slips past my lips. “Want more of it.”

  “Al,” I rasp.

  “Right here,” he says, pushing his free hand through my hair. Holding the back of my head steady, he stares at me. “Tell me what you want.”

  Sliding my hands up his chest, I twist his shirt between my fingers.

  “This,” I whisper, meeting his gaze.

  The more he stares at me the more I start to realize I’ve never had a man look at me the way he does. Normally, I get the guy who looks like he’s unsure what to do with me. The man who has no problem with a woman making a move or taking charge. With Al, it’s clear he’s the one controlling this ride and judging by the feral way he’s looking at me, I doubt he’s going to relinquish that control any time soon. Surprisingly, I’m okay with that. I guess it’s never too late to be swept away by a man.

  “Not here,” he growls.

  Sure I heard him wrong, I blink as he presses a kiss to my forehead. Leaning back, he glances at my shoulder and removes his fingers from my hair. Carefully, he rights my bra strap and tucks it under the cotton of my tank top.

  “Don’t look so disappointed, Lady,” he smirks, reaching up to cradle my face with both hands. “I just don’t share,” he says, lowering his voice as his gaze sweeps around the street. There isn’t much traffic at this hour and yet we’ve still managed to garner the attention of people passing by.

  “Looks like you were right,” I reply, wrapping my hands around his wrists.

  “Twice in one night, I’m on a roll,” he quips, running his thumb over my lower lip. “What am I right about?”

  “People turned their heads at us and I was too busy enjoying myself to notice.”

  The corners of his eyes pinch as he flashes me a grin.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he says, dropping his hands from my face.

  Pulling me to my feet, he bends to retrieve my purse from the bench and hands it to me before draping his arm around my shoulders, bringing me into the crook of his arm. Huddled together, we walk in stride towards the car. Being so close to him feels natural and I’m surprised there is no nagging need to put space between us. If anything, I want more of him. I guess it’s true—when you get a taste of a real man, nothing is ever the same.

  Finally reaching the car, he opens the passenger door for me. Taking my purse, he watches me slide into the seat. As I pull on my seatbelt, he drops my purse into my lap and closes the door. Once he’s seated next to me, he revs the engine of the Charger and peels away from the curb. His hand finds mine, and he pulls it onto his lap.

  “I want to see you again,” he says.

  “I’d like that,” I reply. “Maybe next time, you’ll be the one who spills their life story.”

  “I promise you it ain’t all that interesting.”

  “I doubt that,” I say thoughtfully. “You’ve lived a lot of life.”

  “Are you calling me old?”

  Laughing, I shake my head.

  “No, I’m saying you’ve probably experienced a lot. You’ve seen and done things, not everyone does. They could probably write a movie about your life.”

  “It’d be the biggest flop the box-office ever saw.”

  “I’d pay to see it.”

  �
�Yeah?”

  “I’d even spring for a full price ticket and a tub of popcorn.”

  His lips quirk as he brings our joined hands to his lips, placing a quick kiss to my knuckles. I imagined his beard would feel rough against me, but it’s soft on my skin, making me crave more of it. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m infatuated with the beard.

  “You should wait for the sequel,” he says, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Forcing his beard to the back of my head, I arch an eyebrow.

  “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

  “Sequels are like second chances, sometimes they work out better because everyone involved has learned from their mistakes.”

  “You learn from your mistakes?”

  “I learned what’s important.”

  “Then I can wait for the sequel.”

  Silence falls between us as my hand remains locked with his and I look out the window, watching the brownstones pass us by in a flash. Al turns on the radio and Van Morrison’s voice fills the car, singing about his brown-eyed girl. I close my eyes and get lost in the lyrics. Al starts to sing along with the chorus causing a smile to spread across my lips. Marveling over how a crazy biker named Wolf has given me one of the best nights of my life, I’m struck by the reminder tomorrow may bring a change to my life I’m not quite prepared to tackle. I guess Al provided me with the distraction I craved…however, I wasn’t quite willing to let it go. The relaxation fades from me and is replaced with anxiety.

  Al pulls the Charger in front of my house and kills the engine. He releases my hand and at the loss of his touch my eyes spring open. I watch him round the front of the car and when he opens my door, he holds out his hand. Taking it, I swallow the lump in my throat and let him lead me up the walkway towards my front door.

  Throughout the night the conversation flowed easily and when it didn’t, the silence was comfortable. Now, not so much. A million thoughts race through my head as I desperately try to push tomorrow’s appointment from my mind and focus on what comes next. The last thing I want is to end tonight on a bad note because I let myself get carried away by fear. Reminding myself, I’m not a fearful woman, I turn around and meet Al’s gaze. Biting the side of my cheek, I giggle the keys in my hand and force a smile.