Riding The Edge

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Cocking his head to the side, he scratches his beard. He doesn’t have to say a word for me to know there’s something on his mind. I actually noticed he wasn’t himself as soon as he came over tonight. Aside from being unusually quiet, he spent most of the evening sitting on the front stoop, nursing an entire six-pack of beer by himself.

  At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden mood change but decided to give him space to work out whatever was bothering him. It’s the least I could do considering he’s been a pillar of strength for me, going above and beyond with not only me but also with my kids. He’s accompanied me to every doctor’s visit, driven me anywhere I needed to go and all the while, he’s reminded me I can have fun, that there are things in my life I still enjoyed.

  Things I hadn’t realized I missed.

  More importantly, Al’s taught me how to lean and that I’m not alone in this battle. I’m starting to understand that having someone in your life doesn’t make you weak. Still, as wonderful as he’s been, I can’t imagine he’s not feeling the effects of this too. Maybe that’s the change in him. Maybe he’s finally coming to terms with what is happening here.

  “Is something wrong?” I question, turning to face him. “You’ve been really quiet all night.”

  “No,” he says instantly. Reaching out, he rubs his hand over my silky thigh and meets my gaze. “I’m just beat,” he adds. Leaning forward, he cups the back of my head and guides me towards his mouth. Al isn’t a chaste kisser. When he gives me his mouth, he gives me his soul with every stroke of his tongue. So, when he pulls away quickly and turns the lamp off it’s another telltale sign that something is weighing on him.

  Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling as he twists and turns beside me, trying to make himself comfortable. I should let it go, accept that he’s tired and ignore the nagging feeling that’s consuming me but, in my experience, ignorance is not bliss. Sitting up, I reach over and turn on the lamp next to me. The light streams through the room and Al groans next to me.

  “Lady—”

  “We should talk about it,” I say, cutting him off.

  “What?”

  “Whatever is bothering you, we should talk about.”

  “Did I say something was bothering me?”

  “You didn’t have to,” I argue, watching as he releases an exasperated sigh. “It’s finally hitting you isn’t it?” His eyes slice to mine and he knifes up. “You need to tell me if this is becoming too much for you because it’s only going to get worse, Al. I swear to you, I will not be—”

  “Stop right there,” he growls. “Have I given you any indication that this is not where I want to be?”

  “No, you’ve been wonderful but—”

  “But nothing, Lady,” he interrupts angrily. “The only good I got right now, is you. Don’t throw shade on that.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Al,” I plead, taking his hand. “This doesn’t only work one way. You can’t be the only one giving in this relationship. I need to feel like I’m contributing something to level the scales, even if that something is just my ear.”

  “Lady, you tip the scales every day you let me be part of your life,” he rasps, dragging me closer to him. “I don’t want to dump my shit on you.”

  Realizing his shit has to do with his club, I inch closer to him and contemplate how to merge that part of his life into our relationship. There are things I need to learn and accept about Al’s club and forcing him to keep those parts of him to himself is not fair.

  Letting out an exasperated breath, he grunts and throws his legs over the edge of the bed, startling me. Dropping his elbows onto his knees, he bends his head. “We don’t do this here,” he growls.

  My eyebrows knit together in confusion and I’m about to question what he means, but he quickly glances over his shoulder and levels me with an intense stare.

  “I won’t bring my demons into our bedroom,” he explains. “If you’re so hellbent on knowing what’s got me twisted, then get dressed because I’m not discussing it in the bed I fuck you and love you in. Here,” he says, digging his finger into the mattress. “…is off limits. Satan doesn’t get this too.”

  Al doesn’t give me a chance to process his words much less respond to them. He tears his eyes from me and makes quick work of getting out of the bed. If there is anything I am certain of, it’s that Al doesn’t share much with anyone. He takes everyone’s problems and makes them his own. His mind never stops. He’s always thinking about something, worrying about someone. It’s never about him.

  Hurrying to catch up with him, I grab a pair of leggings and shimmy them on.

  “Lady,” he calls, causing me to look over my shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re riding,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head. Judging by the tone of his voice and the steel in his eyes, there is no room for argument and to be honest, I don’t want to fight him on it either. Make no mistake about it, I’m not eager to throw my leg over a bike but I am desperate to help him in any way I can. If that means getting on the back of a motorcycle, then so be it.

  Sliding my feet into a pair of slip-on sneakers, I pull a t-shirt over my head and hurry out of the bedroom. By the time I reach the front door, he’s got his boots on and is leaning against the frame. Grabbing my hand, he ushers me out of the house and towards his bike that is parked on my driveway. He digs into the saddlebags and pulls out a helmet. Without a word, he fits it to my head and adjusts the chin strap.

  Hopping onto the bike, he grabs the handlebars and eyes me expectantly. My palms sweat, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I stare at the death trap in front of me. If someone would’ve told me I’d be climbing onto a motorcycle at forty-eight years old, I’d laugh in their face. Then again, my smart mouth would’ve had a few choice words for the person who also told me I’d be falling head over heels in love with a biker named Wolf, too.

  My daughter is a big believer in detours, something she’s learned through Riggs and his late friend Bones. She says you might not always travel the path you planned, but that doesn’t mean you won’t end up exactly where you belong. I suppose Al and I have found our detour in one another.

  Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I place a hand on Al’s shoulder and hoist my leg over the Harley. Seated behind him, I grip his shoulders and get used to the feel of the vibration between my legs.

  No wonder these things are all the rage.

  Taking my hands from his shoulders, Al pulls my attention back to him as he lowers my arms and wraps them tightly around his midsection.

  “I got you, Lady,” he calls over his shoulder.

  Swallowing the lump lodged in my throat, I close my eyes as he revs the engine and peels out of the driveway. Instinctively my grip tightens around him and I hold on for dear life, all the while keeping my eyes tightly shut. I silently pray to Saint Anthony that we make it safely to wherever it is we’re going and vow never to ride again. But then something strange happens ten minutes into our ride and I feel compelled to open my eyes. It’s almost as if there is a voice whispering against my ear, encouraging me to spit in the face of fear and live for the moment.

  My eyes flutter open and I lift my chin allowing it to rest on Al’s shoulder. The wind rushes over me as he masterfully guides us through the streets of Brooklyn and soon I give myself over to the adrenaline. My death grip loosens and a smile spreads across my face.

  Another experience to check off the list.

  As we continue to ride, I become more comfortable, mimicking Al’s body and leaning into curves. He starts to slow past the gates of the former compound of the Satan’s Knights and I feel slightly disappointed that our time riding has come to an end. Al throws down the kickstand, and the engine dies as he slowly turns to me.

  “You okay?” he asks, lifting his hand to my cheek.

  I search his eyes for a moment before nodding and covering his hand with mine. This isn’t about me. It’s not about taking a ride on the w
ild side or checking things off a bucket list. We’re not here because of my demons.

  “I’m fine,” I reply quickly. Removing my hand from his, I undo the chin strap and remove the helmet from my head as he dismounts from the bike. Taking it from my hands, he hangs it on the handlebars and glances across the lot. Silence stretches between us as I climb off the Harley. Smoothing down my hair, I tuck the stray strands behind my ears and step beside Al.

  “I don’t remember the last time I was here,” I start, following the path of his eyes. “When did they excavate?”

  He doesn’t answer me as he shoves his hands in his pockets and strides towards the area where the clubhouse used to be. Instead of repeating the question, I watch him stare into space and give him a moment to collect his thoughts.

  “There’s nothing left,” he points out. “Not a trace.”

  After bomb tore this place to shreds, the ruins remained for quite some time, making it fair to assume they were waiting for the insurance adjusters to come and assess the situation. I, myself, wondered if they would rebuild but no one ever discussed it and it wasn’t my business to question, then Riggs bought the bar and any talk of this place being restored was shut down.

  “It’s like the last thirty years never happened,” he continues, turning to face me. “Like the Satan’s Knights never existed.”

  Cocking my head, I meet his gaze and spot the confliction in his eyes.

  “A memory lives forever,” I tell him.

  He nods, diverting his eyes.

  “The times are changing.”

  “Is this about the bar?” I question softly.

  “This is about everything,” he admits. “It’s about Jack losing his mind and the club falling apart,” he reveals, jutting his thumb over his shoulder. “When things got bad for us and the situations became more and more hopeless, I’d come here and stare at the pile of debris that was left after the blast. Sometimes I stayed for minutes, other times I sat here for hours, but every time I walked away, knowing what I needed to do. I walked with my head high, ready to fight for everything we built.”

  “You’d come here to recharge.”

  “I guess.”

  “You—”

  “I wanted to walk away,” he cuts me off. “I wanted to give my patch in and close the book on that chapter of my life, but I can’t.”

  “You can’t,” I agree.

  I don’t need a history lesson in the club to know for certain that Al is the pulse of the Satan’s Knights. Any encounter I’ve witnessed, he’s always been there at the front lines, ready to fight for what he loves…for what he believes. I’m just concerned as to why he’s just realizing this for himself.

  “I gave my word to a brother, Lady," he says hoarsely. “I promised to intervene if his mind got the best of him. That day has come, and I can’t fucking do it. I can’t look him in the eye and tell him it’s time for him to step down.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I gave you my word, and that takes precedence over everything and anything.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I close the distance between us.

  “I’m not understanding,” I tell him. “I told you I wouldn’t stand in the way of you and the club, Al, and like you’re a man of your word, well, I’m a woman of mine.”

  “You didn’t sign up for this.”

  “Sign up for what? You might’ve taken a hiatus from your club, but I always knew you’d go back. I’m also pretty sure you didn’t ask me out to dinner thinking I’d have a double mastectomy a month later,” I fire back.

  “You don’t get it,” he grunts, shaking his head. “Jack has got to go, Lady, and Blackie can’t take his place anymore. If I tell Parrish it’s time for him to step down, they’re going to vote on who gets the gavel and all fingers are pointed to me.”

  My eyes go wide as I realize what he’s saying. I won’t pretend to be some expert on outlaws. I have no idea what being the president of a motorcycle club entails, but I know a leader when I see one. I also know behind every successful man stands a strong woman, someone who pushes him and consoles him. A safe haven in a dark world, a place he can retreat to after the storm. A woman he calls his home.

  “Yeah, now you’re getting it, Lady,” he mutters before turning his back to me.

  All I’m getting is that this beautiful conflicted man is at the crossroads of his life with a decision to make. I think if I wasn’t in his life the choice would be easy. He’d take the path he was destined for. He’d fight, bleed and bend until he broke. He’d risk everything, lay down his life and do whatever necessary to save his brotherhood and abide by his oath.

  Swallowing, I close the distance between us, touching a hand to his shoulder.

  “Look at me, Al.”

  He turns his head to the side.

  “Do you not want the gavel?”

  “I want you,” he replies simply, confirming my suspicions. “For fucks sake, Lady. I never got a lock on having a woman and my club. I’ve always lost when it comes to that and I won’t lose now. I won’t fucking lose you for a kingdom I was never supposed to have in the first place.”

  “Who said anything about losing me?”

  “Maria—”

  “I asked you a question, Al.”

  “You asked two,” he mutters.

  “Do you want the gavel?”

  “I don’t want my club to die,” he answers honestly.

  “Then don’t let it.”

  “It’s not that simple. It’s never been that simple, Lady,” he confessed. “If life has taught me anything it’s that a man can’t have everything,” he says, turning to me.

  “What if just this once there was no choice? What if you got to have it all? The club, the family and the woman?”

  “Sounds like a dream.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a dream,” I tell him. “I got you, Al. You and me,” I declare, winding my arms around his neck. My eyes divert to his neck and I watch his throat as he forces himself to swallow.

  “You and me.”

  “Kicking cancer and saving your club,” I whisper.

  “Lady—”

  Lifting my finger to his lips, I silence him.

  “If you want the gavel, I promise we’ll do whatever it takes to make it work, Al. I will lay down my heart and never let go. I’ll be your rock like you’ve been mine.”

  Releasing a ragged breath, his hands move to my hips and he bends his forehead to mine.

  “You and me, yeah?”

  “Every second of every day.”

  I barely get a chance to finish the sentence before his mouth is on mine, hungry and desperate. Prying my lips apart, his tongue sweeps in and stakes its claim, sealing another oath.

  Him.

  Me.

  Us.

  Whatever it takes.

  You’re not alone.

  I’ve got you.

  Chapter Thirty

  Three ex-wives and not one of them ever had my back when it came to my club. If I wasn’t already crazy about Maria, her unwavering support would’ve sealed the deal. For a woman who claimed our timing was off, she was suddenly starting to understand the truth I knew all along—we were sent to one another at the exact point in time we needed each other most. We were the blessing to beat every curse.

  But having that wasn’t enough to sign my life over to Satan. I needed to see Maria through her surgery and overcome that obstacle before I sacrificed my soul. In the meantime, I would talk to Jack when he became lucid. I’d force him to give me back my patch and make him understand we needed to call off the deal with the cartel. Then, I’d give him the truth and abide by the laws of brotherhood, telling him he needed to step down.

  Not immediately but in a few months.

  I know it’s a stretch, but I need Maria to complete her treatment before I can entertain the idea of taking Jack’s place at the head of the table. It’s manageable if he nixes the shit with the cartel and the club flies under the radar. We would need to foc
us on the few legitimate enterprises we possess, get the bar off the ground and stay the fuck out of trouble. At least for ten months. Maria will be done with radiation by then and Lacey will have had her baby without losing Blackie to drugs.

  “You’re awake,” Maria murmurs beside me, pulling me away from the thoughts racing through my mind. Turning to her, I watch her stretch her arms over her head and yawn.

  God, she’s gorgeous.

  She caught me off guard last night and I barely had a chance to revel in the fact I had her on the back of my bike. My classy lady had her legs wrapped around my thighs and the wind in her fucking hair. It was leather and silk finding that middle ground once again and I didn’t even acknowledge how good it felt.

  Well, fuck that.

  Rolling on top of her, I pin her arms over her head and pry her legs apart, positioning myself between them. She lets out a little gasp as her groggy eyes widen.

  “Well, good morning to you too,” she murmurs, lifting her head off the pillow to give me her mouth.

  Silk.

  So fucking soft.

  Taking her mouth, my tongue slides home and sweeps through heaven. Keeping my eyes open and glued to her timeless features, I take my time exploring every crevice and corner. I savor her, nibbling on her luscious lips as I grind my stiff cock against her lace panties, making a mental note to break her from the habit of putting them on before she falls asleep in my arms.

  “Mmm,” she moans, pulling at the ends of my hair. “That’s one hell of a way to start the morning.”

  “I can think of a couple of others.”

  “Someone’s riled up this morning,” she teases, arching her hips.

  “Someone had his lady on the back of his bike and didn’t get a chance to celebrate the victory,” I growl against her throat. “Fuck, baby, meant everything to me to feel you around me, giving me your trust and taking the wind. Meant almost as much as knowing you got my back,” I say roughly, reaching between us. Ripping the lace to the side, I let my fingers find her pussy. “If I could get a rewrite, I’d go back to last night, to the moment you climbed off my bike and I’d shove my hand down your pants.”