Walking The Line (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 3)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Hey,” I call, reaching her. She lifts her head and I subconsciously take a step backward. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pretty crier before, much less a beautiful one.

  Oh, Green eyes.

  You are fucking trouble for sure.

  “Uh…” my voice trails as I try to remember what the fuck I was going to say. “There, there,” I say, reaching out to give her shoulder two light taps.

  Awkward as fuck.

  “I can’t even cook,” she cries, covering her face with her hands. “How am I going to feed a baby?”

  What the fuck is happening right now?

  “She or he is going to starve.”

  If I had a white flag handy now would be the time to raise it. Instead, I close the distance between us and do what feels natural. I take her into my arms and let her cry it out.

  Bad.

  Fucking.

  Idea.

  My body goes stiff as a rod as her fingers curl into my tee and my hands freeze on her back. I try to shut down my brain, to not notice the way her head comes to rest between my pecs.

  She fits.

  She fucking fits perfectly.

  I also contemplate not breathing, seeing as I get a whiff of her shampoo with every breath I pull into my nose.

  Vanilla mixed with lavender.

  I like it.

  I like it too fucking much.

  What’s wrong with me?

  I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me. Lacey fucked with my head and now I need a support group—one that specializes in unwanted attraction towards pregnant women.

  God.

  Suddenly, she goes still. Her fingers quickly release their hold on my shirt, and I start to panic, figuring she realizes how totally fucked this whole thing is. I go to back away, but she lifts her chin and her eyes go wide.

  “I uh…it’s…I’m sorry,” I stutter, still holding her.

  Let her go, asshole.

  “Did you feel it?”

  “Um…did I feel what?”

  “The baby.”

  I think I’m sweating. Am I sweating?

  Carrie takes my hand from her waist and moves it to her stomach.

  “Carrie…”

  “There!” She covers my hand with hers, slightly pressing against her stomach. I don’t feel shit, other than a spike in my blood pressure. I should probably cut down on the salami. Too much sodium… not good for the heart—holy shit.

  My gaze drops to her belly and I feel it.

  A little nudge.

  “I feel it,” I murmur, lifting my eyes to hers.

  And another.

  “It feels like bubbles,” she whispers, tears still falling from her eyes but at least she’s smiling now.

  Christ, she’s smiling.

  Pretty when she cries, and even prettier when she smiles.

  Now would be a good time for someone to remind me she’s seventeen and my brother’s girlfriend, who, may I add, just happens to be pregnant with my niece or nephew. The same niece or nephew kicking my hand.

  Anyone?

  No takers.

  Yeah, I don’t blame you.

  I would steer clear of this crash too.

  She moves my hand a little lower and the baby kicks again.

  It’s wild and really fucking beautiful.

  That thought seems to shake me and I suddenly snap out of it. I pull my hand away from her belly and take two steps back, but my hand feels like it’s been branded. Not sure what to do with it, I reach behind me and cup the back of my neck. Carrie stares at me with confusion radiating from those lethal eyes of hers and I force myself to look away.

  “The kid is probably hungry that’s why it’s kicking like a soccer player. I’m going to clean this mess and then order something for dinner,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the counter. I spot the bag of shredded mozzarella and glance back at the tomatoes on the floor before I turn to her again. “What were you making?”

  Her cheeks go red again and she wipes her eyes.

  “English muffin pizzas…it was a stupid thing I did with my mom when I was a kid and the only thing I really know how to make.” She pauses, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. “I couldn’t find a jar of sauce, so I thought if I boiled some tomatoes…”

  I tear my gaze away from her mouth at that last bit.

  “Jar sauce…you mean like Ragu?”

  She shrugs her shoulders, that lip of hers still pulled between her pearly whites.

  “Let me clean this up, then we’ll make the pizza.”

  “But the tomatoes.”

  “Have you looked in the yard?”

  I flinch as soon as the question leaves my lips and drag my fingers roughly through my hair. Of course she hasn’t seen the yard, she’s not allowed to leave the house. Why would she go in the yard to look at the tomato plants?

  “We have plenty of tomatoes,” I continue. “But if you give me a few minutes, I’ll show you how to make real sauce. None of that jar shit.”

  Her eyes widen and she releases her lip.

  Thank fuck.

  “You know how to cook?”

  “No, not really, but I can handle a marinara sauce. It’s like a Scotto gene or something.”

  She smiles at me.

  “Okay, I’ll help you clean up and we can get started.”

  “No,” I clip.

  If I gotta look at her for another minute, I’m going to lose my mind altogether and do something I can’t take back.

  God must take pity on me because her phone rings from the living room and her eyes dart towards the clock on the wall.

  “Oh, that’s Frankie. He must be done with practice.”

  I nod.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” I croak.

  Take all the damn time you want.

  “I’ll tell him you said hi,” she says as she turns and starts for the living room. Just a few more steps and she’ll be gone.

  Go ahead, Green Eyes.

  One foot in front of the other…just like that. Why is she not moving?

  She looks over her shoulder.

  “Unless you want to speak to him…”

  She’s killing me.

  “Nah, I’ll give him a call later,” I tell her hoarsely.

  “Okay,” she smiles again, but thankfully she disappears out of my sight.

  I listen as she greets Frankie and instead of cleaning the mess, I drop my ass into a chair and lower my head. Dragging a deep breath into my lungs, I cover my face with my hands and silently damn myself to hell.

  It takes me a minute or two to gather my composure and when I do, I pull my hands away from my face, slap them against my thighs and stand. Making my way to the fridge, I pull out a beer, twist off the cap and down the fucking ale, wishing it was something harder.

  Whiskey.

  Bourbon.

  Fucking rat poisoning…whatever.

  Carrie’s laughter travels through the house and I chug the rest down. With any luck, I’ll choke. Who am I kidding? I’ve got no fucking luck. With a sigh, I toss the empty bottle in the trash and get to work on cleaning the floor. As the minutes pass, the tension starts to fade from my body. I grab another beer and I try not to listen as Carrie and Frankie talk about their baby. He likes the name Tyler for a boy in case you were wondering.

  When she finally returns to the kitchen, I’m nursing my third beer and all the ingredients for the sauce are lined on the counter next to the stove, waiting for us to get started. She looks at the sparkling floor then back to me.

  “Sorry, you should’ve let me clean that.”

  Taking a sip from the bottle, I don’t respond. She clasps her hands together and rubs them enthusiastically.

  “Alright, Chef Scotto, teach me your ways.”

  I suppose Chef Scotto is an upgrade from Water Fairy. She moves to stand in front of the sink and rinses her hands. Once they’re dry, she looks at me for instruction. Why the fuck did I offer to do this again? O
h, right, I’m a fucking idiot.

  Rising from my chair, I tip my chin towards the cutting board.

  “First, you’re going to cut that onion into quarters.”

  She shrugs one shoulder.

  “Simple enough,” she says, turning her attention to the onion. I lean against the counter furthest away from where she’s working and watch as she pulls a knife from the block. After she cuts the onion into four equal parts, she peels it back. She quickly sets the onion on the cutting board and lifts her arm to her eyes.

  “Crap,” she mutters.

  Without thinking it through, I kick off the counter and grab a clean dish towel from the drawer next to her. I lift the tap and run some water on it, ringing it out before I turn to her. She rubs her eyes with her sleeve until I gently lower her arm and touch the damp towel to her closed eyelids.

  “Count to ten,” I order.

  “One…two…”

  “In your head, Carrie.”

  “Oh,” she whispers.

  I count to ten too, then I remove the towel. She keeps her eyes closed and I notice the freckles dusting the bridge of her nose.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Thankfully, I have enough common sense to look away before she does. I drop the onion into the food processor and screw on the lid.

  “Wow, that worked,” she says. “How did you know to do that if you don’t cook all that often?”

  Noncommittally, I shrug my shoulders and jab my finger on the power button. The food processor roars to life, grinding the onion and I finally let myself look at her.

  “It’s a trick I’ve seen my dad do a couple of times. He likes to cook.”

  “Is he any good at it?”

  That gets an honest chuckle out of me and I release the button on the food processor.

  “He’d be offended if he knew you asked that question.”

  “It’ll be our secret.”

  “We’ve got one of those already,” I remind her.

  “I’ll be your gatekeeper if you’ll be mine.”

  “Dangerous job,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from her. I grab the oil and pour a little into the sauté pan before lighting the gas. Once the oil heats, I point to the food processor.

  “Add the onion,” I say.

  She takes it off the base and moves to stand in front of the stove. I pull a wooden spoon from the drawer and hand it to her. She looks at it like it’s a foreign object and then a grin spreads across her lips as she takes it from me, spooning the onion into the pan.

  “Is it true these things are considered a weapon in Italian families?”

  I nod.

  “Slippers too.”

  Laughing, she lifts her chin.

  “What’s next?”

  “Keep stirring the onion so it doesn’t burn.”

  “Like this?” she asks, moving the spoon around the pan.

  “Yeah, just like that,” I mutter, turning to grab two cans of crushed tomatoes. What I really want to do is tell her she’s doing it all wrong, that there’s a certain flick of the wrist required when properly stirring an onion. It’s a lie. A big fat lie but it would give me the opportunity to touch her.

  “How long do I do this for?”

  “Until the onion becomes translucent…about another minute should do.”

  Another agonizing minute.

  Sixty long seconds.

  “I think it’s good.”

  Thank you, God.

  “Pour in the tomatoes and mix the onion in while I peel the garlic.”

  I should’ve done this shit while she was on the phone. The sauce would be done, the pizza would be in the oven and I could get the fuck back to drinking the six-pack in the fridge.

  Grabbing the garlic press, I slide next to Carrie and press three cloves of garlic into the sauce. Next, I hand her some fresh basil, dried oregano and parsley flakes to add to the pan.

  “Alright, that’s it. Now cover it with the lid and lower the heat. Let it simmer for about a half-hour and then we can put it on the English muffins.”

  “That’s it…really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can totally do that.”

  “You just did,” I say. “So, the kid isn’t going to starve. Crisis averted.”

  She smiles at me.

  “Uncle Nico saves the day.”

  “Look at that,” I mumble. “I’m a regular hero.”

  “I’m serious. I think you’re going to be a great uncle.”

  I lift my gaze to her, watching as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Frankie and I never talked about having kids, isn’t that ironic?”

  Instantly, I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Please, not again with this fucking song.”

  She laughs.

  “I swear that wasn’t even on my mind. It just kind of came out.”

  “I never want to hear that word again,” I reply, walking towards the fridge to grab another beer. I’m already feeling slightly buzzed and should probably quit while I’m still lucid…but fuck it.

  “Honest,” she says from behind me. “It just came up because I was wondering if you did.”

  “If I did what?”

  “Well, do you think about having kids of your own? Like, do you even want them?”

  Lacey asked me the same question not too long ago, and I told her I did, but I hadn’t really given it much thought. It was a knee-jerk response I gave the pregnant woman I was pining over, foolishly thinking that’s what she wanted to hear.

  Now, I give it thought and I don’t know why. Maybe I don’t want to give Carrie a knee-jerk response or perhaps I don’t want to lump her and Lacey in the same category. How is it that one man keeps finding himself in the same fucking situations over and over?

  “Should I take your silence as a no?”

  “Four,” I blurt, closing the fridge. Removing the cap, I slowly turn to face her. “I like being part of a big family and the best gift my dad ever gave me was that. I also like having two brothers. They’re different,” I admit, swallowing hard. “Frankie’s calm and genuine, he brings goodness wherever he goes. Enzo is a little wild, but he’s also the voice of reason and when you lose your way, he’s the one pulling you back on course.” I take a pull of my beer, continuing to think about my answer to her question. “And then my father met Maria, and we added some more siblings to the mix with her kids. Anthony, you haven’t met him yet, is alright. He’s a good guy to have sitting at your table, but Lauren…well, I kind of like having a sister. So, yeah, four. Three boys and a girl.”

  “That’s quite the brood. You should probably start swiping.”

  “Again with this app,” I mumble, shaking my head. “I deleted it by the way.”

  She shrugs, cocking her head to the side.

  “I’ll re-download it for you after dinner.”

  Great.

  Actually, maybe that’s what I need.

  A woman.

  A complete fucking stranger.

  Who is not carrying someone else’s baby or involved with anyone I know.

  Yes, that sounds like a fantastic idea.

  “Hey, you know what you didn’t mention?”

  A nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach surges, warning me not to take the bait and yet, I still answer.

  “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t say what you bring to the Scotto clan,” she says pointedly, arching an eyebrow. That’s a question I don’t have an answer for.

  “Hell, if I know. You’d have to ask them.”

  “I think I know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re loyal,” she murmurs so softly I can barely hear her.

  I let the word resonate with me, reminding myself of its definition. To be loyal is to be devoted. It’s being faithful. To be loyal is to stand with those you care for. It’s not about standing against them on the other side of the line, looking to take what is theirs. That is called dishonor, and that’s what I bring to
the Satan’s Knights and the Scotto’s.

  “I’m definitely not loyal, Green Eyes.”

  Far from it.

  -Ten-

  Carina

  “Put the phone to your belly again,” Frankie says, a sly smile twisting on his lips.

  It’s the third time he’s made me show him my belly, and that’s not including when Nico FaceTimed him while I was at the doctor’s office.

  Surprised?

  Yeah, so was I.

  This morning, I woke up to find Maria, Wolf and Nico sitting around the kitchen table with a box of pastries between them. Before Wolf could shove a cannoli at me, Riggs, and Lauren showed up too. At first, I thought yoga was becoming a family affair, but then they clued me in on their master plan.

  Apparently when you’re pregnant as often as Lauren, your biker of a non-husband (yeah, they’re not married…who knew?) grows a rapport with your gynecologist and when said biker calls, asking the doctor to shut down his office for the day, he obliges. All appointments on the calendar where rescheduled and Operation Baby Scotto came into play.

  I’m not kidding.

  They called it Operation Baby Scotto.

  It was the first time I heard anyone refer to the baby as a Scotto by name and of course, I burst into tears. I may not have a family of my own, but my baby had a great big loving one, complete with two grandmas, a grandpa, a bunch of uncles and a fantastic aunt. Sure, they were a little crazy at times, and they really loved to eat, but were devoted to one another and now my baby was part of that circle. Hormones or not, you’d cry too.

  After I scarfed down a cannoli and half of Nico’s éclair, I took a shower and got dressed. To be honest, I took a little more time than was probably necessary. I was going to the doctor not the Oscars, but still I blew out my hair, put on a little make up and ripped the tag off one of the designer maternity outfits Maria had gotten me. Close to seven months my belly had popped, and I officially graduated to the next size in all the clothes. However, Frankie’s sweats I found in the laundry room were still a staple in my wardrobe and every night, I went to bed wearing them. Well, except on laundry day.

  Anyway, once I was finally dressed, I hurried down the stairs. Enzo had arrived by then too. Riggs pulled his SUV into the garage and me and Nico snuck into the back where the windows were tinted. Wolf didn’t expect a tail, but he wanted to be prepared and so, Enzo and Maria followed in a Charger and he led the two cars with his bike.