Shifting Gears (Satan's Knights Prospect Trilogy Book 1)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “You can’t possibly—” she stops herself as she glances down at my cock. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh,” I grin, slapping her ass. “Get on, girl. By the mornin’ light, you’re going to be fucked every way possible. Think you can handle it?”

  “I’m up for the challenge.”

  Yeah, I’m definitely keeping her.

  -Sixteen-

  Lydia

  “I’m going to kill Riggs,” Bash says as he plays with my hair. How the man has the energy for a conversation after all the sex we’ve just had, I’m not sure but I’m not complaining. I’m happy he’s in such a talkative mood, it keeps my mind occupied and spares me the chance of freaking out.

  “Why is that?” I ask, trailing my fingers up his arm. I’m generally not the cuddling type and not because I’m always alone. Even before, when Declan and I were somewhat happy, I didn’t curl up to him after sex and when he started body shaming me, I was quick to put my clothes on when he was done with me. Laying here, completely naked, with my body intertwined with Bash’s and my head resting on his chest is completely new for me and while a piece of me knows this is all too good to be true, I’m not budging. I’m not rushing to put my clothes on or running out the door. He doesn’t have a plane to catch and the only thing waiting for me at home is a sterile apartment, a gun, and some yarn.

  I should probably get a cat.

  You know, to balance things out.

  “Well, for one, he ruined my fantasy. I’ve played this night over and over in my head and every time, you’re sprawled out in my bed.”

  “We’re in a bed and while it’s not the master, it’s still technically yours.”

  “I suppose you’ve got a point. Still, I dropped fifty bucks on sheets.”

  I laugh and press a kiss to his chest.

  “We can still use the sheets,” I assure him.

  “Yeah?” he questions, untangling his fingers from my hair. His hand gently moves to my back, slowly gliding up my spine. “You ain’t gonna up and leave me?” he adds as his fingers graze the scar on my back. I try not to tense, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction and I instantly feel my body go rigid in his arms. Swallowing, I lift my eyes to the scar on his shoulder. It’s smaller than mine and if I had to guess I’d say it’s probably the size of a nickel. I noticed it the first night we were together but when you don’t plan on seeing a person ever again, it’s kind of moot to ask any questions. Now, things are different. He’s not going anywhere and I’m curious to know if he noticed mine then too. I also wonder where we go from here, do we ask questions or ignore the marks of our pasts?

  His gaze follows mine for a moment before he looks back at me.

  “I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours,” he challenges in that deep drawl of his. His tone paired with the gentle way he strokes my scar strikes a chord somewhere deep inside of me and for a split second, I’m not fearful. For one single moment, I feel completely safe and it causes me to lift my head from Bash’s chest. Our eyes lock as he lifts his free hand to my cheek.

  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “You don’t have to share anything you ain’t comfortable sharing.” He pauses to glance down at his scar. “I was shot,” he reveals, lifting his head once again to look me in the eye. I try to keep my features neutral and mask the shock coursing through me.

  Something dark flashes in those blue orbs of his but as quick as it’s there, it’s also gone. Lost for words, I lick my lips and take another glance at the faded scar. My gut clenches as I realize the man in front of me may come off as a laid-back guy, someone who rolls with the punches, but there is so much more to him. That carefree personality makes it easy to forget that he’s a prospect for the Satan’s Knights and while they’re a decent bunch of guys who have welcomed me into what they essentially call their home, they’re not a bunch of choir boys with a fetish for leather. They’re criminals and now Bash is one of them, but he’s also no stranger to their lifestyle. Like the Knights aren’t law-abiding citizens, I’m sure the Charons aren’t either. He’s been shot and probably has pulled the trigger himself a time or two. I don’t know how to feel about that or what to say, so I lift my eyes and take a page from his book, keeping things light.

  “Wrong place at the wrong time?” I question hoarsely as I gently touch a finger to the marred skin.

  “Something like that,” he replies. Expecting him to give me a more in-depth response, my brows knit together with confusion and I wonder if he’s keeping his reply vague because of my reaction. I mean, he offered the information knowing I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my story with him. Maybe he changed his mind or maybe he was just pulling my leg?

  “No, I wasn’t, but you’re looking at me like I’m a serial killer, so I spared you the story of how I took a bullet for one of the Charon women.”

  As soon as the words leave his lips, I cringe. I was doing so well with keeping my thoughts to myself that I don’t even remember the last time I had an outburst.

  I suppose I was due for one. I’m about to apologize and ask him to elaborate but Bash’s phone rings from somewhere, robbing me of the chance.

  “Shit,” he mutters, flinching slightly. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I’ve gotta get that.”

  “No worries,” I reply, trying to mask the disappointment I suddenly feel. “I think your pants are in the other bedroom,” I add as we both move to untangle our limbs from one another. He quickly sits up as I roll away from him, taking the sheet with me. He throws his legs over the side of the bed as I fidget,

  “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I’ve gotta get that,” he says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. My gaze wanders back to him and a frown ticks the corners of my mouth as I take a moment to appreciate his naked form. Criminal and all, I wouldn’t mind another go at tracing his perfect abs with my tongue.

  Bash suddenly pauses in his efforts to find his phone and looks at me. Figuring I’ve blurted my thoughts out loud again, I cover my mouth with the palm of my hand and prepare myself for a quick-witted response full of innuendo.

  “This isn’t over,” he declares instead. It doesn’t sound so much like an order but more like a promise and suddenly my only wish is that Bash is a man of his word.

  That’s all it is, though, just a little wishful thinking on my behalf because whether Bash is an honorable man or not doesn’t matter. I can never be more than the girl he takes to bed whenever the urge strikes. My past and anxiety will never allow for more.

  I meet his expectant gaze and force a nod. Satisfied with my response, he leaves the room and the second he’s out of my sight, all the reasons I’ve isolated myself begin to run through my head. My chest feels heavy and my throat starts to tighten. I try to stay in the moment and beg myself to remember how free I felt moments ago in Bash’s arms, how safe I believed I was and how I almost told him all my truths and every ugly lie, but I fail miserably. There’s a war raging inside of me, one I can’t control and one I’m sure has no victor.

  Bash’s voice trails through the room as he stands outside the door. I hear him say Riggs’ name and then mutter a curse before he slowly enters the room with a remorseful expression dancing across his handsome face.

  “Yeah, okay, give me twenty minutes,” he says.

  Taking that as my cue, I wrap the sheet tightly around my body, tucking it under my arms as I move to get off the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Bash says, forcing my attention back to him. Keeping his eyes firmly planted on mine, he pockets his phone and zips his jeans.

  Tearing my gaze away, I get out of bed and search the room for my clothes.

  “Lydia,” he calls.

  My eyes snap back to him and I watch as he pulls a t-shirt over his head and shoves his arms through the sleeves. Fully clothed, he starts for me and I take a step backward.

  “I heard you,” I stammer. “You said you’d be somewhere in twenty minutes. I’ll just see myself out once I find my clothes. Any idea where they might be?” I’m r
ambling like a fool, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  “So?” he questions, grabbing my hand. “I’ll be back,” he assures.

  Too consumed with my thoughts, he catches me off guard and the sheet slips from my body as he pulls me against his chest. “Don’t go,” he pleads huskily. “I want you naked in my bed when I come home.”

  “You want me to stay?” I croak as if it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

  “Fuck yes. We were in the middle of a conversation and I haven’t had my fill of you. Besides, I really can’t think of a better way to start a new day than having you be the first thing I see when I wake up.”

  My guard slips at that and I cock my head to the side as I drink him in. Warning bells sound in the distance, but I ignore them. This man is going to ruin me and I’m going to let him. Not in the way Declan did, but rather in a way where a woman believes she’s healed. Where she lets her guard down and falls head over heels for a man she doesn’t get to have. In the end, he’s going to break my heart because that’s what they all do.

  “Stay,” he repeats, leaning closer. His lips gently brush across mine and before I can think better of it, I nod my head in agreement.

  “Okay,” I whisper against his mouth. Caressing my cheeks, he breaks the kiss and when I open my eyes, I find him smiling back at me.

  With another quick peck to my lips, he releases me and orders me back to bed. I watch him start for the door, pausing when he reaches it.

  “I’m not him.”

  Startled and mildly confused, I stare back at him.

  “Whoever hurt you…I’m not him,” he clarifies firmly, keeping his tone calm and his gaze steady.

  Yeah, he’s going to wreck me.

  “I know,” I whisper hoarsely.

  But Bash might just be worth the heartache.

  -Seventeen-

  Bash

  Turning into Riggs’ driveway, I park my bike behind his and kill the engine. There aren’t too many people on my list to off, but this fuck just earned himself a spot at the top. With Lydia’s scent clinging to my body, and the taste of her still very palpable on my tongue, I dismount and wish I wasn’t a man of my word. If I hadn’t sworn to serve and protect my newfound brother’s family, I’d still be in bed with Lydia and this dope would be sitting on his porch, smoking a joint all by himself. Instead, I tore myself away from the gorgeous woman I spent the better part of the night worshipping like the good little prospect I am.

  Things took a turn before my phone rang and for a moment it seemed like Lydia might be willing to let me inside more than just her body, like she might let me inside her head. I wasn’t feeding her a line when I promised I wouldn’t press her to share anything she didn’t feel comfortable sharing, but I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t curious. I felt her go stiff as a board the second my fingers touched the scar on her back, and I saw the fear in her eyes when I questioned her, but it wasn’t until I took her from behind and got a look at the mark, that I truly understood why she kept herself so guarded. That scar wasn’t caused by some freak accident and there were a few others just like it, all the same size and shape of the tip of a cigarette. Someone intentionally hurt her, and that realization hit me hard. I tried not to let on that I recognized what she tried so hard to hide but the more I looked at her, the more it hurt because she reminded me so much of my ma.

  So much of the woman I couldn’t help.

  “Watch the grass,” Riggs calls, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

  Rolling my eyes, I continue to trek across his freshly manicured lawn, silently vowing to take a backhoe to his precious grass if he continues to twist my balls.

  That’ll teach him a lesson.

  I climb the front steps and meet him on the porch, taking a seat beside him. He passes me the joint and as I lift it to my lips to take a hit, the rolled paper burns between my fingers.

  “Thanks for coming,” he says as I fill my lungs with smoke and hold my breath. I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be back at my apartment, assuring Lydia I’m not like whoever hurt her.

  But... duty fucking calls.

  Slowly exhaling, I hand him back the joint and look at him.

  “It sounded urgent,” I finally reply. “Did Lauren receive another letter?” I question as I peel my eyes away from him and start to scope out my surroundings.

  “No, and I’m starting to think I got this all wrong.”

  Quirking an eyebrow, I turn my attention back to him. Earlier the guy had me follow his woman into her gynecologist’s office and now he’s suddenly got it wrong. Why couldn’t he have this epiphany before the stirrups?

  “I don’t like taking chances especially where my woman and children are concerned,” he explains.

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “I must’ve played back the security cameras at least two dozen times, hoping I missed something, but I get the same shit over and over. Well today, I had enough, so I cornered the mailman. Do you know if you assault a mail carrier while they’re carrying out their duties you can be prosecuted under the same law as assaulting an FBI agent? You can get up to twenty years for that shit.”

  “Please don’t tell me you assaulted your postman.”

  “He’s not pressing charges,” he mutters. “But that’s only because I offered him unlimited services at Pipe’s garage and free wings on Wednesdays at Kate’s. Anyway, you’re missing the point. The mailman doesn’t remember delivering any unposted envelope, but he says it’s possible, especially if there was no return address on the envelope.”

  “So, you think it got mixed up in the mail?”

  “The fucking thing didn’t appear out of thin air and there’s no footage of anyone slipping it into my mailbox. It’s the only logical explanation. However, I’m starting to think Wolf might’ve been right. What if the threat isn’t against Kitten?” he questions, roughly combing his fingers through his hair.

  Sensing his frustration, I try to rationalize his thought process as I drop my elbows to my knees and stare out into the street. The club has a lot of enemies, this we know, but if Kitten wasn’t the target, why would anyone deliver a note to his house.

  “Why send the letter here?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question for the last four hours and the only thing I can come up with is that they’re trying to throw us off. Think about it and use Lacey as an example. After the cartel broke into her and Blackie’s home, there has always been someone watching over her. If it’s not Parrish, it’s Nico. The girl is never alone. Now, this letter comes, and I automatically assume Kitten is the next target. Wolf ordered you and I to look out for Lauren while the club scrambles to find the source of the note, but what if we played into their hands. I mean, what if Maria goes to pick tomatoes and bam—her brains are splattered all over the zucchini because we were too busy guarding the wrong woman.”

  My eyes go wide as I try to picture Wolf’s old lady getting whacked in their vegetable garden.

  “I think you’re reaching, brother,” I say finally, shaking the gruesome image from my head.

  “Am I?” he growls the question. “This motherfucker is too quiet and if experience has taught me anything, it’s no one sends a warning before they take a life.”

  “An amateur might,” I reason, repositioning the hat on my head. “Maybe that’s where we got this shit wrong. What if it isn’t the cartel making noise?”

  “Kitten didn’t piss off the PTA president, Bash.”

  “Did you?”

  “Funny.”

  “I’m serious. Well, not about the PTA…I don’t even know what the fuck that is,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Forget the cartel for a minute, is there anyone else the club might’ve fucked over. Maybe a bad deal between the garage and a supplier?”

  He looks at me for a minute before shaking his head.

  “Nah, man and even if that was the case, that shit falls on Pipe not me.”

  “Where the garage is concerned, yes, but w
hat about Kate’s? That’s all you, Riggs. What if uncovering who sent that letter is as simple as remembering who took part in the last bar fight?”

  I might be the one reaching with that one, but it’s a possibility. I’m just learning how things work here in New York, but Riggs isn’t the type to lay out a welcome mat for a rival club or a bunch of posers. If another club showed their faces at Kate’s and ordered a couple of beers, he’d fucking send them out the door, searching for a six pack.

  “Kate’s is a peaceful environment, a family friendly establishment if you will.”

  “Oh yeah, I see families lining the street, trying to get in all the time,” I reply. “Dude, are you off your rocker?”

  “What? Our chicken nuggets are right up there with Mickey D’s and kids eat free with the purchase of any adult entrée.”

  “Man, I don’t have kids but if I did, Kate’s wouldn’t be where I’d take them for a family dinner.”

  “Is it because I don’t offer face painting? Because Wolf has a guy—”

  “It’s a biker bar, jackass.”

  “What’s your point? I’m in talks with Parrish to bring back the ice-cream truck.”

  I stare at him for a beat before diverting my eyes to the joint in his hand. He must’ve laced that shit with something because he’s fucking talking out of his ass.

  “Focus,” I demand.

  “I take offense to that comment. We’re friendly bikers who own a bar.”

  “And wear a one percent patch. I’m sorry, you’re right, you’re right up there with the fucking Brady Bunch.”

  “Moses…”

  “Riggs, forget the kids and the face painting and try to remember if you pissed anyone off while serving your chicken nuggets. Is there someone you threw out of the bar?” I ask exasperatedly.

  “Not many,” he finally says. “But every once in a blue moon we get a douchebag who thinks Lydia comes with the whiskey.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he flinches and drops a hand to my shoulder. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”