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

by Janine Infante Bosco

  No, he probably shouldn’t have because my mind immediately wanders back to the naked woman I left in my bed and a possessive rage pulses through my body.

  “You banged her again, didn’t you?” Riggs questions.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I picture some faceless douchebag trying to get cozy with my girl at the bar and wonder if she’s up for a career change.

  “You definitely did,” Riggs declares. “Look at you, there’s smoke coming out of your ears.”

  “Cut it out,” I grunt.

  “Hey, I’m all for you getting laid, but if you think you’re going to take my best bartender from me, I will send your ass back to Texas in a wooden box.”

  “You mean your only bartender?”

  “I’m not kidding,” he deadpans. “If you’re planning on this being more than a fuck, you need to drill it into your head that she’s a bartender, man. She gets hit on a lot but she fucking handles herself and you gotta let that roll off your back.”

  He pauses for a beat and the next sound out of his mouth is a chuckle. “Oh God, I can see it now. Lydia is serving drinks, and some asshole decides to put the moves on your girl, you fly off the handle and the poor unsuspecting patron loses his teeth.” His face turns somber as he lifts his eyes. “Shit, you can’t do that. I’ll go bankrupt and I got cubs to feed.”

  “No one is losing their teeth.”

  “Yeah, you sure about that? Not too long ago, some cocksucker lost a tooth, and control of his bowels after he tried to follow her to her car after her shift and all that courtesy of yours truly and I’m not fucking her.”

  My fingers curl into fists and my nostrils flare as I picture the scene unfolding in front of me. Lydia told me she got a lot of marriage proposals and at the time I took it as a joke, but now, knowing she hasn’t exactly had a great track record with men, I want to shoot everyone with a dick that looks at her the wrong way.

  Yeah, this might be a problem.

  “Relax, Moses, you look like you’re ready to spit nails. I’m only fucking with you…well, sort of, but don’t worry. Like I said, Lydia handles herself just fine and in the event she doesn’t there is always someone there ready to step in if needed. That being said, you’re going to have to learn to adjust to that because even when she’s not working, men ask for her. She’s developed quite the fan club.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m the president of that fan club now and I’d appreciate if we got back to the matter at hand so I can go home.”

  Lydia and I need to talk.

  His eyes widen slightly.

  “She’s at your place?”

  For fuck’s sake, what is it with this guy?

  “Why is this any of your business?” I hiss.

  “It’s not, I’m just nosey as fuck.”

  “Yeah, she was there when you called and seeing as I’m pretty sure she’s a flight risk, I’d like to get back before she jets.”

  “I hate to break it to you man, but she’s probably already gone,” he says, reaching into his kutte for a lighter. I watch as he lights the end of the joint and sucks in another pull. He’s probably right. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if Lydia took off right after I peeled away from Kate’s. Instead of going home to her, I might be spending the rest of my night trying to figure out where she lives.

  “There was one guy I threw out,” Riggs reveals, dragging me away from my thoughts. “He came in right after you guys headed back to Texas and asked for Lydia. He didn’t look familiar and when I told him she was wasn’t working, he demanded I give him her schedule. Normally I wouldn’t think twice about giving it to someone seeing as she makes bank on tips, but there was something off with this guy so, I took the guy out back and roughed him up some. He got the message and hasn’t been back since.”

  “Does Lydia know about this?”

  “Nah, I didn’t want to spook her. The girl already has a shit ton of hang ups.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you been to her apartment?”

  “No, have you?”

  “Yeah, I took her home once when her car stalled out. The girl’s got serious OCD issues. She had to lock her door at least six times.”

  I want to set him straight and tell him he’s got her all wrong, that she’s not as quirky as he thinks she is, but it isn’t my place. I don’t even have the full story yet; it would be way too premature to say anything, and I wouldn’t betray her confidence like that, anyway.

  “Shit, Moses, get that shit out of your head,” he orders.

  Confused, I look at him and shake my head.

  “What are you—”

  “The note wasn’t for Lydia.”

  “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” I rebut, dropping my hands to my knees. But now that he’s put the idea in my head, I suppose it’s as much a possibility as Maria getting whacked in the vegetable garden. If Riggs and Wolf are right, that means anyone associated with the Satan’s Knights may be the target.

  Shit.

  Now, I’m just as paranoid as this guy.

  In one quick move I’m on my feet, tugging the brim of my hat lower. The sooner we figure this shit out, the quicker we can all get back to normal. He can namaste until the cows come home and I can…well, I guess I can finally decide if New York is my permanent home or not.

  “I think you should run your theory by the club again,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, Wolf is coming for dinner tomorrow too, so I’ll bring it up to him then. Are you and Lydia still coming?”

  She wasn’t all too eager to accept the invitation to casa del Tiger but maybe that’s changed now. If it hasn’t, I’ve got my work cut out for me.

  “We’ll be here,” I say as I start down the steps. Riggs chuckles behind me.

  “Good luck getting her here.”

  Reaching the walkway, I pause and look over my shoulder at him.

  “Lay off Lydia, Riggs. Not everything is as black and white as it seems.”

  -Eighteen-

  Lydia

  Staring at the clock, I watch as the hour changes and begrudgingly slide out of Bash’s bed. After he took off, I promised myself I’d stick around for at least an hour. Sixty minutes didn’t seem like a long time and honestly, I felt like I owed it to Bash not to run from his bed. Mostly because he’s the first man who has ever made me feel safe. The promise alone felt like progress but fifteen minutes in I realized I was only kidding myself. It didn’t matter how safe Bash made me feel, I’d never be comfortable spending the night here. I was too reliant on a routine. Too dependent on locks and guns to ever close my eyes.

  Still unable to locate my missing panties, I pull on my jeans and tug my t-shirt over my head before sliding my feet into my chucks. I try to fix the bed before I leave and remember the sheets we purchased. It won’t take long to put them on the other bed. It’s a shitty consolation prize to having a woman sneak out on you after delivering her a few orgasms, but it’s better than a note, right?

  Grabbing the bag from Bed, Bath & Beyond, I make my way to the master bedroom. I straighten the lamp and strip the bed before tearing open the package of sheets. It doesn’t take me long to fix his bed and when I’m done, I just stand there for a moment, wondering what it would be like to crawl into this bed and fall asleep in his arms.

  No turning the locks six times.

  No gun under the pillow.

  Just Bash.

  I quickly shake my head, dismissing the notion and turn to walk out of the bedroom. I swipe my bag from the couch and without giving myself a chance to change my mind; I hurry out of the apartment, closing the door behind me. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I dig through my bag for my keys and jet out of the bar.

  I’m so consumed with leaving before Bash returns that my usual worries don’t surface and as I slide into the driver’s seat of my car I forget to take in my surroundings. My little Toyota comes to life and I back out of the gravel lot. Rounding the bend, I glance into my rearview mirror. I was expecting to be re
lieved yet all I feel is sadness and regret as I lose sight of the bar. Bash’s face flashes before me and I think about the words he uttered before walking out of the bedroom.

  I’m not him…whoever hurt you, I’m not him.

  A loud crash startles me, jarring me away from my thoughts. I turn to glance into my side-view mirror, expecting to have hit something, but it’s too dark to make anything out. Figuring, I must’ve just hit a curb, I accelerate on the gas and turn the steering wheel slightly, riding the curve of the road. The car starts to shake violently and panic washes over me as I lose control. My fingers tighten around the worn leather of the steering wheel and I try to turn it in the other direction, but it locks. Everything starts to rattle as the car dips to one side. Again, I look in the side-view mirror and as soon as I do; I wish I hadn’t because my left rear tire is blown out, pieces of rubber littering the street. I slam my foot against the brake, but nothing happens. The metal grinds against the asphalt and sparks fly as I approach another bend in the road.

  There’s nothing I can do.

  No way out.

  Tears stream down my face as I scream one single word.

  No.

  I’m not ready to die.

  Not when I’ve barely started to live.

  Unable to watch the end unfold, I close my eyes as my car pummels into a metal divider. The collision causes the car to come to a stop, but it takes a couple of seconds for me to find the courage to open my eyes. Blinking through the tears clouding my eyes, I draw in a deep breath and reach for the gold charm hanging around my neck. I bring the gold to my lips and press a kiss to my gram’s face. She always told me she’d be my guardian angel when she left this world, now she just proved it.

  “Thank you,” I cry as I tuck the charm under my shirt.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself down, but my heart continues to race and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay…”

  Smoke billows from the hood of the car and I quickly remember the sparks flying from the tire. Instinct trumps fear and I go into survival mode, quickly removing my seatbelt. I try to open my door, but it doesn’t budge.

  “Fuck,” I shriek.

  Feeling trapped, I climb across the console and grab my bag. The passenger door opens without a problem and I crawl out of the car, falling to my knees. I stumble to my feet and assess the damage. With the rear tire completely gone and the front half of the car attached to the divider, there’s no way I’m getting out of here on my own. Never mind the smoke billowing from under the hood—yeah, that can’t be good.

  A little voice creeps inside my head and reminds me this is my due karma.

  This is what you get for running.

  Swallowing hard, I step away from the car and with my hands still trembling uncontrollably, I reach into my bag for my phone. The first person who comes to mind is the same person I ran from. I wonder how that would go.

  Hey Bash, I sort of drove my car into a guard rail running away from your apartment, can you pick me up?

  Yeah, I can’t do that.

  With no other option, I pull up Chaz’s contact information and pray he’s not on stage performing. However, as the phone starts to ring, I realize even if he’s in between sets, he won’t be able to drop everything and ride to my rescue, that I’m truly stuck on the side of the road because I’m too scared to let anyone in my life.

  If that’s not a kick in the ass, what is?

  Chaz’s voicemail sounds against my ear and a fresh set of tears stings my eyes. At the beep, I clear my throat and struggle to find my voice.

  “Hey..., Chaz…um…it’s Lydia,” I croak, pausing to wipe at the tears trickling down my face. “I was in an accident and I…well, my car is in bad shape.”

  I stare out at the deserted road and try to place my surroundings. Of all the places to be stranded, Arthur Kill Road in the middle of the night is not the ideal place to be. The usually industrial section of Staten Island is a ghost town, save for a strip club and the abandoned state correctional facility a couple of blocks up.

  “I’m not too far from Curve’s at the curve right before the jail,” I explain hoarsely. “If you can scoop me up on your way home from the club that would be great…I just don’t know what to do with the car. If you can’t, I understand. I’ll…well…I’ll figure something out.”

  Before I can ramble anymore, I end the call and shove the phone back in my bag. Crossing my arms against my chest, I hug my body and glance over my shoulder at my smoking car.

  “I’ll figure something out,” I whisper.

  I always do.

  -Nineteen-

  Bash

  “That’ll be twenty-five fifty,” the clerk behind the cash register says.

  Reaching into my back pocket for my cash, I glance at the few items on the conveyor belt. I know things are like triple the price here, but that seems a little steep for three fucking things.

  “For some flowers, bacon and a box of grits?”

  The clerk doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, she rolls her eyes and holds out her hand expectantly waiting for me to pay her. I’m starting to think New Yorkers pride themselves on eye rolls, that and rushing around. These people don’t slow down for shit.

  I drop the bills into her open palm and wait for my change, taking the flowers from the belt. They’re half dead but hey, it’s the thought that counts. Lydia consumed my mind from the second I peeled away from Riggs’ house and with the fucking Tiger in my ear, I started to doubt she was waiting for me, but on the off chance she was, I thought it would be nice if I cooked her breakfast. A reward for sticking around when it’s far easier to run.

  The only thing I had in my fridge was a dozen eggs I picked up at Miggy’s and a loaf of bread. If I wanted to impress her, eggs and toast weren’t gonna cut it so when I spotted the supermarket on the way home, I pulled into the parking lot and grabbed some bacon and a box of instant grits. I’m sure my mother is up there frowning because what self-respected southerner buys instant grits, but I’m lucky these folks even know what a grit is.

  I spotted the flowers on the way to the checkout counter and without really giving it much thought, I plucked a bunch and put them on the conveyer belt. Here’s to hoping she’s doesn’t hate daisies and isn’t allergic. Wouldn’t that be some shit?

  The clerk hands me my change and the bag containing the grits and bacon before dismissing me with another roll of her eyes. Yeah, it’s gotta be a New York thing. As I walk out of the supermarket and cross the desolate parking lot to where my bike sits, I make a mental note that food shopping in the middle of the night is the way to go. Sure, the employees are a little cranky and the flowers are mostly dead, but at least you don’t have to fight for a cart or a parking spot.

  I drop the bag into my saddlebag and carefully tie the flowers to the back seat. I’m about to throw my leg over the bike when my phone rings. I swear to God if it’s Riggs again, calling to tell me he offed his paperboy, I’m flying back to Texas in the morning and I’m shoving Lydia in my suitcase.

  Without looking at the screen, I accept the call.

  “For someone who goes around raving about how much fucking he does, you waste a helluva lot of time making phone calls and beating up postal employees.”

  “I’m actually having a dry spell, Papi,”

  My spine goes straight at the sound of Chaz’s voice.

  “You’re not Riggs,” I mutter like a fool.

  “Nope, it’s Chaz.”

  “Shit,” I hiss, swiping a hand over my face. “Sorry, man, I thought you were someone else.” I pause for a moment and process Lydia’s friend is calling me in the middle of the night, then I remember taking his phone earlier and storing my number in case anyone tried to fuck with him. Cringing, I sit on my bike and silently hope the guy isn’t cashing in on my offer already. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know what happened between you
two but I’m about to go on for my last set and I can’t get to her.”

  I repeat the last five words he utters over in my head and force myself not to jump to any conclusions.

  “What are you talking about, nothing happened? I had to tend to some business, so I left her at my apartment. I’m on my way back there now.”

  Riggs voice sounds in my head and I realize he’s right. She probably booked it out of my place the second my tires skidded away from Kate’s.

  “Well, she’s not there no more. She left me a voicemail. Between the music here and her rambling, I couldn’t make out much. She said something about her car breaking down and being stranded by the jail.”

  My eyes widen as I try to picture Lydia standing on the side of the road by a prison and anger immediately coils in my veins. Before I can calm the fuck down and clear my head, I fly off the handle. It’s one thing for her to run from my bed, it’s another to know she’s got herself in a fucking jam doing it. I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t crash her car and isn’t physically hurt.

  “Jail? What fucking jail?”

  “There’s an abandoned jail not far from Kate’s, it’s called Arthur Kill Correctional Facility, throw it in the GPS on your phone. I have to go; they’re calling me on stage.”

  He disconnects the call and my fist closes around the phone. I’d toss the fucking thing if I didn’t need it to locate Lydia. Dragging in a deep breath, I pull her number up on the screen and I recall the scars on her back. Keeping them at the forefront of my mind, I tell myself it’s nothing personal, that she’s going through something. She can’t be held accountable for her actions because she’s fucking scorned.

  I go to hit send, but I stop myself from doing that too. She didn’t call me to come to get her, she called Chaz. If I reach out to her she’s likely going to give me a hard time and refuse my help.

  Fuck that.

  Typing in the name of the jail Chaz mentioned, I pull up the directions. I read them twice, committing them to memory before pocketing my phone and throwing up my kickstand. Peeling out of the parking lot of the supermarket, I turn onto the main road and speed down the streets as my thoughts raced with all the grim situations Lydia could possibly find herself in if I don’t get to her quickly.