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

by Janine Infante Bosco

  I drive for about five minutes before the barbed wire fence surrounding the jail comes into sight and I slow my speed, searching the darkness for the pair of green eyes that have my insides twisting in knots, but I fall short. There is no sign of Lydia or her car. This jail seems to span several blocks, so I pull my bike onto the side of the road and kill the engine. Dismounting, I trek through the overgrown grass and dirt because why would there be a fucking sidewalk and shout her name.

  A car zooms by diverting my attention back to the street and that’s when I see her car, or rather what’s fucking left of it. She didn’t break down like Chaz said she did, she crashed into a goddamn guard rail. The damage on the car and the smoke billowing from the hood causes my chest to tighten and I immediately fear the worst. My boots pound the asphalt as I race to the driver’s side and pull open the door only to find it empty. Relief washes over me as I bow my head and drag in a ragged breath.

  “Bash.”

  The gentle way she calls my name sounds like a prayer coming from her lips and stops me dead in my tracks. Lifting my head, I slowly turn and face her. Instantly my gaze travels over her body, inspecting her from head to toe for injuries.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispers, forcing my eyes to hers. Tears fall from the corners as she wraps her arms around her body and stares back at me.

  “What am I doing here?” I repeat hoarsely, swallowing before I take a step closer to her. Her eyes go wide and she immediately takes a step back. That’s when I see the fear in her eyes and realize she’s backing away from me because she thinks I’m going to hurt her. My body goes still, and I shake my head.

  “Lydia, shit, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She blinks in response and I watch her throat as she forces a swallow.

  “Chaz called me,” I explain. “He got tied up at the club and couldn’t come get you,” I quickly add, cocking my head to the side as I continue to stare at her.

  Broken.

  She’s so fucking broken.

  I don’t know if I subconsciously ignored the signs because I was trying to let go of the violence my mother suffered and start a new life for myself where I didn’t stand powerless as abuse tore another woman I care about apart or if I was just blind to it, but now that I’ve recognized the torment in Lydia’s eyes, there is no ignoring it. If I learned anything from my mother, it’s that you can’t force someone to feel a different way. You can’t set a person free from pain. You can’t wash it away. You can plead for them to take your hand, for them to trust you, but that doesn’t mean they will. My mother never did. No matter how many times I offered. No matter how many times I begged and even after my old man took his life, she remained the victim because once you’re abused, you don’t forget. You go through the motions, but you never fully heal.

  After a time, my mother found her smile. She found her will to go on, but it was all a façade. A big fucking show she put on for me. I don’t know who hurt Lydia or how long ago it was. For fuck’s sake, she may still be suffering, but what I couldn’t do for the woman who brought me into this world, I will do for the one standing in front of me.

  I can’t explain it, but I feel like God put me on this path for a reason and I think I just figured out what that reason might be.

  “Darlin’ why didn’t you call me?” I ask softly. Desperation claws at me and it takes every ounce of self-control I can muster not to reach for her.

  Logic tells me it’s too soon, that I shouldn’t feel this deeply for a woman I barely know, but every part of my body, mind, and soul tells me otherwise. When something is right, it defies logic. Everything you thought you knew about life, love, and relationships, suddenly is shit. You realize you had it all wrong, that you don’t know anything until it’s standing in front of you looking lost and a fuck of a lot like everything you didn’t know you needed or wanted. It looks like forever and it scares the fuck out of you because, until that very moment, you didn’t think you had a future.

  Lydia turns her head and I watch as her lower lip quivers. She brings her hands to her face, and a sob works its way past her lips. I fight with myself to give her space, but the longer she stands there crying, the quicker I lose the war. Closing the distance between us, I gently pull her hands away from her face.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” she replies, pulling her hands free from mine before roughly combing her fingers through her hair. “Nothing about this is right. I ran from your apartment and here you are riding to my rescue like some Knight in shining armor. Are you even real?”

  “Wanna pinch me to find out?”

  “Stop,” she insists, brushing away her tears. “Stop being so perfect. You shouldn’t be here, Bash. You shouldn’t be with me.”

  “Right, well, I’m not going anywhere, so we can stand here on the side of the road, in the middle of the night and fight about it like two idiots or you can get on the back of my bike and let me take you home.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

  “Oh, I’m mad at you,” I reply. “Leaving was a shit thing to do, but I’m smart enough to know you had your reasons and those reasons have nothing to do with me.”

  She doesn’t argue so I continue, glancing back at her car.

  “Your car is fucked,” I point out, diverting my attention back to her. “I’ll have it towed to the garage and Pipe will look at it first thing in the morning. If it’s fixable, we’ll get you back on the road,” I assure her, pausing to sigh. Removing my hat, I swipe my hand over my head and fix her with a stare. “Now, if you don’t want to go back to Kate’s we can go back to your apartment, but I’m not fucking leaving, and neither are you. You can tell me what happened, or you can keep it to yourself, but, darlin’, as a man who watched his mother hurt for many years, I can’t walk away from you, so please don’t ask me to.”

  “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I can assure you it’s ten times worse than whatever you’ve put in your head. And while we’re at it, I don’t know what happened to your mother, and I’m sorry for whatever hurt she endured, but I’m not her Bash.”

  “No, you’re not,” I agree with a nod.

  As similar as the two women might be, there are also a lot of differences.

  “You can’t fix me,” she adds.

  That’s true too.

  “You’re right. The only one who can fix you is you. I just want to come along for the ride.”

  And what a ride it will be.

  -Twenty-

  Lydia

  I don’t know which of us is more insane. The man standing by my wrecked car talking to my boss on the phone, ordering him to send a tow in the middle of the night or me, the woman who just had a near death experience and is staring at said man waiting for his motorcycle to turn into a white horse.

  “She’s okay, she’s just shaken up. I’m going to take her home…no, I’m staying there.”

  There’s no use in arguing and honestly, I don’t have the energy. My mind is still reeling from the accident and even though I know I should pull away from Bash, there’s a greater part of me that yearns for the comfort I’m sure he’ll provide.

  Drawing the phone away from his ear, he shoves it into the inside pocket of his leather vest and turns to me, holding out a hand. Releasing a shaky breath, I don’t say a word as I place my hand in his. Quietly he leads me to his bike, bending to take a helmet out of his saddlebag. A bouquet of yellow daisies is attached to the back seat of his motorcycle, and I lean closer to get a better look, sure I’m imagining them.

  “I think I may have hit my head,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.

  Bash lifts his head and hands me the helmet.

  “Does your head hurt? We can swing by the hospital you just have to tell me where it is.”

  I shake my head and point to the flowers. He looks to where I’m pointing and even in the dark of night, I see his cheeks turn red. He pulls the brim of
his hat lower as if to hide the flush tainting his skin and slowly unravels the cord holding them in place on the seat.

  “Yeah, on my way back to Kate’s I realized I didn’t have much of anything to make for breakfast, so I stopped off at the supermarket. I got a pound of bacon and some grits, then I saw the flowers and I just grabbed them.” He paused to glance down at the flowers before diverting his gaze back to me and extending his hand. “You’re not allergic or something are you?”

  “You bought me bacon.”

  “And flowers,” he says, shoving them closer to me.

  “You stopped at the store to buy me bacon and flowers and I left your apartment.”

  “Let’s not make a big deal of it, okay? They’re half dead.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I croak. Just when I thought I had no more tears left to cry a fresh batch fills my eyes. I blink them away as I take the flowers and meet Bash’s gaze.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have left…it’s just—” My words die as he lifts a finger to my lips, silencing me.

  “You don’t have to explain,” he says gently. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just get you home and forget this night happened. Tomorrow’s another day and—”

  “I don’t want to go home,” I interrupt. Wrapping my hand around his wrist, I remove his finger from my lips. His brows knit with confusion and I struggle to find the words to justify what I’m feeling. To make sense of every crazy thought that’s running through my mind.

  “I want to go back to your place. I want to go to sleep in your arms and I want bacon in the morning,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I clutch the flowers close to my chest. His lips quirk and he lifts his hands to cradle my cheeks.

  “You want my bacon, huh?” he murmurs, touching his forehead to mine. His thumbs softly caress my skin as he closes his eyes. “Whatever you want, you got, Lydia, all you gotta do is take it.”

  I wish it was that easy.

  If for no other reason than I want to be the woman worthy of his affections. The one who can give to him what he gives so effortlessly.

  “Come on,” he rasps, opening his eyes to stare into mine. “Let’s go home.”

  Home.

  I don’t even know where that is. My apartment doesn’t really feel like home, it never did. The house Declan and I shared wasn’t home either. Home is where your safe. Where you’re most comfortable. A place where you can wash away the day and just be. It’s where you make memories and where you dream. But what if home isn’t a physical place? Perhaps home is a strong pair of arms. Maybe it’s a pair of ocean blue eyes. What if home is a bouquet of wilted daisies?

  Neither of us say another word as Bash takes the flowers from my hand and secures them in his saddlebag. I climb on top of the Harley and this time I don’t complain about it. Checking the chin strap on my helmet is fastened correctly, he drops a kiss to my nose before throwing his leg over the side of the bike. A second later the engine purrs to life and my arms wrap around his waist. Dropping my chin on to his leather clad shoulder, I glance across the street at my car and an unfamiliar sense of courage creeps into my bones.

  The ride back to Kate’s is quick and once his bike is parked, we grab the flowers, bacon and grits and make our way through the bar and up the stairs to his apartment. He doesn’t have a vase, so we fill a glass with water and drop the stems inside. As exhausted as we both are, neither one of us make a move to go to bed. When I reveal I changed the sheets on his bed before I left, he smiles and takes my hand in his, pulling me into his room.

  I expect him to jump into the bed, but he leaves me alone in the bedroom and makes his way into the bathroom. The water starts to run and before I realize what I’m doing, I follow him into the bathroom and watch as he fills the tub.

  “Why don’t you take a bath?” he says, his eyes finding mine.

  If I didn’t already wonder if he was real, him drawing me a bath would definitely spark my speculation.

  He doesn’t give me a chance to argue and I soon find myself undressing and climbing into the tub. The warm water soothes me and forces me to acknowledge the aches and pains adrenaline made me ignore. I close my eyes and recall the accident. I knew my car was on its way out, but I never thought it would nearly kill me. I guess I assumed one day it would just die, the engine would seize and that would be it. What happened tonight was something out of a movie. Realizing I could’ve died, put things in perspective for me. Either that or I’m letting the exhaustion control my thoughts, whatever the case, it’s time to let go and live. No more running.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. I turn my head just as Bash steps into the bathroom. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting second before my gaze trails over him, taking in his bare chest and the loose-fitting sweatpants that hang from his hips.

  “I figured you’d need something to sleep in,” he says, holding up a worn Cowboy’s t-shirt. His gaze lingers on me for a moment before he places the shirt on top of the bathroom vanity. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he adds before turning for the door.

  “Bash,” I call, watching as he stops dead in his tracks. He glances over his shoulder at me and I force a swallow. “Thank you.”

  He smiles before giving me a small nod and then disappears out of the bathroom. I sit in the tub for a few more minutes, when my fingers start to prune, I drain the water and step out of the tub. Quickly drying myself off, I pull the t-shirt over my head and look around the bathroom for a hairbrush.

  Yeah, that’s right, I searched a bald man’s bathroom for a brush.

  Shaking my head, I grab the towel and wrap my hair up in it before heading for the bedroom. Figuring he’d get a laugh at my antics; I open my mouth to tell him what I just did when I spot him lying on the bed with eyes closed and one hand tucked behind his head.

  “Bash?”

  He doesn’t answer. My bare feet pad across the floor, bringing me closer to the bed and once my knees touch the side of the mattress, I realize he’s fast asleep. For some reason I find that so endearing. I draw in a deep breath, pull down the sheets and climb in next to him. He doesn’t budge and neither do I. I lay there quietly, inherently worrying before I turn my head and look at him, taking in his strong profile. Suddenly all my worries fade, and I find myself curling into his side. A strong arm wraps around my waist and I close my eyes. For the first time since I left Declan, I don’t need a gun to feel safe enough to sleep. I just need Bash.

  -Twenty-one-

  Lydia

  I wake up to the irritating sound of the smoke alarm and an empty bed, neither of which bode well for the disorientation I feel the second I open my eyes. Scrambling out of the bed, I rub the sleep out of my eyes. One glance around the room and I’m instantly reminded of the events from last night and the downward spiral that took place after Bash left the apartment. If I was a normal woman, this morning would probably play out very differently. I’d be basking in the fact we had sex again and worrying about your typical morning after stuff, like was it as good for him as it was for me and wondering if he happens to have a spare toothbrush lying around. Instead, I’m trying to process the fact my tire fell off, I have no car and the man in the next room is burning breakfast after buying me flowers.

  Did I mention I almost died or that I basically admitted I’m fucked up?

  Yeah, there’s that too.

  Okay, so maybe I’m over exaggerating. Aside from a couple of bruises and a stiff neck, I walked away from the crash unscathed, I guess that’s a plus. So are the flowers in his kitchen and the shirt I’m wearing that smells just like him. My panties are still AWOL, though, and another roll in the hay probably isn’t on the agenda unless I start explaining my crazy behavior.

  Lifting a hand to the back of my neck, I try to work the kinks out before I brave the inquisition waiting for me in the kitchen. As I exit the bedroom, I hear Bash mutter a string of curses and spot him waving what looks like a t-shirt at the smoke alarm attached to the wa
ll. He’s quite the sight, sexy and adorable all rolled into one delicious package.

  “Morning,” I call, shuffling my weight from one foot to the other as I tug at the hem of his t-shirt covering my body. He stops assaulting the smoke detector and glances over his shoulder, raking his eyes over me from head to toe. He’s the first man to see me completely unarmored, and that makes me nervous. It’s ridiculous because I didn’t feel that way while I was completely naked, and he was between my legs, then I didn’t give a shit if my hair was a mess or if my makeup had worn off. I guess that’s what happens when you’re in the moment, you lose your inhibitions. However, right now, I feel completely vulnerable under his scrutiny.

  Forcing my fingers through my wild hair, I try to tame the frizzy mess as he drops the shirt, he was using to fan the alarm to the floor. A smile spreads across his lips as my fingers get stuck. Wincing, I try to untangle them from my hair. I feel my cheeks redden as he stifles a laugh.

  “Problem?”

  Sighing, I tug my hand free and cock my head to the side, eyeing him.

  “A hazard to sleeping with someone who doesn’t have hair or a brush.”

  He chuckles, closing the distance between us.

  “If it’s any consolation, I think your hair looks amazing.”

  “Lies,” I mumble as he circles his arms around my waist.

  “I’m being serious. No one rocks the Lion King look better than you,” he teases, pressing his lips to the tip of my nose. It’s a quick peck and when I look into his eyes, I watch the humor fade from them.

  “How do you feel?”

  That’s a loaded question for so many reasons. I assume he’s asking me how I feel after the accident, but there is so much more I need to tell him. For him to understand my actions he first needs to understand what drives them. The abuse, the scars, the mental anguish and the post-traumatic stress that never leaves my mind.