The Tempted Series: Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “The biker boy!”

  Yep, she’s lost it. Although, I will not lie, I wish there was truth to this little story—motorcycles are hot!

  Trying to concentrate on the phone call and my surroundings, I could hear a commotion going on at the door, and Lou yelling at someone.

  “You again?”

  “Get the fuck out of my way Duncan! I’m in no fucking mood.”

  Lou pushed the guy at the door back so I couldn’t see him but the intruder started hollering.

  “LAUREN BIANCI IF YOUR ASS IS IN THERE YOU BETTER GET IT OUT BY THE TIME I COUNT TO FIVE!”

  “What is that? Oh, my God, he’s not starting a scene in the hospital, is he?”

  “Mom, focus, who is he, exactly?”

  “One of your brother’s friends. There was trouble tonight—”

  “Is he okay?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, he’s with Adrianna and the baby but he sent this dope to come and bring me to your apartment. Your brother wants us both in the same place until things calm down. Fucking Victor Pastore, I could kill that man with my bare hands!” My mother said, sounding exasperated. “You know your apartment is a mess? And Mia, is she on drugs? The girl hasn’t shut up since I got here.”

  “ONE!”

  “Do you know this clown?” Lou asked me over his shoulder.

  “Mom, did you send this guy here?”

  “I didn’t send him. Blame your damn brother, actually, blame Victor Pastore. It’s all that son of a bitch’s fault.”

  “TWO!”

  “Lau?” Lou persisted.

  “I’ve got to go mom, see you in a few,” I said, quickly ending the call and hurrying to Lou’s side before he broke Anthony’s friend’s nose and there was bloodshed.

  I wonder which of the dons he sent this time.

  “It’s okay Lou, I didn’t know my brother was sending someone for me,” I answered, reaching up to kiss Lou’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You sure you want to go anywhere with this guy?” he said, turning his attention to my ride, causing me to turn around and look at him too.

  It was him.

  The guy from earlier, the one who grabbed my wrist and I thought was just another creep trying to get in my pants. Only, instead of looking like sex on a stick, he resembled a mass murderer.

  “Hiya handsome,” I said, offering a smile as an apology for all the trouble I may have caused him.

  He grunted.

  So it would take more than a smile.

  I had waited most of my teenage years for this moment. You know the one—when having an older brother finally has its perks because his friends are hot and not twice his age or mobsters. At twenty-one I had given up on the dream, but now I was staring at one of Anthony’s friends—and he wasn’t an old geezer. I leaned forward and stole a glimpse of the fingers he was cracking as he glared up at Lou. Nope, no pinky ring either! Score.

  His eyes met mine, and holy fuck! He looked at me confused for a minute. It didn’t take me long to understand why. It was because I had changed and I wasn’t wearing six layers of paint on my face anymore. It was just little ‘ole me, plain Jane, Lauren. I frowned, pushing my glasses further back onto my nose with my index finger nervously as I took him all in.

  He was well over six feet and when I moved to stand closer to him, he towered over me. He had chocolate brown eyes that probably melted the panties off of any girl he ever looked at—I’d gladly throw mine away. The pair of well-worn jeans hung low on his hips and cut at the knee. He was wearing Timberland boots—(my favorite, but I was a sucker for fresh white kicks on a guy too), oddly the laces were missing from his boots. The heather gray thermal he wore stretched over his broad chest and shoulders, molded to his skin perfectly. He also wore a leather jacket type thing which had patches sewn into it declaring him a prospect, whatever that meant.

  A real deal biker.

  Thank you, Anthony.

  “You’re staring,” he mumbled, taking hold of my wrist and dragging me away from Lou and The Pink Pussycat.

  “Sorry,” I shrugged. “It’s just you’re not like my brother’s other friends.”

  “Thank Christ for that,” he said, as he took big strides across the parking lot dragging me behind him. “Why’d you disappear from me before?” he grumbled over his shoulder.

  “I thought you were a creep,” I admitted honestly.

  “You Bianci women really know the way to a man’s heart,” he hissed, pulling his keys from his pocket and unlocking the doors to a truck, shooting down my dreams of catching a ride on the back of a bike.

  His phone rang.

  “Why? Why can’t this night just end?” he cried up to the heavens, before bringing his phone to his ear.

  I think he might have a screw loose.

  “Yeah, Prez,” he said into the phone, nodding toward the passenger door. “Get in.”

  And his attitude sucked too.

  “Yeah, I got the sister,” he continued, to whoever was on the phone. “I’m dropping her ass off to her loony toon of a mother and getting the fuck away from anyone with the last name Bianci,” he said, climbing into the truck beside me.

  Well, that was rude.

  He disconnected the call, throwing his phone into the console and glanced at me.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “You’re kind of a dick,” I commented.

  “And you’re a pain in the ass so we’re even,” he argued, starting up the truck. “It was supposed to be an easy job. Pick up the mother and the kid—take them to Bianci. That was it, the Bulldog said. But no, God wanted to fuck with me by adding to my misery—getting whacked with a frying pan by that lunatic of a woman, tying the bitch up and dragging her to Long Island just wasn’t enough. I needed to get saddled bringing “Mama Leone” upstate to spend quality time with her daughter while the gangster son goes off the grid too. Fuck this shit!” He said, punching the steering wheel. “And instead of dropping off “Carmela Soprano” and running the fuck away from her, I get stuck in more Bianci family drama,” he continued to rant, piercing me with a look. “Picked a fine time to become a stripper little girl,” he hissed.

  “I’m not a stripper!” I seethed.

  “You’re no fucking nurse, that’s for sure,” he retorted. “Fucking tease,” he muttered

  “Excuse me?” I asked, feeling my cheeks redden with anger. I wanted to throttle this asshole.

  He grinned sarcastically and holy hell…his smile…there were no words. For one split second I lost my mind and wished we had gotten off on a different foot. I really wanted to see that smile again.

  He’s rude. He has insulted your family. Stop looking at his crotch.

  “Stop smiling!” I demanded.

  “I called you a fucking tease,” he confirmed.

  “I don’t see—”

  “Shouldn’t slop all that shit on your face, you are way fucking prettier without it,” he said, cutting me off.

  Oh, wow.

  That was kind of nice.

  “So…which is the truth? Are you little Miss innocent or you some wild child looking for a good time?” he asked, diverting his eyes back to the road.

  I thought about his question for a while and wondered if I should answer him truthfully. If I told him I was tired of being the good girl, tired of pleasing everyone and just wanted to live. I wondered what he would say.

  I’m not saying I want to live recklessly, but would it be so bad to take chances? To experience life and find out what I really wanted from it?

  “I liked the naughty school girl bit you had going on tonight, but this…” he said, waving his hand at me, “…this wholesome thing is pretty hot too,” he complimented, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Who are you?” I asked dumbfounded.

  He looked back toward the road, driving with one hand and the other hand pointed to the name on his leather vest.

  I squinted and peered over the rim of my glasses to read the name from his p
atch.

  “Riggs?”

  He dropped his hand to the shifter and nodded.

  “Is that some sort of nickname?” I questioned.

  He rolled his eyes in disgust.

  “It’s my road name,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You know what a road name is don’t you?” I remained silent, and he took that as his answer. “It’s the name I use for my club.”

  “Like a motorcycle club?”

  “Give her a gold star,” he said sarcastically.

  “What is your problem?”

  “I hate your brother right now, and while we are getting to know one another and all that warm fuzzy shit, you should know I detest your mother too,” he paused, eyeing me for a reaction. “The jury’s still out on you,” he continued.

  “Touching,” I said, rolling my eyes. “My jury came back with their verdict—you most definitely are a dick,” I stated, turning my head to look out the window. “Stop the car,” I demanded, grabbing my bag from the floor and reaching for the handle on the door.

  “Cut the shit,” he replied, hitting the lock button on his door, trapping me beside him.

  I reached inside my purse looking for something I could use as a weapon…tampons, past due electric bill, lip gloss, ah ha! I wrapped my hand around the can, pulled it out and aimed the nozzle at him.

  “I said stop the car,” I ground out.

  “Shit, not you too,” he shook his head. “You people have watched The Godfather way to many times. I bet you’re a dish thrower,” he glanced at me. “Put the mace down, kitten,” he said calmly.

  “Then pull the car over and I will walk the rest of the way,” I insisted, keeping my hand firmly on the mace.

  “How come you don’t have a car? Shouldn’t everyone who lives in the middle of nowhere have a car?” he questioned, as he pulled the car over and dropped the shifter into park. He kept his finger on the lock and twisted himself around so he was facing me.

  “Asked you a question,” he reminded.

  “None of your business,” I hissed. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such an inconvenience to you but the longer you keep your hand on that button, the longer you’re stuck with me,” I said.

  “I think I’ve lost my fucking mind,” he whispered.

  “Yes, you have,” I confirmed. “Unlock the door,” I demanded again.

  “Why are you lying to your mother about quitting nursing school?” he questioned.

  “How the hell do you even know that?” I asked exasperated, dropping the can of mace back into my purse and pressing my head against the seat. I closed my eyes and counted to three.

  Re-opening my eyes, I was confronted by gorgeous, expressive eyes that belonged to the most annoying man I had ever met.

  Yeah, not a fucking a dream.

  “Don’t tell your roommate if you ever off someone, girl’s got loose lips,” he replied.

  “I have no idea why I’m even asking you this and I’m sure I’m going to kick myself in the ass but—you in some kind of trouble, kitten?”

  Mia. I was going to off her. She was the reason this Riggs character knew my fucking life story.

  I rubbed my temples, opened my eyes and fixed them on his.

  “Stop pretending like you give a shit and just take me home, that way we both can be rid of one another,” I said, turning my head away from him and staring out the window.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have asked,” he mumbled, as he roughly put the car back into drive and peeled off the service road. “Fucking Bianci,” he growled.

  My mother was right.

  This man was a hooligan.

  A panty dropping, hooligan.

  Five minutes later, he pulled up in front of my apartment and I climbed out of the truck, happy to be rid of him.

  Even though he was easy on the eyes.

  Despite he was a hot biker.

  I slammed the door and marched my way toward my building, not turning back until I heard him call out.

  “You’re fucking welcome,” he shouted out the window.

  I spun on my heel, glaring at him over the rim of my glasses.

  “I didn’t fucking thank you!”

  “Now there’s an idea,” he replied, giving me that grin one last time before he peeled away from the curb.

  Chapter Three

  Three Months Later

  No fucking patch. I was starting to think my brothers saw me as a joke and had no intention of giving me my patch. Sure, I went on some runs with them, and every now and then things got a little out of control, but mostly they didn’t even include me in the hardcore shit. The shit I signed up for in the first place.

  I flipped open my laptop and my fingers danced along the keyboard. Might as well keep myself entertained as I waited for the next joke of a job to be thrown my way. Maybe today they’ll make me clean the fucking toilets in this joint. I pulled up the four-frame on my computer and randomly selected one of the images.

  Old man Gregursky, always came through when I needed a good laugh. I double clicked on the frame, enlarging the surveillance footage of his apartment to fit my entire screen. He was one of my neighbors, not that he even knew I lived next door to him. I kept an apartment in Brooklyn, but rarely ever spent the night there. It was more of a storage facility than anything else, home of all my gadgets and gizmos. I had an electronic fetish and was pretty fucking good at what I did. I could tap into phone lines, security systems and even trace 911 calls. I could get you social security numbers, credit card numbers, and if you needed funds, I could pull them from your bank account with a key stroke. I was the man.

  I reached for my coffee mug on the nightstand and watched as Mr. Gregursky burnt his breakfast and used Poly Grip to glue his dentures into his mouth.

  “Come on man, give me something good,” I said to the screen as someone knocked on my door. I closed my laptop as Mr. Gregursky scratched his back with a spatula. I should’ve chosen the Chinese twins that loved threesomes.

  “Come in,” I said, throwing my computer onto the bed beside me.

  Blackie, the vice president of the Satan’s Knights, poked his head into my room.

  “The Bulldog wants to see you in the Chapel,” he stated, staring at me for a moment. Mr. Gregursky’s moans filled the room. Fucking, Gregursky. “Were you slapping it to a porno?” Blackie questioned with a disgusted look on his face.

  “What? No!” I said, jumping to my feet and glancing down at the offensive computer for a second before ushering Blackie out of my room.

  “You’re strange,” he said pointedly.

  “Yeah and you’re grumpy,” I replied, slapping him on the back. “We’re one hell of a pair. So, tell me, any idea why Prez wants to see me?”

  Jack ‘Bulldog’ Parrish, was the president of our club, a fierce leader and one badass motherfucker. Years ago, he lost his son, and the guys at the club, my brothers, say he hasn’t been the same since it happened. Word around the Dog Pound is that our president has a dark side, one that would terrify a serial killer. Blackie and Pipe keep him on a tight leash, stop him from losing control, but one day that man is going to break and God help the poor bastard on the other end of that.

  “No fucking idea,” Blackie mumbled, as we walked down the stairs.

  “Does that mean you assholes still haven’t voted on giving me my colors?” I asked, as we walked through the common room. Blackie paused, fixing me with a cold stare. Yeah, did I mention he was a badass too? Fucking man was what nightmares were made of.

  “You want to rephrase that?”

  “Can’t keep the president waiting!” I said, waving him off as I hurried around him and into the Chapel, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. I smiled sheepishly at Jack as Blackie pounded on the door behind me. “Should see about getting a lock on this thing and anger management wouldn’t be a bad idea for the big brute out there,” I suggested.

  “I can hear you,” shouted Blackie.

  “What’d you do to piss him off?”
>
  “I don’t know…woke up this morning?” I said, kicking off the door and making my way toward the large wooden table that sat in the center of the room. “He’s always on the rag that one,” I added, taking a seat at the table. I turned to the man who beckoned me here and flashed him my signature grin. “So what’s the deal, boss man? Finally, going to patch me in?”

  I looked at him expectantly, flipping my baseball cap around as he stared at me. His dark eyes studying me, burning a hole right through me as he chose the words he would deliver.

  “I like you Riggs,” he said.

  Gee, Prez. I like you too but not liking the warm fuzzy vibes.

  “I like you a lot,” he continued.

  Okay, weird moment.

  “And I feel your loyalty to the club but I’m not sure what makes you tick.”

  “I’m a real simple guy, Prez. I get high off of power and pussy,” I answered.

  His lips quirked momentarily. “Every man’s last words,” he said, leaning over the table and folding his hands. “Let me try this again,” he countered. “You show a lot of loyalty and you’re eager to be patched in—I have no doubt you’d wear your colors proud and live and breathe for your brotherhood. But we all got something in us, each member of this club, something else that drives us and that’s heart.”

  “I’ve got a heart,” I defended.

  “Yeah, you do but what’s your heart beating for? What inside of you is going to keep you level and keep you breathing? What’s the one thing that will prevent you from being reckless? Because at the end of the day whatever makes your heart beat will be the thing that keeps you alive. For me, it’s my daughter, for Blackie, it’s the fear of dying and seeing his wife’s tortured soul. Wolf keeps breathing for his boys and Pipe’s got a young wife he’s too jealous to leave behind. We’ve all got something,” he stated. “What do you have?”

  Well, fuck. Talk about crushing a man’s dreams. What did I have? What would keep me from being reckless? My computer? No. I tried to think of something that would keep me from dying, something to live for. Definitely not my family, they probably thought I was dead already. I gave up. What the fuck is with this sentimental bullshit anyway?