Drifter

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Mouth to mouth.

  A kiss.

  A declaration of affection.

  “I love you too, soldier,” she whispers against my mouth.

  I cup her face, lean back and take her eyes. The piece of her I’ll take with me wherever I go.

  Pretty green eyes.

  Dropping my hands from her face I watch as she takes a few steps back and I throw my leg over my Harley.

  Music.

  Together our engines come to life making music a symphony of brotherhood, vengeance and survival.

  I back out of my mother’s driveway, glance back at the two women sitting on the steps of the porch as the brigade of bikes roar and peel away from the house.

  “I’ve got you.” I mouth the words that have become my lifeline as much as hers and take off to make the men who dulled my girl’s sparkle, pay.

  Jack leads us on a ride that comprises hours on a thruway until we’re back in the city, back on the streets that are ours.

  Ours.

  Satan’s Fucking Knights.

  Where we are all property of Parrish.

  Pulling into the shipping yard I instantly spot the Maserati parked in front of one of the containers. The engines die and Jack is the first to dismount. Walking toward me, he tips his chin to the rest of our brothers before he throws his arm around my shoulders.

  “You ready?”

  “Yes,” I say, rolling my neck from side to side.

  No one ever asked me if I was ready before I pulled a trigger. They gave me my orders and commanded I follow through with them. But this was different. This was my show and the men surrounding me were there to back me up.

  To hold the motherfuckers down as I terrorized them.

  Terror is a bitch of thing.

  It lives everywhere, in every human being’s eyes and then there are the people who deliver the terror, the terrorists we all fear.

  Today I’m the terrorist.

  Today my war with terror is in a shipping container and not in the sand in some piece of shit country ruled by extremists.

  Today I am the extremist.

  “We got the three of them. Yankovich basically handed them to us on a silver platter before he went off the grid. He’s not like any enemy we’ve ever fought. He uses and abuses to his own advantage and then when he’s done with them, he looks to dispose of them. But the motherfucker doesn’t get his hands dirty. He plays you, makes you think you’re getting your due revenge on the people that wronged you but you’re just eliminating his messenger.”

  I turn my eyes back to Jack as I climb off my bike and crack my knuckles.

  “We’re going to get him,” he vows. “But first there are a couple of vultures that need to be taught a lesson. You know what that lesson is, boy?”

  “Yeah, don’t fucking touch what’s mine,” I growl.

  He nods, patting me on the back as he leads me over to his bike and pauses. I watch as he reaches into his saddlebags and pulls out two objects.

  A rusted pipe.

  And a dirty knife.

  Jack Parrish is a man of his word.

  We move toward the containers, my hands wrapped tightly around the weapons I’ll use to avenge Gina’s attackers and my band of brothers close behind me. Riggs goes to open the container and when the doors burst open Rocco is standing before me covered in blood.

  My eyes narrow at him and my knuckles whiten as they grip the knife and pipe with every ounce of strength I possess.

  “They’re all yours,” he sneers, stepping aside and allowing us room to walk into the tiny container.

  “Holy shit,” Riggs mutters.

  “Fucking hell,” Jack growls.

  Three men whom I’ve never seen before lay on top of one another on the floor, naked as the day their sorry asses were born into the world. Their bodies are bloodied and beaten with chains wrapped around their ankles binding them together. The first man is lying face first on the floor with the other pressed against his backside, nothing separating them but the cock of the second man. The third is on the back of the second in the same position.

  No.

  They cry no.

  All three of them.

  I grab the pipe and walk over to the third man.

  “You asked for this,” I tell him. “The way you were dressed, you asked for this,” I snarl as I reach down and spread his cheeks apart and close my eyes.

  I’m the man on the roof.

  The man who served his country.

  Protected YOUR freedom.

  Now that man is protecting a different kind of freedom.

  The freedom of a woman.

  Of her body.

  Of her mind.

  Of her spirit.

  I’m no hero.

  I shove the rusted pipe in his ass, listen as he cries out in shame and begs for me to stop.

  I am a Satan’s Knight.

  And you don’t ever touch what is mine.

  The Fucking End

  Praise Jesus!

  Epilogue

  Six months later…

  I’ve been planning this day, working toward it for months. It wasn’t easy getting to this moment, claiming this type of beautiful again, but with therapy and the help of my loved ones I’m healing and feeling like the Gina I used to be.

  The Gina who loved the city and didn’t fear it.

  The Gina who wanted to be touched and didn’t flinch every time her boyfriend showed her affection.

  The independent, fearless woman, who speaks what she thinks and has no filter is slowly creeping her way back into the land of the living.

  Walking down the streets I love, holding Stryker’s hand, I glance at him and the butterflies are instant.

  This man.

  This amazingly patient man.

  The last six months have been just as torturous for him as they have been for me, but he’s been a pillar of strength for me. At first I thought it was guilt driving his devotion, but then he told me he loved me, and more than that, he proved it.

  Every single day.

  He proved what beautiful was.

  It was him.

  It was his love.

  His patience to heal the broken girl he loved.

  Stryker doesn’t like to be called a hero, doesn’t believe he’s ever done a thing in his life to deserve the title, but I know better. I know without him this battle I’m fighting to reclaim the broken pieces of me wouldn’t be possible.

  My therapist has made me see I need to be the one in control of my healing process. I can’t push my limits, I have to go at the pace my mind and body sets. As much as I wished to shed my skin and replace my body with a new one I couldn’t. The same way I couldn’t erase the memory of what happened to me. I still have nightmares, still hear their voices and the terrible things they whispered into my ear. I still remember the homeless man who covered me with his coat and the hero that carried me out of the alleyway—Stryker. I still remember the words that became my saving grace. I’ve got you.

  He squeezes my hand as we cross the street and I turn my gaze to him, watching as he stares up at the Freedom Tower. A few days after we came home from visiting Claire, Jack and Blackie showed up at my apartment with a housewarming present. Apparently, Stryker was giving up the hotel and his brothers had decided that if he was going to call my apartment home then he needed a piece of himself somewhere amongst all the girl crap. It was a nice sentiment I suppose, and it was how I came to learn that the Satan’s Knights were a bunch of ball busters.

  Ball busters with a whole lot of heart.

  The tattered flag they gave him was the same flag he brought back from Afghanistan, the same flag that survived the bomb at the clubhouse. That flag symbolizes not only freedom but survival, and it proudly hangs in our living room.

  “Jesus,” he hisses as we make our way to the Twin Tower footprints, the tranquil sound of the waterfalls washing over us. Staring at the names
of the men and women who died on that September day, watching as Stryker runs his fingers over some of them, I realize how grateful I am for the sacrifice not only he’s made but the sacrifice of all the young men and women who enlist in the military. I’m ashamed to admit I never gave much thought to veterans before I met Stryker.

  He glances back at me.

  “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to see this with my own eyes.”

  “I got us tickets to the museum too, but if it’s too much—” My words trail off as he lifts his finger to my lips and silences me.

  “Sometimes I forget,” he admits. “I pretend the only reason I enlisted was to become a man because my father was useless in that department. I forget how I felt when I saw those towers collapse, how the anger ate away at me like a cancer. I forget that while thousands of people volunteered with the recovery here, I stood in front of a recruiting office.”

  I watch him turn around, his eyes scanning the names before diverting back toward the tallest building our city has ever known.

  “You see that building, pretty girl?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, letting my eyes travel to the top and to the spire that pokes the beautiful blue sky.

  “That’s proof that terror can’t win,” he says softly, lifting his hands to my face. “And so are you.”

  My gaze drops from the spire and meets his soulful, brown eyes.

  “Those eyes,” he rasps. “I didn’t want to stick. I didn’t want to find a home, and I sure as hell didn’t want to fall in love. I didn’t, not at all, not one bit. But then I found these eyes,” he says as his thumbs stroke the skin beneath my eyes. “Felt that lightning, and fuck me, my plan went to shit.”

  A chuckle escapes my lips as my eyes fill with tears. They’re not the tears of heartache, remorse and fear I’ve cried over the last six months. They’re tears of promise, of happiness and of beauty.

  “I’m still waiting on you, pretty girl,” he murmurs as he leans into me. His breath touches my lips and I close my eyes briefly waiting for the kiss that never comes.

  “Maybe you don’t have to wait much longer,” I say, opening my eyes as I wrap my arms around his neck. “I think I’m ready.”

  I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows and narrows his eyes, searching mine to be sure I’ve actually said the words I know he’s patiently been waiting to hear.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Everything,” I whisper.

  I want him to touch me again.

  I want to feel him on top of me.

  I want to look into his eyes and feel him inside me.

  I want to reclaim my body

  I want to give him the pieces they took from me.

  I want his dirty promises.

  And then I’ll give him what he’s really been waiting on.

  I’ll give him the notebook.

  Staring down at the paper in my hands I read the test results over and over before lifting my gaze back to hers. She shuffles her weight from foot to foot as she gnaws on her lower lip and her pretty green eyes bore into mine. So many questions are on the tip of my tongue but I don’t find my voice and so I ask them with my eyes and hope she answers.

  “I’m clean,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

  “Yeah, I see that,” I reply hoarsely, holding the paper in the air between us.

  “It’s the last part of the nightmare,” she says. “It’s the validation I needed to know I can move forward. Those results are my freedom tower,” she rasps, before finding the will to smile. “I’m free.”

  She’ll never be free.

  Not fully.

  But I get what she’s saying. She’ll always be the girl who survived a traumatic experience but she won’t always be the victim. She will rebuild, and now with a clear head she can do that.

  She takes the paper from my hands and tears it in half, letting the pieces fall to the floor before she steps closer and wraps her arms around my neck.

  “I want you, Stryker,” she whispers.

  These are the words I’ve been waiting to hear, the words I wasn’t so sure would ever escape her lips. Words I was okay not hearing ever again as long as I had her, but fuck if those words aren’t music to my fucking ears.

  Keeping myself in check, I drop my hands to her hips and touch my forehead to hers.

  “I want you to be sure,” I tell her.

  “I am,” she says with conviction. “I want all your dirty promises, soldier…every last one.” She pauses and cocks her head to the side as her eyes flicker with uncertainty. “I mean if that’s what you want, if you still—”

  “Shut up, Gina,” I cut her off, squeezing her hips in my hands. “There isn’t a fucking thing I want more in this world than to be buried between your legs, watching your pretty face as you come all over my cock. I want to taste that sweet cunt of yours too. I want that a whole lot, maybe more than I want to ride you up against the wall. Yeah, I want you dripping on my tongue as you grind against my face. I want you screaming my name, begging for more, and when you’re finally full and think you can’t possibly come anymore…I want to be the one who proves you wrong. I want that every night of my life, every fucking night until I’m dead and buried.”

  “Dirty promises,” she breathes.

  “No, that’s a fact,” I correct.

  “A lot more than five,” she comments.

  Moving my hands around her waist I flick the button open on her jeans with one hand as I keep my eyes glued to hers.

  “Give me the green light, pretty girl, and I’ll give you a glimpse of what forever looks like, but be sure because I’ll never take what you’re not willing to give.”

  “I want to give you everything,” she says.

  “Green light,” I repeat.

  Laying her hand over mine she slowly slides my hand inside her pants until my fingers touch the lace that covers the part of her we’re both dying to reclaim. Her hand leaves mine and moves to the waistband of her jeans and she works them down her hips. My fingers start to move and a whimper escapes her lips causing my hand to immediately still.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” she groans.

  “You’re sure?”

  She grabs my shoulders and pushes down on me until I’m on my knees in front of her and my hands are assisting hers at tugging the denim down her legs.

  “I’m sure,” she says as she kicks off the jeans and hooks her thumbs around her thong. “Give me your mouth,” she demands, her eyes sparkling with determination.

  I don’t give her a chance to pull her panties off as my mouth comes crashing over her lace covered pussy. My teeth nip at the lace and my tongue slides over her, tasting what I’ve missed. Her hands find their way to my head and she presses against it, shoving my face and tongue deeper inside of her. I pull the thong down to her thighs and shove her legs further apart as I bury my head between her legs and eat her like I’m being sent to the chair, and she’s the meal I’ve requested before my execution.

  I glance up at her and watch her lose herself, chasing the high of getting off on my tongue as she grinds her cunt against me to her own rhythm. Keeping my eyes on her face, I slowly slide two fingers into her sleek heat, and when I know for certain she’s still with me, I fuck the shit out of her with my fingers and press my tongue to her clit.

  Come for me, pretty girl.

  Give it all back to me.

  Let me give it all back to you.

  She clenches around me, holding my fingers tightly inside her as my tongue continues to ravage her nerves and then she comes.

  She gives me her freedom and trusts me to protect it.

  Now, that’s the fucking beautiful I’ve been waiting for.

  She stills, leans over me as her fingers dig into my shoulders and I slowly lean back to asses her features.

  “I’ve got you,” I rasp, withdrawing my fingers from her before taking hold of her thighs and steadyi
ng her on her wobbly feet. Her green eyes, filled with lust and satisfaction, meet mine and the grin spreads across her face.

  “Yeah, you do,” she says breathlessly.

  My grin matches the one on her face as she wraps herself around me, pushes me down onto my back and straddles me.

  “What do you want, pretty girl?” I ask as I reach up and thread my fingers through her hair.

  “Everything,” she replies, unbuttoning my cargos. “But this…this I need.”

  “Then take what you need,” I tell her, before bringing her mouth down to mine.

  That kiss is the last thing I take from her before I hand over the control and let her set the pace as she takes a seat on my cock, slowly taking in every inch. I forgot how fucking good it felt to be inside her, but what I longed for most was to watch her. However, I didn’t bank on how fucking beautiful she’d be this time, how fucking liberating it would be to watch her ride my cock and reconnect with her own body.

  Fucking beautiful.

  We go at it like a bunch of horny teenagers, making up for the last six months as we wash away the terror and find all the beauty. By the time the sun rises I’m fucking dead and not even the threat of nightmares can keep me from holding her close as I fall asleep.

  “Stryker,” she whispers against my ear.

  “Hmm,” I mutter, keeping my eyes closed. How the fuck is she not tired?

  Then my lips quirk as she pinches my nipple.

  I’ve got my girl back.

  “You can’t go to bed,” she says.

  “Babe, you just rode my cock like a bucking bronco, go to sleep. I promise I’ll let you at it again in a couple of hours.”

  “No,” she insists, leaning over my limp body, pressing those fucking delicious tits of hers in my face.

  She’s going to kill me.

  Fact number twelve thousand sixty-eight.

  I open one eye as she reaches for something on the nightstand and then slaps it against my chest.

  “There’s something else I have to give you,” she starts, pulling my arms until I’m forced to sit up. “Don’t fuck this up for me, Stryker or I won’t wake you up with a blowjob,” she warns.