From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, Pipe, but you’ve upset my patient and I’m not very fond of you right now.”

  “Pleasure is all mine,” I mutter. In the last twenty-four hours Riggs, Wolf and now a nurse I don’t know, who just happens to be Cobra’s woman, have all given me shit. I’d say it’s about time I go back home. To where there are people I haven’t disappointed yet and a little girl who thinks I’m a superhero.

  “Mr. Scotto, let’s get you back in bed,”

  “I’m fine,” he fires back. “And how many times I gotta tell you to call me Wolf.”

  “Right,” the pretty nurse says. “Well, Wolf, the doctor has put you back on the oxygen for a reason.”

  “Yeah, because you people made me run on a treadmill and I nearly dropped dead.”

  “Well, maybe if you didn’t have people sneaking you in salami sandwiches you’d be okay to exercise.”

  “That’s all bullshit. I get enough exercise.”

  “Flapping your jaws isn’t an exercise,” I mutter, noticing as he stands that he does look thinner.

  “Give us a few minutes, darling,” he tells Cobra’s girl. She hesitates for a beat before pointing a finger at me.

  “Don’t make him upset,” she warns.

  I hold my hands up in mock surrender.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her sarcastically. A moment later she leaves the room and it’s just me and Wolf.

  “You were wrong in leaving,” he says after a moment of silence.

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “That’s the fucking truth,” he corrects. “It wasn’t the Corrupt Bastards who blew up the clubhouse. Charlie Teardrops wasn’t the one who strapped that bomb to Ronan.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I stare at him confused. However, as confused as I am by the information he’s revealed my mind flashes back to Blackie on my doorstep.

  “I think Blackie tried to tell me that,” I admit.

  “Yeah, well maybe you should have listened instead of slamming the door in his fucking face.”

  The confusion wears off as clarity sets in and I realize if Charlie wasn’t responsible for the bomb then I took my revenge on the wrong person. Whoever killed my wife is still running free. Apparently, Wolf recognizes the look in my eye and he starts to provide more insight. Insight I’m sure he also believes I don’t deserve.

  “After Victor died, his nephew Rocco took over his organization. The gangster in training tried to speak with Jack a bunch of times but he was in agreement with you. He felt once Victor was laid to rest all ties with the mob should die too.”

  “It’s a little too late for that, right?” I mutter the question.

  “Probably,” he agrees. “Anyway, the man who ordered the hit on us is worse than any devil we’ve wrestled with. He played us into believing it was Charlie who made the play so we’d be too distracted to see him coming through the harbor.”

  “Who is he?” I ask, pulling a chair next to the bed.

  “Vladimir Yankovich,” he supplies. “A Russian prick who is looking to wipe us and Rocco off the map. He wants control of the harbor so he can traffic girls through it. Young fucking girls and drugs, enough drugs to make Pablo Escobar look like a choir boy.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Jack finally sat down with Rocco and the moment Yankovich’s name came up, Cobra delivered the next blow. The guy had a twin sister who was abducted when they were kids. The cops did shit to find her and after they closed the case, his old man hired a bounty hunter. Yankovich caught wind and murdered Cobra’s parents. He and the bounty hunter have been hunting this motherfucker ever since.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I grunt, scratching my jaw. “His sister?”

  “Dead.”

  He pauses as I run my fingers through my hair.

  “There’s more.”

  I don’t want to hear anymore. The idea that some cocksucker is using young girls to move drugs through our harbor is enough to get my blood boiling This is what happens when an outlaw motorcycle club joins forces with a mobster. Their enemies become yours. No one is safe, the casualties pile and if you survive it’s only because the good Lord knows there is a RICO case building against you. Along with burying those you love; your punishment will include a maximum-security prison. If you’re the Satan’s Knights you’ll also add a motherfucker like Brantley to the mix.

  “There’s more,” Wolf says. “Vladimir had Rocco’s sister raped.”

  “And let me guess, Jack has decided it’s his place to get revenge for the victim.”

  “The victim also happens to be Stryker’s old lady, so yes, the club is involved. It’s not about helping Rocco anymore. It’s personal. It’s been personal since we found out this Russian bastard killed your wife, two prospects and left Linc fucking paralyzed.”

  “Linc is paralyzed?”

  “Yeah, and this no good hospital wanted to throw him on the street. I had to mortgage the house I own free and clear so he could get the fucking help he needs to get out of that chair. I’m busting out of this joint this week and we’re going to make the pigs who violated Stryker’s girl pay. Blackie and Jack will catch you up to speed,” he pauses. The faintest hint of a smile works its way across his lips as he looks me over. “Looks like you picked a fine time to pull the tampon out of your vagina. Saddle up you old bastard, we’re going to war.”

  “That’s not why I’m here, Wolf,” I say hesitantly, watching as his face falls and his features harden with anger. “It’s a fucking shame the girl got raped and Linc lost his legs but I hung up my patch and I have no intentions of putting that reaper back on.”

  “You’re not here for your patch?” he replies, genuinely baffled.

  “No, I came to see how you were doing—”

  “Bullshit,” he roars. “I’ve been holed up in this shithole for nearly two months and you haven’t so much as picked up the phone to see if I was alive, so don’t tell me you give a fuck now. Why are you here?”

  There is no use in arguing with the man. I can go on and on about my own grief but there is no excuse as to why I didn’t call him. I’m wrong and I’m man enough to admit that. However, I’ve had enough guilt shoved down my throat for the day. Deciding it’s best to give him the information I have on Brantley and get the fuck out of here, I continue.

  “Brantley.”

  “What about that cocksucker?”

  “He paid me a visit,” I say, rising to my full height. “He’s working with the ATF to bring the club down. I don’t know all the details but he’s got a warrant to search the garage. I saw it with my own eyes. I cleared my shit out so no one’s going down because of me, but if Jack’s negotiating any deals with the guns I’d watch your fucking back. He’s out for blood.”

  “You cleared your shit out?” he repeats.

  “The pipe bombs,” I clarify. “They’re gone.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the final nail in the coffin,” he mutters. “When is he planning on raiding the joint?”

  “Today.”

  “I suppose you want me to thank you for giving me the heads up.”

  “No,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “I don’t want anything from anyone.”

  “You’re going to come back, you know?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, you will,” he argues. “You and I, man, we’ve always been cut from the same cloth and that cloth is leather. This club is engrained into you. When you realize that, when you realize you’re not whole without it, you’ll be back.”

  Again, I don’t argue, mainly because I’m not a hundred percent sure he isn’t right. Stranger things have happened. Hell, they’re happening right now as I look at the man who took a chance on me, wishing the woman I left back home is equally generous and ready to take a chance on me.

  Me.

  Lee Jameson.

  Not Pipe of the Satan’s Knights.

  “Lay off the salt,” I tell him as I reach the door. Not bother
ing to look back, I walk out of the room knowing I did my part.

  It’s time to move on.

  It’s time to live.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It’s crazy how sometimes I find myself wishing for a break and now that I have it, I have no idea what to do with myself. After the kids left for their weekend with their father, I glanced around the empty house and the silence drove me crazy. I took a shower and got all dressed up for work, but as luck would have it the one weekend I don’t have to worry about leaving the kids by themselves, I’m not scheduled to work.

  For about a second, I toyed with the idea of going to the bar anyway before I changed into my pajamas and ordered enough Chinese food to feed a family of ten.

  Now I’m sitting on the couch wearing one of those wax masks that are all the rage, watching The Girlfriend’s Guide to Divorce as I eat my weight in Egg Foo Young.

  Good times.

  Not really.

  It doesn’t help that I keep staring out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of Lee’s headlights. I’d like to tell you I didn’t think about him, that I didn’t stare at the phone debating to call him or not, and while I’m at it I most certainly did not think about the kiss we shared.

  Nope, not at all.

  I didn’t touch my lips a hundred times trying to remember how swollen and bruised they felt after he left. Who the fuck am I kidding? I did. I totally did.

  Staring at the television, I watch the lead actress nervously go on her first date since her divorce and fork another mouthful of MSG. Of course, the first man she takes to bed is half her age and fucking gorgeous—total bullshit. My doorbell rings just as the show touches on the realistic part of jumping into bed with someone new, you know the part when you take off all your clothes and you wonder if he cares that you’re not as tight and taut as you were before you had children.

  Pushing the blanket off me, I shove another mouthful into my mouth and pause the show. Did I mention how much I love Netflix? It’s the best invention ever. Who needs cable anymore? Not this girl.

  Too enthralled by my binge-watching television escapade to think, I pull open the door and forget I’m by myself, away from the rest of world and the only person who could possibly be ringing my doorbell is the man who kissed me like I was the last woman on earth. Lee turns around and I watch as he quietly assesses me, pausing when his eyes meet mine.

  “Jesus, what the hell happened to you?” he asks, scratching his jaw.

  Instinctively, I narrow my eyes and glance down at my attire. Okay, so maybe I’m not dressed for the Oscars but there is nothing wrong with my pajamas. Well except for the fact I’m not wearing a bra and my nipples are saluting Lee. Crossing my arms against my chest, I lift my eyes.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” I say as he steps closer. Pulling my arms away from my chest, he pins them to my sides and lets his gaze wander to my defiant nipples. I guess they’re lonely too. His fingers glide up my sides and pause just under my chest.

  “Wasn’t talking about this,” he murmurs, his thumbs gently stroking the underside of my breasts.

  So, he did notice my headlights flashing.

  Teasing me with one hand, he lifts the other to my face and swipes his index finger along my cheek. “What’s all this black shit?”

  “Oh…shit,” I shriek, pulling out of his gasp. I lift my hands to my face and my eyes widen in horror as my fingertips graze over the wax.

  The fucking mask.

  Lee’s lips quirk and he steps inside my house, closing the door behind him.

  “I totally forgot I had this thing on,” I say as I leave him at the door and hurry toward the bathroom. Panic engulfs me as I glance around searching for the directions, wondering what the repercussions are for leaving wax on your face for over an hour. Black fucking wax.

  “Oh my God, what if it doesn’t come off?” I mumble to myself. “Where the fuck did I put the directions?”

  “Whoa, calm down, killer,” Lee soothes, forcing me to stand upright and glance at him in the mirror. Suddenly, my bathroom feels like one of those tiny outhouses. Grabbing my shoulders, he gently pushes me down on the toilet and kneels between my legs. “It’s a good look on you,” he jokes, running his fingers down the side of my cheek.

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Is it working?”

  “A little,” I laugh, drawing in a deep breath as I glance around the messy bathroom. “I can’t find the directions but I’m pretty sure I just have to peel it off.”

  He scans my face, lifting his fingers to the hard wax around my hairline. His fingers are gentle as they pick at a corner. Getting some leverage, he begins to pull the mask away from my skin.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “No,” I murmur, as he continues to peel the wax. “Rip it off.”

  “So, you like it rough, aye?” he teases, amusement flickering in his light eyes.

  “I don’t remember how I like it,” I answer honestly. Realizing the weight of my admission, I let out a nervous laugh and avoid his eyes.

  “Look at me,” he commands gently, flicking some of the wax into the sink before he goes back to removing it. “How long has it been?”

  If my cheeks weren’t already red from him peeling off the mask, they’d be crimson now. I shake off the embarrassment because I’m a rock star like that and shrug my shoulders. I honestly don’t remember the last time Louie and I had sex. I want to say we gave it a go before we signed the papers but I’m not sure. It makes me realize how much of my divorce I’ve blocked from my head.

  “That long, huh?” he questions. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.

  The way he says it stirs something inside of me and I watch quietly as he grabs the towel from the rack. Placing it under the faucet, he turns on the water, dampening it before he gently washes my face with it.

  “There’s that face,” he says after a moment.

  Something has changed between us.

  There is a tenderness that wasn’t there before.

  An understanding of sorts.

  A commitment to care.

  “I missed you, is that weird?” I blurt, blinking as he stands and offers me his hands. “Don’t answer that,” I say quickly as he pulls me to my feet and spins me around to face the mirror.

  Thankful my skin is still intact, I run the back of my hand over my red cheek and meet his gaze through the mirror.

  “I missed you too, killer,” he says, leaning into me as he presses his mouth to my cheek. I stare at our reflections, watching as his lips trail down the side of my neck.

  We fit.

  Tattered and torn, our broken pieces fit.

  His hands move to my hips as his lips part against my shoulder and his tongue glides over my skin.

  “The kids still with their father?” he asks as he tugs on the thin strap of my camisole with his teeth.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “How do you know that?” I ask a moment later.

  “Tommy called me,” he supplies, sliding one hand around me and pressing it against my stomach. His fingers inch lower and tease the hem of my shirt. Trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that his touch is awakening every nerve in my body, I lay my hand over his. He lifts his head and meets my surprised gaze.

  “Its fine,” he assures. “I like your kids, Layla,” he adds before licking his lips. “And I really, really like their mom,” he continues, leaning his chin on my shoulder. “She’s fucking beautiful. And sexy,” he says, pressing himself against my ass. “So fucking sexy.”

  My inhibitions fade and I quickly spin around, wrapping my arms around his neck. My breath comes out in short pants and before I realize what’s happening my mouth is on his. He grabs a hold of my hips and slams my back into the vanity, taking control of our frenzied mouths. Our hands are quick, moving all over one another as our tongues duel, conquering and tasting every inch.

  Like he did the night he first kissed me, he wedges his leg between mine,
prying them apart, rocking his hardened cock against my belly in slow, tantalizing thrusts. A moan ruptures past my lips as I slide my hands under his shirt and touch all the hard plains of his chest. I’ve forgotten how much I enjoy this part, touching and exploring, familiarizing myself with all the parts of him I’m going to hang onto when he’s driving himself deep inside me.

  Lee pulls his mouth from mine and I fist his shirt to bring him back to me but he lifts me by my hips and deposits me on top of the vanity. He brushes away my hands and takes a step back. Swallowing, I push my hair away from my face and open my mouth to ask him why he stopped. Before I can get the words out, his hands are on the waistband of my pajama pants.

  “Lift your ass,” he instructs as he starts to work the material down my hips. I obey, gripping the edge of the counter, and before I can blink, my pants along with my panties are on the floor. Bare from the waist down and feeling self-conscious, I start to close my legs but he covers my knees with his palms and shakes his head.

  “Don’t,” he orders. “I want to look,” he says as his hands move up my thighs. Wetness pools between the lips of my pussy as I struggle to keep my legs open, knowing his eyes are glued to the most intimate part of me.

  Lee growls and I watch as he unbuttons his jeans. Drawing down the zipper, he shoves his hand in his pants and cups his bare cock. I barely register the fact he’s not wearing underwear, too infatuated with the facial expressions he makes as he stares at me and strokes himself. Finally, he lifts his gaze upward and tips his chin toward my tits.

  “Take the shirt off, Layla,” he commands in a guttural tone. His voice makes me even wetter and I do as I’m told, gripping the hem of my shirt I pull it over my head and toss it to the floor.

  “What about you?” I ask as I take a deep breath and brace both hands on the counter. Fully aware I’m on display, feeling a little out of control but loving it all.

  Every fucking second.

  Pulling his hand out of his pants, he reaches behind him and pulls his shirt over his head. My eyes span his shoulders, taking in all the vibrant colors of his tattoos, traveling down his chest and admiring the dusting of hair that covers it and the thinner trail that disappears into his jeans. My fingers itch to touch, my mouth salivates for a taste causing me to whimper.