I’ve lived two lives.
One full of innocence and one full of sin.
I mourned the perfect life I was born into and made it my duty to chase the phantom who stole it from me.
Revenge, mayhem and loss are all I know.
I am the lone man—I am the wanderer.
The former nomad—now, Satan’s deadliest soldier.
The two worlds were never supposed to collide. Innocence and sin aren’t made to coexist yet somehow my past bleeds into the present and I find myself facing my biggest regret…I find myself face to face with her—the girl who got away.
The girl I let go.
The woman I’ll ruin if I stay.
Our young love was marred by violence.
Our guilt destroyed us, fate tempted us but, it was he who broke us.
They say time heals all, but all time did was dull the ache of his abandonment.
Now, dressed in leather, covered in ink the boy I mourned is now a man—a man tormented by his demons.
In another life we were everything to one another.
In this life we’re strangers.
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© Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved by Janine Infante BoscoDrawing in a deep breath, I reach for the knob, twisting it until I open the door and step into dangerous terrain. Closing the door behind me I stagger into the darkness of the room, feeling along the walls as I walk further into Cobra’s territory. A waft of stale smoke assaults my senses as I glance around the small, dated room. My roaming gaze comes to a halt, landing on the man twisted in the sheets of the bed. Tucking my bottom lip between my teeth, a wave of longing washes over me as I stare at the corded muscles of his back and all the colorful tattoos that seem to take up every inch of his skin. So many colors, so much story in each piece. As I gravitate toward the bed the urge to trace every single one consumes me. It’s not the promise of the man I’m hooked on. It’s the man. It’s this incredibly mysterious man that I used to know. “I’m not dreaming,” he mumbles into the pillow, startling me. My knees touch the edge of his bed as his thick, raspy voice blankets me and sends a shiver up my spine. It’s not new—that voice was there years ago too. It’s the voice of sex, of carnal pleasure and the promise of bliss. It’s predatory, feral and so damn tempting. “No you’re not.” The words are a breathy whisper, a tone he’ll recognize. One that is as sinful as his. We’re in trouble. So much fucking trouble. His head slowly rises from between the pillows and his eyes slice to me, squinting as if he’s witnessing a mirage. “Feel you in my bones, Cel,” he explains huskily before dropping his face into his pillow. “I’m sorry, Deuce let me in. I could go, maybe—” He rolls over on his side, the sheets twist at his waist, leaving very little to the imagination as his eyes skate over me. “Don’t know why you’re here, don’t care too much either, but thankful as fuck for whatever brought you here, gorgeous,” he says, a lazy smirk tipping his lips as he extends a hand. “Get over here,” he demands. I should have been prepared. I should have known that a higher force always has a plan for us. I should have been stronger. I should have known he’d hook me with a look and I’d crawl into bed with him. I should have known old habits are hard to break. I should have known old loves never die.
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I’m a drifter. A man born to ride through this world alone. There used to be a time when I thought I was the rescuing type. I enlisted in the Marines and made it my duty—I was going to save lives. I was going to be a true American hero. But God had another plan. Or maybe Satan did. For everything I touch finds mortality. I’m no hero. I’m nothing. I’m a veteran biker, a former nomad who survived war only to live in hell. Now I ride with the Satan’s Knights of Brooklyn and I’m drifting into a different kind of chaos. The kind that revolves around a pretty girl with intoxicating green eyes. A girl who has the power to turn me inside out. A girl who doesn’t need anyone to rescue her because she’s her own savior. Until she’s not. But a man plagued by war and the devil inside him can never be her hero.
Strong. Independent. Fierce. They are the three things I strived to be. But sometimes being successful can be lonely. Sometimes a girl just wants to be a girl and have someone take care of her. Maybe even love her. Sometimes the strong become vulnerable. Or worse, the victor becomes the victim. Sometimes we lose control or in my case it’s stripped from you. Defeated. Broken. Haunted. They are the three things I have become. In my darkest hour I admit defeat. In my darkest hour I need one person. I need him. Stryker.
***NOTE: DRIFTER is a STANDALONE novel. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, sensitive subjects, offensive language, and mature topics. Recommended for age 18 years and up. ***