Ashes to Ashes By Janine Infante Bosco Excerpt Reveal © Copyright 2022
Chapter One Shady
It sure sucks getting old, just ask the poor bastard behind the bar. I bet you anything, he’d agree. Leftie went from being a goddamn stallion, catching tail like nobody’s business, to babysitting my brother’s kids and cleaning up after a bunch of grown ass men.
“Did I miss a party?” I ask him as I flip my sunglasses on top of my head.
He drops an empty longneck into the trash and lifts his beady eyes to mine. He may be old as dirt, and his hands might have failed him, making it impossible for him to ride with the club anymore, but the man has a keen sense of intuition. He looks at you and it’s like he’s looking deep into your fucking soul.
There are no secrets and lies with Leftie, he sees right through them.
Eats them up and spits them out.
Setting the trash bin down, he braces his wrinkly hands on the edge of the bar. His bushy eyebrows slant in a frown as he regards me.
“Would it matter? These days you miss everything.”
Like I said, the man is intuitive.
Perceptive as the day is long.
He’s also outspoken as fuck and has no problem calling someone out on their bullshit. I suppose it was only a matter of time before he got on my case. I just wish he didn’t decide to do it at the crack of dawn, after I’ve spent the better part of the night and early morning, riding up and down the North Carolina Coast.
“Just because you cut out early last night, doesn’t mean the rest of us didn’t have ourselves a good time.”
Sighing, I shrug my leather jacket off and drape it over the back of one of the wooden stools lining the bar. Leftie ain’t wrong, I do miss a lot these days, and last night, even though I did my best to participate, to be the brother everyone expects me to be, I snuck out as soon as I could. But I never miss the important shit. I live by the creed of death before dishonor. I always show up for church, and my bike is the first to roll out whenever Hell calls.
However, when the dust settles on all that, and my obligations are fulfilled, I’m out the door. I don’t hang around the clubhouse or break bread with my brothers. Everyone thinks it’s because my blood brother, Maverick, the president of this club, reconciled with his ex-wife. They think I still hold a candle for Holly, but that shit is the furthest thing from the truth.
Sure, I had a thing for Holly when we were kids, but I made the mistake of bringing her around my older brother. Those two locked eyes and I was instantly forgotten. It bothered me back then, sent me to a different fucking charter—but I got over it. There are certain things in life you can’t argue, and there’s no denying Maverick and Holly were put on this Earth to love one another.
I’m just the guy who aligned destiny.
I don’t really feel like reiterating all that though, so I ignore Leftie’s scrutiny and round the bar, making my way to the Keurig. Not only did the Satan’s Knights get their queen back when Maverick and Holly got back together, but the clubhouse got a little domesticated. We got a fancy coffee pot and a fucking closet full of clean sheets now. Popping in one of the K-Cups, I reach for a Styrofoam cup. Once the coffee starts to brew, I turn back to the old geezer.
“Want some coffee?” I ask nonchalantly.
“No, I do not want your fucking coffee, boy,” he grunts, shaking his head.
Always so pleasant this one.
But, hey, it was worth a shot.
“I want you to pull your damn head out of your ass.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I glance over my shoulder.
“Looks like my head is right where it’s supposed to be.”
I bring my gaze back to him and flash him a grin. He doesn’t reciprocate the gesture, though, and I sigh. It’s easier to let him believe what he wants then for me to explain the truth.
There is always one event in life that shapes who you become. One event that sets your limits and decides your weaknesses. For me that event happened in a clubhouse just south of Knightdale. We were ambushed at gunfire and the only fucking casualty was my girlfriend, CeCe. Even now, after all these years, I can still feel her lifeless body in my arms.
I can still see all the blood on my hands.
It jump-starts a slew of memories and I relive every fucking moment. My desperate pleas for help and the closed casket I stared at for two days because the mortician wasn’t a magician—he couldn’t make the bullet holes in her face disappear.
Swallowing, I meet Leftie’s gaze.
“I’m working on it, old man,” I croak.
Some days are better than others and I foolishly believe I’m past it, that I can be the dependable Knight my brothers rely on to wreak havoc. Then I’m put in a position where I have to blow the head off some bitch involved with a major fucking drug cartel and I fucking freeze. I stand completely still, and I’m reminded not all men are wired to forget. Some of us carry the weight of our demons until we draw our final breath.
“Yeah, well I ain’t got too much time left so you better figure it out soon or I’ll haunt your fucking ass from the depths of Hell.” He scratches the side of his head as I reach for my cup of coffee. “Got Ghost to come around. You’re next.”
I bring the cup of coffee to my lips. Holding it there, I raise an eyebrow at the mention of our newly minted Vice President.
“You got Ghost to come around,” I repeat.
I’m not sure what that means, but there isn’t a man more fucked than Ghost. After burying his infant daughter, Abigail, the man went off the deep end, drowning his pain in booze, pills, and fast pussy.
Living only to beat back his demons every day.
There ain’t no way in hell that man came around and saw some divine light.
“Brought a nice girl back with him last night,” Leftie reveals. “None of the usual gash that hangs off his dick.”
Right before I took off last night, Ghost came through with a pretty little blonde, not his usual type, but I doubt that matters. She’s probably long gone by now and he’s just coming down from a high.
I stare at Leftie for a beat as I contemplate whether I should burst his bubble or not.
First it was the arthritis that got the man, now it looks like dementia is taking shots at him too.
Poor guy can’t catch a break.
I shake my head and take a sip of my coffee, deciding there is no harm in letting the old man believe his boy has turned a corner.
“Don’t shake your head at me, Shady. I’m fucking serious. He hasn’t left his room all night. Not for booze and not to rob me of my pain pills.”
I raise an eyebrow. I don’t know what shocks me more, the fact Ghost spent the night with the blonde or Leftie knowing he hits up his medicine cabinet on the regular.
“You know about that?”
“Boy, there ain’t a thing that gets past me. I count my oxy’s every night and every morning there are at least two missing.”
“If that’s the case, why do you leave them where he can get to them?”
“Because at least then I know he ain’t getting any of that fentanyl shit.”
And just like that the old man is back in the game, proving he is not to be underestimated and also sharp as a fucking tack.
Pushing away from the bar, he brings his hand to his mouth and covers a yawn.
“You know come to think of it, I’m going to take advantage of the situation. Lay my head on my pillow without worrying if I’m gonna wake up and find the boy dead.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say, setting my coffee cup on top of the bar. He goes to turn around but stops and points a finger at me.
“You’d be wise to do the same, son. You look like shit.”
My lips quirk slightly.
“Can always count on you to tell it like it is, Leftie.”
He mumbles something I can’t quite make out, then turns and meanders down the hallway. Over the years, he’s bought some foreclosure properties, but instead of making a home for himself, he fixes them up and rents them out. Home for Leftie is wherever his brothers are and that’s this clubhouse.
I finish off my coffee and toss the empty cup in the trash. I’m about to grab my leather jacket from the stool and head to bed myself when the door opens. Turning around, I expect to find another brother straggling in but it’s the Devil incarnate who walks through the door.
Harsh?
Nah, I don’t think so.
How else would you describe a woman who let her baby drown in a bathtub so she can get high? To make matters worse, she took off after the baby died. Didn’t stick around to take the heat from killing that sweet girl, nor did she make one single funeral arrangement. She dipped out like a fucking phantom, leaving Ghost to bury their daughter all by himself. To my knowledge he ain’t seen or heard from her since and now here she is, months later, strutting into the holy land like she ain’t done nothing wrong. Like she doesn’t have a big fat target between her light gray eyes.
My nostrils flare as I pull in a breath and roll my neck from side to side. I tell myself Bianca Ramirez is not my problem, but that shit just isn’t true. If Ghost sees her here, she’ll be everyone’s problem and it’s too damn early for a motherfucking massacre.
Without uttering a single word, I advance toward her. I don’t know where she’s been or what she’s done since she skipped town, but she doesn’t look like she’s been suffering. If anything, she looks good.
Her long black hair hangs in sheets around her heart-shaped face. It’s shiny and calls for my touch. If she were any other woman, I’d reach out and drag my fingers through it just to see if it feels like silk beneath my fingertips. But she’s not any other woman, she’s Ghost’s.
It doesn’t matter that he’s got another broad in his bed right now or that he fucking wants her dead. The line was drawn in the sand when he knocked her up.
I can look. I can stare into those gray eyes that are heavily lined with black shit to mask the torment of a shit life and I can let my gaze wander to her mouth—to that fucking piercing right at the center of her bottom lip. I can even wonder what it might feel like to pull it between my teeth. To suck and flick my tongue over it. My eyes can travel down her body too. Take purchase on her full tits that are all but falling out of the tank top she’s wearing and the hips that were created with man in mind.
So yeah, I can look but I can’t touch.
Never touch.
She lifts her chin and relief fills those fucking eyes as she sucks in a breath.
“Shady,” she regards softly.
Before she hooked up with Ghost and made herself the Satan’s Knights number one enemy, I contemplated making a move on her. B wasn’t like the other gash who hung around the clubhouse always looking for cock. The girl had a real appreciation for bikes and a deep interest in riding. She’d sit with us guys for hours, knocking back beers and talking about Harley’s. It was like she was one of the boys except she didn’t have a patch and she was much prettier to look at. I thought she could be the one who got me out of my fucking funk. Put an end to the nightmares and breathe a little life into a beat up soul. But Ghost noticed her too and he didn’t have demons stalling him like I did. Soon after they started hooking up, she fell pregnant, and that door officially closed for me.
There was no great love story between them, and everyone knew it. They were just two lonely people who found comfort in one another. Still, they put their best foot forward and tried to hold it together for the sake of their kid. To anyone who was watching, they did a good job of it too. Things got dicey after the baby was born, but I think that was expected. All new parents are tested to some degree. However, the overdose and Abigail’s tragic death—no one saw that coming.
“It’s good to see you,” she says, tucking a silky strand of hair behind her ear.
I wish I could say the same about her but seeing her only serves as a reminder that I’m nobody’s first choice. I clench my jaw and narrow my eyes.
“How the fuck did you get past the gates?”
Unlike other charters, we don’t have a whole lot of security around our compound. Maverick keeps a prospect or two at the gates and Wiz, our tech guy, has a few cameras scattered around the lot. It’s not ideal, a point I’ve been arguing for years. All it takes is one enemy with a big pair of balls and we’re done. It can be gunfire like I experienced, or a bomb like it was for the New York charter. It took out their whole goddamn clubhouse, left one of their members a widow, another in a wheelchair and their president at the time, temporarily deaf.
But if it ain’t broken in Maverick’s eyes, he doesn’t fix it. Still, anyone with a kutte knows Bianca is persona non grata around here. Whoever is working that front gate is going to catch hell and it’ll be the likes of which he’s never seen before.
“Please, Shady, I just want to talk to him—”
I cut her off, anger filtering through my veins. I don’t know if I’m riled up because she’s here at all, or if I’m merely twisted because she’s trying to sweet-talk me. She thinks she can bat her long lashes and stare at me with those sad eyes, say my name softly and I’ll just go against the patch.
“I don’t give a fuck what you want, and I can assure you Ghost doesn’t either,” I sneer.
Maybe she’s high. I can’t think of another reason why she’d show her fucking face here. Taking another step forward, my eyes roam the length of her, searching for a sign that she’s fucked up.
Pinpoint pupils.
Track marks on her bare arms.
Something.
Anything.
But her skin is fucking flawless and her eyes—goddamn those eyes.
Kryptonite.
Look away, Shady.
Look the fuck away.
Swiping a hand over my bald head, I force my gaze away from her.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” she whispers hoarsely.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re looking for, trouble is all you’re gonna find.”
My gaze cuts back to her and I bite the inside of my cheek to refrain from saying something I might regret. My mouth might yield to the warning bells going off in my head, but my feet don’t, and I take a step closer to her.
Then another.
She may be the one who overdosed, but I’m the junkie.
Always fixing to make a bad decision.
Another regret. Swallowing, I clench my fists. My gaze flits to her mouth. That fucking piercing…so tempting. I dismiss the thought and lift my eyes to hers.
“I don’t want to drag you out of here,” I growl, ignoring the shocked expression on her pretty face that fades quickly as she cocks her head to the side and drinks me in. The woman’s got my number and sees right through me.
“We both know you’re not that guy,” she murmurs.
“If that’s what it takes for you get the fuck out of here, then I’ll become that guy.”
Her eyes flash like the sky does right before a bolt of lightning strikes and she takes a step toward me. I bet if I touched her right now, we’d power an entire city with the torturous electricity between us.
“There’s two sides to every story, Shady. You of all people should know that.”
“Actually, there are three sides to this one, yours, his, and Abigail’s, but she ain’t here to tell hers and I’ve already heard his. I got no desire to hear yours.”
The moment the words leave my mouth tears fill her eyes and her face turns ashen. Mentioning her daughter, throwing her death in her face—it was a cheap shot. Regret seeps deep into my soul and I mutter a curse.
Fucking women.
Grief-stricken, angry, sad, frightened, or dead—they’re all my fucking weakness.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she spats, her voice cracking slightly.
I nod.
“Born one, baby.”
She rolls her eyes and that’s when one tear slips down her cheek. She doesn’t brush it away as she turns to the door, and I swallow the apology that sits on my tongue as she walks out of the clubhouse. Once the door swings closed, I swipe a hand over my face. It takes every ounce of self-control not to run after her.
I should’ve taken a shot or six of whiskey instead of the coffee. Better yet, I shouldn’t have come to the clubhouse at all. This place will make a man out of you, but it also holds the power to fucking break you.
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