Readers are returned to the dangerous world of the Satan's Knights in this standalone tale of heartbreak, guilt, and starting over. Keep reading to get a tantalizing taste of the MC-fueled From the Ruins by Janine Infante Bosco, then count down the days until its September 26th release date. In honor of this emotionally intense tale of redemption make sure to fill out the form below for the chance to win a $20 Amazon and an 8X10 print too!
Pipe
In every man’s life there comes a day of reckoning. It’s the day darkness is exposed and sinners are punished for their trespasses.
A day when loyalty is destroyed and a man is left in ruins.
When he walks away from his club and loses his religion.
Whoever said from the ruins they will rise again never walked a mile in my shoes or the pair of red ones I was left holding.
Layla
He’s bitter, cold and angry.
He’s seen his share of heartache.
Lived through tragedy and despair.
He’s my neighbor.
The man I know I should stay away from.
The man who will destroy what’s left of me if I get too close.
He’s Lee Jameson, and I’m Layla Milano.
This is our story.
The story of two people left in ruins forced to rise again.
EXCERPT:
Stalking down the wooden steps, I cross my lawn to hers and prepare myself for another argument. Deciding I should’ve dragged my ass back to bed and damned the world to hell, I pound my fist against her front door.
Let that punk kid give me lip.
Or better yet, let her husband get in my face.
I’ll welcome them to the neighborhood.
The door swings open and my gaze travels downward to the pipsqueak staring up at me like I’m the big bad wolf.
Great.
“Uh, hey, kid,” I start, running my fingers through my hair as a pair of big brown eyes level me.
“You’re the man from last night,” she says, shaking her little finger at me. “The man on the lawn who broke my mom’s car."
“I didn’t break your mom’s car,” I grind out.
“But Tommy said--"
“Look, kid is your mom or dad home?” I ask, cutting her off, not really looking to go head to head with some little half pint. Huffing, she crosses her arms against her chest and rolls her eyes dramatically.
“We don’t live with daddy anymore. He and mommy are divorced,” she reveals, uncrossing her tiny arms as she plants her hands on her hips and angles her head. “Dad is living in our old house which sucks. Shit, don’t tell my mom I said sucks. She gets all pissy when I curse but it’s not really a curse right? I mean you should hear some of the things that come out of my mom’s mouth."
Jesus, this kid.
Rubbing my temples, I look past her hoping to find her mother but the mud wrestler ain’t nowhere in sight and the kid continues to ramble on, revealing all her mama’s secrets.
“Tommy says we’re here because mom can’t afford a house in the city,” she adds. “But, I think it’s also because mommy hates daddy and wants to be far away from him.” Her lips straighten into a thin line as she glances down at the floor seeming to be in deep thought. “That sucks too,” she mutters with a frown.
Dropping my hands from my face, I shove one into my pocket and stare at her. Not sure what to say, not really understanding why the fuck I care, I press my finger under her chin and lift her eyes to mine.
“Divorce sucks kid,” I tell her.
“You said sucks,” she says.
“Yeah, you did too,” I point out, watching as the frown fades from her lips. Lifting her chin, she studies me curiously. Having a pair of little eyes on me, eyes that are full of wonder is a sobering moment for a bastard like me. It makes me think about how I’m perceived in the eyes of a child.
My thoughts are quickly jarred when I hear half-pints mother shriek from deep inside the house. Then I hear her other two kids shout and before I realize what the fuck I’m doing, I’m following the little girl into the house. Running into the kitchen, the kid comes to a complete stop and I stand behind her, taking in the chaos.
Water spurts from under the sink like a waterfall and the mud wrestler holds a pot in front of her as if to catch the fucking water. The older boy grabs another pot and tries to help his mother while the other girl covers her face with her hands.
“Make it stop,” the girl cries.
“I don’t know how!” the mother shrieks, emptying the pot into the sink. Her son goes sliding across the floor and she’s quick to grab his wrist before he hits the floor as the water rains down around them making it clear they’re fucked.
Stomping through the puddles soaking the kitchen, I brush past them and kneel underneath the sink to turn the water valve off. As I twist it closed, I spot the busted pipe. Suddenly the commotion comes to a standstill as the water trickles off and silence fills the kitchen. Slipping my head out from under the sink, four sets of eyes peer back at me like I’m a fucking unicorn. Wiping my hands along the front of my shirt, I focus on the mud wrestler as she seems to be the least judgmental of the four.
“The main pipe under the sink cracked. I shut the water off for now,” I explain as she continues to stare at me in disbelief. Unable to help myself, I take her in too. Dressed in a pair of pajamas with her hair piled high on top of her head, she’s quite a looker. The thin tank top of her pajamas is soaked, molding to every curve of her body, revealing a narrow waist and hips that a man holds onto. Lifting my gaze higher, my eyes zero in on her tits. Her nipples are hard and fully visible through the wet shirt, leaving nothing to my imagination. It’s hard to believe the tall boy standing next to her is her son or that any of these children came from that body.
Forcing my attention away, I reach for the towel hanging on the back of one of her chairs and toss it in her direction.
“Might want to cover up,” I tell her, eyeing the boy standing behind her, wearing the same stumped expression as his mother. Recovering she catches the towel and crosses her arms against her chest, hiding her perfect tits from my view. Last night it was too dark and I was too drunk to notice her hazel eyes or how full her lips are. My gaze meets hers and I realize the view up top is just as sweet as everything from the neck down.
“What—how did you get in here?” she stammers, finally finding her voice. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to thank me for stopping the waterfall in her kitchen but she just looks at me expectantly.
“I let him in,” the half-pint offers.
Instantly, her brother turns to her and lectures her claiming the role as man of the house.
“You can’t be letting strange men in the house, Lexi,” he reprimands, wringing out his t-shirt.
Half pint rolls her eyes to the heavens before looking back at me.
“What’s your name?” she questions innocently.
It’s a simple question yet I stare at her as if she asked me if I knew the cure for cancer. My first instinct is to tell her my name is Pipe but I’m not that man anymore. I’m not the man who got his road name because he made pipe bombs his club sold back in the day. I don’t ride with the Satan’s Knights anymore.
“Lee,” I mutter. “The name is Lee, kid."
She steps forward and offers me her little hand.
“I’m Lexi,” she reveals as I awkwardly shake her hand with my massive paw. Then she drops my hand and turns to her brother. “Now, Lee isn’t a stranger anymore, Tommy."
“Okay, parties over kids,” the mud wrestler declares. “Jenna, take your sister upstairs and help her get dressed."
“Why do I have to help her? She’s five."
“Because I said so,” she replies exasperatedly. Cringing as the words leave her mouth, she turns to her eldest child. “You too, Tommy."
“I’m not dressing Lexi."
“Go shower, now,” she orders. “We need to get a move on."
The two girls prance out of the kitchen but Tommy remains still, sizing me up much like he did last night. It’s clear the kid is protective of his mother and since half pint squealed all her mama’s business, I can respect the kid for stepping up. I hold his gaze and jut my chin, giving him a silent vow that all is good here.
“Tommy,” my neighbor repeats and the boy finally tears his eyes away. A moment later he reluctantly leaves the kitchen. “Thank you for turning the water off,” she says once we’re alone and I turn my attention back to her.
I nod, letting my eyes roam over her, wishing she’d uncross her arms now that her kids are out of sight.
“But you didn’t come here to fix my plumbing and I don’t see you as a member of the welcoming committee so I’m confused as to why you’re standing in my kitchen."
“Your car is blocking my driveway."
“You mean the car your friends smashed?"
“That’s the one,” I reply, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “If you’re planning on going into town you’re going to want to fix that bumper first. The fucking troopers up here won’t think twice about giving you a citation.” I pause, angling my head slightly as I continue to take her in. “I’m guessing that’s the last thing you need right now."
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as her eyes narrow in anger. Grinding her teeth, she drops her arms and draws in a deep breath as she balls her hands into fists.
“And how would you know what I need?” she bites back.
Oh, I know what she needs. Any man with a pair of working eyes can tell this woman is wound tight. She needs to release some of that tension inside her. She needs to get fucked until she can’t remember her name let alone her troubles but I doubt she wants to hear that.
“Your daughter has loose lips,” I say instead. “Might want to tell her not to spill your business to strangers."
“Thanks for your input but I think I’m going to pass on the parenting advice from a man who had two half naked girls on his lawn in the middle of the night—both who are probably young enough to be his daughters."
Biting the inside of my cheek, I remain impassive as she studies me with her those judgmental eyes of her.
I’m used to people’s remarks. Being a biker, I’ve had my share of assumptions made about me. Everyone thinks they know everyone. You take one look at a person and swear you’ve got them all figured out. At times, I myself have been guilty of the offense. It takes years of making the wrong convictions and learning from each mistake to realize you never truly know a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.
“I’ve got everything under control,” she adds and for a moment I wonder who she’s trying to convince.
“Suit yourself, killer,” I retort with a shrug and push off the counter.
“Layla,” she whispers before sighing. “My name is Layla not killer,” she adds, emphasizing the name by adding air quotes.
“Good to know,” I say as I start towards the door. “Get your car out of my driveway, killer."
Then without another word, I step out of the kitchen. I’m halfway toward the front door when I hear her curse and my lips quirk slightly.
Half pint was right.
Her mother has a filthy mouth.
FIND AT GOODREADS here.
PRE-ORDER BUY LINKS: AMAZON (US) | AMAZON (UK) | AMAZON (AU) | AMAZON (CA)
AUTHOR INFO:
Janine Infante Bosco lives in New York City, she has always loved reading and writing. When she was thirteen, she began to write her own stories and her passion for writing took off as the years went on. At eighteen, she even wrote a full screenplay with dreams of one day becoming a member of the Screen Actors Guild.
Janine writes emotionally charged novels with an emphasis on family bonds, strong-willed female characters, and alpha male men who will do anything for the women they love. She loves to interact with fans and fellow avid romance readers like herself.
She is proud of her success as an author and the friendships she’s made in the book community but her greatest accomplishment to date would be her two sons Joseph and Paul.
WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | PINTEREST | GOODREADS AUTHOR PAGE | NEWSLETTER | AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE | BOOKBUB AUTHOR PAGE
**********GIVEAWAY**********
a Rafflecopter giveaway
No comments:
Post a Comment