Blackout: Book One (The Leather & Lace Duet 1) Read online

  Blackout

  Book One, of The Leather & Lace Duet

  Copyright © 2019 by Janine Infante Bosco

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9781091718340

  Cover Design by Jennifer Bosco, JB’s Book Cover Obsession Design

  Cover Model: Nick Bennett

  Photographer: FuriousFotog

  Formatting and Interior Design by Jennifer Bosco

  Edited By: Back2TheWall Edits

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, March 2019

  To My Temptresses,

  Thank you for supporting me and loving these characters as much as I do.

  Dear Reader,

  The wait is over! Well, sort of.

  Blackout came to me way before I decided to write Parrish and as I was writing Parrish, Blackie and Lacey’s story grew more intense. These characters have always had a tough go at finding their happily ever after. Plagued by addiction and mental illness, some might argue Blackie and Lacey are a cocktail for disaster. But for their creator, they are so much more than that. Their struggles are as real as they get and it would be an injustice to rush through the story I’m trying to tell, and so that’s why this stand-alone became a duet.

  “I know drugs, man. I know their consequence and their worth.”

  From that single line, I knew there was so much more to the man than drugs and throughout the series that followed and the appearances he’s made, I think he’s proved that. As for Lacey, you will see how mature she’s grown through the years. They are far from perfect and you’ll see that too.

  Please keep in mind that this story ends on a cliffhanger.

  And it’s not a pretty one.

  You’re going to curse.

  You’re going to cry.

  You’re going to damn Janine Infante Bosco to Hell.

  But I’ll make it up to you and it will be all kinds of beautiful.

  With that being said, saddle up!

  Hang on tight and let Leather and Lace take you on an emotional rollercoaster.

  They’ll be highs.

  They’ll be lows.

  But did you really expect anything else?

  Now, without further ado, it’s time to keep this ride moving and for us to enter the unapologetic world of the Satan’s Knights one more time.

  The crass talking bikers with no fucking filter are back!

  The grammar won’t be on point and that’s because you are now riding with the Satan’s Knights and the men wearing the reaper aren’t scholars, they’re street guys who are rough around the edges…

  Their words are just as rough as the filthy promises they make.

  Ordinarily, this would be the place where I give you the rules of our drinking game. But I was never one to abide by rules, so drink up and hold onto your hearts.

  Now, shut the fuck up.

  Church is in session.

  See you on the other side,

  Janine

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Other Books by

  Janine Infante Bosco

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  BLACKIE

  Drunk on pleasure, numb from pain, I drop my head against the pillow and stare up at the beauty riding my cock. Chestnut waves frame her face as she splays both hands against my chest and rocks her body over mine. Lifting my hands to her cheeks, I roll my hips and will her eyes to mine.

  C’mon, girl.

  Give me what I need.

  Her long lashes flutter and those beautiful dark eyes that call to every part of my soul stare back at me. One look and I’m free. The hell I’ve been trying to escape fades from my memory. My burdens become weightless and my sins are absolved.

  My Lace, my beautiful Lace.

  Tracing the music notes inked to my chest, she sinks down on my cock. That perfect pussy tightens around me and her eyes become hooded as she murmurs my name.

  “That’s it girl,” I growl, reaching for her hips. “Get it.”

  The sight of her coming is enough to drive me over the edge but one hit is never enough. I always gotta go deeper. I always gotta take more. Never stop until I’m fucking drowning. Holding her steady, I lift and power into her. Pleasure quickly engulfs me, swarming my veins and as she tightens around me like a tourniquet, I lose myself to the cause.

  There’s no pulling out.

  Not this time.

  Drown me, girl.

  Take away my pain.

  Give to me your lace.

  Panting, she falls on top of me. Her perky tits press against my chest as she buries her face in my neck and whispers my name once more. Enjoying the high, I breathe in her sweet scent and wrap my arms tightly around her small frame. It doesn’t matter that I just came or that my dick is still swollen, pulsing inside of her, I’m already looking for another fix. Overdosing on Lacey wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Hell, I can’t think of a better fucking way to go.

  “Blackie,” she calls softly, running her fingers down my arm.

  “Hmm,” I murmur, flattening my palm against the small of her back.

  “We didn’t…” her words waver as she lifts her head and turns her eyes to mine. “You know,” she whispers, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gaze drifts to where our bodies are still joined, and the weight of her words penetrate through my haze filled head.

  I wait for regret to replace my high. For panic to fill her eyes. I wait and wait and none of it happens. She doesn’t scramble off me and I don’t move to lift her either. There is no mad dash to the bathroom to wash my seed from her. There’s just us and the possible promise of something beautiful hanging heavy in the air.

  “Blackie, say something,” she pleads, her voice thick with emotion.

  Lifting my hands to my face, I comb my fingers through my long hair, pushing it away from my eyes. With nothing obstructing my view of her, I drink her in, watching as her thick lashes lower. I’ll never understand what the fuck she sees in
me. She could have had her pick of men and yet she still chose me. Demons and all, the girl married me and took my name. Took a beaten down drug addict and gave him a purpose. A will to live and a goddamn future.

  Reaching out, I cup her chin. The pad of my thumb caresses her lower lip as my gaze trails down her body, settling on her flat stomach. For a second my imagination carries me away and I picture her pregnant. My throat clogs with a mixture of emotions as I let myself entertain the idea a little longer and it isn’t long before I’m envisioning her with a baby in her arms.

  My baby.

  I don’t deserve Lacey and I sure as fuck don’t deserve the honor of being anyone’s father. I’m a fucking criminal with a rap sheet that spans as many years as my wife has been on this earth. These hands of mine have been covered in blood and aren’t worthy of holding an innocent child.

  I’m a fucking addict too.

  So, I’m clean—big fucking deal.

  All it takes is one time.

  One fucking slip.

  Being an addict isn’t a choice. Addiction doesn’t go away because you got a woman thirteen years younger than you loving on you, wanting to give you a child. You’re not miraculously healed because you’ve done a stint in rehab and have a sobriety coach on speed dial. It’s a beast that lives inside of me and every day I open my eyes, I struggle to starve that fucking animal. Some days are worse than others.

  Like today.

  Today, I wanted to tie a tourniquet around my arm and shoot my veins from here to kingdom come. Instead, I came home and abandoned the weight of my burdens by sinking between my wife’s legs. I got lost in her sweet body and ignored the fact that the day I’ve been dreading is fast approaching. That day being the one when Jack Parrish loses his mind altogether and I take his place as the president of the Satan’s Knights MC.

  It's a role he’s been grooming me for years to take on. Instilling all his wisdom and beliefs, sharing his vision for the club and making me lead in situations when he’s more than capable of leading himself. If you ask Jack Parrish whether I’m ready to take his place or not, they’ll be no hesitation, only conviction as he says yes.

  But no one ever asks me if I’m ready.

  Just like no one ever asked if I wanted the role in the first place.

  For as long as Jack has had the gavel, I’ve been his V.P., the man who sits at his right. The guy who stands between him and any loaded gun. I’ve sacrificed myself on the sword more times than I care to admit. I’ve thrown my sobriety down the toilet and have done more stints in jail than any other motherfucker with a reaper on his back. Loyalty, respect, and honor—I’ve got it all in spades. I just don’t have a lick of it for myself.

  Focusing my attention back to Lacey, I draw out a ragged breath and lift my eyes to hers. Hope radiates from her dark irises and I swallow the lump in my throat.

  When Jack first took office, people called him a liability. They said a mentally ill man couldn’t possibly lead, that he’d act on impulse and recklessly get us all killed. Over the years, he proved himself. He took the hopeless pessimists and made them believers. If a deranged man can lead, then surely a recovering addict can follow in his footsteps.

  Maybe I can lead my brothers.

  Maybe I can be the man my wife needs me to be.

  Maybe I can be someone’s father.

  “You want a little Petra running around this house?” I ask hoarsely, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  God, if we have a baby, I hope she looks just like Lacey.

  Cocking her head to the side, she splays her palm against my cheek and smiles at me. I swear that smile touches every part of my soul.

  “I want ten little Petra’s running around this house,” she replies with a hint of amusement in her voice.

  A laugh escapes the back of my tight throat.

  “How about we start with one?”

  Her eyes light up at the suggestion and the smile that spreads across her face makes me fucking feel invincible. Then again, drugs will do that to you. They’ll erase your pain and make you think you can conquer the world.

  “Yeah?” she questions, pushing her fingers through my hair. “You want to make a baby with me?”

  I want so much more than that. I want to give her the whole world. Every dream, every desire. I want to tie a perfect bow around them and give them to her. I suppose a beautiful baby is a good place to start.

  “Yeah, girl,” I whisper hoarsely. “I want it more than you could ever know.”

  More than drugs.

  More than power.

  More than anything.

  Cradling the back of my head, she leans down and brushes her lips against mine. I move my hands to her hips. My fingers bite deeply into her smooth skin as I take advantage of the position and flip her onto her back. She squeals and I finally pull out of her but keep myself firmly planted between her legs. Breaking the kiss, I lean back and stare at her beautiful face. Almond shaped eyes that are equally magnetic and compelling as they are mysterious, shine with unspeakable joy and a faint blush accentuates her high, exotic cheekbones that are kissed by long dark eyelashes. Her perfectly straight and dainty nose rests above a tempting mouth and completes the perfect package that is Lace.

  I think about the first night I saw her.

  Really fucking saw her.

  The night she became mine and not just Jack’s daughter.

  Oh, I didn’t mention that? Yeah, I’m that guy. I crossed that line. I robbed the fucking cradle and snatched my best friend’s daughter right from under his nose and I’m not sorry for it either. Given the chance, I’d do it all over again, no questions asked. The only thing I’d change is the way I took her virginity. If I got a rewrite at that, I wouldn’t have been high when I threw her up on my desk and fucked her that first time. She was hurting, looking for someone to comfort her on the anniversary of her brother’s death and I was looking to fucking inflict pain on myself. I still remember the shame I felt when I stared at my dick and found it coated with her innocence. Not a fine moment for a self-loathing motherfucker like me.

  Back then, I didn’t know she was suffering in silence, that she had the same mental illness as her father. All the signs were there, I was just too fucked up to notice them.

  The temporary highs and forced smiles.

  The desperate lows and her sad eyes.

  They were all right in front of me, staring me in the face, begging me to acknowledge their existence.

  Maybe if I had realized sooner, I would’ve been able to prevent some of the hurt she endured. I like to think I would’ve encouraged her to get help sooner, that I would’ve been able to ease her depression. Instead, loving me forced her to delve deeper into the darkness and after I was arrested, she suffered a mental breakdown, proving I was just as lethal as the poison I shot into my veins.

  These days, Lithium is her crutch. And me, I’m the guy who dances in the dark with her. I couldn’t shield her from shit high but, sober I sure as fuck can. While I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy; battle my demons, push away my doubts and ignore my fears to give her a child, I won’t compromise her mental health.

  “What about your illness?” I ask.

  “What about it?” she volleys. The smile drops from her face and I quickly lift my hand to her cheek, forcing her eyes back to mine.

  “Look at me,” I demand softly. Guard up, her features cloud with unease. “I want to watch your belly grow with our child. I want to hold your hand as you bring him or her into the world and fuck, I want to hold that life in my hands and fall in love but not at your expense. Never at your expense.”

  “I wouldn’t be the first manic depressive to carry a baby, Blackie,” she snaps, hostily. “Why don’t you say what’s really on your mind? You’re scared I’ll pass on the crazy gene to our child.”

  Anger slices through me as I move both hands to her shoulders. Gripping them, I struggle not to dig my fingers into her flesh and shake sense into her.


  “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it,” I hiss, my nostrils flaring. “Told you a long time ago, when we first got engaged, if we had kids and one of them wound up being ill, we’ll handle it. Just like we’ll handle it if we have a kid who turns out to be an addict like me.”

  Her face softens as I push off her. Tearing my eyes away, I toss my legs over the edge of the bed and drop my head into my hands.

  “We’re fucked, Lace,” I continue. “A fucking cocktail for disaster is what we are.”

  “That’s not true,” she cries.

  Dropping my hands from my face, I turn to her and shake the hair away from my eyes. Peering back at her, I lift an eyebrow.

  “Isn’t it though?” I challenge as she sits up and leans her back against the headboard. Reaching for her, I lay a hand on her knee and give it a squeeze. “Knowing it and accepting it, I still want to make a family with you, Lacey, because as damaged as we are, we got a love stronger than our demons. A love that, when all is said and done, beats every obstacle its ever faced. A love that’s no match for your maker or my addictions.”

  “You mean that?” she whispers, closing her hand over mine. The tense lines of her face relax as she waits on bated breath for me to affirm everything I’ve just said.

  “Of course, I mean it,” I say roughly. “We’ve got a lot of love to give a baby, Lace.”

  “I’ll make an appointment with my therapist,” she asserts. “I’ll tell her we’re trying for a baby and see what she says…if she has any advice or suggestions. We won’t go into this blind.”

  I nod and lace our hands together before pulling her towards me.

  “And I’ll call my sponsor,” I add, bending my head to kiss the tip of her nose. “Whatever it takes, Lace.”

  “Whatever it takes,” she agrees, wrapping her arms around my middle. Angling her head, she peers up at me and gives me a small smile.

  “I can’t wait to see you hold our baby for the first time.”

  “Ditto, girl,” I murmur, pulling her onto my lap. The feel of her warm body against mine entices my dick, and it stirs to life. “The sooner I get you pregnant, the sooner the dream becomes a reality.”

  “What’re you saying?” she questions.