Drifter
A
Nomad Series Novel Book One
By Janine Infante Bosco
Genre: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, MC,
Romantic Suspense
Published: November 8, 2016
Cover Designer: JB's
Cover Obsession
Design Model: Matthew
Hosea
Photographer: Wander
Pedro Aguiar
Available on
Kindle Unlimited
Stryker
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.
Gina Spinelli
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:
Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, sensitive subjects, offensive
language, and mature topics. Recommended for age 18 years and up. ***
Excerpt – “The
ride”: Drifter – A Nomad Series Novel Book One © Copyright All Rights Reserved
2016
That fucking
skirt she’s wearing hugs her curves, leaving little to the imagination, and
while the view is fucking amazing, she couldn’t be dressed any worse for the
ride on the back of my bike. She knew it too and before she followed me out the
front door of the swanky steakhouse, she sashayed those hips of hers to the
bar. She asked the bartender for a steak knife, handed it to me and asked me to
do what every motherfucker in the joint wanted to do—cut the skirt. I traded
the serrated blade of the steak knife for the sharp blade I kept in my back
pocket and sliced through the stitch behind her knees, extending the slit up
the back of the skirt so she could straddle my bike. I’d tear the fucking thing
off when it came time for her to straddle me, and just for kicks, maybe I’d cut
it off her because fuck me, cutting through the stitching of her skirt had me
hard as a rock.
It took every
ounce of control I could muster not to let my hands travel under that skirt and
sink my fingers deep into her ass cheeks. Instead, I kept my hands on her hips,
spun her around and stared up into her eyes. They might be my favorite part of
her. After spending most of my time with her fighting not to take in every inch
of her body, allowing myself only glimpses so I wouldn’t be distracted by her
curves, I became pretty fucking hooked on those eyes. They were a bewitching
shade of green.
So fucking rare.
So fucking
unique.
So damn pretty.
They had the
power to put me in a trance just like her hips that swayed back and forth like
a pendulum.
Fuck—everything
about her made me want to forget who I am and learn who she is.
The roar of my
engine purrs, distracting me from her perfect face and I see the parking
attendant pull my bike up in front of us. I hand him the ticket, pay the fee
and turn around to Gina, watching as she bites down on her plump bottom lip and
assesses my Harley.
Throwing a leg
over my bike, I grab the helmet dangling off one of the handlebars and offer it
to her.
“Still want that
ride?” I ask when she doesn’t take the helmet and continues to stare at the
bike. I don’t see any hesitation when her eyes lock with mine and a smile spreads
across her sensual mouth—a mouth made for a man to dream of when he’s lonely.
“You bet your
ass I do,” she says, closing the distance between us as she braces her hand on
my shoulder and straddles the bike. She fits the helmet to her head and adjusts
the chin strap as I glance down at her five-inch spiked heels and shake my
head. She didn’t belong on the back of a motorcycle, she belonged sprawled out
on leather seats in the back of a limo with the divider rolled up and me
between her legs.
We were night
and day. She was beauty and class and I was nothing, a shell of a man left
broken and tormented from war, fresh out of prison, an outlaw—yet, here we were
and neither of us seemed to give a fuck.
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.
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