Book Excerpts: Drifter by Janine Infante Bosco

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DRIFTER

by Janine Infante Bosco
Nomad Series #1
Publication Date: November 8, 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, MC, Romantic Suspense

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Synopsis:
“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. ***

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EXCERPT #1– Silence.

Silence.

It engulfs me, provides me with a false sense of security the moment I close my eyes and drags my subconscious into the depths of sleep. But, it’s quickly ripped from me by the sound of plagued screams. A woman shouts with a foreign tongue and though I don’t understand the Afghani language I know beyond a shadow of a doubt she’s yelling for her innocent child to run, to seek shelter and for the man with the laser pointed at the child’s head not to shoot.

I am the man with the sniper rifle.

I am the man perched on a roof, with my finger firmly wrapped around the trigger.

And that bitch just sent her fucking child to play in the sand with a bomb strapped to his back.

For a moment, I want to believe she’s not playing me—that her kid isn’t a ploy in some sick terrorist plot. I ignore the sounds of my men commanding me to take my shot, insisting that time is of the essence and if I don’t do it, I’m betraying my country. I loosen my finger around the trigger and open both my eyes and watch the boy lift a handful of sand through the scope attached to my rifle. He opens his palm and spreads his fingers wide letting the grains of sand fall through them before he looks back at his mother.

She shouts more of that foreign bullshit and I wish I could get my hands on her and slice her tongue from her mouth.

It’s the final thought that crosses my mind before I pull the trigger and watch the boy fall back into the sand as my bullet pierces him between his eyes–innocent eyes that were once wide with wonder now are dull and lifeless.

Sweat beads along my brow and I can feel the bile rise up my throat as I wait. Everything around me fades as I stare at the boy in the sand. I lose myself and question my purpose, my mission, my platoon—everything. The bomb doesn’t go off and I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. I frantically peer into the scope, moving it to the right in search for the mother. I picture the Virgin Mary cradling her lifeless son that was pulled from the cross and wait for the woman dressed in black garb to do the same but she’s nowhere in sight.

Before I can divert my eyes back to the boy the blast erupts robbing me the opportunity to look into his eyes one final time because his head has been blown off his body and the fragments of him are now one with the sand he was playing with.

This is war.

And this is hell.

All that’s left is the sound of my own screams vibrating through my body, deafening as it pounds my eardrums and invades my head.

It’s those very screams that pull me from my sleep night after night and why I’ve given up on getting a full night’s rest, using my bed only to fuck and even that didn’t happen too often.

Until her.

I used to pound my dick into any willing pussy, never bringing them into my bed, believing I didn’t need that false sense of hope that I’m normal when I’ve got a woman wrapped around me, begging to spend the night in my arms after I’ve thoroughly fucked her—only for her to realize I’m fucked in the head when I wake her up screaming like a little bitch.

Yeah, I didn’t need that shit.

Hell, I didn’t want it.

Until her.

But I’ve learned my lesson and I’ve learned it the hard way. It’s the reason I’m sitting in a chair in the corner of a fucking filthy motel—waiting for the sun to rise as I stare at the battered and bruised woman in my bed, when all I want to do is climb in next to her and pull her into my arms—take away her pain and forget mine. I clench my fists and keep them pinned against the arms of the chair as I take in the dried up blood on her naturally pouty lips—lips that skimmed every inch of my body and I crave every night since.

I tear my eyes from her mouth and zero in on her closed eyes—eyes I know are pale green. Eyes once vibrant with life and mischief are now going to be full of torment and fear—when the swelling goes down and she can fucking open them again.

Her long brown hair is splayed across my pillow, matted with blood and knots from being fisted and pulled, leaving her scalp sore and just as bruised as the rest of her. I let my eyes travel the length of her, knowing the body she’s hiding behind her clothes matches her face in color and shame.

A knock sounds on my door and I tear my eyes away from the restless beauty, squirming between my sheets—wishing its pleasure that has her twisting and not torment.

Torment can’t be erased, it can’t be silenced—that shit sticks with you.

It lives inside you and destroys you, fractures your soul and rips your life to shreds.

I may have rescued her tonight but the woman in my bed is as good as dead. Her soul has been taken, chewed up and spit out by the men who attacked her—when she wakes up all she’ll know is grief.

She’ll mourn the life she had and wish the one she’s left with ends.

#THENOMADSERIES

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Come Meet Author Janine Infante Bosco & Model Matthew Hosea at “Authors In The City” 3.11.17 in Raleigh, NC!

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EXCERPT #2 – The Morning After

Not giving a flying fuck if they kill one another, I leave the two criminals in the living room to duke it out over who has a bigger rap sheet and head straight for my Keurig. They can pull out their dicks and measure them against the wall for all I care—I’ve had enough of the A&E documentary my life has become.

What happened to the normal dating scene? Where a relationship progresses over candlelit dinners, great sex and nights spent watching movies on the couch. Not where the guy you’ve technically never even been on a date with decides he’s going to be your bodyguard because your brother wants to play Al Capone.

Rocco leaves, slamming the door behind him as I take two mugs out of cabinet and fill them with coffee. Turning around, I push one mug across the breakfast nook and lift my gaze to criminal number one.

So that just happened,” I say, bringing the mug to my lips. “Great way to start the day.”

I disagree. My day started pretty fucking good since I woke up with you all over me,” he replies, taking the cup I offered him. “Then your brother showed up, and I thought he was your boyfriend.”

Well, you think very highly of me,” I mutter, setting my mug on the counter before bracing my hands against the granite.

C’mon, that’s not what I meant,” he argues, flashing me a smile. “We don’t know each other very well.”

Well, that’s about to change isn’t it?”

I suppose it is. It also seems like you were right about meeting that night in the restaurant. Looks to me like you and I were at the right place at exactly the right time,” he points out, raising an eyebrow.

Watch it, Stryker…you’re starting to sound like a hopeless romantic,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes for good measure. I nearly spit my coffee out when his eyebrows shoot up to the top of his bald head.

Relax, Romeo. I don’t fall easily,” I assure him, crossing my arms against my chest as I chew on my lip and watch him sigh in a relief.

Men are such pussies when it comes to love.

And the ones who aren’t are the ones a girl like me never finds.

How’s this going to work? If you plan on moving in with me I’m telling you now, I’m not giving up my closet space,” I warn.

Not a problem, all my shit blew up yesterday remember?”

I wince.

Sorry that was insensitive of me,” I reply.

He shakes his head as he sets the coffee mug on the counter but continues to hold onto it.

I’m not moving in, pretty girl. The clubhouse might be in ruins but my home is with my brothers, with my club. Where that is? I’m not sure yet,” he says, then pauses for a moment and rubs his free hand over his head. “Do you have work today?”

It’s Sunday,” I tell him.

Okay, so then tomorrow we’ll start a routine. I’ll take you to work in the morning, check out the area so I know your surroundings and when you’re done, I’ll pick you up. I should have a phone by the end of the day so if you need me during work hours I’ll just be a phone call away. I’m going to need your brother’s number too, in case of anything.”

You have it all figured out,” I reply, not even bothering to hide the surprise in my voice.

Nah, I fake it well though don’t I?”

Extremely. What happens after work?”

He cocks his head, pretending to be thinking but I see the smirk he’s trying to hide and the mischievous look in his brown eyes.

Well, a man’s gotta eat,” he says.

Yeah, I rarely cook,” I reply.

I wasn’t talking about food, pretty girl.”

And there it is.

My cheeks turn cherry red as he wiggles his eyebrows and laughs.

No comment,” I huff.

Red looks good on you.” The laughter dies on his lips as does the playful banter and all that’s left is the live wires of electricity sizzling between us.

I lied.

If he keeps looking at me like that I’m going to most definitely fall for him.

I’m fucked.

Clearing my throat, I change the subject in an attempt to resurrect that playfulness I’m starting to crave.

So, were you ever going to tell me you were in jail?”

No.”

Well, now that I know are you going to tell me why you were?”

He brings the coffee mug back to his lips, hiding his smile before he takes a sip. I raise an eyebrow expectantly as he shrugs his shoulders and places the mug on the counter.

I’ve got a thing for bologna and cheese,” he finally answers with a smirk.

Bastard.

Good,” I tell him, spinning around to drop my empty mug in the sink before I glance over my shoulder at him and smile sweetly. “That’s what we’re having for dinner.”

Well played, pretty girl,” he laughs, stepping around the breakfast nook. “You know…” He starts as he comes up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and his hands toy with the belt of my robe, wrapping the end around his wrist. “I’m starting to get hungry,” he whispers against my ear.

There are eggs in the fridge,” I mumble.

I don’t want eggs, Gina.” He yanks his wrist back and my robe becomes undone. His other hand moves from my waist and slips between the folds of my robe, spreading it open and exposing my body to his touch. My body melts into his as his fingers glide over my stomach, circling my belly button before inching lower and lower until his fingers are right where I want them.

#FINDTHEBEAUTIFUL

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Just for fun after you’ve read Drifter and you have found the beautiful in their story take a selfie and tag me! Use hashtag #FindTheBeautiful.  -Author Janine Infante Bosco

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Excerpt #3 – Crazy Taco

Five facts,” he starts, reciting the words I said to him before I pulled him into my apartment that first night. My lips part, nothing but a short breath escapes as he presses his index finger to my mouth, silencing me. His lips quirk, teasing me with that smile of his before he pulls his finger back and holds it in the air between us.

One, I can’t get you out of my head,” he admits, raising another finger between us. “Two, I suck at this shit,” he sighs, cocking his head to the side as he assesses my reaction before continuing. “Three, I want more of you,” he rasps. “A whole lot more.”

I swallow back the words I want to say and get lost in the way he stares at me.

Four, I know you went to the Crazy Taco tonight hoping I’d be there because…pretty girl, you want more too, don’t you?”

He gives into the smirk as he closes the space separating us and holds up all five fingers again.

Five, your panties are soaked,” he whispers, blowing his breath against my lips. He reaches out, winding his finger around the denim belt loop of my jeans and tugs me against his hard frame. “Your turn, pretty girl,” he says huskily. “Five facts.”

Pressing both my palms against his chest, I push back and narrow my eyes at him.

You want five facts, Stryker, fine. Here’s five hard facts. One, I’m not wearing panties,” I whisper through clenched teeth as I poke my finger into his chest. His cocky smirk disappears as his mouth parts and his eyes grow darker in color.

Two, I’m over it. Three, you most definitely suck at this,” I add, rolling my eyes for extra emphasis as I dig my finger deeper into his chest. “Four, I did not go there because of you. I went there because I’m a sucker for a margarita. And finally—”

Before I can process what’s happening, my words die as Stryker throws his body over mine and we tumble onto the concrete.

Get down on the double,” he shouts, laying his body over mine. Hitting the concrete face first and struggling to comprehend what was happening, I push myself up and glance over my shoulder to see Stryker reach for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

Pop, pop, pop!

I’ve got you,” he rasps, cocking his gun and aiming it down the block.

Stryker, no!” Pulling back I grip his shirt. “Stryker!”

Pop, pop, pop!

My pleas fall on deaf ears and I watch in horror as he pulls back the safety and aims the barrel of the gun toward the kids innocently shooting off caps on the corner of my block.

Pop, pop, pop!

ABOUT JANINE INFANTE BOSCO

janine-infante-bosco

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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