But twenty-four hours isn’t enough.
Not for me and certainly not for the Devil.
Cover Designer: Jennifer Bosco Cover Design
Models: Fred DiBella and Tiffany Marie
Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
#PropertyOfParrish #JackParrish #ReinaParrish #BrandedByTheBulldog
It’s not a wicked world that drives a man to sin, it’s a deranged mind. Baptized in dirty water by Satan himself, I’ve spent my whole life fighting the good fight, searching for the light in the darkness of insanity. Now, the light I’ve basked in for so long is finally dimming and the time has come for me to take my final bow before the curtain closes on my sanity.
After making a deal with the district attorney and providing my club with full immunity for the crimes we’ve committed, I have twenty-four hours to remind my wife, Reina, why she fell in love with a bastard like me before I turn myself in and break her heart.
But twenty-four hours isn’t enough.
Not for me and certainly not for the Devil.
Tragedy strikes, and my world implodes. It’s lights out for Jack and Reina and a man can’t survive without his sunshine. Engulfed in darkness, consumed by the crazy, I’m a weapon of mass destruction, ready to wreak havoc on the wicked world.
Word to the wise—proceed with caution, motherf*ckers.
The Bulldog is back!
.•´✶Excerpt•´✶ Parrish: Humor Me, Sunshine ©Copyright 2019 Janine Infante Bosco
I still remember the first time Jack ever took me for a ride on his motorcycle. I was in a bad place in my life, still reeling from the fire I survived and grieving the man who perished in those flames—the man who would’ve been my husband. Ironically, that man was also Jack’s brother, Daniel.
I never allowed myself to wonder what life might’ve been like if Daniel survived and Jack never walked into Dee’s diner. Back then I couldn’t picture loving anyone other than Daniel and I certainly never expected to fall in love with his brother. They were complete opposites in every sense. Daniel was a Federal Agent and Jack the ultimate outlaw.
Yet the moment Jack walked into Dee’s diner, something inside me knew my life was truly just beginning. The years that had come before Jack Parrish were just a prelude to one of the greatest love stories ever written. In between chapters, I realized I never knew love until Jack was the one loving me. His love has been the greatest gift of my life and while the tragic end of our story may be approaching, we still have a few more pages to fill.
To fill with love.
To fill with hope.
To fill with all the things that have kept us together, pushing through the darkness, overcoming every obstacle that’s threatened to ruin us. We have survived death, bombs, hearing loss, a mad mind and a cold world. We’ll survive goodbye too, for what choice do we have?
Part of me wants to yell at him and tell him to forget the deal, to choose me and our story over everything and anything but that would be asking Jack to change the core of who he is, and I won’t do that. I fell in love with a flawed outlaw challenged by an illness he can’t control and that’s who I will die loving. I lean my chin on his shoulder and wrap my arms tightly around his middle, leaning into the curve as he turns into our driveway. We come to a complete stop and he drops his boots onto the concrete, balancing the bike between his thick thighs as he kills the rumbling engine.
He drops the kickstand and covers my hands with his.
“Home sweet home,” he murmurs.
I wonder if he realizes how powerful those three words are and that my home isn’t the brick house standing in front of us but the man I’m clinging to.
Pressing a kiss to my cheek, he slides my hands away from his chest and dismounts from the bike. I watch, just as I have so many times before, as he pulls his fingerless gloves from his hands and shoves them into his back pocket. Next, he removes his helmet and hangs it from the handlebars before turning to me and offering his hand. It’s a scene we’ve played hundreds of times and one I never cared to cherish until this very moment.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I place my hand in his and the callouses brushing against my palm are proof the years of riding have taken their toll on more than just his mind. Helping me off the bike, he removes my helmet and tucks it under his arm instead of hanging it next to his like he usually does.
“You never taught me how to ride,” I whisper hoarsely, lifting my eyes to his. It’s not something I ever wanted to do. In fact, it was more of a joke between us than it was ever a promise.
“Yeah, well we both know I’m a selfish fuck,” he mutters, pulling me into the crook of his arm. “I’m not sorry for it either,” he adds. “I don’t want you riding without me.”
Truth be told, I won’t ever ride again after today.
Not with him and certainly not by myself. I warmed up to the role of old lady, but I am far from a biker.
“My days of riding end with your days, Parrish,” I reply as we keep in stride with one another. Making our way up the stoop, neither of us pay any mind to the officers who tailed us to our home. Once we reach the door, he digs into his pocket for the keys. I stare at him, counting the lines on his face, committing them to my memory. He unlocks the door and pushes it open before turning to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Humor me, Sunshine.”
I don’t want to close my eyes because I don’t want to miss a single second, I have left with him, but I do as he asks. A second later he lifts me into his arms and I feel his lips gently graze mine.
“Now, open them and look at me,” he demands hoarsely.
Again, I do as he requests, wrapping my arms around his neck as I stare into his dark eyes.
“Never did carry you over the threshold,” he continues. “Seems a little overdue.”
Fractured and flawed.
I wished for this man—I prayed for him as a young girl. He may not have been cloaked in leather, and the horse he rode in on may not have been made of chrome, but nonetheless he’s still the prince in my fairytale.
He carries me over the threshold and gives me a hint of the smile I love. It’s a rare feat for my tortured prince and I’m just as spellbound by it as I was the day, he first gave it to me.
“I never deserved you,” he says as he touches his forehead to mine.
“That’s not true,” I whisper, lifting my hand to his cheek. He deserved so much more than me. He deserved peace and tranquility, both of which he’ll never get. Instead of walking towards peace he’ll forever run towards chaos.
“You changed me, Reina,” he murmurs. “You put your hand in mine and never looked back. You made me better than I was and gave me a reason to keep going when you gave me your heart,” he pauses for a beat, lifting his thumb to wipe away my tears as he swallows. “I’ve never had someone love me like you loved me,” he rasps.
“Don’t talk about us like we’re in the past,” I beg, bringing my hands to his cheeks. “I’ll always love you Jack Parrish. A love like ours doesn’t die.”
He nods, drawing in a deep breath.
“I love you, Reina. Don’t you forget that.”
With another peck to my lips, he sets me down on my feet and drags me into his strong embrace. The scent of his cologne mixed with leather and gasoline assaults my senses as I cling to him. I wish I could bottle it up so when I’m alone at night I’ll still be able to smell him.
.•´✶OTHER BOOKS FROM THE SATAN’S KNIGHTS NOVELS¸.•´✶
(all can be read as standalones)
RIDING THE EDGE
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.•´✶ABOUT AUTHOR 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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