The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Running my fingers through my hair, I glance around the room before turning to her. It’s not her fault. She didn’t get pregnant on her own. She didn’t ask to do it all on her own. Still, I’m having a hard time looking at her and not feeling all kinds of jealous.

  “Just say it,” she demands, uncrossing her arms. Stepping toward me she blows out a breath and shoves her hands into the pockets of her scrubs. “Whatever it is, just say it.”

  “When is Skylar’s birthday?”

  How fucking pathetic is that? I don’t even know her birthday.

  “November fourteenth.”

  “Who was with you when she was born?”

  “I was by myself. I had called my mother when my water broke but she didn’t get to the hospital in time. Everything happened very quickly.”

  “Was she okay? Were you okay?”

  “There weren’t any complications if that’s what you’re asking,” she says, pausing to study me. “I had a very normal pregnancy.”

  I nod as I lift my eyes to hers and try to imagine everything I’ve missed. Clearing my throat, I reach for her, forcing her to remove her hands from her pockets. She laces her fingers with mine and I lean down to brush my lips over hers.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur against her mouth. “I’m so sorry I missed all that and I’m so fucking sorry you had to do it all on your own.”

  “I have pictures,” she whispers. “Albums full. I know it’s not the same but maybe it will help.”

  “I want to see them,” I rasp as I lift my hands to her cheeks. “I want to know every detail.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, tilting her head back so our eyes meet.

  “I want to know all her favorites. I want to know what makes her laugh the loudest. I want to know if she has a favorite bedtime story. I want to know everything. Most of all, from this point forward I want to live through her eyes the same way you do.”

  Her hands roam up my chest.

  “Then we’ll make it happen,” she assures, gripping my shirt in her hand as she stands on tiptoe to kiss me, sealing the promise. Her mouth is hard and demanding—so fucking hot.

  Driving my hands through her golden locks, I twist tightly and yank her head back, granting myself better access to her mouth.

  Desperate and greedy.

  Our roles switch, and I became the one hooked on a promise.

  Edging back for a second, I groan against her mouth and force my eyes open. I don’t give a fuck where we are or who might walk through that door and find us, the need to bury myself deep between her thighs is feral.

  A sharp breath leaves her mouth as she rolls her tongue over her pouty bottom lip.

  That’s it.

  Diving back in, my lips close over her mouth. Nipping and sucking, I grin against her mouth as her hands reach for my belt and she flicks her tongue over mine.

  Moaning, she pushes my hips and forces me back. The back of my legs touch the tiny bed. Dropping onto the stiff mattress, I pull her onto my lap and wrap those crazy long legs around my waist.

  “You lock that door?” I question, as I pull her top over her head.

  “I don’t remember,” she says as she rocks against my cock.

  “Fuck it,” I growl, pulling down the cups of her bra, baring her sweet tits. “Ain’t no way I’m stopping now,” I say as my mouth comes down hard on her nipple.

  Her hands snake around my neck and she glances down, watching my tongue flick back and forth over her nipple.

  “So hot,” she murmurs as I suck her slowly.

  “Can’t fuck you with your clothes on, baby,” I mutter, releasing her tit before slapping her ass. “Get naked for me.”

  Watching her hop off my lap I lean back on my elbows and take in the view. She hooks her fingers under the elastic of her scrubs and shimmies her way out of them. She toes her sneakers off, pulls at her socks and then reaches for the clasp, removing the bra completely.

  Completely nude, chewing on her swollen lip, she glances over her shoulder at the door.

  “Lock it.”

  “What’s the fun in that?” she counters, turning back to me.

  Those chocolate eyes flash with mischief.

  That’s my girl.

  She juts her chin to the bulge between my legs.

  “Am I going to have to do all the work?”

  “Think I can get on board with that idea, gorgeous,” I grin, drawing down the zipper of my jeans. She kneels in front of me and pulls off my boots.

  “I bet you can,” she says coyly. “Tell me, Cobra, do you want to fuck my mouth?”

  “More than I want my next breath,” I admit as she drags the black denim down my legs, removing both my pants and underwear in one swoop. I shrug my leathers off my shoulders and pull the black t-shirt over my head.

  She nudges my legs as far as they’ll go and crawls between them. Her eyes lock with mine as she wraps her hand around my cock and bends her head.

  “Like when you look at me,” I mutter. “Like it a lot.”

  Her eyes stick with mine as she smiles briefly before her mouth grazes over my head. A growl escapes my mouth as her tongue dances out and laps the tip.

  “Fuck, wish I could take a picture of you.”

  “With a mouthful of cock?” she teases as her fingers slide down my shaft and cup my balls.

  “So fucking pretty,” I grunt.

  Inch by inch she slowly takes me in until the tip of my dick tickles the back of her throat. She doesn’t gag, she takes it all then just as slowly, she tortures me by taking me out of her mouth.

  “Do it,” she demands, licking her lips.

  Confused, drowning in pleasure, my dick twitches as I narrow my eyes at her.

  “What?”

  “Take the picture,” she murmurs, angling her head to drag her tongue along the back side of my shaft.

  “So when you’re riding you remember I’m home waiting for you. Waiting for this.”

  Fuck me.

  I was wrong.

  She’s not looking for mischief.

  She’s looking to kill me.

  Grabbing my cut, I reach into the pocket and pull out my phone.

  “Come on, baby, let’s make a memory,” I urge, holding the phone between us. She opens her mouth wide and jerks my cock against her cheek.

  Snap.

  Her other hand snakes out and she rubs the skin just beneath my balls. Barely able to keep my eyes open I press my thumb to the screen of my phone.

  Snap.

  Snap.

  Placing both hands on my knees she lowers her head, parts her lips and looks into the camera as she draws my cock into her mouth.

  Snap.

  Snap.

  Snap.

  Tossing the phone on the bed, I tangle my hands in her hair and lift my hips.

  “Fuck,” I seethe, pushing the back of her head as I fuck her mouth wildly. “Like my cock in your mouth, don’t you? Like it a whole fucking lot, baby.”

  Her eyes water but remain latched on mine as her nails dig into my thighs.

  Eyes of an angel.

  Mouth of the devil.

  Lost between heaven and hell.

  My hips snap and flashes of white light blind me.

  “Heaven,” I growl as my eyes snap shut.

  Definitely heaven.

  -Twenty-eight-

  Cobra

  Signing off on the invoice the trucker hands me, I order him to unload the Atlantic Express buses from his flatbed and tell him to park them all in the lot next door to Pipe’s garage.

  My phone rings as I hand the clipboard back to the trucker. Pulling it out of my back pocket I accept the call and answer.

  “Morning, gorgeous.” A small smile plays on my lips as I watch the trucker walk over to his flatbed.

  “I’m mad at you,” she declares.

  “What did I do this time? Leave the seat up?”

  “Nope, you’ve been good in that department. Your aim is another story. I heard if we put ch
eerios in the toilet we can make a game of it. Sort of like target practice…you’re good with that, right?”

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I suppress a chuckle and shake my head.

  She’s fucking crazy.

  “You’re lucky I’m not home,” I growl.

  “Oh yeah, why is that?”

  “I’d bend you over my knee, gorgeous.”

  “Is that supposed to be punishment? Because I kinda like it,” she retorts.

  I don’t have to be face to face with her to know there is a mischievous smile spreading across her lips.

  A smile is a smile.

  And so I add it to the count.

  Deuce rounds the garage, lifting his shades on top of his head.

  “There you are,” he says. “Come on, dickhead, Jack is waiting.”

  I flip my middle finger and watch as he blows me a kiss in response. I tell Celeste I’ll be home early and promise to take her and the baby somewhere before I disconnect.

  Shoving the phone into my pocket, I saunter over to Deuce and smack him over the head.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a dick?”

  “All the time,” he admits. “It’s growing on me. Maybe it’s time for a new road name.”

  Shaking my head, I follow him into the office and spot Riggs, Blackie, Jack and Stryker huddled around the desk staring at the computer.

  Talk about a fish out of water.

  They look fucking ridiculous.

  “Gangs all here,” Stryker announces, diverting his eyes between me and Jack. “We done here?”

  It’s obvious I missed something. What that something is I don’t know, but Jack bursts out laughing.

  “Saddle up, boy, you’re about to find your heart,” he tells Stryker. “Now where the fuck is my table?”

  I point my thumb over my shoulder and turn around, leading them into the garage to the fucking precious table. The table I spent all morning sanding and screwing legs onto. Blackie reaches into his leather jacket and pulls out the meat mallet we gave him and hands it to Jack. He looks even more ridiculous than Blackie did holding that fucking thing.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”

  Demonstrating how he should call order to the table, Blackie taps the top of the table with the mallet before he hands it back to Jack.

  “Like that,” he says.

  “Fuck you, Black.” He takes the mallet in his hand and slams it against the wood. “Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters, pausing a moment before he takes in all of our faces and leans forward on his elbows. “I’m proud of you sons of bitches.”

  He points to Blackie.

  “You especially, you’re a born leader and when this body can’t handle this shit no more this club will be in capable hands.”

  “I had a good crew,” Blackie replies, looking around the table.

  We may be broken.

  Some of us a little lost.

  But together we’re fucking invincible.

  “With that being said, we’re fucked,” Jack sighs.

  Maybe not invincible.

  “It’s going to cost a shit ton of paper to get the Dog Pound back. This place…” He waves a hand around the garage, “…isn’t going to cut it. We’re going to have to find a buyer for the guns sitting in Pops’ range. Riggs has been looking into any legit ventures the Bastards had that we can take over, but they were running smack all over Boston and looking to bring that shit here too, so there isn’t much to work with.”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Where’s Pipe?”

  All eyes turn to Jack as he lets out a sigh and leans back.

  “Pipe handed in his patch,” he declares.

  “He went nomad?” Stryker asks.

  “No,” Jack replies with a curt shake of his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a bunch of folded papers and throws them down on the center of the table. “The deed to this place.”

  I knew Pipe was not in a good way but after the final ride I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought.

  “He’s done with the club?” Deuce asks skeptically.

  “He’s done with everything,” Jack answers.

  I suppose I’m not surprised the man cut the patch from his leathers and handed it over to Jack before hightailing it out of Brooklyn. Come to think of it, if you ask me, he took the high road. He cut the cancer from his life before he let it consume him.

  When a man’s done, he’s done.

  “Wolf is chomping at the bit to get back to us so for now you three take over around here and when he’s well enough Wolf will take Pipe’s place,” he continues pointing to me, Deuce and Stryker. His gaze lingers on Stryker.

  “I hear Linc is fucked and Wolf mortgaged his house to get him the care he needs. When that shit runs out the club will step in.”

  Yeah, that was fun.

  After Wolf lost his shit on the doctor and cursed everyone in the hospital, he made me find a mortgage broker. I dragged the poor bastard to the hospital so he could set everything into place for Wolf to take a mortgage out on the house he owns free and clear. The crazy fuck has a plan. Once the funds are made available, he’s going to cut a check to the hospital, piss all over their floors and call Seven on Your Side, in hopes the local news will give him air time.

  Crazy.

  Fucking crazy.

  All of them.

  Wolf might be the king of crazy but Jack isn’t too far behind him if he thinks the club can afford all these debts.

  “Prez, you’re talking about rebuilding the clubhouse and taking on Linc’s medical bills, but we ain’t got a pot to piss in right now,” I point out.

  “He’s right,” Blackie intervenes. “Even if we get a buyer for the guns, we’re nowhere near where we need to be.”

  “I’m probably going to regret even saying this but what about Spinelli?” Riggs questions.

  My shoulders tense as I lift my eyes to Riggs.

  I’ve been on high alert when it comes to that last name. Ever since Celeste gave me the run down on the wannabe gangster.

  “The club isn’t looking to play nice with the mob anymore,” Blackie replies. “Besides, that motherfucker has five fucking families looking to gun him down and take what they thought was going to be theirs.”

  “You know that for a fact?” Jack asks.

  “I’d bet my life on it,” Blackie says.

  More good news.

  Not liking where this is going, I make a mental note to talk to Celeste. I don’t want her too close to her cousins until I know more about this guy. She won’t like it, but she’ll have to deal with it. Especially since my daughter shares the same last name as this fool.

  “Well then, that’s how you get your money,” Riggs chimes in. “Call the guinea bastard here and tell him we’ll protect his Mafioso ass but it’ll cost him.”

  The fact that this is an actual option is disturbing. The fact that Riggs would suggest our entire club protects Rocco from his enemies, knowing protection doesn’t come cheap, speaks volumes.

  “Because we’re doing such a fine job of keeping the people around us breathing,” Blackie mutters.

  “We’re still standing,” I insist. “That’s gotta count for something.”

  We may have lost a few along the way but we’ve prevailed even though the odds were consistently stacked against us.

  “Hold it,” Jack interrupts. “Before we shake down Rocco for a dime, there’s something you should know. He came over to me after the funeral and made a pretty bold accusation. According to him, the Bastards didn’t blow up the clubhouse.”

  Plot twist.

  It gets you every fucking time.

  Usually you don’t catch it right away. In the movies you keep watching unsuspectingly. Everything plays out like you think it’s going to and then bam! You ask yourself how the fuck that happened, press the rewind button and freeze the frame on the guy who delivered the words that changed the game.

  When you hit rewind, it will be
Jack’s face you freeze and his words you’ll play over and over as you wonder why you didn’t see it now.

  It’s obvious though.

  We all ignore it because we know the answer already.

  None of us want to believe that ride to Boston was for nothing.

  None of us want to accept that we got it wrong.

  That the threat is still alive.

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Riggs says.

  “No, now I think he’s reaching—”

  “Who does he think did it?” Stryker interrupts.

  “Some Russian named Vladimir Yankovich,” he says, peering at Stryker. “You know the name?”

  The room goes still.

  The world stops turning.

  The piece of paper tucked in my vest for years burns a hole through me.

  The paper containing a list of names all which are crossed out with blood.

  All except for one.

  “No,” Stryker mutters.

  I take it back.

  This is the moment you’ll look back on.

  My face will be the one you freeze and the words I utter next are the words you’ll play over and over in your head.

  “I do,” I say, lifting my eyes as I stare across the table at Jack.

  Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I lay my palms flat on the smooth surface of the table and lock eyes with the man who just opened my wounds.

  “And if there is a grain of truth to what Rocco is saying we might as well hang up our cuts because we’re no fucking match for him. And if he’s looking to inch in on Rocco’s territory, he might as well surrender now because anything he loves is as good as dead. Yankovich has no fucking mercy.”

  No fucking mercy.

  My sister.

  My father.

  My mother.

  No fucking mercy at all.

  “Those are some pretty harsh words, boy,” Jack grunts.

  “Alexandria,” I mutter.

  “Who’s that?” Blackie asks.

  “She was my twin sister,” I reveal, bowing my head to stare at the ink on my hands.

  Was.

  As in once upon a time when the world wasn’t fucking ugly.

  When innocence still existed.

  Balling my hands into fists I look around the table at the men who truly know nothing about my past.

  “Went missing after our fourteenth birthday. The cops never found her body and with no body my parents believed she was still out there somewhere. My father hired a retired bounty hunter to look into her disappearance and he was more successful than the cops that worked on her case for four years. Turns out there were over two dozen girls that fit Alex’s description, all of whom went missing that year.”