The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  For me.

  For him.

  Jagger’s eyes link with mine and his grin spreads wide as he makes his way to me. He holds out his hand for me to take, forcing me to rearrange all the stuffed animals I’m holding before I can lace our fingers together.

  “She loved it,” he says proudly.

  Now I know what a woman means when she says her ovaries are exploding. Mine didn’t just explode they turned to dust, and at the risk of sounding like a total girl, I wanted to give this man a fleet of children.

  “I don’t know who loved it more, you or her,” I tease as we walk through Nellie Bly, or whatever the hell they’re calling it these days. It’ll always Nellie Bly to me no matter how many times they change the name. It’ll always be the bootleg amusement park I loved going to as a kid.

  Yesterday, Cobra wanted to have a family day. He planned on taking us to Coney Island but I got called into work and he got stuck being a badass. I mean working. He got stuck working too. Anyway, we postponed our little outing until tonight when I got off of work. Knowing the park wouldn’t be open for very long I suggested we go another day, but he insisted we come.

  With two bags of cotton candy, several corndogs, a bunch of stuffed animals and a ride on the carousel we’re now walking hand in hand with our girl toward the exit.

  The good life.

  That’s what this is.

  “You’re thinking,” he points out, releasing my hand to drape his arm over my shoulders.

  “About all good things,” I assure him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m happy, Jagger.”

  “Yeah?” He presses his lips to the top of my head before lifting my chin with his finger so our eyes meet. “I’m going to do everything I can to keep you that way.”

  Reaching on my tiptoes, I cover his mouth with mine and kiss him softly.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  Laughing against his lips, I pull back a fraction and eye my little girl. She throws her arms around Cobra and smacks her lips against his cheek.

  “Dada!”

  Cobra goes still.

  I’m not sure he even takes a breath as he stares back at me.

  “Did she?”

  Tears well in my eyes as I nod.

  “She did,” I confirm, leaning in to kiss Skylar’s cheek. “That’s right, baby.”

  “My,” she says gleefully.

  “Mine,” Cobra says, hugging her tightly before he reaches for me and pulls me into his strong embrace. “Always mine.”

  “Always,” I say, brushing away the tears from my eyes.

  We stay like that for a while, catching the eye of everyone leaving the park. They don’t know the magnitude of the moment. They don’t know that one word made a broken man whole. They don’t know how our daughter just gave us back a piece of our lives.

  Finally we make it into my car and we drive home.

  Home.

  It seems so strange, like just yesterday I was the one carrying a sleeping Skylar up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. Our lives may have quickly fit back into place, but that’s only because they were always meant to be one.

  His.

  Mine.

  Hers.

  I walked out of that hotel room two years ago knowing I was leaving the other half of my heart there. A heart needs to be whole to beat right. I think the half I was left with continued to beat haphazardly in my chest because it knew the other half would one day come back.

  He lays Skylar down in her crib and I turn to give him privacy with her. Dead on my feet, I walk into the bathroom and strip off my clothes. I wash the make-up off my face, brush my teeth and step into my bedroom, pulling the first t-shirt of his I see over my head before climbing into bed.

  Exhausted, I lay down and wait for him to join me.

  “Tired?” he asks from the doorway.

  “Yeah, and I think I ate too much junk,” I groan as he sits on the side of the bed and bends to undo his boots.

  “Three corndogs too much for the junk food queen?”

  Groaning, I throw my arm over my eyes.

  “Did I really eat three?”

  Wise enough not to answer, stupid enough to laugh, he kicks off his boots and crawls over me.

  “I feel like shit,” I complain.

  “Maybe you’re getting your period.”

  “Why have I been extra bitchy?”

  “Not since the whole put the seat down or I’ll cut your dick off thing.”

  “So why would you think I’m getting my period?”

  “Baby, your tits are huge,” he says with a smirk and reaches across to cop a feel.

  “Ouch,” I cry, swatting his hand away.

  “Oh come on, I barely touched you,” he laughs.

  Realization smacks into me like a Mack truck, causing me to bolt up and lean against the headboard.

  “What? What’s the matter?”

  Before I can answer him his cell phone rings on the nightstand and he grabs it, squinting as he looks at the number displayed on the screen. He turns it to me and tips his chin.

  “Isn’t that the hospital number?”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, suddenly feeling even queasier than I did a moment ago. My lips part to tell him not to answer it but I’m too slow and watch him swipe his thumb across the screen.

  “Hello. Shit, Wolf, calm down. I can’t understand you.”

  He sits up, and the color drains from his face.

  Doom.

  It has a face.

  And I’m looking right at it.

  “Where? Okay, I’ll grab Deuce and we’ll meet him there. You got an address? Water Street. Got it.”

  He disconnects the call, forgets about the conversation we were just having and pulls his boots on.

  “I need to borrow your car,” he says.

  For a while I tried to keep track of the differences between Jagger and Cobra, noting there weren’t as many as I thought there would be. However, the biggest change is the way Cobra shuts down. He’s standing in front of me, looking down at me but he’s not really here. His head is on Water Street, wherever that might be, and he’s focused on whatever doom is waiting for him there.

  “Keys are on the counter,” I murmur.

  Anxiety creeps its way inside of me as I stare at him.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, knowing it’s not, knowing that phone call has the potential to be just as devastating as the flashing lights that blinded us when we were fourteen.

  “Yeah, get some rest. I’ll be back,” he promises, bending down to kiss my lips softly.

  Silently I watch him walk away.

  Silently I sit and pray.

  For him.

  For us.

  For whatever nightmare awaits him on Water Street.

  Cobra

  I’ve seen death.

  I’ve seen despair.

  I’ve seen torture.

  I’ve seen ugly.

  And in some cases, I’ve been the man to deliver those things.

  But I’ve never seen them all bleed into one.

  I’ve never witnessed a woman’s life shatter into a million pieces until I pulled up to Water Street. Until Deuce and I ran down a dark alley and found Stryker sitting beside a dumpster, cradling the broken body of the woman he loves.

  Broken.

  Violated.

  Tortured.

  I told myself my sister’s disappearance was a nightmare, and for me it was, but what I didn’t realize was the nightmare, the true torment, wasn’t her vanishing but the unknown of what happened to her after she was gone.

  This.

  This is what I feared for years. This is what haunted me night after night. In my head it wasn’t as gruesome. It wasn’t as degrading. It was ugly, but it was nowhere near as horrendous as this. Maybe my mind refused to believe this was what rape looked like. Maybe my mind refused to think of my sweet, innocent sister ever being the woman left to die beside a dumpster.

  I turn around out of respect.

/>   For her.

  For him.

  For the sanctity of compassion.

  Without realizing I strip my leather jacket from my body and extend my hand to my brother who is just as broken as the woman he’s holding.

  “Here,” I rasp.

  “Tell us what to do,” Deuce mutters as he leans against a brick wall, balling his fists.

  “Help me get her out of here,” Stryker pleads.

  I close my eyes and turn around.

  For years, I prayed for Alex to be alive, that she survived. I prayed to God to spare her life and leave her here on earth. It didn’t matter that she was out there wandering the world without me. As long as she was alive. Now if I was a man who believed in prayer, I’d pray he took her life, that she didn’t live to suffer.

  If I was a man who believed in God, I’d pray she didn’t survive because sometimes surviving is an even crueler torture.

  Unsure what to do I crouch down beside Stryker and wait for his command. He moves to lift her into his arms but stops in his tracks when she screams. He questions her where it hurts.

  No.

  She repeats it over and over.

  No. No. No.

  A prayer.

  From her to the god she puts her faith in. The god she thought would keep her safe.

  The mythical bastard that never heard her prayer.

  We follow Stryker to the car and help him maneuver her into the back seat.

  “I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he whispers hoarsely.

  Ugly assaults my vision.

  Fresh bruises.

  Dried blood.

  Dirt.

  It all flashes in front of me.

  My sister’s face.

  Gina’s screams.

  No.

  No.

  No

  A prayer no one heard.

  -Thirty-one-

  Celeste

  I didn’t expect him to come home that night, much less two hours later. I also didn’t expect him to tell me he and the club needed my help. I don’t even know what that means.

  As much as I like to think I’m a badass, I don’t see how I can be any kind of help to those guys. I ride a Honda Pilot not a suped up Harley. Sure, I own a leather jacket and I may have fired a BB gun, but I’m not sure that makes me qualified to help the club.

  However, Cobra didn’t seem to care about any of that when he ordered me to put my clothes on and woke our daughter from her sleep. I thought about arguing with him. Especially when he walked into the room carrying our baby girl, who was now wide awake, in his arms. One look into his cold eyes and I decided against it.

  I wasn’t cowering down.

  I wasn’t ready to poke the beast, and clearly, he was in beast mode.

  If I wasn’t so fucking curious or annoyed, I’d think it was hot.

  Once I was dressed, I followed him downstairs to my car that was parked at the curb.

  “Hold her for a second,” he says, ushering Skylar into my arms. The tone of his voice sounding as if it was on autopilot. For some odd reason he pulls the car seat from the trunk and secures it back to its rightful place in the back seat.

  “Why is the car seat in the trunk?”

  Nothing.

  He takes Skylar from my arms and fastens the harness over her. Pressing a kiss to her forehead he closes the door and turns his eyes to me.

  “Get in the car, Celeste,” he orders, before stepping around the back of the car and climbing into the driver’s seat.

  Angrily, I pull open the door and slide in beside him. Trying to keep my cool in front of Skylar I plaster a fake smile on and turn to him.

  “Stop ordering me around and tell me why my daughter and I are being dragged out of our beds.”

  Keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him, he grips the steering wheel and continues to ignore me.

  “Stop the car,” I demand.

  “Will you just simmer down,” he grinds out. “Trust me, the last thing I want is for you to be involved in any of this.”

  He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone. Diverting his eyes between the screen and the road, he finally lifts the phone to his ear. Gnawing on my lower lip in frustration, I stare out the window as he orders someone else around.

  At least I’m not alone.

  “I need a solid,” he begins. “Can you meet me at the motel off the side of the Staten Island Expressway? Yeah, the one where we have the rooms. Thanks, man.”

  He ends the call and tosses the phone into the console before stretching his arm out and covering my knee with his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely.

  “Baby, I don’t know what’s going on—”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I reply immediately. No hesitation. No question. I trust Cobra. I didn’t think it was possible, but I do.

  The car comes to a stop, causing me to tear my eyes from him and stare up at the hospital. Confused, I turn back to him.

  “Why are we here?” I ask, watching as he glances in the rearview mirror at Skylar who has fallen asleep. He rubs the light stubble lining his jaw before turning to me and answering.

  “Trust me,” he repeats, releasing a ragged breath. “I need you to go into the hospital and grab one of those kits you use when a woman comes in after she’s been raped,” he rasps.

  I’m sure I heard him wrong. I shake my head and look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me why we’re really here. It doesn’t happen and I absorb the fact he just asked me to steal medical supplies from the hospital. Then it settles that we’re actually talking about rape.

  “A rape kit,” I whisper. “You want me to steal a rape kit from the hospital.”

  “Yes,” he responds. “Trust me,” he says again.

  “Cobra, what the hell is going on?” I ask hoarsely, swallowing the lump in my throat. “What happens after I get the kit?”

  “I take you to the motel and you do everything a compassionate nurse would do for a woman who has just been the victim of a brutal attack.”

  “Any nurse would call the cops.”

  “Not an option.”

  “Why is it not an option?” I ask, demanding more than vague answers and blind trust.

  “The cops won’t give her justice. You and I know that. We know better than anyone. Better than the homeless man who found her next to a dumpster. Even better than the man who loves her.”

  Swallowing hard, I know he’s right.

  I know the statistics.

  I know forty-three percent of rapists actually caught in the city are convicted.

  That’s less than half, meaning the rest get away with a slap on the wrist.

  Forty-three percent!

  Forty-three percent of the eight hundred and ninety-three victims reported last year.

  Do the math.

  Sadly, a victim never forgets. She lives the rest of her life in the shadows of her attack while the man who stole her life and violated her gets to go on living. He gets to wake up and do it again to another innocent woman, or worse, an innocent young girl.

  “Fine,” I whisper, lifting my eyes to him. “Give me a few minutes,” I add as I reach over to the back seat and grab the tote I usually keep my scrubs in. I pull the scrubs out and toss them back onto the back seat before reaching for the handle. Cobra’s arm stretches across me and his hand covers mine, causing me to turn back to him.

  “Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely, lifting a hand to my cheek. His thumb softly traces my jaw as he leans down and presses a quick kiss to my lips while he opens the door for me.

  Slinging my empty tote over my shoulder I get out of the car and make my way toward the hospital. I roam the halls, trying to go unnoticed, prepared to tell anyone who asks why I’m there that I left my scrubs in my locker. I make some small talk with Linda, take her access card from her scrubs without her knowing, and then work quickly to grab a pair of extra scrubs I keep in my locker. After I shove them into my tote bag, I hurry to
the supply room. I swipe Linda’s access badge and the door automatically unlocks. I sneak inside. Swiftly, I grab the kit and tuck it inside the tote bag and cover it with the scrubs.

  Chucking Linda’s card into the sewer, I get in the car and throw the bag onto the back seat.

  “You get it?”

  “Drive,” I hiss, covering my face with my hands.

  He hesitates for a second before peeling away from the curb.

  Convincing myself I was helping an innocent woman that didn’t ask to be abused doesn’t ease my conscience. I know the difference between right and wrong. I know I didn’t only risk my career but Linda’s as well. If they notice that kit missing, they’ll investigate who had access to the supply room. They won’t find my name, they’ll find hers.

  Guilt chews at me as we turn into the parking lot of the motel. Gazing out the window, I spot Deuce standing beside his bike. He sees us, flicks his cigarette into the street and starts for us. My stomach twists as we get out of the car and I try to mentally prepare myself for what I’m about to see, what I’m about to do.

  Cobra takes Skylar out of the back seat and I kiss her softly before he hands her over to Deuce and laces our hands together. I watch as Deuce turns and heads in one direction while we head in the opposite. I stand behind Cobra, watching Deuce disappear into the room two doors down from the one we’re standing in front of. Cobra raps his knuckles against the door and I can hear the faint sound of footsteps.

  The door opens and Jack Parrish stands in front of us. His expression grim as he moves aside and lets us in. Peeling my eyes off Jack, I turn and lock eyes with my cousin’s. My eyebrows knit together as I watch him cover his face with his hands.

  Not understanding what he’s doing here, I continue to stare at him waiting for him to explain. For someone to explain what the fuck is going on.

  Rocco pulls his hands away and lifts his red-rimmed eyes to mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  I part my lips to ask him what the hell he’s sorry for when I feel Cobra’s hand press against my back and urge me further inside. Slowly, as the door clicks closed behind me, I tear my eyes away from my distraught cousin and look toward the bed.

  Nightmares.