The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “You get those guys where you want them and then Stryker delivers them to hell, agreed?” Jack questions.

  Rocco rolls his neck from side to side before giving Jack a curt nod.

  “Fine, but if he doesn’t finish them I will.”

  “Trust me, he’ll finish them,” Jack assures him. “You get me a date and time and my boy will be there with a dirty knife and rusted pipe.”

  “What about the rest?” Cobra asks, turning to Jack. “That’s just getting the men he hired to attack Gina. What about him? What about the rest of the girls he’s using and abusing?”

  “This is your show, boy. You and Rick know how this bastard operates better than us. If you don’t think we will get anything else digging, then we gotta go another route,” Jack answers, glancing around the table. “And we’re going to have to send someone to Albany to be the eyes and ears of this operation.”

  “Ideally, sending Stryker would be best considering he has a history with the club,” Riggs points out. “Even though that’s off the table, once this shit is squared away with his girl someone will need to talk to him about what’s going on over there.”

  “I don’t know how much time you think you will have, but if you plan on sending someone in there you gotta do that before that farce of a shipment takes place. It won’t be too long after that he will strike for real. In fact, that’s being generous because if you ask me his plan is to move those girls when all eyes are on the harbor,” Rick offers.

  “If that’s the case we’re fucked,” Blackie says. “Everyone sitting around this table can’t be in two places at once.”

  My eyes dart around the room, watching as the wheels turn in everyone’s heads. Some are contemplating cloning themselves, others are worried how this will pan out and if they’ll survive to see their families. Sighing, I shake my head, realizing everyone at this table has baggage. Rocco and his posse aside, my brothers fucking procreate like the rest of the free world changes their shorts. Some, actually most of them are married with kids. Keeping all these people living and breathing would be like herding a bunch of cattle on the farm.

  “We can work the logistics of all that out,” Rocco offers. “I’ll work the harbor, make sure all our ducks are in a row. If you’re going to put one of your men inside Albany, Parrish, you need to decide who and get on that. We don’t have much time, a week maybe two if we’re lucky before we intercept.”

  “I’ll go,” Cobra volunteers immediately.

  Abruptly, I lift my head and stare at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind. He’s suffered at Yankovich’s hand more than anyone and now he’s finally got the woman he loves in his life and a chance to know his little girl.

  There’s not a fucking chance in hell I’m going to allow him to risk losing that. No fucking way, not when I’m here and have nothing but a pack of assholes looking to kill me anyway.

  “It makes sense if he goes,” Blackie reasons. “He decided to go nomad again, stops off in Albany, maybe even brings up Stryker to Rush. Tells him they were in the same chapter and that Stryker suggested Albany would be a good place to park his Harley until he hit the road again.”

  “No,” Wolf says from across the table as he stares at me. “Boy’s got a little girl he barely knows, and Yankovich has already robbed too much time from them. I’ll go.”

  “You just got out of the hospital, old man, where you going?” Riggs spits.

  My eyes fall onto Wolf, reminding me he saved me—a reckless fool that made his own bed, someone who didn’t deserve to be rescued.

  Then it happens.

  The wind changes as the storm is about to roll through.

  The walls are closing in; the future hangs by a single bolt like the sign outside.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I growl, watching as all eyes turn to me. “I’ll go,” I add as I push back my chair and shrug the worn leather vest from my shoulders. Laying the leather on the table, I pull my utility knife from my back pocket and cut through the threads of my Brooklyn patch.

  “Deuce,” Cobra starts.

  “Fuck, man, Wolf is right,” I say, lifting my head to meet his gaze. “You need to be here with your family, Stryker needs to be with Gina, and Linc, well I’m sure if he could fucking move he’d be offering too.”

  I turn to Jack.

  “You still got my nomad patch?” I ask, tossing my patch onto the table before cutting my eyes to Wolf.

  He saved me, all right. He dragged my wanted ass into a world of chaos where I became property of Parrish.

  We’re all property of Parrish.

  We’re all fucked is what we are.

  And me?

  I may have just fucked myself harder.

  -Three-

  DEUCE

  Age: 27

  Place: Albany, New York

  I’m going to murder Wolf, dress him in all black and bury him in a swamp. Then I’m going to do a fucking rain dance on his makeshift grave and damn that crazy bastard straight to hell. This is all his fucking fault. I’m sitting here in filth, knocking back cheap fucking booze and watching every guy in this joint get their dick sucked by the same whore because the Johnny Cash wannabe couldn’t mind his own fucking business.

  No, he had to stick his nose in my shit and now I’m here in Albany, likely to get gangrene as I wait for some magical piece of information to fall into my lap. Pouring myself a refill of whatever garbage these fools keep stocked on their shelves, my eyes take a sweep around the clubhouse and over the unsuspecting fools who think I’m just passing through their charter.

  Then I see her.

  I see those dark blue eyes.

  Eyes that mimic the ocean under a midnight sky.

  They are unique in color but not in what they portray. There are very few souls roaming the world with eyes as lost and lonely as hers. If you’re lucky, you live life never having to stare into the eyes of a broken soul. If you’re me, broken souls are your kryptonite and you gravitate toward them.

  She turns her head and her eyes lock with mine. For a moment, I’m back in Arlington, back to a place where I’m helpless and captive to a woman’s eyes. It knocks me on my ass, punches me in the gut and steals the breath from my lungs. I bring the glass to my lips and greedily gulp the booze. Draining the glass, I welcome the burn as it slides down my throat.

  I order myself to look away, to get my head back in the game, but I can’t. The familiar torture in those eyes calls to me, reminding me of Chelsea and all my careless mistakes. It reminds me of the consequences of them.

  The gunshot.

  The screams.

  The blood.

  Her death.

  “Don’t even think about it,” a voice warns.

  Tearing my eyes away from the girl in the corner, I turn to my right as Needles pulls up a chair beside me. Snatching the bottle in front of me, the man covered head to toe in ink helps himself to a glass and leans back.

  We’ve come a long way since I first arrived a few days ago. With my nomad patch on my back, I barreled through the front door of the clubhouse and was greeted by Needles. I asked to speak with the president of the club and in return I got thrown against the wall and frisked. Needles confiscated my piece and demanded to know what I wanted with Rush. I kicked him in the balls and pushed him off me before I gave him the same rehearsed story I told every other club who gave me a bed. I vowed to have their back as long as I was under their roof, but made it clear I was just a temporary fixture. Seeming to believe the bullshit spewing from my mouth, Needles handed me back my piece and ordered me to stay put while he fetched Rush and his vice president, Bas.

  That’s when I got my first glimpse into those blue eyes. Rush stormed into the common area with her tucked against his side. Ignoring me, he guided her to the bar in the center of the room and ordered her to sit on one of the stools before disappearing. Curiously, I moved toward the bar only for Bas to pull me back. He shook his head in warning and I looked back at the girl with matted hair, wearing onl
y a t-shirt and a pair of panties as she pleaded with Rush to give her what she craved. I knew her kind. Girls like her trolled Arlington all the time, spreading their legs on command, begging to belong to someone but belonging to no one.

  I watched as Rush returned with a needle full of drugs and whispered soothing words to the woman. A sense of peace washed over her as he tied a band around her arm and turned it over. Searching for a viable vein, he flicked her skin. Even from where I stood I could see the woman was a bag of bones and track marks. Not a scrap of meat on her petite frame or an unmarked inch of skin.

  Pity.

  He plunged the needle into her arm and relieved her from her demons.

  That was days ago.

  I hadn’t seen her since.

  Until now.

  Turning my attention back to her, I reach into my jacket for a joint. Pushing it between my lips, I flick my lighter and take a long pull as I watch her jittery eyes dart around the room.

  “What’s her deal?” I ask Needles, blowing out a ring of smoke before I offer him a hit.

  “That’s Rush’s girl,” he says, accepting the joint.

  “She’s his old lady?”

  “No, he’s got one of those too.”

  Raising and eyebrow, I peer at him.

  “Does she know he has a side piece he keeps under lock and key?”

  He studies me for a moment before taking another hit and shakes his head.

  “Man, you got no idea,” he begins, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Ally,” he continues, tipping his chin toward the blue-eyed girl. “She’s untouchable now, but she wasn’t always. Rush’s old lady found out about her and came charging through here like a bat out of hell. I don’t know what that woman has on our president, but whatever she threatened him with spooked the shit out of him. He gave Ally up, turned her over to the club. That lasted about a year until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He claimed her for himself and started keeping her real close. Now no one is allowed near that bitch. If you ask me, Rush is just as hooked on that pussy as she is on the drugs he feeds her.”

  “He’s obsessed with her,” I comment, turning my gaze back to her, trying to figure out what Rush finds so appealing.

  “You can say that,” Needles agrees. “Word to the wise, if you feel like holding onto your dick, quit lookin’ at her.”

  “How’d she end up here with him?”

  “Fuck if I know,” he mutters, handing me back my joint. “She was here before I ever parked my ass here,” he pauses, reaching for the booze. “Rush left for Canada this morning and probably left his junkie high and dry. The only time she leaves that fucking room is when he’s not around to give her a fix. Stupid bitch thinks she can use her boney ass to con one of us into feeding her the poison she craves.”

  Looking defeated, Ally moves to turn around, but Bas wraps his hand around her arm. For some reason, I inch forward and brace my hands on my knees.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Every sense I have is on high alert as Bas leans over and whispers in her ear. I can feel the wind change and I struggle to disconnect, to separate my past from my present. Then as quickly as he grabbed her, he releases her, and she scurries down the hallway. Turning around, his cold eyes glare back at me. I hold his gaze, unwilling to succumb to the threat he thinks he poses and bait him.

  Come at me motherfucker.

  Let’s go.

  Adrenaline courses through my veins as he starts for me. Thinking I’ll finally get a piece of this bastard, I crack my knuckles and wait.

  He’s been on my ass since I got here, watching me like a fucking hawk. He doesn’t trust me, making him the only chance these motherfuckers have at roadblocking me from getting what I came here for.

  Not going to happen.

  With Rush gone, I need to make my move, and this fuck isn’t going to stand in my way.

  Standing before me, he narrows his eyes and tries to read me.

  Good luck, brother.

  “Ready to ride?” Needles asks, drawing Bas’ attention toward him.

  “Where we going?” I chime in as I continue to grill the vice president.

  “You ain’t going nowhere,” he growls. “Let’s go,” he orders Needles.

  Letting him believe he has the upper hand, I bite the inside of my cheek and glare back at him.

  “Thanks for the herb, brother,” Needles says as he pulls himself up. “Catch you on the flip side.”

  I tip my chin in response and refill my glass. Once it’s full, I raise it to Bas and give him my middle finger.

  Fuck you.

  Muttering something under his breath, he turns and follows Needles through the smoke-filled room. Cautiously, I keep my eyes trained on their backs and watch them walk out the door.

  Finishing off my drink, I scan the room making sure I don’t have any wandering eyes on me before I stand and make my way toward the hallway. None of these assholes notice me, all too busy getting fucked up and sucked dry.

  Roaming the hall, I make my way straight to Rush’s office and pull a flathead screwdriver from my cut. I glance over my shoulder and down the empty hallway, once I’m sure the coast is clear I go to work on picking the lock.

  Popping the lock is a piece of cake and ten seconds later I’m inside. I close the door as a foul stench washes over me, assaulting my senses.

  Jesus, fuck.

  It smells like a rotting corpse in here.

  Lifting my t-shirt to cover my nose, I walk further into the office and spot the beat-up desk in the corner. Breathing through my mouth, I make my way toward it and shove the loose papers around the desk with my free hand. Every piece of paper is another past due bill, making it real clear these guys are fucked.

  My mind starts working, fitting the pieces of the puzzle, figuring Rush probably teamed up with Yankovich to get his club out of the red. I shake my head, reminding myself that’s not what I’m here for. I need to find those fucking shipping contracts so we know where to strike.

  I start pulling open the drawers, turning them upside down and emptying the contents on top of the desk, coming up short until I reach the bottom drawer. Lifting it on top of the desk, I pull a shoebox out and find a folder. Opening it, my eyes zoom to the top of the invoice and the familiar letterhead reading, Triton Containers. A grin works my lips as I flip through the few pages before I roll them up and stuff them into the inner pocket of my jacket.

  Fuck you, Rush.

  Game over, Yankovich.

  Slipping the empty folder back inside the drawer, I reach for the shoebox. Curious by nature or maybe just a fool at heart, I open the box and sift through the contents. A curse escapes my lips as I push aside the loose syringes and find a brick of pure heroin.

  “Fucking hell,” I hiss.

  Lost in my head, realizing how much money I’m holding in the palm of my hand and how my findings contradict my original suspicions, I don’t hear the door open.

  “What are you doing in here?” a hoarse voice asks.

  Startled, I lift my head and my eyes lock with a pair of soulless eyes.

  Her.

  -Four-

  ALLY

  Age: 26

  Place: Albany, New York

  A fire spreads throughout my body, threatening to drag me to the depths of hell, begging me to feed it what it needs, what it desperately craves. Extending my arms outward, my palms smack against the paneled walls and I fight to keep myself upright, following the voices down the hallway. I close my eyes and try to focus.

  Rush. I need Rush. He’ll make the pain go away.

  Praying my savior has come back, I listen for his voice as I draw closer. Stepping from the shadows, my eyes frantically dart around searching for Rush. A whimper escapes my lips as I realize he isn’t amongst these animals.

  He’s left me high and dry.

  A prisoner in my own hell.

  A hell he introduced me to.

  “If Rush comes back and sees you out of your room, he�
�s going to lose his shit,” Bas warns in a gruff whisper. His breath caresses my ear sending a shiver down my spine. Swallowing down the bile, I turn my gaze to him and close my hand around his wrist.

  “Why don’t you take me back to my room then?”

  His dark eyes snap to my hand as I begin to stroke his pulse point with my thumb. Desperation claws at me and I know what I need to do. For some, drugs can be a temporary high, something they do out of recreation. For others, for people like me, a hit is as necessary as oxygen.

  With his free hand, Bas pulls mine away as he closes the distance between us and tightens his fingers around my wrist so tight I’m afraid he might break it. Bending his large frame, he inches close to me and I can smell the whiskey on his tongue.

  “Ain’t no one here going to buy what you’re selling, girl,” he sneers. “Turn your boney ass around and get back to your room.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Bas, I need something.”

  “I’m not going to feed you drugs, Ally. That might be Rush’s thing, but it’s not mine.”

  “What if he doesn’t come back?” I cry.

  Loosening his grip on my wrist, he takes a step back and looks down at me, shaking his head in pure disgust.

  “You should pray he doesn’t.”

  A sob wretches free at the mere possibility of Rush never returning. I can’t live without him. Hell, I don’t want to live without him either.

  He’s the only one who cares.

  The only one who gives me what I need.

  “Please, Bas. I’ll do whatever you want,” I plead.

  “Go to your fucking room, Ally,” he demands, his jaw ticking with agitation. Before I can drop to my knees in one last attempt, he turns around and I watch his back as he moves through the room. Tears slide down my cheeks as I draw my arms around my body and silently will the chills to fade away.

  I look around the room once more, hoping to find someone who will give into me, but it’s a lost cause. These men are all under Rush’s command and none of them will go against him, certainly not for me. Bas is right, no one here wants me.