The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Have you ever had to strike a match?”

  “Too many times,” he confesses.

  “What happens when you run out of matches?”

  “You create fire and hope it burns bright enough to see you through.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Hanging onto fire?”

  He shakes his head and leans forward as he reaches behind him and pulls out a book of matches. Flipping it open, he lifts the book to display a single match.

  “I still got one left.”

  “One more chance to start over?”

  “No, one last chance to make fire.”

  Not sure how to respond, I remain silent. When a person gives up on people, they forget that each one has a story. Deuce’s story might be nothing like mine, but something told me he wasn’t harboring a fairy tale.

  His canvas was full of regret and matches that had burned out.

  -Twenty-two-

  DEUCE

  There are two fucking things I despise in this world. The first is admitting when I’m wrong and the second is shopping. I really fucking hate shopping. So tell me, why the fuck am I pushing a red wagon into Target? Better yet, tell me why this was my idea? Actually, I’ll give you a gold star if you can explain why I’m not bothered by it so much either?

  “I thought you said we were getting food,” Ally says as we step inside a shopaholic’s mothership.

  Yeah, so did I.

  That was the fucking plan.

  I should probably stop planning anything considering none of them seem to go accordingly. Making a note of it, I try to place where I went wrong. Sitting in my room and staring at the wall that separated Ally and I was probably it. I thought putting her in Cobra’s room was a no-brainer. She had her own space, and I had mine. There was a connecting door in case she needed anything, but other than that we could go about our business.

  Yeah, not so much.

  The truth was, before the fucking world flipped on its axis I was rarely ever at the motel. Other than sleeping and showering, I didn’t do much there. When I wasn’t riding or fucking my way through life, I was playing the Satan’s Knights prodigal cowboy, shooting shit and digging graves. Not one to be confined, I was climbing the four fucking walls of that room.

  After Ally’s moment outside the hospital, I listened as she relived another traumatic experience. It’s one thing to assume what she’s been through but hearing her say it—shit, that left me reeling. I spent half the night wondering if she was okay or if she was reliving more agony. I could have checked in on her during the night but I was too chicken shit. Sure, I was experienced in post-traumatic stress but not Ally’s kind. I knew Stryker had suffered after the war and there were certain triggers that left it impossible to obtain peace. I feared handing that helmet to Ally had opened the door to a night full of terror and that bothered me. I didn’t want to be the one who enticed her demons to come out and play. I wanted to be the guy who gave her a reprieve from all that shit, the guy who could maybe show her there was a great big world out there waiting for her.

  Like it or not, she was my responsibility now. Her well-being and her peace of mind was my newfound commitment.

  That’s why I opened that door today.

  That’s the fucking reason I sat on her bed and counted her freckles.

  After realizing she was okay, that she was just bored, I should have left her alone and gone back to my room, but then we started to talk. Talking to Ally was an experience. Hell, you couldn’t go a moment without wondering what she was going to say next. One minute she was an ordinary woman making it easy to forget her story. The next minute she was the wounded warrior, holding onto a book of matches, fighting for the strength to overcome her past. I was getting whiplash trying to keep up.

  What broke me though was when she willingly gave me more of her story. Trust isn’t something I imagine comes easy for her and knowing she trusted me enough to confide in me did something to me. It fucked with me in more ways than one. It made me want to rewrite her past. Knowing that was impossible, I did the stupidest thing I could have ever done.

  I kissed her.

  I fucking kissed her.

  And Jesus Christ, her lips were plump and pliable—fucking perfect.

  And her taste—fuck me.

  Someone needs to create a word for how fucked I am.

  Motherfucked isn’t cutting it anymore.

  The torture didn’t stop there though.

  Nope, it continued when Ally pulled out her ace.

  She smiled and I folded.

  Game over.

  No fucking sane man could compete with that smile let alone one who had lost all his fucking logic. It was breathtaking and intoxicating all the same. Fucking captivating was what it was.

  And like a fool, I wanted to see more of it.

  “You need stuff, don’t you?” I ask, pushing the cart like a total jackass. Grinding my teeth, I make a turn and nearly take down the display of Goldfish crackers. Give me two wheels and I’ll make that baby purr, give me a horse and I’ll make her gallop, give me a red wagon with a bull’s-eye and I’m an imbecile.

  Frustrated, I park the cart in the center of the aisle and turn to Ally.

  “Take this fucking thing, please,” I grind out, taking both her hands and placing them on the handlebar. There, that’s better. Stepping away from the offensive death trap, I pull my shit together and focus.

  “Coconuts,” I say finally.

  “You want to buy me coconuts?” she asks, looking at me like I’ve got a third eye.

  “Your hair smelled like coconuts the other night,” I clarify. “I don’t have any of that fancy shit back at the motel and I’m pretty sure your brother doesn’t either.”

  “Oh,” she replies thoughtfully. “That was Reina’s.”

  “Well, time to get you some of your own,” I tell her, scratching the scruff lining my jaw. Looking away, I take in the products on the shelf and pick up a toothbrush. Chucking it into the wagon, I glance back at her. “You see something you need you throw it in the wagon.”

  “I’ve been shopping before, Deuce,” she says, taking the toothbrush out of the wagon. I’m about to argue with her when she grabs a green one instead. “I like this one better,” she adds, reaching for the toothpaste. She grabs two different types and studies them with deep concentration.

  “What’s the difference?” she asks.

  “Get both,” I reply automatically. She turns to me and I shrug my shoulders. Waiting for her to argue with me, she fools me and dumps them both in the cart. Her eyes travel the length of the aisle and she adds mouthwash, floss and some sort of whitening kit to the growing list of dental products. Once she finishes scoping out the aisle, she grabs the cart and pushes it down the next.

  Following her down the aisles, I watch as she lifts things off the shelves and decides what she likes. A half hour goes by and we’re barely out of the toiletry section, not to mention the wagon is half-full.

  Turning down the next aisle, she turns to me. A crease works the center of her forehead as she glances at the shelves.

  “I never understood the difference,” she says, waving her hand at the condom selection. “Do you have a favorite?”

  Unlike the toothpaste, I can’t tell her to grab every variety and give them a whirl, so I say nothing as she grabs a pack.

  “Ribbed,” she mutters.

  “Fuck,” I hiss.

  “You don’t like ribbed?” she questions, lifting her gaze back to me.

  “Ally,” I warn. Quickly, she glances around the store, over her shoulder and back to me.

  “What? Are people looking at me? I sort of feel like they are. You know, like I’m a fish out of water?”

  “They’re not looking at you,” I grind out.

  “So I blend in?”

  Doesn’t every girl comparing condoms fit in with the crowd at Target? Fuck my life. Man, you can’t make this shit up.

  “Totally,” I say, taking the condoms out of
her hand. Chucking them into the wagon, her eyes widen and she pokes a finger against my chest.

  “You do like ribbed!”

  Gripping the wagon with one hand, I grab her arm and lead her out of the aisle.

  “I thought you said you’ve been shopping before,” I mutter.

  “I have, but this is the first time ever I get to pick anything out,” she says, pushing me aside to take control of the wagon. “Rush would pick everything out, getting me stuff he liked best. I had no idea there were so many choices.”

  Christ.

  “This store has everything, huh?” she adds as we head down the make-up aisle. I don’t say anything as she mulls over eighty-seven tubes of lipstick. Fuck, I’d buy every single one if she decided she liked them all. Then I’d kiss her like I really want to and smear those colors all over her pretty lips.

  “What do you think about make-up?”

  “I think it looks awful on me.”

  Again, she smiles and I lean against the wagon taking it all in.

  “I bet,” she replies as she dumps a few things into the wagon. “I never learned how to put it on properly. I always felt like I put so much on that at times I resembled a clown or one of those guys from that band Kiss.”

  Unable to stop myself, I let out a laugh.

  “What else do you need?” I ask, watching as she throws a tube of red lipstick in the wagon. My eyes dart to her lips and I imagine what they might look like painted that shade. She might not know her favorite color yet but I know now mine is undoubtedly red.

  “I think that’s it,” she says, chewing on her lower lip as she eyes the wagon.

  “What about clothes?”

  “They have clothes here too?” Her eyes widen at the thought and she glances around the store.

  “They’ve got everything here,” I mumble. “It’s the fucking store that never ends.”

  Giddily, she leads me to the clothing section and I take a seat outside the dressing room. The fucking toiletry saga was a breeze compared to the clothing section. Not only did she get overwhelmed by the different styles, but finding her size was a process too. Grabbing myself a bag of chips, I made myself comfortable as she tried on outfit after outfit. A clerk saw our cart was overflowing and brought us a second one. By the time we reached the underwear aisle, both wagons were piled high and I couldn’t stand another second of this torture.

  And torture it was.

  Watching Ally decide between thongs and cheeky boy shorts was what sent me over the edge. I don’t know what happened but something inside of me snapped and when she bent over to find her size my eyes gravitated straight for her ass. She may need some meat on those bones, but the girl had a round ass. Even through the baggy sweats I could tell it was firm and my hand itched to squeeze it. That was definitely not a thought I should be having but one I couldn’t push out of my head. Then I fucked myself harder by letting my eyes wander over the rest of her.

  I’m going to blame it on the hunger and lack of sex. A man could only handle so much deprivation before he lost his shit. It wasn’t healthy; neither was knowing her cup size. I was always a fan of Bs.

  “I think we’re done,” she declares, drawing out a heavy sigh.

  “Praise Jesus,” I cheer.

  As I go to stand, she trips over the wagon but my hands are quick and I grab onto her hips as she falls forward against my chest. Her fists close around my leather jacket and she leans her forehead against my chest. Before I can ask her if she’s okay, her body starts to shake against mine. Thinking she’s crying, I push her hips back as she lifts her head from my chest and lights up the whole fucking world with a giggle.

  Fuck the lipstick.

  That sound is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

  Impulsively, I close the distance between us, backing her against the wagon. The giggle fades as I lift my hands to grab the handlebars and cage her between my arms. Searching her face, she gives me a nod and that’s it—I lose it.

  My mouth crashes down on hers and I unleash all my desire into her mouth. That perfect fucking mouth that was made for kissing. Her lips part and I thrust my tongue inside inviting hers to play with mine. Moving in sync with one another, our tongues collide to taste and tease. My teeth nip at her swollen lips and a moan escapes. The sound shoots straight to my dick and I fight not to rock myself against her like a dog in heat. Realizing I was losing control, I pull away, bracing both hands on the wagon as I exhale.

  Dropping my hands, I take two giant steps back and watch as she peeks up at me through her long lashes.

  “Shit,” I growl, swiping a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, I lost my head.”

  “Oh,” she says, sounding deflated. “Don’t worry about it,” she recovers, smacking her lips together as she turns to face the wagon.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here, please.”

  “Okay,” she says quietly.

  I take control of one wagon while she continues to stand in front of the other one.

  Not moving.

  “You gotta push,” I remind her.

  “How much is all of this going to cost?” she questions, glancing between both wagons.

  “Don’t worry about how much it costs,” I tell her. “Can we please just go? I’m starving.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” she blurts. “I don’t know when, but well, I’m going to have to get a job eventually and when I do I promise you I’ll pay you back.”

  “Did I ask you to pay me back?”

  “No.”

  “Then forget it,” I growl.

  “You shouldn’t have to pay for my shit, Deuce. I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

  A smarter man would have quit while he was ahead, he would have listened to those warning bells and kept his big fat mouth shut.

  I was stupid.

  Fucking dumb as a doornail.

  “You don’t earn your keep here, Ally. I don’t know what you did in the past but you’re not living that life anymore. I don’t expect or want anything in return.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not a damn thing,” I tell her as I take a step closer to her. “That being said and going forward, if there is something you need I want you to come to me. You don’t have to worry about paying me back or working for it. You need it then it’s yours.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks skeptically. “I’ve been nothing but a pain in your ass.”

  “That’s true,” I tease, throwing in a wink for extra emphasis. “I’m not going to be nice if we don’t get out of here.”

  “You’re grumpy when you’re hungry.”

  “That’s not the only time I’m grumpy,” I mutter as she finally starts to push the wagon.

  “Dare I ask?”

  “It would be best if you didn’t,” I reply as we reach the checkout line. As we wait for the cashier to ring us up, Ally browses some more and then gasps when she spots a DVD.

  “This is it,” she says, grabbing one. “The movie you were watching that night at Jack’s,” she adds, displaying the special edition DVD of Bonnie and Clyde.

  “That’s the one,” I confirm.

  “I need this,” she exaggerates, hugging it to her chest. “A girl can’t strike a match in her new life without seeing the greatest movie ever made.”

  Quoting my words back to me, she rolls her eyes and smiles at me.

  “No, I suppose she can’t,” I reply with a grin. “You haven’t truly lived until you’ve joined the ranks of the Barrow Gang.”

  And just like that, the night got so much better.

  So much so that when we got back to the motel I forgot all about the great wall between us and ushered her into my messy room.

  Then we climbed on top of my bed, ate our sushi and watched Bonnie and Clyde.

  It was fucking perfect.

  Dangerously perfect.

  -Twenty-three-

  ALLY

  It’s amazing what happens to a person when they break free from thei
r mind; when they don’t think and just live. It’s not easy to shut out the noise, most of the time I struggle, but when I’m with Deuce it seems to disappear without any effort whatsoever. I temporarily forget what I’ve been through and get to experience things I never thought possible, like picking out my own clothes and discovering I have a weird obsession with dental products. Or learning that raw fish isn’t so bad if you dip it in that spicy mayonnaise they give you on the side. And let’s not forget kissing. I never imagined it possible that I could enjoy a kiss; that I’d learn it’s so much more than someone violently assaulting your mouth.

  It was intimate.

  Powerful.

  And very underrated.

  We didn’t talk about it afterwards and it didn’t happen again after Target, but kissing Deuce was one of the times when my mind paused and I felt normal.

  That’s not saying that when I go to sleep everything changes, because it doesn’t. My subconscious doesn’t let me forget, it drags me down and I wake up screaming. I’m reminded I’ll never be normal.

  In the time I’ve been staying at the motel with Deuce, I’ve woken him with my screams almost every night. And each time he comes into my room and sits on my bed with me. He doesn’t ask me any questions he just lets his presence comfort me. Some nights I confide in him, finding it easy to talk to him. I think it’s mainly because he doesn’t force me to. It’s like we have a silent agreement, both of us understanding I’ll share when I’m comfortable and he’ll be there to listen.

  The nights I choose to keep the horror bottled inside, he takes my hand and we go back to his room. He pops in the DVD and we lie on his bed watching Bonnie and Clyde until I finally doze off again.

  Toothpaste isn’t my only obsession; I’m infatuated with the classic movie. I won’t lie and tell you it’s because the acting is so on point or even because Faye Dunaway is a beauty. No, it’s the story. The crazy love between two flawed people and the hidden message behind every heist; reminding us that the heart wants what it wants and nothing can stand in its way. It’s Bonnie’s fierce love for Clyde despite his bad decisions. It’s knowing she’d die before she ever gave up on him. It’s discovering ride or die is an unbreakable bond between two ill-fated souls who only have love to guide them through the mayhem.