Nomad's Bride

by Rachel Cade

  Nomad’s Bride

  By

  Rachel Cade

  Copyright © 2019 Rachel Cade

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  This is Book One of Two

  Book Two will be Published at the end of October 2020

  Thanks so much for reading.

  I truly hope you enjoy it-

  Rachel

  Chapter One:

  Noa

  One good thing about being in jail: it gave you time to think.

  Noa Callas was pretty comfortable on the cell’s wooden bench. His arm rested over his forehead as he stared up at the ceiling. There was a sting on his knuckles, bruised from the right hook he’d thrown in the bar fight that landed him here.

  More than a few beers were in his system when he’d started to get heckled. A comment was made about his hair, one thing led to another, and he was sliding a grown man over the top of the bar.

  Most people stayed out of his way. It would have been that way whether he was in an outlaw motorcycle club or not. But every so often, a tough guy would step up trying to test him. And they’d end up embarrassed, and occasionally in the hospital.

  Tough guys used to annoy him, but over time, he’d learned to enjoy them.

  Maybe too much.

  This time, he’d made the mistake of being too far from home. The cops in this section of Florida didn’t know or give a shit about Death Skulls MC. They tossed him in the cell and seemed content to throw away the key for the weekend.

  He wasn’t alone. A meth head and homeless man occupied the cell with him. They retreated to their own corners once he was brought in and stayed quiet.

  Noa appreciated it.

  Between occasional naps, he spent this free time playing over the fight in his head. The guy must have been two fifty, maybe an inch or two shorter than his 6’4”, probably in construction. Noa had been completely minding his business at the bar. The intention was to scope the place out for some ass and go.

  Then the bartender had to go and serve him the richest whiskey he’d had in his life; smooth not watered down. Almost worth the fight. It pissed him off that he forgot to ask the brand.

  A soft smile came to his lips thinking of the guy in his ripped plaid shirt, comatose on the bar floor as he was led away.

  It always brought him deep satisfaction putting an entitled asshole in his place.

  “Skorp, nothin’ else better to do last night?”

  Noa turned his head to see Mage “Tin” Jeffries at the cell door.

  Tin always looked like a man who’d been kept under Florida sun for a hundred years.

  Regular beer consumption gave him a small gut, but otherwise, he was 5’9”, thin, and punched like an anvil. He kept his wild salt and pepper hair pulled back in a braid, his long beard frizzy and wild, rested at the center of his chest.

  Noa sat up and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Tin.”

  The cop next to him carried a deep frown as he used his key to unlock the door.

  “We don’t need bikers around this town,” he said sharply.

  Noa stood from the bench and stretched. His back was stiff as hell and he could use a fucking shower.

  *

  When they arrived at the clubhouse, it was practically empty. It wasn’t quite noon and everyone was still passed out.

  As he stared at the scattered unconscious bodies, Noa realized he hadn’t even gotten laid, which was the whole point of being at the bar.

  Noa thought he would shower and fall asleep midday as usual, but after cleaning himself up, he was still wired, and left his temporary room to return downstairs after pulling his long damp hair back into a ponytail.

  Tin was behind the bar cleaning up. Despite being president of Death Skulls Tallahassee chapter club president, he never minded the task. Noa suspected he had OCD but never intended to bring it up.

  “Come on.” Tin moved some glasses off the bar. “Have a seat. Let’s talk a bit.”

  Noa did, letting the heel of his boot rest against one of the stool’s legs.

  “Did you get any sleep on that bench?”

  “I closed my eyes a couple of times.”

  “Closing your eyes and sleeping aren’t the same.”

  Noa grinned, resting his hands on the counter. “You ever slept real good in jail?”

  “A bench is softer than concrete, kid.”

  “Is it?” Noa raised a brow. He was aware that Tin was older and wiser, but he also knew every so often he’d spout bullshit just to have a comeback.

  Tin did a half grunt, half chuckle.

  “Your eyes are red.” The older man already observed this, timing his mention of it.

  Noa rolled them. “I’m good. All these guys party all night and sleep most of the day if we’re not on a job.” He shrugged, still feeling some of the stiffness in his back.

  “Yeah, but you still do it even when there’s not a job. And you’re not always with a woman either before you use that excuse.”

  Noa closed his mouth. Annoyance started curling over his shoulders. “I sleep when I sleep. I’m not a zombie.”

  He didn’t raise his voice, but Tin paused and they eyed each other for a time.

  “I’ve tried to tell you to watch yourself down here,” Tin began, shifting the subject a bit. “You stray too far from our territory with no backup… bad shit can happen. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.”

  Noa dipped his head. “Lesson learned.”

  A sigh undercut his voice, and Noa wondered if he was still considering the subject of his sleep. He hoped not.

  “I need a favor from you.”

  “You got it. Anything.” Noa spoke without hesitation.

  His mouth lifted in the corner. “How about you hear me out first?”

  Tin was the last of a dying breed. He led the MC with a quiet understood authority. He commanded respect from his deeds and actions, not lip service. Most of the Death Skulls looked at him as a surrogate father, with so many being runaways and outcasts.

  Noa was no different. If he ever claimed to have a father in this life, Tin would be him. The man probably never considered he felt that way, and Noa had never expressed it, but it was true.

  “You need some ice for that hand. If it swells too much, it’ll be hard to ride.” He leaned down behind the bar and the swish of ice was heard a moment later.

  Noa glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers. “It’s fine.” He brushed it off, but was handed a bag of ice anyway.

  “I need you to keep your nose clean from here on in.” Tin rested his arms against the bar.

  Noa nodded.

  “It’s been two years and you haven’t found a chapter.”

  Noa knew this conversation would happen at some point, but honestly, he wasn’t in the mood.

  “How long you plannin’ on stayin’ nomad?”

  Noa licked his mouth. “What’s that got to do with your favor?”

  Tin pursed his lips, probably holding back on whatever he planned to say.

  “I need you to take a ride.”

  Noa nodded. “Where?”

  “Nevada.”

  His brow rose in response. “The desert.”

  “Not the desert. Amber Falls.”

&nbs
p; Noa waited.

  “I need you to scout it out. Check out the locals, law enforcement, and report back.”

  “My guess is this is a small town?”

  “Shit, yeah. Not even on the map.”

  Tin smiled in that way he had, a twinkle in his eye.

  Noa didn’t ask any more questions and stood up from the stool.

  “I guess I better go pack.”

  A week later, he was in the desert.

  For miles around, there was nothing but land that stretched out toward the mountains.

  The air was different here.

  Thin, not humid like Florida. And the heat was dry, searing his skin well before mid-day.

  When the darkness settled in, it was like being on another planet.

  Noa made a small fire since nighttime was surprisingly cool.

  His back was stiff from riding all day and he would have loved for sleep to claim him, but he knew it might not.

  There was a deeper quiet out in this wasteland than he was used to.

  Noa had no distractions against the memory weighing down his shoulders.

  He had pulled up to his clubhouse and began making his way over to it after grabbing a beer off the back of his bike. Music was playing: an Aerosmith song. The laughter was so loud, Noa knew everyone in the house was drunk off their ass. He recognized Syris’s crazy cackle and it infected him, curling his mouth up without knowing what the joke was.

  Then the rumbling came. Like something from the pit of hell.

  The ground shook under his feet.

  Noa remembered dropping the beer as the flash erupted and he watched the building explode. The heat and force of it knocked him back into his bike.

  Metal stabbed into his skin and his head crashed against the dirt.

  The fall knocked him unconscious, and he was awoken by the burning in the air.

  Everyone. All his brothers were gone.

  Noa blinked against the fire, willing himself away from the past.

  Chapter Two:

  Lyndie

  One day.

  She just wanted one day that wasn’t a struggle.

  Lyndie Hargood stood waiting after she swiped her debit card a second time.

  Craig Milton stood across from her behind the register. “It’s declined,” he said flatly.

  Shit. There had to be money on the card. She tried to go back over what she bought the last few days.

  The bell at the door went off, signaling they were no longer alone in the store.

  Lyndie stared at the pack of diapers she was going to have to leave on the counter.

  If Sarah had been on shift instead of Craig, then she could have finagled a credit.

  In a last ditch effort, she quickly searched her wallet for cash. Seconds ticked on, and embarrassment flushed her entire body.

  “We don’t take checks,” Craig added unnecessarily. She heard the smugness in his voice. “I hope you read the sign.”

  Lyndie’s teeth grit behind her lips.

  Her eyes snapped up from her wallet.

  Craig was looking over her shoulder, and Lyndie knew without turning that someone was standing behind her.

  “Fifteen on the pump.”

  A deep voice filled the space behind her and she saw a large tattooed hand place a bill on the counter.

  Craig nodded and she heard heavy footsteps, then the bell, signaling he left.

  Lyndie swallowed and shoved the wallet back into her bag before turning to leave.

  “Don’t forget your stuff.”

  She was about five steps away as Craig opened the register.

  “You said my card declined.”

  “It did.” Craig gestured to the door. “He paid for it. And since he left, you can take his change.”

  Lyndie glanced at the exit.

  He bagged the diapers and held out his hand with the change.

  For a second, she wondered if Craig was joking. He’d been an asshole since elementary school and was committed to not changing. Since his father owned most of the town, he never worried about consequences.

  She stepped forward and took the bag from the counter before accepting the cash.

  “I know you need it,” he added with a smile.

  Ignoring the sting she felt at his words, she left the store.

  On the opposite side of the lone working gas pump she could see the wheels of a motorcycle.

  Lyndie held the money tightly in her hand as she rounded pump to face the bike.

  “Thank you for the –” she rushed out, then stopped when she realized she was speaking to thin air.

  The motorcycle was huge, nothing but black and chrome that glinted in the sunlight.

  It was an intimidating machine to say the least, but well taken care of.

  Lyndie wanted to at least give the man her thanks and return his money, but she was going to be late for work if she kept fooling around.

  She scrambled in the pocket of her diner uniform and found her order pad and pen.

  The idea was to quickly write a thank you note and find somewhere on the bike to tuck it with the bills.

  “You’re writing me a ticket?”

  Lyndie almost dropped the pad.

  “No,” she said quickly, turning around to his voice. “No.”

  The tattoos on his hand were just the beginning. They trailed up two massive forearms that were folded over his chest: fire, skulls and some too intricate to make out unless she got closer. Which she was not going to do.

  The artwork continued up the sides of his neck. Both of his ears were heavily pierced with silver and a long goatee stretched past his chin into a triangle.

  A breeze caught a few ringlets of his dark hair, brushing them against his forearms. She was staring at him, and he was staring back at her with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

  She held the money out, not closing the space between them. “I wanted to thank you and give you your change back.”

  He didn’t even look at it and walked around her. “Forget about it. It’s cool.”

  Lyndie became more aware of his height. At 5’10” since fourteen she was still taller than most of the men in town. Plenty of teasing followed her in high school because of it.

  “I really don’t feel comfortable taking your money, sir,” she admitted.

  The man unscrewed the gas cap on his bike.

  Lyndie could only imagine how he must look riding it.

  The wind picked up again and caused the massive coils of his hair to swirl around.

  Dark lashes hid the color of his eyes for a moment before they were back on her again.

  The suddenness made her catch her breath.

  The arches in his dark brows combined with everything else…

  What the hell was a guy like this doing anywhere near Amber Falls?

  “You’re making this way too hard,” he said while he pumped the gas.

  Standing there in her pale blue uniform, she just nodded, and then the diapers and work crashed against her brain. According to her watch, she had about eight minutes to make it across town or she’d be late for her shift!

  Rushing toward her car, she called back, “Thank you again!”

  *

  Noa watched the woman as she ran off.

  She backed out of her parking spot in the loud hatchback and sped away like the devil was on her heels.

  While she spoke, he made note of everything about her, including the deep dimples that pressed into her cheeks. The old-fashioned diner uniform almost did a good job hiding her figure. But the wind helped out, shifting the fabric against her waist and hips. It was subtle, but more than enough.

  When she started running, Noa’s eyes zeroed in on her lower half and the side of his mouth lifted for the first time in days. He’d always been an ass man.

  The town’s welcome sign claimed the population was less than five hundred, which Noa hadn’t been too keen on. But perhaps his stay here wouldn’t be so bad.

  One minute late.
>
  Of course.

  After stopping to drop off the diapers, one light simply wouldn’t change, so she clocked in at 3:01. Mitch was going to dock her pay. He probably looked forward to it. And at some point, there would be a little meeting about it. Lyndie’s eyes rolled at the thought.

  But at least the day was over.

  It was 9 p.m. and the diner was officially closed.

  Jeff, the only chef in town, made it a point to half-ass clean the kitchen before he left her alone to close up.

  Lyndie had a routine she’d set over the past five years to get it done as efficiently as possible.

  First, she checked all the booths then wiped down seats if they needed it, then she did the tables and the counters. Lastly, she’d sweep, then mop. It wasn’t so bad since the place was so small. But it was still the busiest spot in town in the mornings and evenings.

  Jeff was lazy, but the man was magic in the kitchen.

  Lyndie did a quick restock of the napkins before going to the register.

  The diner’s front door opened and boisterous laughter interrupted the peace.

  Mitch’s stomach pushed through the door before he did.

  A Reno transplant, Mitch had lived in Amber Falls around six years. He bought the diner after the previous owner, Nick Pressley, died.

  Lyndie had been his second hire after Jeff.

  “Evening sir,” she said quietly, not sure if he heard her.

  “Lyndie, Lyndie. Hey darlin’, how you doin’?” He pointed at her with a meaty hand.

  Mitch Rigetta was a short thick man with an even thicker New York accent. All his weight settled in his upper body and gut. He was balding, but groomed his ponytail within an inch of its life and never ran out of short sleeved silk designer shirts.

  “I’m fine. Would you like a coffee?” she offered, despite not wanting to make it.

  “Sure sweetheart, why not? How was the take today?”

  Lyndie checked to see there was just enough water in the coffee maker to make him a quick cup.

  “Why don’t you make that two. Man, I’m starving. Any leftovers?” the man Mitch had come in with added.