Wanderer (The Nomad Series Book 2)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Don’t do that,” I order hoarsely, making my way over to him. Placing my knee on the cushion beside him, I lean over and gently undo the knot on the belt. “Easy,” I whisper as he cringes. Untangling the belt, I reach over and drop it onto the coffee table. Feeling the intensity of his stare I urge him to lean forward and carefully remove the leather vest from him.

  “Shit,” he hisses.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning back to rake my eyes over his face, watching as he briefly distorts in pain. “I’m going to get some supplies. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  A grunt escapes his lips and I take that as my answer. Sliding off the couch, I step around his long legs but he grabs the hem of my t-shirt and stops me from going anywhere.

  “Whatcha wearing under there?”

  Raising an eyebrow, I look at him.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You’re bleeding all over my couch and you want to know what I’m wearing underneath my shirt?”

  “Take my mind off the bullet, baby,” he rasps.

  “God, how much did they give you to drink?”

  “Not much,” he argues. His fingers twist my shirt as he closes his eyes. “Deuce poured most of it on my shoulder before any of it went down my throat.”

  I bite back the chuckle because really there isn’t a thing funny about any of this, but seeing him like this brings back memories. Like the nights when we used to sneak out and drink beers in my dad’s garage.

  Then we were young and stupid.

  Now, I have no idea what we are.

  Maybe we’re still a little stupid.

  “Nothing,” I answer. “Now sit still and let me clean you up.”

  His lips jerk and a faint grin works his rugged features.

  “I knew it,” he mutters.

  Rolling my eyes, I leave him to his drunken, wounded stupor and go to the bathroom to fetch half my medicine cabinet. If someone told me I’d be cutting Jagger’s shirt off his body or that I’d be cleaning and stitching a flesh wound, well, years ago I would have told them they were out of their minds. Now, I’m not so surprised.

  When I return to the living room, his eyes are closed and his breathing is labored. Thinking he’s sleeping, I gently pull at the t-shirt that’s caked with blood and cut it down the middle.

  “Look at you,” he mumbles.

  “Lean forward,” I instruct, laying the scissors down beside him. With a little probing, he pushes off the back of the couch and I remove his t-shirt. He lets out a stream of curses as I clean the wound, gently wiping away the dried blood with a swab.

  “Been all over,” he says hoarsely.

  My eyes lift from his shoulder to his face and meet his. Everything goes still as he lifts his hand to my cheek.

  “Seen a lot of shit and these hands are as dirty as they get. I’m not a good guy, Celeste.”

  Sadly, there is truth to that.

  I think as girls we like to believe we can save the bad boy. We like to think their lives were incomplete until we walked into them. We like to think we’re their saviors and that we can change them; make them see the error of their ways. In a perfect life, the right woman would walk into the damaged soul’s life and he’d repent his sins and change his ways.

  As young girls, we read fairy tales. They resonate with us, spark our dreams and naively we believe we can be a princess too. We wait for our prince to come and expect to live happily ever after.

  A girl doesn’t realize until she becomes a woman that fairy tales come in all shapes and sizes. There are all types of love in this world and most of the time it’s not perfect. Most of the time love is a struggle. A girl doesn’t realize that men are flawed. They make bad decisions, choose the wrong road and get a little lost.

  A woman recognizes good intentions. She recognizes the soul of a man, something a young girl doesn’t even think about. A woman knows she can’t save the bad boy, but she loves him anyway because deep down she’s wise enough to accept what she can’t change.

  Deep down, a woman’s heart is big enough to love the fractured and flawed.

  He blows out a breath, forcing me out of my head.

  “I’m almost done,” I say softly.

  He doesn’t respond and I begin to stitch him, mentally noting to thank my mother for the sewing kit she stuck under my bathroom sink.

  “Aren’t you going to ask a million questions?”

  “No, I think I’ve got all the answers I need,” I say. “This will hurt a little so grab onto the pillow or something,” I warn.

  I should have been clearer when I said something because as the needle pierces his skin he grabs a hold of my tit.

  “Ouch!”

  “You said grab something.”

  “I said a pillow.”

  “I grabbed the first thing I saw.”

  “I guess some things don’t change, huh?” A soft smile plays on my lips before I make another stitch and he takes another handful.

  “Some things,” he agrees. “But a lot changed too. We have a kid,” he rasps.

  Pulling back the needle, I grab the scissors and cut the thread. Satisfied with the closure, I turn to his sobering eyes.

  “We do,” I answer.

  “Can I see her?” he asks hoarsely, his tone barely audible. “Is she here?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper. “She’s sleeping.”

  His eyes flicker and I watch his throat as he struggles to swallow.

  “All night I was trying to picture what she looks like, wondering if I’d get the chance to see her.”

  Wincing, he drops his arms to his sides and shakes his head.

  “I don’t know how it will work. How to be what she needs or what you need, but I know I thought about dying today and the only thing that kept me from being reckless with my own life was knowing there was new life waiting for me.”

  Honest words.

  Raw emotion.

  A woman can recognize those things too.

  Unfolding my legs, I stand in front of him and hold out my hand.

  He slips his hand in mine and works himself off the couch.

  I’ve dreamt of this moment.

  This is the fairy tale, the very first page of our story. Everything before this moment was part of the prologue. The piece that sparks your interest. But this isn’t like any fairy tale you’ve known before. This isn’t the story your mommy read to you before bed. I’m not a princess and he isn’t a prince. We’ve both made mistakes. We’ve both made wrong turns and a shit ton of bad decisions. I’m the woman who spent most of her existence living in the shadow of someone else and he’s the man who lived a life of mayhem.

  This is the story of two broken people.

  Two lost souls.

  Two survivors.

  Two people who know how ugly the world is.

  Two people who did one thing right in this life.

  Two people who brought beautiful into the world.

  This is the story of Cobra and Celeste.

  Leading him down the hallway, I pause in front of our daughter’s room and take a deep breath. He’s about to lay eyes on her for the first time and no amount of dreaming could have ever prepared me for how I feel right now.

  I glance over my shoulder.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Heart pounding loudly in my ears, I push open the door and bring him inside. A few steps in, I freeze and turn to him.

  This isn’t my moment.

  This is his.

  I release his hand and tip my chin toward the crib centered in the room.

  “A beautiful sky awaits,” I whisper.

  He stares at me for a brief pause before swiping a hand over his face. My heart pounds as he makes his way toward her. Drawing in a ragged breath, he places both hands on the rails of the crib and stares at her, drinking every inch of her in.

  Awe.

  A woman recognizes that too.

  “Mine,” h
e whispers.

  Tears escape the corners of my eyes as I watch the prince of mayhem fall in love with heaven.

  A woman, this woman, recognizes love at first sight.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  My head pounds and pain sears through my shoulder as I blink open my eyes. Beneath an airbrushed sky full of clouds and surrounded by pink walls, my gaze darts to the empty crib in the middle of the room and the memory of last night slams into me.

  Beautiful, so fucking beautiful.

  A mass of blonde curls, chubby cheeks and lips like an open rosebud.

  My daughter.

  I tell myself I’ve lived a lot of life in twenty-six years but watching that little girl sleep, knowing she is mine, it made me think I hadn’t lived much at all.

  I couldn’t peel my eyes from her and while I sat in this rocking chair, I wished for her to wake up, desperate to see her open her eyes, anxious to hear her little voice. She slept through the night and somewhere along the way I must have fallen asleep staring at her.

  A soft giggle pulls my attention toward the door and I fight for focus. Pushing off the rocking chair, I follow the sound as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb the two beauties sitting at the kitchen table. Something pulls inside my chest as I watch Celeste dip a spoon into a bowl, lift it in the air and make a ridiculous sound that entices another giggle from Skylar.

  “More,” Skylar says, laughing as she opens her mouth for another spoonful.

  Obliging, Celeste feeds her another spoonful and Skylar claps her chubby little hands in glee.

  “All done,” Celeste announces. Leaning forward, she runs a hand over Skylar’s curls and presses her lips to her forehead.

  Without trying these two girls steal my breath and make me want so much more. More of this.

  Sensing me, Celeste lifts her head and turns to me. Rooted in place, my eyes silently question hers as to where we go from here. She was amazing last night, leaving me alone with Skylar, giving me a chance to soak in her beauty, but we didn’t discuss how to proceed. We left everything in the air, deciding we’d take it as it comes.

  “Kitty!” Skylar says breaking the awkward silence as she points to the tiger tattooed on my abdomen. “Mama, look.”

  “That’s a panther, baby. Can you say panther?”

  “Roar!”

  My lips quirk and I find myself walking into the kitchen straight for them.

  My girls.

  Pulling out a chair, I sit on the other side of Skylar’s high chair and watch as her blue eyes widen.

  “God, you’re pretty,” I whisper.

  She lifts her cup and pushes it toward me.

  “Dink,” she orders.

  I take the cup and glance over at Celeste.

  “She wants you to drink,” she clarifies.

  Looking back at Skylar, I smile at her before tipping my head back and pretend to drink from her cup.

  She giggles. Shit, that sound, best thing I ever heard.

  “More!”

  I do it again and this time Celeste laughs too. I decide in this moment that I’ll sit here all day, every day pretending to drink from a Minnie Mouse cup if I can hear the melody of their laughter. However, after a few more times Skylar gets bored and holds out her arms to Celeste. Placing the cup on the table, I watch as she washes her off and lifts her from the high chair. The two of them walk into the living room and I wonder how I didn’t notice all the toys cluttering the room. Skylar runs to the little pretend kitchen in the corner and forgets about me and her mom.

  Taking my eyes off her is a hardship but when Celeste sits in front of me, I reluctantly do so.

  Not a bad sight either.

  This easily shapes up to be the best morning of my life.

  “How’s your shoulder?” she questions, pushing a cup of coffee in front of me.

  “I’ll live,” I answer, wrapping my hand around the mug. I can’t help myself and I find my eyes drifting back to Skylar. “She’s perfect,” I blurt.

  “We might be biased,” she teases, sipping her coffee.

  “Thank you for last night,” I tell her, turning back to face her.

  “You’re welcome,” she replies softly, casting her eyes down to the steam lifting from her mug. “I’m not sure what happens next,” she admits after a moment. “I think we both know a decision needs to be made, and it’s yours to make.”

  “I want to know her, Celeste,” I reply without hesitation. “As selfish as that is, I want to know everything about her, even the shit I missed.”

  Running my fingers through my hair I glance back at her and release a sigh.

  “I’m not a good man, made a ton of mistakes and I’ll probably keep making them because it’s all I know. I’m not going anywhere, Cel. I want to be that girl’s daddy. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. Even more than revenge. I don’t know how to do that though. I don’t know how to make my life fit hers, but I’m willing to put in the work.”

  I lay my hands on the table and lean forward so our eyes are level.

  “Told you I would come back.”

  “Yeah, you did,” she whispers.

  “A little banged up,” I say, pointing to my shoulder. “But I’m here nonetheless.”

  Raking my eyes over her, my lips twitch.

  “Lucky for me, my baby mama is a nurse and patched me right up.”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t work cheap. I’ll be sending you a bill for my services,” she teases, jutting her chin toward the couch. “And one for my couch too.”

  A chuckle escapes me as I reach across the table and grab her hand. Pulling her to her feet, I tug her until she’s standing in front of me. I place my hands on her hips and lift my head.

  “I’ll buy you a new couch,” I promise, pressing my thumbs into her hips.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Not really,” I tell her as I pull her onto my lap. “It’s too small for me and seeing as I’ll be spending a lot of time here I’m going to need something bigger.”

  Winding her arms around my neck she touches her forehead to mine.

  “Did I say you could stay here?”

  “I didn’t ask,” I retort gruffly, squeezing her ass in my hands. “Problem?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she whispers, rocking her hips against me. Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I press my mouth against her and suck on her soft skin.

  “Do you have work today?” I ask against her skin. She replies with a breathy moan and I let my hands glide under her t-shirt. “That my answer?”

  “I can’t think,” she admits as I cup one tit. My thumb brushes over her nipple as I peek over her shoulder to where Skylar is playing. With the coast clear I dip my head and suck her clothed nipple into my mouth. “The baby,” she murmurs.

  “Don’t worry she can’t see,” I assure her as my teeth tease her. My hands work her thighs apart and my fingers glide over her pussy. “Always so fucking wet for me,” I growl, sliding my fingers inside her wet heat.

  The phone rings as someone knocks on the door and Skylar looks up from her playset. Quickly, I release Celeste’s breast from my mouth and pull my fingers out of her. She whimpers as she scrambles off my lap. Pressing the heel of my hand to my dick I grunt in frustration.

  “I’ll get the door,” I offer as she reaches for the phone on the wall. She looks apprehensive, almost as if she’s worried who might be at the other end when I pull it open. Winking at Skylar as she looks at me curiously, I cross the living room picturing the day she doesn’t look at me like I’m a stranger with a kitty on his chest.

  I pull open the door and stare at Deuce.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Yeah, nice to see you too,” he says, shouldering his way into the apartment. He freezes instantly and I turn to see Skylar standing in front of him, all wide-eyed innocence radiating off her. “Well, hello there,” he says, crouching down to offer her his hand. “I’m Deuce,” he drawls.

&nbs
p; “Doo.”

  “That works too,” he laughs. “Can I get a high five?”

  She slaps her palm against his and he pretends to fall down.

  “Damn, girl, you’re strong.”

  Giggles.

  Lots and lots of giggles.

  Deuce straightens to his full height and grins over his shoulder at me.

  “She loves me.”

  “Clearly,” I say with a chuckle, watching as she takes off for her toys again.

  “Man, it’s like the fucking twilight zone in here,” Deuce comments, taking in the scene we create. Celeste talks quietly in the kitchen, our girl plays with her toys, and me, I just stand here with my brother taking it all in. Yeah, I can see his point.

  “Hate to break up the family reunion and all but we need to get ourselves over to Jack’s house.”

  “What happened?”

  “Victor died,” he reveals.

  It still amazes me that I have any kind of association with a mobster considering one stole my sister, but Victor Pastore was nothing like Yankovich. The man had morals and prided himself on keeping drugs off the streets of New York. It’s how the Satan’s Knights came to work alongside him. Jack didn’t stand for that shit either and working together they made sure no one pushed shit through their harbor. Victor proved his worth to the club and has been rotting in prison. After he murdered the G-Man, he wound up in solitary and spent his last days alone like a fucking dog.

  “Not sure what this is all about but he made it clear we all get our asses to his house.” His eyes dart back to Skylar. “What’s the deal with kid? You plan on sharing her with the club or are we keeping this under wraps for a while?”

  Thoughtfully, I watch Skylar run into the kitchen as Celeste hangs up the phone. I know the life of the MC like the back of my hand, but this life, the one where I have a daughter I don’t know shit about it. The only thing I know is that I have to find a way for them both to coexist.

  Until now there have been two things that drive my existence—revenge and my club. Now it’s the two people standing in the kitchen smiling at one another. That’s going to take some time to get used to and while I work on that I selfishly want to keep them to myself.