“Well you might want to clue them in. It’s hard to protect something you don’t know exists.”
“I’ll do that,” I reply as he stands and pushes his chair under the table. Tipping his chin toward me he turns for the door. Turning back before he steps out, he stares at me.
“Cobra.”
“Yeah, boss?”
“The men who killed your parents…should I even ask what happened to them?”
Standing myself, I reach into my leather cut and stride toward him. I slip the piece of paper out of my pocket before handing it to him. He momentarily stares at the names crossed in dried blood, smirking at me as he lifts his eyes to mine.
“Think you can guess, right?” I say, taking back the paper and shoving it in my pocket.
Silently we assess one another. An understanding passes from his dark eyes to mine and for the first time I don’t feel like I’m the lone man fighting the impossible.
Call me a fool.
Call me whatever.
But I think we got a shot this time.
Jack pats me on the back before he heads into the lot of Pipe’s garage where the rest of the club is. I stay back, send Celeste a text and then call Rick. He agrees to meet me at a bar in Staten Island. Quick to salute my brothers, I straddle my bike and ignore their questions as to where I’m going. Before I rev my engine, I hear Jack tell them to lay off me.
Cruising over the Verrazano Bridge, I make my way into the forgotten borough and head for Joe Broadway’s on Forest Avenue. Spotting Rick’s beat up mustang, I park my bike right in front of the window and head in.
He’s at the end of the bar, nursing the good stuff. The stuff we’ve been shooting since we first met in Maryland.
Whiskey.
I slide into the stool beside him, the same way he slid next to me at the Satan’s Knight’s clubhouse the day he told me my parents were found. Like I did then, he keeps his head straight and stares at the shelves of liquor.
To anyone watching we’re strangers.
Two lost souls in a bar, drowning their sorrows in a bottle of suicide.
I signal the bartender, point to Rick’s glass and tell him I’ll have the same but to make it a double.
“It goes down smooth,” he comments beside me.
“It burns when it settles,” I add.
“That it does,” he agrees as the bartender places my drink in front of me. I stare at it for a moment before bringing the crystal to my lips and wetting my tongue.
“Been a while,” he finally says as he looks at me from the corner of his eye.
“Thanks for getting me that address,” I offer, taking another long sip before placing the half empty glass on the bar.
“Did you finally use it this time?”
“Sure did,” I reply, biting the inside of my cheek as I pull my phone from my vest and place it in front of him. He lifts the phone and stares at the wallpaper on my screen. A picture I took this morning of Skylar cuddled next to Celeste, both of them fast asleep.
“Remember the girl that switched shifts with Alex that night?”
He angles his head and looks at me.
“That’s her?”
“Yeah, and that little peanut is my daughter.”
“Jesus, Jagger,” he says, dropping his gaze to the phone again. “She’s beautiful, man.”
Handing me back my phone, he tips his glass to me.
“Glad to see something good happen for a change.”
“Thanks, Rick. I appreciate it.”
“But you didn’t call me here to brag about your little girl.”
“No, I didn’t. I brought you here to help me keep her safe.”
His eyes flicker and he leans closer.
“You in some kind of trouble I don’t know about.”
Finishing off my drink, I order another and turn my eyes back to him. I used to wonder what it was about this man that made my father impart all his trust to him. Staring at him now, I know my answer. It’s that flicker in his otherwise dull eyes. It’s the burning need to right all the wrongs no one else can. Maybe it’s his ego. Maybe he’s got a past like mine. Whatever.
He’s no quitter.
Earlier Jack mentioned vigilante justice, and I know without a doubt Rick Grayson wrote the constitution on that judicial system.
“What if I told you I got intel on Yankovich,” I say finally.
“I’d say you’re fifty shades of fucked,” he says with a laugh.
“I’m not kidding, Rick,” I press. My eyes sweep the bar before I inch closer to him and level him with a look. “He’s edging in on Victor Pastore’s territory. I don’t know all the details, his successor and the club are still trying to gather what they can. After years of radio silence the motherfucker is back. I will get him, Rick. This time when I dig his hole, his fucking body will be dropped.”
I expect to see fire in his eyes like every other time we got a hit on Yankovich. I expect him to ball his fists and ask me when and where. I expect him to smile that cocky grin and agree with me.
I got none of that.
Instead he stares at me like I’ve lost my motherfucking mind.
“Did you hear me, Rick?”
“Unfortunately,” he mutters, sighing as he pushes his empty glass aside. “Thought you were done, boy. Thought you put this bastard to rest.” He tips his chin toward me. “Thought you came here to tell me you found there’s more to life than avenging a cocksucker who ain’t worth your piss. Jagger, we fought hard, man, we gave it all we had, and we got further than most.”
“I did come here to tell you there is more to life than Yankovich. I came here because there is a little girl that deserves a bright future. Even though I just found out about my daughter, I know now why my father lost himself to revenge. Losing my twin sister gutted me and left me hollow. I even resented my parents because I thought my grief trumped theirs. Now that I have my own kid, I can’t even comprehend what they felt.”
“So we’re not doing this for Alexandria, is that what you’re saying? We’re not doing this because that motherfucker took out your whole fucking family? We’re doing this for the sake of your daughter.”
“Let’s call a spade a spade, brother. You’ve just said it yourself, that man has taken everyone from me. I won’t let him take them too. I won’t even give him the chance to know their fucking names. Come on, Rick, let’s take this motherfucker out once and for all. Me and you.”
“You, me, your club and some amateur gangster,” he corrects.
“That’s right,” I tell him, watching as he mulls it over.
“One last time, Jagger. After this, if we don’t get him…I’m done.”
“You’ll never hear from me again.”
“Well now, what kind of shit is that? I’d like to think that little girl of yours deserves a chance to know her Uncle Rick.”
My lips quirk.
“She will know you, man, because this time we will win.”
This time I feel it in my gut.
Chapter Thirty
When I was a girl, I never thought much about having a family of my own. Sure, I wanted it but unlike Alexandria, I didn’t plan for it. Alex should have been born with a copy of ‘Modern Bride’ in her hand. At the age of eight she knew the kind of wedding dress she wanted, the song her and her future husband would have their first dance to and the names of all her children.
Me, I was lucky I knew how to tie my shoelaces.
Had I taken the time to dream, I would have dreamt for this.
I would have dreamt of Jagger. I would have dreamt of this moment. Watching as he stands alongside our daughter, holding her as she rides the carousel for the first time.
I would have dreamt of her.
My beautiful Skylar.
Holding onto her daddy for dear life. She laughs and Cobra smiles at her, soaking it all in. My heart feels as though it might burst.
So maybe I didn’t have my life planned from a very young age, but in the end I woul
dn’t change the one God planned for me.
Through the good and the bad, through all the heartache, I wondered what my purpose was. I wondered what God had planned for me.
This.
He planned this.
I’m going to church on Sunday, and providing it doesn’t burst into flames when I walk inside, I’m going to say a prayer and thank him.
The ride comes to an end and I watch as Cobra lifts Skylar off the horse with ease. He spins her around enticing a fit of giggles from her. The park is full of kids but in that moment she’s the only one who exists.
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.
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
Wanderer (The Nomad Series Book 2) Page 21