Roamer (The Nomad Series Book 3)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  Unable to peel my eyes away, I stare at him, taking in the tattoos that cover every visible inch of his skin. His hair is short on the sides and styled so much differently than he used to keep it.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” he says as I step closer and grip the edge of his bed. The tears stream down my face and I try to decipher why I’m crying, if I’m happy or sad. In a sense, I guess it’s a combination of every possible emotion. I’m mourning the years we lost as well as rejoicing over the chance of a new beginning.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he whispers. “We’re going to figure it out.”

  He has no idea what he’s signing up for or how messed up I truly am. Then again, I don’t know what he’s been through either. I don’t know if the last twelve years have been good to him or if he’s suffered as I did too. I like to think he’s had a good life, but there is a world of hurt in his eyes too.

  Our quiet reunion is cut short as the door opens and Jack walks in followed by Deuce. This time he doesn’t even look in my direction and before I realize it my lip curls in frustration. Gripping the rail tightly, I watch him stride across the tiny room. After a moment passes, he turns around and glares right back at me. With my emotions on high alert, I turn to Celeste before I lose it.

  “I want to go,” I mutter.

  Concern etches across Celeste’s features but before she can ask me if I’m okay or what is wrong, Jack steps in front of her and points to Deuce.

  “Reina’s waiting in the hall, she’ll drive the two of you back to the house,” he tells him.

  “Wait a minute, why the hell do I have to leave with her?” Deuce asks, clenching his teeth in anger. I don’t know what happened between last night and now but he wasn’t the same guy who held me while I cried my eyes out. He was a supreme jerk-off.

  “Because until we get a handle on this shit, she’s your responsibility,” Jack declares.

  Deuce’s eyes bulge out of his head and I roll my eyes.

  “My responsibility? What the fuck for?”

  As much as I wanted to slap him for being an asshole all of a sudden, Deuce was right. I wasn’t his responsibility.

  “Well, as our brother’s in a bed recovering from a bunch of bullet holes and his woman has been away from their kid for too long, they’re not ready to take her on yet,” Jack says and I immediately glance between my brother and Celeste. Neither of them say a word, but both shake their heads to disagree with Jack. He’s right though, the last thing I want is to be a burden to either of them.

  “Um, I hate to point it out to you but you were just telling me I couldn’t go back to the motel until I was healed.”

  “I changed my mind,” Jack says with a shrug. “You can go wherever you like as long as you take her with you and make sure she doesn’t leave your sight.”

  That was the last thing I heard Jack say before I tuned everything else out and stared at him wide-eyed. He couldn’t be serious and if he was I couldn’t argue much. I had nothing, nowhere to go and no way to take care of myself. Recalling how I felt when they first took me away from that cabin, I realized my fears were my reality and I was at the mercy of Jack Parrish, only not the way I thought I would be or the way I was used to.

  He didn’t want anything from me.

  He didn’t want to ruin me, he wanted to fix me and he was trusting Deuce to do the job.

  A job he didn’t want

  Chapter Twenty

  What the actual fuck?

  Glaring at Jack, I shove my hands through my hair and storm out of Cobra’s room before I do something I can’t take back—like tell them both who the fuck I really am and where I’m from. Making one mistake after another seems to be the trend these days, but this one, taking on Ally, making her mine, it’s a colossal fuck up on both my part and Jack’s.

  He thinks a few weak fucking moments makes me some sort of knight in shining armor. He doesn’t know I destroy everything I touch or that I have an expiration date. To Jack Parrish, I’m the fucking brother who wears a Stetson as proudly as he wears his patch. I’m the farm boy with steel toe Ariat boots, not the guy who threw the rule book out the window and killed the president of his club. I’m not the man responsible for Chelsea’s death.

  To Jack Parrish, I’m the perfect fucking candidate to heal Ally.

  The door slams behind me as I spin around and my fist collides with the wall. Leaning my forehead against the door, I draw in a deep breath and try to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. It probably doesn’t help I’ve been a dick to Ally since I woke up this morning and saw her on my lap.

  Fuck.

  How’s this supposed to work? I take her back to the motel and what, we play charades? Pushing off the door, I turn around and make my way down the corridor. Celeste is talking to Ally; she looks like she’s ready to run until she sees me walking toward her. The look in her eyes becomes murderous.

  Great.

  Just fucking great.

  “It’s only for a little while, when Jagger is released you can come and stay with us. We’d love to have you,” Celeste says as I step up behind her.

  “I don’t understand,” Ally argues. “Why does Jack get to decide where I go? Isn’t there a shelter or something I can stay at until I figure everything out?”

  “You’re not staying at a shelter,” Celeste declares.

  The fuck she is.

  Regret fills me the second the words leave her lips and I wish I can rewind time. I’d take back the stupid shit I said. Yeah, I was a dick and maybe I suggested to Jack we commit Ally somewhere but I wasn’t serious. Okay, so I was serious at the time but I’ve changed my mind.

  “What about my parents? No one mentions them. Do they not live in New York anymore?” Ally asks, doing her best to ignore me.

  Knowing she isn’t ready to hear the truth about her parents, that it will only cause her more heartache and set her back, I move to stand next to Celeste, forcing Ally to acknowledge my existence.

  “Let’s go,” I say, crossing my arms against my chest as I stare at her.

  “No, I’m not going with you,” she retorts, shaking her head.

  “Ally, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I warn.

  Apologize shit head.

  Tell her it’s going to be okay.

  Comfort her for fuck’s sake.

  “Look, we’ll figure it out,” I say, clenching my jaw as I reach for her arm.

  “There is nothing to figure out. I’m not your problem,” she snaps as she takes a step back out of my reach.

  “Yeah, you’re right. You’re my responsibility until your brother isn’t laid up like a slice of Swiss cheese,” I bite back, trying my damnedest not to cringe as I say the evil r-word.

  “Really?” Celeste hisses.

  “Sorry, Blondie,” I mutter, keeping my eyes pinned on Ally.

  “It will just be a few days, Alexandria,” Celeste adds.

  “Ally,” she whispers, tearing her eyes away from me to look at Celeste. “Please don’t call me Alexandria. I haven’t been her in a long time,” she adds before turning back to me. “I guess I have no other choice,” she huffs, glancing around the empty hallway.

  I nod, finally meeting Celeste’s worried gaze.

  “I’ve got everything under control,” I promise.

  What a fucking joke.

  “Are you sure about that?” she asks as she narrows her eyes.

  “Darlin’, relax,” I soothe. Laying it on thick, I lift my hand to her shoulder and smile at her. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  Lies, fucking lies.

  “Deuce.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ally just got on the elevator.”

  Motherfuck my life.

  Turning around, I watch the elevator doors close.

  “Shit,” I hiss.

  “You better go,” Celeste says behind me. “If she’s anything like the girl I remember, if a small piece of her is locked away in there somewhere, then y
ou’re going to have your hands full,” she states, pausing as I raise an eyebrow at her. “Have patience with her.”

  Patience.

  Yeah, I’m going to have to brush up on that.

  With a quick goodbye, my finger stabs the button for the elevator and I mentally try to devise a plan of action. Wondering how long it takes for a man to recuperate from multiple gunshot wounds, I decide I only have to keep my shit together for a few weeks. I can do that. I can keep Ally out of trouble, make sure she follows her recovery schedule and even help her get acclimated to life again.

  Roommates.

  We’ll be roommates.

  Friends.

  Hell, she can be the sister I never had.

  Yeah, that sounds good.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I step into the elevator and ride it down to the lobby. When the doors open, Ally is standing in front of it with her arms crossed and a perplexed look on her face. Noticing me, her facial expression changes and a deep scowl works her plain features.

  “That was slick,” I say, moving closer to her.

  “Yeah, well, I would have left altogether if I knew where the hell I was or had a real place to go,” she huffs, glancing away from me.

  Against any common sense whatsoever, I reach out and cup her chin, forcing her to look at me.

  “Let’s start over,” I offer, watching as her blue eyes narrow. My eyes skate around her face noticing the freckles that pepper her nose and for a fleeting moment I wonder if she has more.

  Whoa, back the fuck up, cowboy.

  Back up.

  “Start over?”

  “I was a dick,” I say, clearing my throat.

  “Was? You’re not usually?”

  “Fuck, no, I’m fucking charming,” I tease. Shaking the freckle count from my mind, I wink at her and watch in fascination as those cold blue eyes melt slightly.

  “Yeah, I bet,” she whispers.

  “Don’t do that,” I warn softly.

  “Call you a dick? You called yourself one.”

  I shake my head.

  “Don’t doubt my abilities to charm you,” I clarify, dropping my hand from her face as I realize I’ve been touching her for longer than I meant to. “You’ll make me want to prove you wrong and neither one of us can afford that.”

  Silently she watches me for a moment before I foolishly grab her hand and lead her out of the lobby.

  “Deuce,” she says as we step outside.

  “Hmm?”

  “Would we be starting over completely?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean are we supposed to forget how we met, that I was Rush’s girl and I caught you stealing his drugs? Are we going to pretend I’m not the girl who was taken and you’re not the guy who stumbled across the biggest headache of your life?”

  Pausing in my tracks, I think about every word she’s just said. She certainly is a headache, but that’s where it ends. Abruptly, I turn to her biting the inside of my cheek as I fight the urge to push the hair away from her eyes.

  “You’re not Rush’s girl,” I grind out.

  “I was,” she corrects. “I’m asking because if we’re going to pretend we didn’t have that moment in his office, well, then I want to apologize.”

  “Damn it, Ally,” I grunt.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, we’re fucking starting over. You belong to yourself and you don’t owe me shit. Not an apology…nothing. If anything, I’m the one who should be saying sorry to you.”

  “Okay.”

  Warning bells sound in my head.

  That was too fucking easy.

  Drawing my eyebrows together, I stare at her waiting for the catch. After all, she did just fucking sneak out on me.

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’m waiting for your apology,” she sighs, tapping her foot impatiently.

  “Wait a minute.”

  “No, you’re right. You definitely should be the one apologizing,” she points out, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. Reaching out, I close my hand around hers and tug gently as I lean close to her.

  “You’re spunky,” I acknowledge, realizing I don’t know anything other than her grief.

  Shaking her head, the twinge of humor evaporates from her eyes and she suddenly looks exhausted.

  “No, I’m not really all that spunky, but since you were a dick and I haven’t been on the receiving end of many apologies it might be nice to have one.”

  Apologies aren’t the only thing she’s missed out on. The list is pretty long, starting with the chance to discover herself. Does she have a dry sense of humor? Is she a smartass by nature or is there some sweetness beneath the sass? She’s got layers for sure, layers and layers to peel back and expose to not only herself but the whole fucking world.

  Layers I’ll get to watch her discover.

  Layers I’ll learn too. “Still waiting,” she reminds me. “Do you need help? Here, repeat after me…Ally, I’m sorry I’ve been a royal douchebag since I woke up this morning. Come on, you can do it,” she says on a yawn.

  “Ally—”

  “Is it because you didn’t have breakfast?”

  “I don’t eat breakfast unless…” I let the words trail off.

  Not the time Deuce, not the fucking time.

  “I’m sorry I was a dick,” I blurt. “There,” I add, leaving out the only time I eat in the morning is when I’ve got a woman in my bed—then I wake up and help myself to the breakfast of fucking champions.

  “Douchebag, I said douchebag.”

  Grabbing her hand, I pull her toward my bike. A horn sounds as I pull the helmet from the handlebars and Wolf pulls into the spot beside me. Because my day wasn’t already fucked, let’s add a little fucking Wolf to the mix.

  “Here,” I say, handing her the helmet. “Put this on and let’s get the fuck out of here before this crazy bastard never lets us leave.”

  Staring at the helmet she shakes her head and takes a step back

  “Ally?”

  “No!” she shouts, lifting her gaze to mine as she points to the helmet I’m still holding. “I can’t put that on,” she adds, her voice hoarse almost desperate. The banter we played off a moment ago is a memory as we’re sucked back into the horror.

  “Please,” she begs. “Don’t make me do it.”

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I assure her, draping the helmet over one of the handlebars. “You afraid to ride?”

  “No,” she replies and I watch her throat as she swallows. “I’ve ridden before,” she admits. I didn’t think much about Ally riding. I mean it shouldn’t have been a surprise to me. Being in Albany she probably found herself on the back of Rush’s bike quite a bunch of times. What surprised me was the disappointment I felt when she said the words. Then another thought came to mind and I clenched my fists as I realized she may have ridden with Stryker too.

  “It’s the helmet,” she clarifies, bringing my attention back to her. “Do you have one that doesn’t cover the face fully?”

  Diverting my eyes to the helmet, I take in the vibrant full face helmet. Confused, I turn my attention back to her.

  “Are you claustrophobic?” I ask softly as Wolf makes his way over to us.

  “No, it’s…” She pauses, looking away for a moment. “He put a helmet on me when he first took me, one that looked just like that one,” she says, pointing to my helmet. “No one can hear you when you’re crying for help if you have one of those things on, they muffle the sound.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

  Again, I reach for her hand and drag her closer to me.

  “Hey,” Wolf says, looking between me and Ally. “How you doing?”

  “Give me the keys to the truck,” I reply, turning my gaze onto him. I don’t get a chance to question why he’s got the truck again or why he’s sipping a smoothie from Jamba Juice either. Holding out my hand, I wait for him to drop the keys into my palm and tip my chin toward
my bike.

  “Take my bike,” I tell him, closing my fist around the keys. “Be good to her,” I warn, hitting the unlock button on the remote.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he questions as I open the passenger door for Ally.

  “Back to the motel. Drop the bike off when you’re done and we’ll swap.”

  “Cowboy, you know what you’re doing, right?”

  “I know how to drive a fucking car, Wolf,” I sneer as I close the door and walk around the hood of the car.

  “I wasn’t talking about the car,” he replies.

  Ignoring him, I slide behind the wheel.

  I had no idea what I was doing. Not a fucking clue, but it was too late now. Turning the key, I glance over at Ally.

  Responsibility.

  It’s just a word until you commit.

  Until you decide not to be a dick and give it all you got.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  After my episode at the hospital yesterday, we drove in silence, the confession weighing heavily between us. Mentally, I tried to take back my words and push the memory out of my head, but I could still hear the plastic shield locking into place, silencing my cries. One memory bled into another as I recalled the first time Rush ordered me to ride with him. At the time, I jumped at the chance to be anywhere other than behind closed doors, and taking a ride on a motorcycle seemed like the only freedom I’d ever be granted. Like Deuce, Rush handed me a helmet and told me to hop on. When I froze, when the memories slammed into me like a truck, Rush proceeded to put the helmet on me himself. It wasn’t a malicious act; he didn’t know the trauma I had experienced. He didn’t know I was scarred.

  Once he did, once he watched me break down into a fit of tears and beg him to stop, Rush introduced me to the magic of drugs. It was then he gave me my first hit and familiarized me to the numbness. With a needle and viable vein, I forgot the torture. My own screams were silenced. The memories of having that helmet on my head and a stranger between my legs died. I faded.

  Fading away became my bliss. That’s gone, no one is going to give me drugs and Methadone doesn’t make me forget. The memories are alive and the screams are louder than ever. All I can do is beg God to help me find something that turns everything off, something that silences all the noise inside my head.