Tangled Threats on the Nomad Highway

by MariaLisa deMora

  Noises in the hallway had him handing over the baby fast. Lauren had scarcely taken their daughter when the door burst open, a handful of men spilling into the room, Scar at the head of the group.

  “Where’s my goddaughter?” His question set up a racket in Jimmy’s head, because in no way did he want his daughter connected with this man. With any of these men.

  “Get out.” Arms outstretched, he urged the men back towards the door. “Get the fuck out. Baby’s sleeping. You assholes are gonna wake her.” He glanced over his shoulder at Lauren, who stared at him, anger and fear plain on her face as he walked away from her, their future in her arms. It killed him, but he didn’t turn back, instead telling her casually, “Back in a bit, Laur.”

  He’d lasted another five years. Five years before he could honestly say he’d begun looking for an exit. Another year and a half before he took the plunge and braced for the pain.

  Scar hadn’t held back on the beatout, organizing multiple men Jimmy’d had to work his way past, taking blows that should have leveled him. When he made it through, Jimmy had been faced with a fresh and angry Scar waiting at the end.

  The two weeks recovering from that day had been worth it all to see the relief on Lauren’s face when he told her they were out. Well and truly out, never going back to that kind of nightmare.

  So six months after they’d moved to her family’s hometown north of Birmingham, when he’d told her he was interested in approaching another motorcycle club, her reaction hadn’t been surprising. It had taken multiple weekend parties to convince her the Bama Bastards were for real, and even then, she hadn’t entirely warmed up to the idea of the club. More of a trust and willingness to believe him when he said it was what he needed. That the brotherhood filled up something inside him, a hole in his heart he couldn’t fix any other way. The give and take of the men and the way they cared for each other felt similar to a relationship, but he would never have told her so. He’d never given her any reason to doubt his love and trust and faithfulness was hers alone.

  And here he was, closing in on a year after she’d been forced from his side, taking their little girl with her, and the Scarloucci name was raising its ugliness to stare down at him.

  “What’s Chulpayev willing to pay for news?” Einstein stared down at the desk, tracing along the path of an old scar with the edge of a fingernail. “He put a price on anything? That’ll tell us how critical it is in the grander scheme of things.”

  “No top end. That’s what I heard.”

  “Fuck,” Einstein gritted out, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Resting it faceup on the desk, he tapped an icon, triggering the app the club had sourced from Myron, the Rebel Wayfarers MC’s resident geek. “Make sure that door’s closed good, yeah?”

  Mike leaned back and pushed against the door, grunting when it snapped shut. Three rings and the call connected, black at first, then fuzzy as the camera on the other end engaged. The camera on his phone would show just the club’s logo, painted on the ceiling of the office for just this reason, an instant identification of location.

  “’Sup, brother? We’re not even out of town and you’re already giving me a ringy-ding? That’s some serious crushin’ you’re doing, man.” Retro’s expression was loose and easy, and Einstein hated he’d be the one to change that. “Tell me, brother.”

  He picked up the phone and turned in his chair, angling it so Crazy Mike was over his shoulder and captured in frame. “Mike found out some intel I think you need.”

  “Talk.” Nothing more or less than the simple demand came from Retro, but every muscle shown on camera tensed in preparation.

  “Chulpayev has an ask out for info on Scar’s father. Not the grandfather, but Luciano. His request doesn’t have a price cap, boss. That’s him looking for some precise information. If he were looking for generalized stuff, he’d use a lower offer, make it more of a scattershot effort to get the most bang for his buck, and I’d have dug a bit before calling. Knowing he’s willing to shell out serious money for whatever he’s looking for, that’s worth interrupting your road trip.” Einstein stopped there, knowing from experience that Retro could interpret and assimilate at a speed unrivaled in the club, but even Retro would need a minute.

  “Find out what the specifics of the ask are. Watch for Volkov’s involvement. If Chulpayev is looking for gold, you can bet your sweet ass that Volkov won’t be far behind.” Retro sighed. “Had another message that’s the reason we’re not on the road right now. Mason called and said Gunny’s asked for nomad status. He’s inclined to approve but wants to see his man once Bane and Gunny get back from Kentucky. That’ll be a first, an officer ducking out of that plate and picking up the nomad rocker. So there you go, info for info, as is ever the way.”

  Einstein chuckled. “Got it, bossman.” The unspoken request was to also listen for any rumblings of how other clubs would take the idea of a powerful and connected ranking Rebel member going nomad. “We’ll run the info, check the numbers, and I’ll let you know if we have anything to report.” He hesitated. “I’m also going to put another two men on your house, Retro. These assholes don’t play by the rules.” Swallowing hard, he swung around in the chair so it was just him looking at Retro. That way Crazy Mike didn’t have to see the pain Retro carried for Einstein. That shit was quietly soul-piercing, and Einstein didn’t want to share it with anyone. “Take it on myself if needed.”

  “Brother” was all he got in response, but he didn’t need anything else.

  He disconnected the call, quit the app, and locked the phone, shoving it deep into his pocket before he lifted his gaze to meet Mike’s across the desk. The man looked away first, fleeting expressions of regret and pain flashing across his face.

  “Got our orders. Good job you brought that in, Mike. Now we just gotta find out a little more.” Einstein gestured towards the door. “Send Buzzkill in, would ya?”

  The speed with which Crazy Mike vacated the office said a lot about how uncomfortable he’d been, and Einstein shook his head. It was the same for a bunch of the members. They loved him like a brother, had his back without question, but couldn’t look him in the face without flinching. He knew the cause. His unhealing presence was a reminder that life was fleeting, and in him, they saw their own families lost and gone. He probably seemed a token of death itself.

  Knuckles rapped on the doorframe, and Buzzkill peeked inside. Einstein lifted his chin, calling Buzzkill in wordlessly. They’d done their prospect periods together, and having spent so much time working alongside the other man had done a lot to develop Einstein’s respect for him. Something had bugged Einstein, though. He couldn’t wrap his head around how one of them had risen quickly to officer status and the other remained a steady brother, seemingly content to stay in the background.

  “Crazy Mike said you wanted to see me?”

  Einstein searched Buzzkill’s face for any trace of discontent or jealousy, finding none. He tried to force aside the memories that once the beatout was done, Scar hadn’t shown any ire directed his way back in Philly, either. Then the man had shown up in Einstein’s house, having put his hands on Lauren, and was the catalyst for both Lauren’s and Makayla’s deaths. Buzzkill isn’t like that, though.

  “Einstein? You okay, brother?”

  Nodding, he banished those thoughts to the back of his brain, determined not to go looking for trouble. If it finds me, however, that’s a different fight. “Yeah, wanted to know if you had time to do a long watch squatting at Retro’s house. Could go into a few days. Just while we look up some info.” Einstein didn’t look too closely at his reasons for not divulging the rationale behind the additional security. “Can I count on you, brother?”

  “Uh, Retro’s house?” Buzzkill shook his head. “Not sure I’m the right man for the job, brother. He still hasn’t forgiven me for Nelda’s crush and shit.”

  “That was two years ago, man.” Einstein stared at him, disbelief lifting his eyebrows to his hairline. “S
urely Retro doesn’t hold you responsible for that shit.”

  “Uh, yeah, he does.” Buzzkill leaned forwards, shoulders square with tension. “There’s a reason I still do my oil changes at the shed here on the lot, brother. I don’t go to his house unless there’s a big group of us going over. Not worth it, not even close. All it would take is for Nelda to say some shit about me being there, and Daddy Retro’d have my balls on a platter. He wouldn’t even knock me out before he cut ’em off.”

  “Are you for real?” Einstein couldn’t imagine the crush still being an issue. He’d noted it back when they were both prospects, but a summer away from Birmingham had cured Nelda of her attraction to Buzzkill. He was certain of it.

  “Yeah. Oh, hell yeah. I’m partial to all my parts stayin’ where they’re supposed to be. I’m happy to take over whatever other jobs you got, but you putting me at his house when he ain’t even home is askin’ for shit. Sucks, but it is what it is.” Buzzkill’s eyes were wide as he nodded, and it was his hopeless frustration that convinced Einstein.

  “Well, shit. Okay. I’ll figure something else out.” He choked on a laugh. “Seriously? After all this time? You’re shit-scared of Retro losin’ his mind?”

  “Have you seen him when whatever’s going on has anything at all to do with his family?”

  Einstein winced and nodded. “Yeah, I have. I get your point.” He flipped his hand towards the door. “Marlin should be near the pool table. Tell him I’m lookin’ for him, yeah?”

  “Yeah, I can do that, brother. Sorry about the other.” Buzzkill turned for the door. “Just never want to get in the midst of family shit like that again.”

  Chapter Four

  Dolph

  Dolph Chulpayev leaned his head back and rested it on the headboard as he closed his eyes.

  His arms were loosely wrapped around his love, as they’d been since he walked through the door four hours ago, drawn there by her voice on the phone. Quavering, the sound had put the lie to her words about being okay with him needing to cancel their dinner, that need caused by business she would never know about. So Dolph had made a call, delegated work he should already be delegating and knew it, and driven straight to her.

  He’d loved her for longer than he’d known her, knocked on his ass with his first brief glimpse of Deloris Fainburg seated at a long table in the library, a place he’d frequented not for the same reasons as she for her homework research. She’d been bent over a book, reading while her hand moved a pencil across a piece of paper. Her long, delicate fingers had driven a pace of writing that didn’t flag even when she reached her other hand out, exposing the soft curves of her flesh more, to turn the page.

  Her gorgeous, thick hair was pulled into a twisted mass over her shoulder. He’d only had a moment to take in the promise of beauty in her profile before he’d been called away by his associates. Just that single glance and Dolph had been gone for her, needing to know all about the woman who had so easily obsessed him.

  Months followed with more of the same. Dolph had made the library a second home on the off chance he’d catch sight of her. He’d spent nearly as much time digging gently into details about her on his own dime to find out every known aspect on the woman who’d so captured his heart and mind. Everything he uncovered, he liked. Deloris was smart and well-liked, and had been spoken highly of by everyone he cautiously interviewed. At the time, she’d been only weeks away from her high school graduation, giving rise to the only thing he didn’t like: a realization that there was nearly a decade between their ages.

  Deloris had proven herself consistent in her actions and attendance, reenforcing the vast differences between their lives and worlds. The routine was the same every time she came to the library, with her choosing an out-of-the-way nook that afforded a semblance of privacy. That same kind of solitude he’d quickly decided he also wanted immediately, but for wildly different reasons.

  Standing in the shadows of the library stacks, he’d consistently talked himself out of making an approach, successful on a half a dozen tries. But the heart wanted what it wanted, and even after telling himself he wouldn’t, one day found him boldly walking towards her table.

  Dolph had been only yards away when she looked up, and at the first close-up view of her face, he’d been at a loss for words. Figuratively knocked on his ass, Dolph stared as his cock stiffened in his pants and his heart jumped to a racing beat previously only experienced during a chase. This was a chase, too, but of a very different kind.

  Distance viewing and photos had not done justice to her loveliness, and he’d been mesmerized while beauty unfolded in front of him as a slow smile blazed up at him. She’d stared back at him, lips curved in amusement, the pink of her tender tongue dancing behind white teeth. Chin, nose, cheekbones—everything fit together in a way that rendered her magnificent. Eyes snapping and dancing, she’d given him a nod, then said, in her always-direct way, “I wondered if you’d ever come talk to me.”

  They’d talked that day. Only spoken to each other, something she told him later had disappointed, because she’d been as attracted to him as he was her. But in a conversation that waxed and waxed, never waning, not even when the library attendants came around to shoo them out at closing, during the times of listening to her musical voice, he’d found love. Four o’clock in the morning had seen them sitting in an all-night diner, him laughing at her gravy-covered fries when she’d cut a glance up at him, a subtle unease in her gaze.

  “What, beauty?” He’d reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “What is it?”

  “Why are you here?” Deloris had asked her question softly, keeping her voice low so the server wouldn’t hear. “With me?”

  “Because I find you fascinating.” Dolph had given her honesty, something he normally held close to the vest. “Because you interest me. Have since the first time I saw you.”

  Gesturing at the table between them, she’d arched an eyebrow and asked, “And this is all you want?”

  He’d reminded himself of her age and probable innocence. “No.” Honesty had kept her in her seat; he’d thought it might serve him again. “I would like much more, should you choose to grant it to me.” He reached out and waited, palm up, fingers curled. “The choice is always yours, Deloris.”

  The first tentative touch of her hand on his had driven the very air from his lungs. Her verbal response had provoked a different physical reaction. “And if I already know I want to choose you, Dolph? What happens then?”

  Dolph shifted in the seat, wishing for the solitude he’d imagined in those hours watching her at the library. The rest of their conversation played out in his memories. “Then, you finish your schooling. And you select a college to attend. And we have many more dinners such as this one, but maybe not in so public a setting.” His main message was one of satisfaction with who she was, and Dolph wanted to make certain she understood. “I don’t want you to change the trajectory of your life for me, Deloris. I want a chance to find where I fit in alongside you, see where we can find an us, perhaps.”

  Dolph tightened his arms around Deloris, holding her tight to his chest. So much for my youthful musings, he thought. She shifted, and her head dropped back as she stared up at him. “My beauty.” He kissed her forehead, murmuring endearments in his native tongue, words she wouldn’t understand but helped him stay true to the love he held inside himself for her.

  “You had to go somewhere.” As Dolph smoothed the lines between her brows with the pad of one thumb, she reached up and caught his hand. “Didn’t you?”

  “You needed me here.”

  “I dreamed you caught me.”

  “I’ll always catch you, beauty.”

  She settled against his chest again, and her sigh this time was full of sweet trust and a belief in his love.

  If only she could remember.

  When their daughter Katrina had been born, Deloris had been articulate and bright, overflowing with love and adoration as she held the infant
to her breast.

  Ten hours later, she’d barely been holding on to life itself. That had hurt so much, stealing the breath from his body, knowing she was an innocent casualty of a war within his own family. Then had come the pain of finding out it was a relative who had called the hit, hoping to undermine Dolph’s hold over Atlanta. Leveraging his love against the brutality of the bratva, and he’d come out the loser.

  It had taken years of the best rehabilitation practices he could buy to bring Deloris back even a little to herself. And in the mix, she’d lost any memory of what they’d been to each other. He’d been wiped from her brain as if he’d never existed. Her beauty unchanged, but her mind forever different. Fear had suffused him, caught up in the what-if world that surrounded him then. He’d been holding Katrina when he’d made the hard decision to follow the path Deloris’ mind had blazed, hopefully taking any hint of target from the backs of his two girls.

  Money had altered Katrina’s birth records to remove his name. More money had set fire to the document storage. Even more money had bought an apartment building where he could install Deloris and Katrina, rent money moved to an account that fed back into Deloris’ bank. Necessity had him installing a nurse who doubled as a nanny, one loyal only to him.

  Everything to keep his girls safe.

  He’d then taken on a role defensible in Deloris’ altered memory: family friend and near uncle to little Trina. It placed him close enough to take part in many of her milestone moments, but still provided a barrier to keep his enemies at bay. Not close enough, though, as Trina’s current arrangement had brought home nearly two years ago.

  There were rumblings of more activity directed at her chosen partner’s club. Rumblings delivered by independent sources as well as Dolph’s nephew, Pooka. Rumblings that were as solid as rumors could be.

  Dolph measured everything in his life. Risk versus reward was the least complicated calculation.

  To keep his girls safe, he’d do anything needed.