Tangled Threats on the Nomad Highway

by MariaLisa deMora

  “No. That was pure human stupidity.” Dolph stilled, his gaze drilling into Einstein. “She yet lives.”

  Pain cinched around his chest, and he fought to hide how those words had hit him. So they kill my wife and daughter but spare the woman of a favored son. “Good.” That would be all Dolph got out of him on that topic, and Einstein pressed his lips together.

  A slow exhale preceded Dolph’s next question. “Do you know the full story of my history with Katrina’s mother?”

  The unexpected segue had Einstein’s head shaking before he could think. “No.” What the hell does this have to do with anything?

  “I saw her. My attraction to her was unexpected, because my family had arranged for a marriage for me. I’d known from my teens what my path would be. Learn as much as I could in America, strengthen the family’s hold on the southeast, and marry the woman groomed from childhood to be my wife. She was from Kiev, and the arrangement would solidify an agreement my family had with hers.” Dolph pulled in a hard breath through flaring nostrils. “I would not have fought the course as laid out had I not conducted business in a library one day. Deloris”—Dolph’s voice changed, dropping, so it was quiet and soft—“stole my heart without knowing or trying. I needed to know her, and then once I learned about her nature, I couldn’t live without her.”

  Searching through his knowledge of Katrina’s mother, Einstein offered up the only detail he could remember. “She was attacked after the birth, right?”

  “Killed. She was killed following Katrina’s entrance to the world. Killed in a hospital, surrounded by my bouquets and gifts, with our daughter in a bassinet next to her bed. A nurse interrupted the man and resuscitated my Deloris. Brought her back.” Dolph’s nostrils quivered as he sucked in another breath. “The damage was significant. Many said it would have been better if she hadn’t survived.” He leaned forward an inch. “They were wrong. I will always take her however I can have her, and the injuries inflicted didn’t diminish my love for her.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I don’t think Retro knows as much as the man just laid out for me. “I don’t get what that has to do with Scarloucci. Not sure what you want me to do with this.”

  “It has shit all to do with that cursed family. This is about me and how I relate to you. People I loved tried to kill my woman. Would probably have moved to my child next, if they hadn’t gotten the results they wanted. People who had once meant the world to me, trying to gain my cooperation with their plans, caused pain and suffering for my family. I’m telling you so you know you aren’t alone. The sense of betrayal never goes away. The anger—the rage will continue to eat at you inside for a long time. It could kill you if you let it. It will.” Straightening his shoulders, Dolph lifted his chin and stared down his nose at Einstein. “Do not let it. You…you are a good man. Right now, you see everything through the lens of your grief, and that is to be expected. But you will one day have a moment where the rage leaves you, and what I want you to take away from this conversation is that it is okay. All of it, those emotions, they will come back but be lessened. That too is okay. Natural. Over and over, in its own timeline. What you have to remember is the natural way of things has life moving on. When it happens, let yourself be moved with it.”

  Einstein kept his gaze on the man as he keyed the alarm sequence again and opened the door. The broad back never slumped, the shoulders stayed rigid, and the tall man with questionable wisdom disappeared into the darkness.

  ***

  Einstein

  The sun rose, rays of brilliance spearing into the shadows inside Retro’s home where Einstein occupied a kitchen chair, still awake. He’d made a second pot of coffee about an hour ago, when the first shades of pink and blue had appeared along the edge of the sky. There wasn’t much more than dregs left. With a laptop in front of him, he took a moment to scan the camera feeds again. Moments away from retreating to the pool house, he leaned forwards and tapped on the keyboard, changing the display.

  A message from Retro had come in during the night, the vibration of his phone signaling the communication. Now reading it a second time in the app installed on the computer, Einstein shook his head.

  Baker, Florida. A tiny town not far inland from the Gulf Coast, it held nothing to pull the Bama Bastards.

  Except.

  He snorted and leaned back, scratching along the edge of his jaw, scruff bristly against his fingertips.

  Except it was the home of a Rebel Wayfarers chapter officer, Truck. And a frequent vacation spot of another RWMC officer, Gunny, recently petitioned to become a nomad. That knowledge had set tiny seeds growing in Einstein’s brain. In the next few hours, tiny Baker would become the new location of an RWMC chapter, folding in those two men as well as members from a variety of clubs—including the Bastards.

  At least that was the plan for now. Shit changes with the wind.

  Rolling his eyes, he flipped back to the ranks of camera videos and looked at each closely. Reassured that no bad actors waited outside, he exited the software and closed the laptop with a click as he rose from the table. Mug refilled, he dumped the rest of the old coffee, then set up a new pot for Trina to kick off when she woke.

  Disarming the back door with the new code he’d input hours earlier, Einstein stepped outside and walked closer to the garage, peering through the large window in the last bay at a scatter of bike parts. Retro encouraged members to work on their rides here, and most of the men took him up on the offer. Einstein thought this might be Mudd’s project bike, something he’d been sourcing parts for over the past few months, broadcasting both his enjoyment and frustration to anyone who’d listen.

  Phone in hand, he tapped into the app, then connected with Retro’s information, waiting through the silence until the speaker beeped. Voicemail. Didn’t matter. He would deliver his update regardless.

  “Hey, man, had a visitor last night. Chulpayev dropped by. He provided intel on the asks swirling around Scar. The Italians are going after family. Franco’s missing, Dominic’s in the crosshairs, and if he balks, sounds like they’ll deal as they usually do and then go after the brother. Chulpayev had info about Scar’s mother that was interesting and might provide a solid lead on this mystery family member. I want to track it down, man. Would require a road trip or two, so I’ll wait for your word.”

  He swallowed, hoping the sound didn’t pick up on the phone. “But I want this. The brother, he’s in the life, man, but sounds like he’s at odds with how Scar runs things. Might explain why he’s not a MDMC member and is in Montana instead. I want this, Retro. Nomad makes the most sense. Know we don’t normally patch for this, but I’ll do whatever you want, man. Call me back when you can. Oh, and get this, Chulpayev had the security code. I’ve got that locked down, brother. Got your back, always. Glad you got there safe, and fuck—sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you there. Who the fuck are you going to pitch to the RWMC wolves, man? Still Monday? I can’t see him or anyone else wanting to pick up and move away. Glad that’s all on you. Be safe, brother.”

  Disconnecting, he stood and watched the rippling water of the pool until lights came on in the main house.

  Through the windows, he saw Trina pause at the coffeepot. She read his note and was turning towards the door when she paused and looked behind herself. Arms extending, she caught Saya in midleap, hugging him tightly against her body with a sway. Jimmy followed, slower, yawning, but he went to Trina for his own hug. Retro’s daughter was the last into the kitchen, and like her brothers, Nelda made greeting Trina with arms wrapped around her neck her first stop.

  Pain sliced through him, and with Dolph’s cryptic statements fresh in his mind, Einstein studied the feelings, dissecting them.

  “Nope, still hurts like fuck.”

  ***

  Marian

  The sound of motorcycles seemed unending, the machines rolling into the driveway every few minutes over the past hour. Individual men, groups of them with club affiliations
—each time Marian glanced out the window, the sea of black leather had grown.

  Well-mannered—and she didn’t know why that surprised her—they first greeted Truck, then Gunny, and then each man presented himself at the kitchen door asking for Vanna. Tall and broad, or thin and small—it didn’t matter, their arms were opened wide for the woman who seemed to mother everyone, even those who were arguably older than she was.

  Each interaction was a revelation for Marian. Some of the men spoke to Vanna as if they’d talked last week, comfortable and easy in their conversations. A few of them had remarked on the time passing since their last meeting, but still easy with their treatment of Vanna. And she gave it back to them as much as they dished it out. Snark and sarcasm were like subtext languages, defining their connections.

  Some of the men clearly held more of Vanna’s heart, and when Marian recognized one from the photos arrayed on the living room wall, she paid closer attention. Blackie pulled her close, and Vanna went willingly as they whisper-talked about someone named Peaches, who would be following soon—of course Marian had come to realize that soon might not mean today, but two weeks from now, or a month—and Blackie claimed Vanna’s son as his own, something Marian didn’t think was true, but showed again how interwoven this kind of found family could be. The affection between the two was sweet and strong and didn’t diminish when Truck made his way up behind Vanna, wrapping his arms around her chest to tug her against his strong frame. Blackie didn’t change the way he spoke to her at all, and Marian understood their friendship wasn’t something they tried to hide. Vanna had love for both men, in different ways, and was proud to be their focus of attention.

  Then Gunny had arrayed himself at Vanna’s side, and that affection had expanded to include him, highlighting how right Marian was in her assessment.

  What would it be like to have friends like that?

  For the next few hours, she’d experimented. Hovering close to Sharon when she accompanied Gunny outside, Marian had been introduced to a multitude of men. Bikers in leather and denim, with long hair or short, bearded or smooth-shaven—they were unfailingly polite in a sweet way. Confidence oozed out of every man, and when Gunny would tell his story of meeting her, they each looked at her differently. Not bad different, not like the pastor’s wife had the few times Daddy’s marks had been on visible skin.

  The different they offered was more supportive. Gunny would say she’d been in a “bad situation,” and without asking for any specifics, the men would stand taller, adopt a more alert posture. It was as if each man took her safety upon themselves and had immediately embraced her in their inner circle of people worth protecting.

  A few of the men had asked for more details, and Gunny would wait for her slow nod before responding. Then he’d explain about her and Myrt’s father being a “douchenozzle” or “worse than a creek turd” and gloss over the fact he’d sold one of his children, then supplied two more of them to a heartless old man who’d proven ruthless and cruel, vicious in his treatment of Myrt, Luke, and Thad. He’d focus on Marian’s rescue and emphasize how none of the siblings would ever be going back to the hell they’d lived through.

  After hearing Gunny’s rendition at least a dozen times, Marian had to excuse herself, retreating to the upstairs bedroom. Behind the closed door, cupping both hands over her open mouth, Marian had screamed in horror. She let the realization sink in that as bad as her life had become, she’d clearly escaped the worst the mountain had to offer by not having to go to Sallabrook’s home. Unwanted emotions flooded through her, rushing along until her ears buzzed. Hands shaking, she admitted to herself that the unwarranted jealousy she’d harbored for her sister so long had shown how ignorant she’d been.

  “I would have helped her.” A broken mutter split the air, and Marian flinched from the sound of her own voice. “I swear, I would have. I didn’t know.”

  “No one’s blaming you, honey.”

  She whirled, stumbling away from the door. Slowly Gunny’s face swam into focus, and Marian’s knees unhinged, toppling her into a pile. He’d come in behind her and heard everything. “Oh God.”

  “If you didn’t know what Myrt had been dealing with, then you can’t be pissed at yourself for not helping her.” He entered the room and closed the door behind him, then folded into a squat, balancing himself with a knee on the floor. “You can’t take that on, Marian.”

  “He raped her.” The words were hard to push out, a verbal acknowledgment of the horror her little sister had suffered. “She was just a child. Thad is still a child.” My baby brother. Fists pressing to her temples, she bent over her lap, muffling her scream against her knees. “I want to kill him.”

  “Would you? Given the chance, would you take things into your own hands?”

  “Yes.” No time to think, no time to wonder if she spoke the truth, the word burst forth from her lips. “I want to. I want to go back to that mountain and hurt him. Kill him. Make him feel a fraction of the pain he’s given my family.”

  “And your father? What would you do to him?”

  Lifting her head, she leveled a glare at Gunny, knowing he’d understand he wasn’t the true target. “I’ll kill him, too.”

  “If something happened to them both, would you want to know? Want to hear the truth?”

  She pulled her chin back, feeling the harsh expression on her face softening. He did something. “Yes.” Hoping he wouldn’t have noticed the instant of hesitation, she pushed forwards. “I’d want to know everything.”

  “Would you feel justice had been served, even if not at your hands?”

  “If they were both dead?” She swallowed hard and held out her hands, showing him how they trembled as with a palsy. “I’m so angry, Gunny. If they were here, I’d tear them limb from limb. They hurt my family.” Marian straightened, realizing she’d bent forward with the force of her shout. “They need to pay.”

  Silence stretched between them until Gunny blinked, the corners of his mouth curling upward. “Fuckin’ bloodthirsty woman. No wonder Shar likes you so much. Two of a kind.” His head traveled side to side once, left, then right, then back to center. “They paid, Marian. Paid in blood and pain. It’s done, honey. And you’ll never have to worry about them again.” Deep, sonorous, his voice wrapped around her, the fierceness in his tone holding her upright. “They fuckin’ paid.”

  “Good.” Lifting her head, she stared into Gunny’s eyes, not flinching away from the anger she saw there. “No regrets from me.”

  “How often did your daddy beat you?”

  “As often as he wanted.” The pain in her body had been pushed aside during the emotional exchange and now came roaring back. “Since my momma passed. Even when he had Myrt’s momma, he’d turn his frustration on me.”

  “Oh, darlin’. That’s a shit life, woman.”

  “Yeah.” Her laugh could score glass, rough and brittle. “Yeah. It really was.”

  “Now that? That sounds really good.”

  Marian narrowed her eyes, lifting a brow as she stared at him.

  He grinned. “Puttin’ that shit in your rearview. Past tense means you’re startin’ to move past it.”

  “I’m going to miss you and Sharon when you go home.” Forcing a smile on her face, she could only hold it for a few seconds before she had to look down and clear her throat, blinking back tears. “How does it work that I just met you but feel like I’ve always known you?”

  “Don’t matter. Just matters what is. Shar and I are the same. We talked about it last night. You’re a little sister at this point.” He huffed out a laugh and stood. “Come on, woman. Shar’s prolly freakin’ out, and her losin’ her mind ain’t good, not for me at least. She’s gonna wanna make sure you’re okay.”

  He held out a hand, and Marian accepted the offer, meeting his palm with hers and marveling at how his swallowed hers whole. He gave a tug and she was on her feet.

  “If I’m the little sister in this scenario, does that count for Sharon too?”
He nodded and opened the door, stepping back to allow her to pass through first. “Hmm. I think a person can’t ever have too much good family.”

  “That’s a true statement if I ever heard one, lady.”

  They walked down the stairs with him a couple of steps behind, surging ahead when they got to the first floor so he could open the front door. Sure enough, Sharon and Vanna both were on the porch, keen gazes locked on Marian as she came through the opening.

  “She’s good.” Sharon made a noise at Gunny’s statement, and he held up both hands. “Swear, baby. Plus, you gals are two sticks, one fire. She’s got a retribution streak just as wide as yours is.” He pretended to wipe away a tear. “Made a brother proud. Real proud.”

  Marian snorted and moved into Vanna’s arms, held wide to gently embrace her.

  “You good, girl?”

  Marian’s nod moved her face farther into the crook of Vanna’s neck, and tears threatened again just because this—a level of motherly concern and affection she couldn’t remember ever being on the receiving end of—was almost too much. “I’m good.”

  Heat enfolded her as Sharon’s voice came from next to her ear, and she understood the woman had pulled both Marian and Vanna into her own hug. “Even if you aren’t right now, you will be. Saw a shirt the other day that resonated with me. Said ‘It’ll be fine in the end. If it’s not fine, it’s not the end.’ We just gotta get past this mess, and you can settle into a life surrounded by people who love you for you. You and your sister.” Sharon’s laughter was low and filled with as much affection as Vanna’s hug. “Birds of a feather. You deserve so much, and we’re going to make sure you get it all.”

  “Is it too soon for me to get in on this?” Vanna and Sharon squeezed tighter around Marian, and with a groan, she looked up to see Gunny had wrapped himself around all of them. “Shit, sorry, honey. It was a bonding moment, and I didn’t think about your ribs. Still, I’m a proud brother all over again.”

  Laughter was a great tension eraser, and as the group hug fell apart, they were all laughing so loudly a couple of men nearby called out in irritation that they weren’t in on the joke, whatever it was. Their complaints only made Marian laugh longer, each round of rising sound met by one from Sharon or Vanna.