Fighter: The Devil's Highwaymen Nomads #4
Page 24
And I’d be waiting for him. Growing, changing, choosing my own life each day at a time, just like I’d chosen the man I wanted to spend that life with.
How did I know this?
Because my soul told me.
My heart told me.
My body and mind told me.
Love wasn’t always easy, and it certainly wasn’t simple, but real love, the sort that made your toes curl and your heart sing, that was the sort that was worth fighting for. No matter what the cost.
Cowboy #5
Coming soon!
Add him here:
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Need more anti-heroes, angst-riddled plots and intense love in your life?
Start with RIDE OR DIE #1 THE DEVILS HIGHWAYMEN
Read on for the first chapter!
Ride or Die #1
A Devil’s Highwaymen MC novel
“We would blow up this world and create something beautiful in its ruins”
Jesse & Laney 1985
We were each survivors of our upbringing: lost, unloved and afraid. Yet like moths to a flame, we couldn’t stay apart.
We loved.
We lost.
We fought.
We cried.
And then we shattered each other’s hearts.
Jesse was a hard man; a biker outlaw for the Devil’s Highwaymen MC Club. I was Laney; the daughter of a dead mother and a father that didn’t know or want me.
We were doomed right from the start.
But this was our romance.
And this was our disaster.
And hopefully, this would be our second chance.
Prologue
1973
It was different this time.
I didn’t know how, or why; I just knew it was.
Even at five years old, I knew the difference between high and dead.
Watching her from my hiding place, I stared silently at her slack jaw and pallid skin. Her chest was rising and falling, quickly at first and then slowly. Her mouth was open, the hue of her pale tongue just showing near her yellow teeth. I wanted to reach over and close her lips, but was too afraid to.
I didn’t want to touch her.
I never did—not when she was like this.
She wasn’t my mommy when she was like this. She was a monster.
Gone were her loving arms and soft kisses, and instead she was…someone else.
I glanced at the ticking clock above the fireplace, wishing that I could make time speed up. I didn’t know what time it was; I couldn’t tell the time yet, but Butch had said he would be home by 4 p.m. and he had pointed to where the hands of the clock would be at that time, so I would know. But it seemed so far away now, and I wondered if I should go get help, because this time was different.
I knew it.
I started to crawl out from under the kitchen table. It was a big old wooden thing, with scratches and score marks across the top. Underneath was where Butch had carved both of our names. I almost bumped my head as I was getting out from under it; I was getting bigger now, but I ducked just in time, thankfully. My head still hurt where she’d hit me and I rubbed it tenderly, feeling the large bump below my fingertips.
She would be sorry when she came around—she always was. I was her Jesse, her little gunslinger, and she loved me more than the moon and the stars. She couldn’t help the things she did; she was sick. I understood that.
She was lying on the hard linoleum floor, and I crawled to her, my blue eyes blinking slowly as I took in her face, my body drawing closer to her.
Vomit had dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. It smelled bad, like stale cookies and old carrots. The needle was still poked in her arm, and even though Butch had said never ever to touch them, I couldn’t help myself. I reached over and I pulled it out of her arm, because I didn’t like it still being stuck in her. If I could, I would have taken all of the pain and the poison out of her too, so I could have had my mommy back.
A small drop of blood bubbled to the surface where the needle had been stuck in her skin, and I wiped it away with the sleeve of my dirty gray hoody.
Her skin felt cold—too cold for my mom, because Mommy was always warm and soft. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, wondering what to do. I made my way to the living room and got the blanket from across the back of our brown sofa, and then I dragged it back to her in the kitchen, carefully avoiding the vomit, and I laid it over her, hoping it would warm her enough.
I sat and watched her, not wanting to move in case she needed me. I still had the needle in my hand, so I put it on the table, out of her reach, and I prayed that Butch would come home soon, because he would know what to do.
Her body got even colder, and I curled up against her side and put my arm around her to help keep her warm. I needed to pee but didn’t want to leave her alone, and at some point I must have fallen asleep and peed myself, because when I woke up, Butch was picking me up and I was wet and cold.
The fading sunlight shone in through the kitchen window, glinting off the wedding band she still wore. It had a green stone in it that matched her eyes. She used to tell us that that was why Daddy had given it to her.
Butch carried me across the kitchen.
I cried for her then, for my mom.
I reached out with my small hands and clawed at Butch as he continued walking, ignoring my tears and screams.
But Butch continued on, whispering in my ear that we would be okay together, that he wouldn’t ever leave me. And that he would always be there for me, no matter what.
We passed my daddy on the way out. He was standing in the doorway with his arms folded over his huge chest, his gaze on Mommy.
I knew he was my daddy because Mommy kept a picture of him by her bed. She told me he was the love of her life. She told me that they were like the modern-day Bonnie and Clyde and that they were meant to be together forever.
But Daddy rarely came to visit, and when he did, he didn’t look at Mommy like he did in that picture, even though she still looked at him like that. And he never, never, ever looked at me with anything like that. I was scared of Daddy, even though Mommy said not to be.
Daddy turned away from the kitchen, and put the house phone to his ear, the long green curly cord dangling like spaghetti. He sounded angry-sad, a mixture of the two things. And I could understand that, because I felt the same way. I was angry-sad. Angry because I didn’t want to leave. Angry because I wanted my mommy to stop hurting herself like this, and sad because I already missed her.
All three of us left the house—me, my big brother Butch (who was carrying me), and my daddy, and we climbed in daddy’s truck. And then we left, and I never saw my mommy or my home again.
Butch said it was going to be okay, and not to cry because it would make Daddy angry. He said Mommy was in a better place now anyway. But I didn’t understand.
Because how could my Mommy be in a better place when I wasn’t with her?
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Thanks
As always, writing this book was not a solitary thing. My mind may have given birth to Fighters story, but it took an entire team to get him to this point. So, thanks to Amy, my rum drinking awesome editor, I love you dearly. I’ll send more British chocolate soon. Hugest of thanks to one of my best friends in the world, Elizabeth. My Maverick, I love your face, girl. Thank you for always being there, supporting me, helping me to shape my stories, my characters, and producing such amazing covers. But mostly, for listening to my fears, hopes, dreams & moaning!
Huge thanks also to the group of beautiful, badass women in my reader group, ‘Claire’s Queens’. Thank you for loving my fucked-up words so much. For loving my characters, my worlds. For pushing me to go deeper and darker, for making me laugh, for pimping me, voting for me and all that other stuff you do daily.
But mostly, thank you for being a group of such
fucking awesome Queens.
Claire xox
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Claire C. Riley is a USA Today and international bestselling author.
She’s a genre jumping book nerd who likes to write about psycho stalkers, alpha males, and the end of the world. A lover of all things dark and dirty, she likes to write books that fuck with your heart, and your head.
She lives in the United Kingdom with her husband, three daughters and naughty rescue beagle.
Author of:
Odium The Dead Saga Series
Odium Origins Series
Limerence (The Obsession Series)
Out of the Dark
Twisted Magic
Beautiful Victim
Blood Claim
Wrath #3 in the Elite Seven Series
Co–Authored Books with Madeline Sheehan:
Thicker than Blood
Beneath Blood & Bone
& Shut Up & Kiss me
MC Romance
Ride or Die a Devil’s Highwaymen MC series
Devil’s Highwaymen Nomad Series
CONTACT LINKS:
Website:
www.clairecriley.com
Claire C. Riley FB page:
https://www.facebook.com/ClaireCRileyAuthor/
Amazon:
http://amzn.to/1GDpF3I
Group: Riley’s Rebels:
https://www.facebook.com/groups/ClaireCRileyFansGroup/
Newsletter Sign-up:
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HAVE YOU READ MY RIDE OR DIE DEVIL’S HIGHWAYMEN SERIES?
The nomads are a spin-off from that series, so if you want to see more of your favorite bad boys like Gauge and Butch then head over to Amazon and grab your copies now.
All books are in Kindle Unlimited!
Ride or Die #1 The Devils Highwaymen
Buy here https://amzn.to/2XKPfbP
Also available in Kindle Unlimited
Ride or Die #2 The Devils Highwaymen
Buy here https://amzn.to/32daph4
Also available in Kindle Unlimited