“What the hell are you doing here?” I question as I lift my eyes to his.
“Nice to see you too, sis,” he growls, raking his fingers through his already messy hair.
“I’m on my way out.”
“No, you’re not,” he replies, pushing past me as he strides into my apartment.
“The hell I’m not,” I sneer. “Look, I don’t know how long you’re in town for but call my office tomorrow and maybe we can catch up before you go back home,” I say exasperatedly, glancing down at the watch on my wrist before lifting my gaze back to him.
“Call your office,” he repeats, unbuttoning his suit jacket and shoving a hand into his pocket as he glares at me. “Look at you, all grown up, thinking you’re holier than thou,” he says, cocking his head to the side as he bites his cheek. “I wonder if Mommy would be proud of the little bitch you became.”
“Not as proud as the thug you wound up being I’m sure,” I bite back.
He smirks at me in that condescending way of his that tells me he doesn’t give a shit what I think of him. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything but himself.
“I’m sure,” he replies sarcastically as he steps closer. “I didn’t come here to catch up, little sis, or to swap insults with you. I think it’s safe to say our mother would roll in her grave if she knew what either of us became,” he points out.
“I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve made a damn good life for myself,” I seethe.
“Yeah, fancy clothes and a savings account will keep you happy for the rest of your life. You should probably look into getting yourself a cat or something.”
“Fuck you, Rocco. What do you have? A nightclub? A parade of whores throwing themselves at you?”
“I’m not in the nightclub business anymore. You’d know that if you bothered picking up your fucking phone.” He pauses, shoving his other hand into his pocket. “You know what she’d hate most? She’d hate that we can’t stand one another.”
There’s no arguing that.
I divert my eyes away from him because his words are true and they sting. Our mother would be miserable that we grew apart. I don’t hate Rocco, but I sure as hell resent him for all the ways he acted, all the choices he made after our mother died.
“Why are you here?” I ask quietly.
“Because even though I can’t stand you, you’re still my sister and I made a promise to our mother on her death bed I’d always look out for you.”
“I’m a big girl, Rocco. I’ve been looking out for myself for some time now, but thanks anyway.”
“For fuck’s sake Gina, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to,” he hisses. He moves like lightning, grabbing me by my shoulders and shakes me slightly. “Check your fucking ego and listen to what I’ve got to say.”
“Take your hands off me,” I sneer, lifting my own to shove his off me.
“Stubborn as shit you are,” he says, dropping his hands to his sides as he takes a step backward. “You turn on the news lately or are you too wrapped up in your fucking bubble to pay attention to anything else?”
I cross my arms against my chest and glare at him as he blows out a strangled breath.
“Uncle Vic started a riot in prison and killed a powerful gang leader. No,” he shouts as I open my mouth to reply. “Shut it, Gina, and for once in your goddamn life listen to what I’ve got to say. There’s a possibility of retaliation, a real fucking strong possibility and everyone associated with the organization is at risk of being the target.”
“Why are you telling me this? I haven’t seen any of them in years. I sincerely doubt any of Uncle Vic’s goons know I’m a branch on the family tree.”
“You’re right no one would probably connect you to him but they’ll connect you to me,” he says, gaging my reaction and then it hits me. It becomes clear, the suit, the impromptu visit, even the strained expression on his otherwise stoic face. The resemblance to my uncle is uncanny.
“You,” I whisper, shaking my head as my eyes travel the length of him and I watch him subtly shove his hand in his pocket, revealing a glimpse of the holster hidden beneath his jacket. “You’re not just visiting New York are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Jesus, Rocco, what the hell did you do?” He doesn’t answer and stares at his fancy shoes. “Mommy…”
“Mommy hated the mob because they killed our father but our father was a low life criminal who deserved every fucking thing he got. I’m the asshole who has to carry the humility of his name and I’m sick of being associated with the legacy of shit he left behind.”
“So, take Uncle Vic’s place and be what? A high profile criminal? A glamourous mobster? You’re delusional. No, you’re pathetic, pathetic because for someone who tries so hard not to follow in his father’s footsteps you’ve slipped right into his shoes.”
I watch his jaw tick and his eyes narrow but he doesn’t open his mouth to speak. I’ll never get an explanation from him because he’s taken an oath of silence. His secrets, his crimes, everything that taints his soul is his burden to carry until his dying day.
“Um, the door was open,” Celeste says, interrupting the stare off we were having as I turn and see her standing in the doorway. “I can wait downstairs,” she offers, looking back and forth between me and my brother.
“I’m leaving,” Rocco grunts, turning his attention back to me. “There will be a guard posted at your door in the morning. He’ll be respectful of your work but he will never be too far. You try to ditch him, Gina, and I swear on our mother’s grave I will plop my ass at your job every fucking day and all the rich folk will know where you come from,” he warns, his tone cold as ice as he strides out my door, pausing in front of our cousin.
“It’s a family fucking reunion,” he mutters, before he disappears down the hallway.
I look around my apartment and grab the first thing that comes into sight, throwing my keys against the wall as I let out a frustrated shriek.
“It’s always a good time when Rocco visits,” Celeste says sarcastically as she kicks the front door closed. “Should I get the takeout menus?”
I spin around, frowning at her as I shake my head.
“Fuck that. He’s not visiting and I’ll be damned if my brother will dictate my life. Nice try though, you definitely get an A for effort.”
Grabbing my keys off the floor, I brush past her and open the door.
“Let’s go,” I order, holding the door open for her. “I need a drink. Or six.”
“Fine, maybe Rocco’s still downstairs and we can ask him to give us a lift in his Maserati,” she says pointedly as she steps out of the apartment and I close the door.
“Fuck him and his Maserati.”
Fuck his guard.
A guard! He’s lost his fucking mind.
Fuck the mob too.
My brother’s the new boss of New York.
Fuck everything.
-Nine-
Stryker
It’s become a way of life.
Locked and loaded, always looking over my shoulder, allowing my senses to guide me as I wait for the enemy to strike. Like the grainy photos of a terrorist I used to be given and trained to hunt, Prez hands us a photo of some motherfucker named Charlie Teardrops and tells us to keep our eyes open. The enemy didn’t wear the usual garb, he wore leather. He wasn’t some sand nigga looking to fucking destroy innocent American lives because a man in a fucking cave told him to. Nonetheless, Charlie Teardrops was still looking to fuck with the unsuspecting innocent. He was just as much a terrorist as the man in a cave. Both were fucking with the youth of a country, making the world they grow up in downright ugly.
The president of the Corrupt Bastards MC was looking to flood the streets with drugs and move in on the territory of our club. Since our club had alliance with Victor Pastore, the gangster who whacked the guy who funded the rebirth of Charlie’s club, the Satan’s Knights were an open target—just as much as the family
Victor Pastore left behind, the family Jack swore to care for as his own.
So here we are, a bunch of sitting ducks waiting around because Jack’s getting hitched and we’ve all vowed to play nice until Reina becomes property of Parrish. If I was back in Albany, where men didn’t have heart and all they had in their bed was some dried up pussy to keep them warm at night, Charlie and his crew would be extinct already. But here in Brooklyn the men didn’t just have heart; they had love, and that of good women. They hung onto that shit with everything they had, put their women and their families before the mayhem, before the reaper on our backs. That’s some honorable shit right there.
Shit, I ain’t used to.
Glancing around the table, I try to understand how my brothers go about their days normally but come up short-handed. How can Linc sit here and shove tacos in his mouth while we’re waiting for Satan? The same thoughts ran through my head after 9/11. I used to feel like I was a man in a bubble looking at the world from the outside, trying to wrap my head around how the world kept spinning after such a horrific act. I would watch the news night after night wondering why we didn’t avenge the deaths of those innocent people in the towers, in the Pentagon and that field in Pennsylvania. Why did that motherfucker get to breathe? Why did his smug face have the chance to make a video admitting he was the man behind the devastation?
I felt the anger for my country and the people who lost their lives down in my bones and that’s another reason I ran toward the chaos without hesitation. Most people remember exactly where they were, exactly what they were doing when those planes hit the towers. I’m the guy who remembers where he was and what he was doing when he first heard that Bush had sent our soldiers into Afghanistan. Every time I buy a case of beer I remember that day in the supermarket when I lifted the twelve pack of Budweiser from the shelf and heard our country was at war over the loudspeaker.
The sounds of war fill my head.
Gunfire.
Cries.
Curses.
Bombs.
The Afghani language.
“Yo, Stryker! Earth to Stryker,” Linc shouts, waving a hand in front of my face and forcing me to leave the battle in the past.
“What?” I question, lifting the Corona to my lips knocking back the beer until all that’s left is the lime inside the bottle.
“Dude, the waitress is waiting to take your order,” he says, looking to the young girl standing beside me. Shit, I didn’t even realize she was standing there.
“I’ll take another,” I say, holding up my empty beer bottle.
“Sure, anything else?”
“I’ll take another beef taco,” Linc adds. “Oh and you can bring out some more of these chips with the fresh guac.”
“Better fucking make a pit stop on your way back to the clubhouse,” Cobra mutters, peeling off the label on his beer.
“Dude, I’ve got a lifetime supply of condoms,” Linc replies, glancing around the room. “Besides, there’s no viable ass around here to drag back with me.”
“This place is crawling with families tonight. I think it’s time we search for a new taco joint.”
“I was referring to the supply of Drain-O and the plunger you’re going to need after eating all this shit,” Cobra tells him, before twisting in his chair and averting his eyes to the corner booth and the pretty blonde sitting in it facing him.
Pretty.
Not pretty like the pretty girl in my dreams.
The pretty girl I can’t get the fuck out of my head.
“I’ve never met a bunch of pussies like you two before,” Linc says as he looks between me and Cobra. “For real.”
“The fuck you talking about?” I growl, tipping my chin to him as the waitress places our beers on the table.
“I’m talking about you sending me to give the pool shark the kiss-off,” he replies. Turning to Cobra he continues, “And this asshole over here won’t grab his balls and go over to the hot blonde in the corner making googly eyes at him. Pussies, the both of you.”
“You’ve been hanging around Wolf too long,” Cobra mutters, turning back around to stare at the beer in front of him. His leg starts to twitch and I look over his shoulder to the blonde who is staring at his back.
“Do you know her or something?”
“No,” he replies instantly.
“No?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Another life.”
I’m about to question him more when I glance back to the booth and watch the person she’s sitting with slide from the booth and turn around.
Green eyes.
Green fucking eyes that keep a man company when he wraps his hand around his dick and wishes he had the body they belonged to.
“Shit,” I hiss.
“Oh man, just when I thought tonight was a total wash,” Linc taunts, rubbing his palms together.
I keep my eyes trained on her face, wishing both that she’ll turn and give me her eyes and that she won’t notice me at all.
I thought she was a sight in that skirt I cut off her, but seeing her dressed down in jeans—that ass, God almighty that ass—it reminds me of the way it looked perched in the air as I drove my cock into her tight cunt from behind.
My memories are cut short when I spot Linc walking toward her. I turn to his empty chair and back to the bar to make sure I’m not imagining it, but that prick is most definitely wrapping his arm around Gina’s shoulders.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter.
“Listen, I’m getting out of here,” Cobra announces, pushing back his chair as he rises to his feet. “Try not to kill him.”
“Right,” I say, glaring at the back of Linc’s head as he pulls a smile from her lips.
Cobra throws some cash on the table before he turns around and the waitress appears at my side.
“Should I close out the tab?”
“Move the tab to the bar,” I reply as I move to stand, keeping my gaze pinned on Gina as she talks to Linc. I watch as she lifts her hand to tuck away the dark strands of hair behind her ears and I pause as my mind relives the way I wrapped those same silky strands around my fingers.
Leaving her when we were done was a necessity but sending Linc to her doorstep with her briefcase was a dick move. Maybe Linc wasn’t that off when he called me a pussy, only a coward sends one of his brothers to do his dirty work. No matter how true it may have been, looking her in the eye and saying the whole it’s not you it’s me line didn’t seem right either.
She wasn’t the type to sit home and pine away for a guy and sure as hell not a guy like me. But even knowing that, I ran like the fucking dickens because of the very same feeling I’m experiencing right now. That feeling that creeps inside, wakening all the things that lie dormant in me and make me want to be better…enough…anything.
The sound of her laughter vibrates through my body as I come up behind her, leaving enough space between us so that when she turns and tries to crack me I’m safely out of reach. Yeah, I might be a pussy.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, looking over her shoulder toward Linc and the shit-eating grin he’s sporting. Averting my eyes back to Gina I watch as her shoulders tense and she slowly turns around to meet my gaze.
Damn her and those eyes of hers.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I rasp.
She smiles widely displaying her perfectly straight teeth and I know the smile is as fake as the bullshit Linc just fed her.
“Stryker,” she says, lifting her margarita to her lips and takes a long sip before she continues. “Nice to see you again.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment and I take a step closer to her but she turns her attention back to Linc.
“Thanks for the recommendation. It was nice seeing you both again,” she adds, keeping her tight-lipped smile in place before she moves to brush past me.
Not ready to let her go, I reach out and close my hand around her wrist.
“Why in such a hurry?”
She glances down a
t our joined hands for a moment before pulling hers out of mine and lifting those fiery eyes back to me. I start to silently count down from three, preparing myself for a tongue lashing, something, some fucking reaction that tells me she’s been as fucked in the head as I’ve been.
“I’m here with someone,” she explains, darting her eyes to the table she and the blonde were at.
“The blonde,” I reply. “Yeah, I know. How about a drink, pretty girl?”
She holds up her margarita and gives me that fake ass smile again.
“Thanks anyway.” She cocks her head to the side. “Good to see you again,” she adds before walking away from me.
“Pretty girl,” I call out.
Her hips stop sashaying as she pauses and glances over her shoulder.
“If you change your mind…” I tip my chin toward the bar, “I’ll be waiting.”
She doesn’t bother answering and walks back to the table she’s sharing with the blonde. I turn to Linc who leans against the bar, arms crossed against his chest and a smirk on his face.
“You fucked that up,” he points out.
“Yeah,” I agreed, lifting the beer to my lips as I watch her slide into the booth.
I definitely fucked that up.
I could probably fix it.
No, I would fix it.
Shit, there I go fixing shit again.
Gina
I didn’t drag my cousin out to the Crazy Taco hoping I’d bump into him. I didn’t plan my outfit, trying to imagine what his expression might be if he was there and I most definitely did not practice my fake smile and I don’t give a shit face this morning.
Yeah, right.
I totally did.
But after three margaritas and no sign of Stryker, I gave up. I ordered my tacos and forgot all about him. It’s all the waitress’ fault. Yeah, that’s my story and I’m sticking with it. If she hadn’t of brought me a strawberry daiquiri instead of the raspberry margarita I asked for, then I never would’ve gone to the bar to fix it.
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 8
