Silence.
His eyes stare into mine and I can almost see the wheels turn inside his head as whatever is dragging him down antagonizes his conscience.
“Please?”
He pushes himself off the back of the couch, takes my legs and wraps them around his waist before he stands, holding me tightly against him. I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head against his shoulder as he carries me into my bedroom and lays me down on my bed.
I stare up at him, waiting for him to answer me but he remains perfectly still, battling with himself.
Then he gives me my answer.
Reaching behind him he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the chair in the corner of my room. Standing before me, wearing nothing but his dog tags, he tips his chin toward the bed.
“Move over, pretty girl.”
The grin spreads across my face as I roll over and pull the comforter down. He climbs in beside me, wrapping his arm around me and pulls me into the crook of his arm before bending his head to kiss the top of my head.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispers against my hair.
And I hope, with me in his arms, that his are sweet too.
Stryker
It’s the same every time.
The heat. The longing to be some place, any place other than where I am. It never changes.
The sun beats down on me as I sit on top of a roof, counting the days until I go back home.
Home.
I don’t know where that is anymore, but fuck if that matters. I’ll sleep on the streets as long as beneath the concrete there is American soil.
I’ve had enough.
Enough of the heat.
Enough of the sand.
Enough of these motherfuckers that have no respect for human life. Not American life, not Afghani life, they just don’t give a fuck and they’ll kill their own, blow themselves up with no regard. It’s sick to think as passionate as I feel about defending my country these people feel as passionate about terror.
I don’t give a shit what God you pray to, what you call him at the end of the day. I’m sure there isn’t a holier persona in this universe that condones this shit. No god would use an innocent child’s blood as an admission ticket to his heaven. Not even Satan himself would expect this form of torture from his disciples.
Through the scope of my rifle I spot the woman dressed from head to toe in black, leaving only her eyes exposed to the world. She’s got to be sweating in places a woman should never fucking sweat. I almost feel bad for the bitch, then I remember she’s a fucking terrorist and if I don’t kill her first, she’s likely to send my ass home in a wooden box.
Waiting for the perfect shot, I wrap my finger around the trigger and then she throws the plot twist no form of intelligence could’ve predicted.
She sends her child out in front of her with a bomb strapped to his back.
She urges him to leave her and in that foreign tongue I imagine she’s saying all the reassuring things an innocent boy longs to hear his mother say.
The voice inside my ear shouts at me to take the shot, commands me to do what I’ve been trained to do but my finger loosens around the trigger as the little boy lifts a handful of sand and watches as it sifts through his fingers.
Simultaneously his mother’s voice echoes in his ears instructing him to press the button on his chest as the commander’s voice shouts at me to pull the trigger. The bile rises in my throat, the sweat beads over my brow and I wish for death as I deliver it, pulling the trigger.
My bullet pierces him between the eyes, the impact throws his body in the air and he lands on his back as his mother runs toward him.
I drop my rifle, lean over the wall of the rooftop as she drops to her knees and detonates the bomb, blowing her sons head off his body.
She kills.
She commits suicide.
She does it all because her God told her to.
And then she fades from me.
Her son disappears too.
I’m standing in front of the mirror, staring at myself, and though I know I’m wearing my normal street clothes, the man reflected at me isn’t—the man I’m staring at is dressed the exact way he was when he killed that little boy.
A man in uniform with a gun pointed at his head and his finger wrapped around the trigger.
BANG!
My body jolts awake as the gunshot rings loudly in my head and sweat beads from every pore of my body. I’m not standing in front of the mirror. My head is still attached to my body and I’m not waiting for Satan to greet me.
I didn’t do it.
I never go through with it.
I’m lying in bed, breathing but not living, simply existing until I look to my right and see the body next to me.
Then I’m reminded I’m alive.
And I made her a promise to spend the night with her.
Anxiety tears through me like a cancer and the need to flee is ripe. I keep my eyes trained on her beautiful face, listen to her breathe and battle with myself to give her this one night.
One night.
One morning.
To be the honorable man who lives by his word.
Not the man with the rifle on the rooftop.
Not the man in the bathroom looking to end his life.
To be the man she wants.
-Twenty-one-
Gina
The sun filters through the blinds as I open my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. Still groggy, I close my eyes again and then remember there’s a man who promised he’d be next to me when I woke up. My eyes flutter open, I roll over and stare at the left side of my bed and the man lying as still as a board as he stares up at the ceiling.
“Stryker,” I whisper, reaching out for him and run my hand along his bicep as I wait for him to turn, but he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes trained on the cathedral ceilings of my bedroom, blinks once, twice, and then closes his eyes.
“Is it morning?”
“Yes.”
His whole body becomes more relaxed at my response to his question and he releases a sigh before opening his eyes and turning his gaze to me. I notice he’s sweating, his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks physically ill.
“Are you okay?”
“I can’t do this,” he rasps.
I stare at him waiting for him to explain himself and watch as he opens his mouth but shakes his head, deciding against the words he was about to say.
“I’ve got club business,” he reveals, pushing the comforter off him before he lifts his hands to his head and rubs his tired face. “I’m going to be on the road for a few days,” he adds, dropping his hands and staring back at me.
Something's different. I don’t know what it is but I’m sure the man I woke up with isn’t the same one I fell asleep with. And as much as I want to believe what he’s telling me I can’t help doubting him and wonder if I pushed him too far.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing back my fear and insecurities.
He nods as his gaze lingers on me for a moment before he sits up and throws his legs over the bed. “I’m going to call your brother and make sure he has Johnny keep an eye out while I’m gone,” he says with his back toward me.
“So…you’ll be back then.”
I close my eyes, cringing as the words escape my lips and instantly wish for them back.
That’s what happens when you let your guard down.
You become soft.
Feminine.
A woman looking for acceptance.
A woman wishing for someone to love her.
Stupid.
His hand pauses at my bedroom door and he turns around to face me.
“A couple of days means a couple of days, Gina, not forever. I’m not a pussy when it comes to goodbyes. If the need to run ever finds me, I’ll say goodbye before my tires skid away.”
“Good to know,” I whisper. Suddenly a chill rips through me and I pull the covers over my body and look toward the window at the sun.
One night.
One morning.
One sunrise was all I wanted.
“Pretty girl,” he calls, and I avert my eyes away from the window, surprised to see him walking toward me.
Surprises.
My mother taught me to trust in surprises.
She said they are rare.
Rare like the color of my eyes.
He cups my chin and forces my gaze to his.
“I’ll see you in a few days,” he huskily repeats. “You got me?”
Get it together Gina.
I wink at him and force a smile.
“I’ve got you, soldier.”
He searches my face for a moment, looking to call bullshit but instead nods his head before he bends his knees and covers my mouth with his.
He doesn’t kiss me goodbye, he kisses me like he’s a man proving himself to a woman, but it’s more than that. It’s almost like he’s trying to prove something to himself too. I can’t figure it out and I give up trying, savoring his kiss, unsure when I’ll get another, but positive I will. I know what a goodbye kiss feels like and there is too much life passing from his mouth to mine for it to be the end of anything.
One night.
One morning.
One sunrise.
And the image of his back as he walks out the door as a parting gift.
Stryker
I did it.
I laid beside her until her pretty eyes opened and greeted the day.
Then I ran.
Pussy.
A big fucking pussy.
I’m not a hero. I’m not worth the medal pinned to my dress uniform. I’m a fucking coward who lied to the girl he’s sleeping with, because spending another night in her bed, pretending I’m not fucked as the day is long, is another form of torture and I’m all stocked up on that shit.
I have to pull my shit together, get my head on straight because tomorrow I can’t be a damaged Marine. Tomorrow hell will rise and the devil will reign. Tomorrow is the rebirth of the Satan’s Knights and the end of the Corrupt Bastards.
Rest in peace motherfuckers, we’re coming for you.
With the clubhouse being a pile of dust there aren’t many places to run to so I decide to visit Linc. I had a text message this morning from Cobra telling me that our boy had finally woken up, but he was real vague about the details and when I tried calling him after I left Gina’s he didn’t answer. Arriving at the hospital, I park my bike and head to Linc’s room only to learn he was transferred to a different room. Stepping off the elevator I turn the corner and spot Cobra pushing Wolf’s wheelchair down the hallway.
“Hey,” I call out, quickening my pace to catch up to them.
Cobra stops in his tracks and turns to face me, his expression is unreadable. I divert my eyes down to Wolf.
“No good,” he mutters, shaking his head as he scratches at the gray hairs lining his jaw.
“What happened?” I question, turning my attention back to Cobra as I nudge my hand toward Wolf. “Should he even be out of bed?”
“Probably not,” Cobra grunts, glaring down at Wolf who flips him the bird.
“Fuck off, boy,” he argues. “Going to take a lot more than a cocksucker with a bomb and a faulty heart to drag this fat ass down to hell.”
I raise an eyebrow toward Cobra and shrug my shoulders.
“I’d say he’s as good as cured,” I pause, glancing down the hallway. “Did you see Linc yet?”
“Yeah,” Cobra says, cocking his head to the side. “He can’t move anything from the waist down,” he reveals.
“And this piece of shit hospital ain’t worth two cents. These hot shot fucking doctors want to deny his ass because he’s got no medical coverage,” Wolf hollers, making sure the staff roaming the hallways hears his loud mouth. “Ready to write the boy off and tell him he ain’t ever going to walk again because his insurance lapsed. I wonder if someone broke their mother’s legs if they’d feel the same way. Fucking Grey’s Anatomy wannabe sons of bitches.”
“I’ve been dealing with this all morning,” Cobra says, stepping aside from the wheelchair. “Your turn.”
“It's fine,” Wolf huffs. “I’ll give these money hungry bastards what they want and then I’ll make them suck my cock when our boy walks again.”
A nurse walking past us gasps and Wolf leans forward, reaching out to smack her ass.
“Wanna be the first darlin’?”
“Wolf!”
I grab the handles of the wheelchair and move him so he can’t manhandle the fucking nurse.
“What the hell is he talking about?” I ground out, glaring at Cobra who crosses his arms against his chest, washing his hands of the man who brought our asses here.
“Linc’s got no insurance,” he hisses. “Man, let your head come up from whatever pussy you got and answer the fucking phone when I call you.”
“He’s got no insurance and these mutts want to throw his ass on the street, crippled and all,” Wolf supplies.
“So this guy here is taking out a mortgage on a house he owns free and clear to help Linc out for the time being, until we can figure out how to come up with rehab money and all that,” Cobra elaborates, dragging his fingers through his hair.
“I’m going to shove every red cent up their mothers’ cunts,” Wolf bellows. “Every fucking cent.”
“Linc knows all this?”
“He knows he can’t fucking walk,” Cobra answers.
“Take him back to his room,” I tell him, nudging Wolf’s wheelchair toward him. “I think he’s had enough excitement for one day.”
“Hold it,” Wolf says, planting his feet on the floor, stopping the wheelchair from rolling toward Cobra. “Got something you two boys need to hear.”
Cobra rolls his blue eyes as I smack him upside the head before we both give the crazy man the attention he demands.
“Brought you here for a reason,” he starts, pointing his finger back and forth between us. “Saw something in you, and tomorrow when you’re riding behind Blackie you’ll know what that something is. You’ll feel it in your bones when you hunt the people who took away your brother’s ability to walk.”
Say what you will about Wolf, say he’s crude and crazy as fuck, but you’ll never be able to deny the love he has for his brotherhood, for his club.
“Stay safe and in one piece,” he says, leaning back in his chair and lifts his legs back where they belong. “This ain’t Riggs’ and Blackie’s first rodeo, but it’s the first Blackie’s leading. And Pipe…the man is fucked over losing his wife so keep your eyes open and have one another’s backs. I’m a broke fucker with nothing left to mortgage if you lose a limb.”
“We’ve got this, Wolf,” Cobra assures him.
“Yeah, quit worrying,” I add.
“Damn straight you got this,” he wheezes, before snapping his fingers. “Now, take me back to my room, I gotta take a piss.”
Cobra takes a hold of the wheelchair and pins me with a steady look.
“Your ass better be at the garage early in the morning,” he warns.
“I’m staying at the motel tonight,” I clarify.
“Well…look who decided to come up for air,” he mutters, before pushing Wolf down the hallway. Turning around, I don’t waste my breath on answering him and instead I find Linc’s room. As I reach the door, a crash sounds from inside and I run through the door as a pitcher of water smashes against the wall. Next to go flying is a bunch of papers, decorating the floor like confetti. I turn my gaze to the man losing his mind and watch as Linc throws his head back against the pillow. His scream bounces off the walls of the tiny room and I’m transfixed back in time, to when I was the man lying helpless in a bed.
Our injuries are different, my leg was fucked, but I still had use of it and the stem of my angst was learning that everyone around me died and I was the only survivor. For Linc it’s learning his life has been completely uprooted, everything he knows and loves are things he no longer is phy
sically able to do.
He can’t ride.
He can’t stand.
He can’t walk.
Hell, he can’t fuck.
“Get out,” he sneers.
“Not happening, man,” I tell him as I make my way to his side.
“Fuck you, Stryker. You’re the reason I’m like this,” he seethes.
Taken back by his accusation I stare at him silently.
“You couldn’t fucking leave me there, right? You had to be the fucking hero,” he yells.
“Linc—”
“Get out!”
Shoving my hands into my pockets, knowing nothing I say or do will help him I turn around and start for the door. There’s truth to his words and I know it, but I’m okay with it. I’m okay being the hero because Wolf didn’t mortgage his house to bury our brother. It will take time for Linc to mourn the loss of his legs. It will take time for him to stop feeling sorry for himself and find the courage to reclaim his life.
Walking through the automatic doors the fresh air surrounds me as I walk toward my Harley. Fitting the helmet to my head, I straddle the bike and rev the engine as a black Maserati pulls into the spot beside me. I turn as the tinted window rolls down and stare at Rocco.
“Get in the car,” he orders.
“You want to rephrase that, pretty boy.”
“Get the fuck in the car. How’s that?”
I kill my engine but hold my stance on my bike as I keep my head straight.
“I’m not getting in the car with you so if you got something you want to say make it quick,” I tell him as I pull out my phone and glance down at the screen. No one knows I’ve been keeping company with the mobster’s sister over some threat I’m not even sure exists. The hospital is a watering hole for everyone with a patch these days, if someone spots me talking with Rocco, there will be questions, and something tells me I’ve got a thing for his sister isn’t the answer anyone wants to hear.
“Word on the street is the Satan’s Knights have something big planned,” he fishes.
“What do you want, Spinelli? The only thing I’m going to tell you is that you need to put your boy Johnny on Gina watch until I get back.”
“The name Vladimir Yankovich mean anything to you?”
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 17
