No, I took all those firsts already.
Still, as I pull my dick from my pants and roll the condom on, I can’t help but feel like that boy under the bleachers. Pushing aside her panties, positioning myself between her legs, I’m that boy without a care in the world. I’m the boy with the prettiest girl in the whole damn school.
I’m hers.
And she’s mine.
Always mine.
She grips my shoulders and I press my lips to the tip of her nose as I nudge my way inside her. Her face distorts with pain and she tries to turn away. I force her eyes back to mine as I push deeper. Tears prick her eyes and I kiss her slowly, trying to take her mind away from the pain so all she feels is me loving her.
I wait for her to return the kiss before I move again, until my control snaps and I’m pumping in and out of her, chasing the high of an orgasm. She awkwardly moves under me, trying to match my thrusts as she squeezes my ass.
It’s messy.
It’s awkward.
It’s everything first times are made of and everything I’ll never forget.
-Fifteen-
Cobra
Age: 18
Covered in motor oil, I turned the beat up truck I bought for five hundred bucks onto the street I grew up on and spotted the patrol cars parked in front of my house. Pulling into the driveway, I killed the engine and sat there debating whether I should even go inside.
It’s the same scene over and over again.
My mother sits on the couch.
My father stands by the door.
The police tell them they’ve got nothing, promise to keep looking and drop a card on the coffee table with the address to one of those support groups for the families of missing children.
Sighing, I bite the bullet and climb out of my truck. I take my boots off, leave them on the front porch so my mother doesn’t bitch about me dragging dirt through the house and make my way inside.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Richardson,” I hear the cop say. “We’ve done all we can.”
“That’s it? You’re done,” my father fired back.
It’s been a hell of a long time since he’s shown any signs of life and as I stood in the foyer watching him, I saw every emotion he’d kept bottled up finally surface.
Running his fingers through his graying hair he shook his head in disbelief.
“Don’t tell me you’re fucking sorry,” he hollered, causing my mother to flinch as the tears fell down her cheeks. “I gave you people four years. I trusted you to give me something more than a fucking apology. I trusted you to bring back my daughter.”
“Keith,” my mother interrupted.
“No,” he shouted, pointing to the detectives standing alongside the two blue and whites. “You’ve sat here with us, made promises you couldn’t keep and wasted our fucking time. Now you come into my home and tell me you’re closing the case. I don’t have my daughter or a name of the person who took her from me…I got nothing but a fucking card and a referral to a support group.”
He tore the card in half and pointed to the door behind me.
“Get out of my house,” he ordered.
“Mr. Richardson—”
“Out!”
That was two days ago.
Two days reliving the nightmare.
Two days digesting there is no hope for my sister.
She’s gone, and she’s never coming back.
We’ll never know what happened to her that night, never know if she went peacefully or if she was tortured. It took one night to end her life and four years for her to become a statistic. Now everyone expects us to mourn her in two days.
A knock on my bedroom door startles me before it swings open and I stare at my father. In four years I can count on one hand how many times he’s given me his attention.
One fucking hand.
“Something you need?” I ask as I go back to lacing my boots. I told Celeste I’d take her to the movies tonight and the last showing is in twenty minutes.
“I’ve been a horrible father,” he blurts, causing me to lift my eyes again. “I’ve been so wrapped up in finding out what happened to your sister I lost you too,” he acknowledges as he pushes his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
“I don’t know what you want me to say right now,” I admit.
“Nothing,” he replies with a shake of his head. “I just wanted to apologize to you even though I know an apology won’t erase the years of damage. I owe you that, son, and a whole lot more.”
I don’t know where his guilt comes from or why he’s choosing to unleash it now, but I’ve waited a damn long time for my father to look at me. I’ve waited a long time for him to take an interest in me—too bad he’s a day late and a dollar short.
I’m done seeking my parents’ attention. I’ve spent the most important years of my life rebelling, hoping that they’d give me their time, and now I’m too far gone to care.
“I’m sorry you lost your daughter, but I lost my sister too. Everything you’ve been feeling for the last four years, I’ve felt too. It may not be as intense but that doesn’t make my pain insignificant or any less hurtful than yours. I don’t know a life before her because there was no me before her. Bet you and mom never thought about that.”
Disgusted that I let him get as much of a rise out of me as he did, I stand and grab my jacket, but he doesn’t budge and blocks me from leaving.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“I went to the basement today, Jagger,” he rasps, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I saw the holes in the walls,” he admits. “Then I came up here and saw some more.”
I brush his hand off my shoulder and take a step back.
“You want me to patch your walls? Fine, I’ll get on that tomorrow, but right now I got some place I need to be.”
“I don’t give a shit about the walls,” he hisses. “But they opened my eyes to your pain and your anger. Sit down.”
“Thanks but I don’t need a father now,” I hiss, balling my fists at my sides as I glare at him.
“I guess you don’t but you need to listen to what I’m about to tell you. Two days ago when the cops closed the case I turned the information they had collected over to a bounty hunter, a man named Rick Grayson. Now you might think I’m grasping at straws but I can’t go on not knowing what happened to her. I can’t go on knowing I failed both my children,” he pauses and something flickers in his eyes, something that’s been missing since Alexandria disappeared.
“Two dozen girls went missing in the tristate area around the same time Alexandria did and every single one matched her description,” he reveals.
It was the first piece of new information I’d heard in years and I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him correctly.
“The cops told you that?” I ask.
“No, the cops don’t know,” he answers, shaking his head as he draws in a deep breath. “I saw their pictures, Rick has files upon files on them. He’s got a name, but until he can connect Alexandria to those girls, he won’t divulge.”
“Wait a minute,” I croak, clearing my throat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“We will find who took her, Jagger. We will find him and I swear to God in Heaven, I will make him suffer for everything he’s done,” he seethes as his eyes fill with tears.
I stare at him, watching as he comes to life before my eyes. Staring at him, I learn in that moment the promise of revenge holds great power.
Revenge resurrected my lifeless father and gave him purpose.
He continues to explain the situation, making me understand that Rick couldn’t give us back Alexandria but promised to deliver closure in the form of vengeance. He’d deliver whoever was responsible for the nightmare.
However, everything has a price and before I flee my room and that morbid house, I learn that the price of revenge is sacrifice.
Once I’m in my truck, my phone rings and I glance at the clock, realizing I’m more than a ha
lf hour late to pick up Celeste. I fucked up our plans. Reaching for the phone, I miss the call and notice the five missed calls prior and the three unread text messages.
My father’s voice lingers in my head as I debate on whether to read them.
“We have to leave New York. Rick wants us off the grid, says whoever took her could be watching and now that the case is closed, the timing is perfect. It looks like we gave up and moved away from the memory to rebuild. It’s our only chance to make whoever took her pay.”
He didn’t give me a choice even though I’m sure he’d argue and say he did. Sure, he told me I didn’t have to go with them, but if I didn’t then I would compromise their only shot at putting my sister to rest.
I open her first text message.
Celeste: Where are you? You’re never late that’s my gig.
Then the second.
Celeste: The movie started.
And the last.
Celeste: Is everything okay? Answer me, I’m worried.
I lean my head back against the headrest and play back my voicemail. My eyes close the minute I hear her voice and before she can say anything more than my name, I delete the message. I think about the last four years and how much we tried to be normal, how we fought to stay in our bubble. I think about the purple dress and the college acceptance letter I found thrown in the wastebasket next to her bed.
I think about all the ways I weigh her down and how despite our best efforts guilt always tainted our youth.
My father was right when he said this has robbed four years of my life and ruined my dreams. There is no hope for me but there is for her. If I go, if I’m not here in her face reminding her of how ugly the world can be, then she has a chance to break free from it.
She can move on.
She can dream again.
She can live for herself.
I drop down the visor and stare at the photograph of her clipped to it.
She’s smiling at me.
It’s the same smile I’ve tallied a thousand times.
The smile I’ll take with me wherever I go.
My truth settles in and I push the visor back.
I’m meant to wander this world alone
.
-Sixteen-
Cobra
Age: 26
“I can’t believe we found the fucking table,” Deuce says, twisting the tops off two beers.
“I can’t believe you made me go to Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy a fucking…what the fuck did we buy?” I ask, taking the long neck from him.
“Meat mallet,” he replies, grinning.
“What the fuck do you know about a meat mallet?”
“Hey, don’t underestimate the meat mallet. In a jam that fucking thing will shatter bones,” he points out as he leans back and takes one of the dozens of guns we have sprawled on the bed.
“Speaking from experience?” I question as I set the beer on the nightstand and begin dismantling an AK-47, mentally trying to beat my own record.
“I was down in Reno, got myself cornered by another club in the kitchen of a casino. I grabbed the first thing I saw and went to work, wound up shattering one motherfucker’s hand and knocking the teeth out of another.”
My lips quirk as I picture him swinging the mallet around like a lasso.
“Those were the days, huh?” I joke, laying the pieces of the gun before me and glancing at the bed full of weapons. All of which needed to be checked, locked and loaded for our ride in three days.
“Yeah, now look at us,” he says, tipping the neck of his bottle toward the bed. “We don’t have a pot to piss in and have been babysitting Wolf for days. Still don’t know if Linc will walk again and our fucking miserable lives rest in Blackie’s hands. I don’t know about you, man, but I’m not feeling too fucking optimistic here. For fuck’s sake he’s calling this run the final ride. It’s like he knows we’re not going to make it out of there.”
For the first time since the bomb, Blackie called church. He ordered us all to Pipe’s garage, but before he began, a flatbed of Harley’s pulled into the lot—a gift from the Bulldog. He might not be able to lead the ride to retribution but he wasn’t going to let his brothers ride on borrowed bikes.
Retribution was the cause of the meeting and after we pulled the table out of the van we’ve been using to get around, we handed our acting president the meat mallet. He slammed the makeshift gavel against the beloved reaper and called order to our congregation. He revealed he and Jack had linked the bomb to a rival club working with the notorious drug lord, the G-Man.
Before he could deliver his news, Pipe rolled into the garage with a pack of bikers behind him. Hungry to make the motherfuckers who took his wife pay, he’d reached out to the president of the Bergen County chapter, Smoke. He and his club would follow us to Boston, to the Corrupt Bastards’ clubhouse and aid in the final ride.
The final ride.
That’s what Blackie is calling it and while he won’t say the words himself, it’s clear he isn’t too sure we’re going to make it out of there in one piece. It’s the reason he ordered us to lie low for the next two days, giving everyone a chance to get their affairs in order, right their wrongs and repent their sins so Satan goes easy on us when he greets our sorry asses.
But two days isn’t enough time for me to right any of my wrongs and so I offered to get our shit in order. That shit being these guns and figuring out how we’re going to travel to Boston with a bunch of Molotov cocktails stored in our saddlebags without blowing ourselves up.
“You think we’re going to drop dead too,” Deuce accuses as I drain the rest of my beer.
“Nah,” I tell him, dropping the gun I’m finished with in the duffel bag.
“Bullshit, you accepted death a long time ago that’s why you’re unfazed by this shit,” he points out. “I haven’t and I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend my last forty-eight hours in this crappy motel playing Russian roulette with you.”
My eyebrows pinch together as I watch him throw the gun on the bed and stand up.
“If I’m going to get my ass killed, motherfucker, then I’m going to live for the next two days,” he boasts, pointing his thumbs toward his chest. “This guy is going to go out with a bang.”
Amused, I lean back in my chair and raise an eyebrow.
“Preach, brother,” I tease.
“If I’ve only got forty-eight hours left on this earth then you better believe I’m going to be spending it fucking anything with two legs and a rack.”
“Anything?”
“Fuck you, you know what I mean,” he sneers, as he tips his chin toward the bed. “This shit can wait, my dick can’t. Now, what do you say?”
“I’m not fucking you,” I deadpan.
“Cute, so you’re going to spend your last days as a fucking comedian. I hope that works out well for you,” he says, grabbing his cut from the back of his chair.
“Go fuck until your dick falls off, cowboy, I’ve got the guns,” I tell him.
He looks at me for a moment before shaking his head and turning toward the door then pauses and hangs his head.
“Fuck,” he growls.
“What now?”
“Wolf and Linc,” he mutters.
“I’ve got them too,” I assure him.
“Ladies and gentleman, the award for brother of the year goes to Cobra,” he cheers before grinning and walking out the door.
The brother with nothing is more like it, but what’s the sense in complaining. It never gets us anywhere. Your life is what you make of it. You can choose to live hard but if you don’t love harder then you’re not dying a happy man. You’re dying a lonely bastard with nothing but your regrets keeping you company.
Regrets, guns and beer.
Arching my hips, I shove my hand into the pocket of my jeans and pull out a piece of paper. I unfold it and stare at the two lines.
Ten years ago, there wouldn’t have been enough trees to supply me with the paper I needed to ke
ep track of Celeste’s smiles. Now I can’t even fill a Post-It with lines.
Regrets, yeah, I’ve got them.
Guns, I’ve got those too.
And while you’re at it, you can check piss-warm beer off that list too.
Deuce is right, in two days we’re going to go off to Boston and none of us are sure we’re going to make it back. My brothers are off making the most of their time and I’m here with two fucking lines on a scrap of paper and a bed full of guns. Two days isn’t enough time to right my wrongs or repent my sins, but it’s enough time to add to this tally and fill this piece of paper.
Folding the Post-It, I shove it back in my pocket as I stand and glance at my bed. Without giving myself the chance to change my mind, I leave the guns where they are and head for the door. Straddling my new bike, I rev the engine and resolve I’m a selfish fuck because even though I know I should leave her alone—I can’t.
I won’t.
Instead of filling two days with a lifetime of regret, I’m going to fill them with a handful of smiles I’ll take to my death. Decision made. I let my new wheels guide me to my penance, making a quick pit stop at a local bodega before heading straight for the hospital.
First, I make my way to Linc’s room to see if there’s been any change. I’m not on his emergency contact form and not blood related so they don’t tell me shit. They put him in a medically induced coma and left the bastard like a dog.
Stepping off the elevator, I make my way to the CICU and head straight for Wolf’s room. I push open the door, brace myself for the chaos but find the bed empty and the room sparse.
“He was transferred out of CICU yesterday,” I hear her say.
Turning around, I find her leaning against the door with her arms folded across her chest. I take in the dark circles under her eyes as she avoids my stare, noting she wears tired as beautiful as she wears a smile. Eating up the distance between us, my boots carry me closer to her until she has no choice but to meet my gaze.
“Do you want me to take you to his new room?” she questions hoarsely.
I shake my head as I reach out and place my finger under her chin and tilt her head back slightly.
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 41
