“I don’t trust your fucking gut, I trust mine,” I sneer. Pushing Jack out of my way, I stride out of the garage and head for my bike.
My father’s advice sounds loudly as I rev my engine and peel away from my club and the men I once thought of as brothers.
Intuition knows the game and has your best interest at heart.
-Forty-two-
Jack “The Bulldog” Parrish
Clutching the bottle of lithium in my hand, I stare up at the three story house I’m parked in front of and spot a black crow perched high on the gutters. His eyes burn into mine and I wonder if he sees my sins and if he can read my soul.
Years ago a bird similar to the one I’m staring at now spoke to me. I had been young, real fucking young. My body didn’t feel as tired as it does now but my mind wasn’t right. It never truly was, but back then I didn’t have the lithium to help stabilize me. I didn’t have a means to silence my maker.
I was sitting outside, pretending I wasn’t crazy, when I saw the black bird. He whispered in my ear, enticing me to fly with him. He promised a safe haven where I could be myself. He promised me freedom and told me I’d one day sit at the throne of a different kind of darkness. All I had to do was watch him spread his wings and follow him.
I followed that bird through the streets of Brooklyn, to a broken down warehouse downtown that sat in a lot owned by the Satan’s Knights MC. In the shadows stood the emperor of darkness himself, a man that went by the name of Cain. That man saved me from the depths of insanity that day. He took me into his clubhouse and gave me religion in the form of a brotherhood.
He later became the man that saved me from taking my own life after my son was killed.
The crow spreads his wings and takes off, flying high above the clouds, to a place I’m so tempted to follow him to.
“Everything okay?” Blackie questions beside me. His eyes dip down to the bottle in my hand before rising to find mine. “Keep her silent,” he orders.
He’s referring to my mind—to the maker who controls me.
Twisting off the top of the orange prescription bottle, I tip my head back and shake the pills into my mouth, down my throat.
Shut up, cunt. No one’s got time for you.
“Let’s go,” I grunt as I shake off the bitterness the pills leave in my mouth. We climb the steps of the house and ring the bell. I glance down at the street below and the dozen or so bikes sitting idly by the curb, straddled by the men I call my family, ready to ride at my command.
We have a long road ahead of us and a battle waiting for us at the end of it. But after I got a call from Bas, I spotted the black bird perched outside the garage. Like all those years ago, he called to me. Only this time he didn’t make me promises. This time when his amber eyes burned through me he reminded me of what I’d lost. He cried to me and begged me to follow him one more time.
And so here I am, climbing the steps to an apartment leased by a woman I barely know. Well, that’s not true. I probably know her better than she knows herself right now.
Ignoring the two cops stationed in front of her door, Blackie knocks firmly. The girl with the green eyes opens the door. Another tortured soul, another beauty disguising anguish. To her I am not the devil, I am the man that delivered the devil to the man she loves. I am the man that gave her the peace she so badly needed to continue her journey, and I am the man that will deliver peace to the other broken soul living within these walls.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Oh God,” I hear Celeste shriek. Turning to her, I watch her knees tremble as she grabs onto the back of the couch and stares back at me in fear. “What’s the matter? Did you find her? Oh God.”
“No bad news to report, sweetheart. I just want a minute of your time before we hit the road,” I tell her. A man, who I assume is her father, steps next to her and eyes me suspiciously. I know my reputation, I don’t pretend I’m something I’m not, but before everything, before the leather, I am a father and I understand his worry. I respect it.
“Jack Parrish.” I introduce myself as I offer him my hand. He grips my hand firmly and gives it a good shake.
“Salvatore Spinelli,” he rasps, releasing my hand to press a kiss to his daughter’s head.
I respect that too.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ushers me into the kitchen and tells me to sit down.
“If you’re here about Cobra, I don’t know where he is,” she whispers as she looks up at the ceiling and wills the tears not to come. “I said some awful things to him and he left.”
“I’m not here for Cobra,” I tell her, reaching across to lay my hand over hers. “I’m here for you.”
Her gaze drops to me and her features soften. She’s pretty, very pretty. Blonde like my, Reina. She’s Cobra’s sunshine.
“Me?”
“I know you don’t know me very well or that you have any reason to believe me when I tell you I will bring your daughter back to you. I thought maybe if you understood a little bit about who I am and not who society wants you to think I am…well, I thought it would help you to trust my word.”
She stares back at me silently looking very confused. I take that as my cue to continue.
“Before I became the president of the club I was a soldier just like Cobra. I was a little wild, a whole lot reckless, but I was also mentally ill.” I pause as her eyes widen then give her my smile. “I am mentally ill, sweetheart,” I amend, reaching into my pocket to show her my prescription. “This here is my salvation. However, I didn’t always have it. I was too blind, too stubborn to believe I was sick and when everyone pleaded for me to get help, I ignored them.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Sweet girl.
Makes me real happy I followed that birdie.
Will make me even happier to deliver her little girl to her.
“Nothing to be sorry for. I made my own bed and I sleep in it every night. Every night I lay my head down and I think of my son,” I tell her, smiling at the mention of the angel Heaven gained the day I lost my mind. “He was two years old and his mama left him in my care. She didn’t know I was having a nervous breakdown, she couldn’t have. I had been doing such a damn good job at pretending. No one knew when I was sane or when I was the Bulldog. Anyway, I wasn’t paying attention when he ran out of the house. My daughter was just a kid at the time but she tried to warn me. She begged me to listen, but I wasn’t myself and by the time I realized anything was wrong, it was already too late.”
Her gasp comes as a whisper and I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief to dry her tears.
“I didn’t come here to make you cry any more than you already have. I came here today to tell you I know how you’re feeling. I know what Cobra is feeling and I also know you’re ahead of the game. You got me in your corner, girl, and if there is any way I can keep another parent in this world from knowing my loss, I will move Heaven and Hell to do that. I’ll lay down and die for my club, but I’ll lay in a pit of flames for an innocent child too. I promise you, I swear to you on my son, may he rest in peace, I will bring your girl home and she will be breathing. She’ll be safe. Now dry your eyes and fix your face or else you’ll scare her when she comes running to you.”
I am not a good man.
I am a criminal.
A man who prides himself on being an outlaw.
I’ve shot, maimed, and torched my enemies and I’m sure there is a special place in Hell reserved just for me.
But I believe in the innocence of children.
I believe in putting good into the world where it’s merited.
I am Jack Parrish, and I am a father that lost his son before I am anything else.
Celeste pushes out her chair and steps around the table before she wraps her arms around my neck.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” she cries.
Give good and you will get it back. If I never see the good, I hope my children will.
“Prez, we need t
o move,” Blackie calls from the living room, forcing me to inch back from Celeste.
“Duty calls, sweetheart,” I say with a wink and rise from my chair. “See you on the other side. I’ll be the guy holding your daughter when you open the door.”
Stepping out of the kitchen, I tip my head toward Celeste’s parents, wink at the pretty girl with the green eyes and give the two pigs standing outside the door, like a bunch of chumps, my middle finger.
In this world when you want something done, you do it yourself. You tell law enforcement they are not worth a red cent of your tax dollars. If you’re me, you don’t pay taxes at all.
Hustling down the Brooklyn stoop, I stare at the sea of chrome and a smile ticks at the corners of my mouth.
Glory be, motherfuckers.
Here we come.
I throw my leg over my Harley, forget my age, and do what the fuck I was born to do.
Raise hell.
Flicking my headlights on, I flash them at my boys and peel away from the curb. From my side-view mirrors I watch as each bike follows my lead. Behind all the chrome, a white Suburban truck trails behind with Wolf behind the wheel. In times like these we usually take a cage with us. We’re transporting precious cargo these days so I made the old fuck stop off at that baby store and get us a car seat.
The times man, they’re fucking changing.
I got a truck with a car seat and a meat mallet in my pocket to prove it.
It takes us three and a half hours to get our asses back to Albany where we meet with Bas, Needles and the rest of their crew. Albany joins Brooklyn and Bas rides alongside me, guiding me to the location Rush’s old lady gave up.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Another four hours on the road before we’re dragging our pipes down a deserted road. Like I assumed, the cabin Rush uses as a safe house is close to the Canadian border, making it pretty fucking obvious they were going to use the intermodal shipment to move Cobra’s little girl.
Follow your gut.
That motherfucking thing won’t steer you wrong.
We leave our bikes in the woods, strap our weapons to our bodies and creep through the fallen twigs and wet leaves that cover the earth. I slap Blackie on the back and tell him to remember this location, to photograph it to his fucking memory because it’s a prime spot for graves. Knowing I’m fucking deranged and that he’s stuck with me, he doesn’t blink an eye.
Bas’ men sneak up on the prospects guarding the house and before they can beg for their lives, the silencer goes off ending their miserable existences.
Two down.
See you in Hell, motherfucker.
Creeping up to the house, we split up and break into groups of two.
Me and Blackie.
Bas and Needles.
Riggs and Stryker.
The rest surround the perimeter of the house, ready to pounce once we make our way inside. Once we’re in our respective positions, I break down the front door as Bas and Needles burst through the windows. Riggs and Stryker blow the hinges off the back door.
A woman screams.
A baby cries.
The blood in my veins goes to ice and I morph from Jack Parrish to the Bulldog.
Lithium won’t save me and it won’t save Rush either.
Blackie motions to me, signaling he’s going to search the house for Deuce. I nod in agreement and listen for the crow.
He calls as he always does and I follow his whisper.
The woman shrieks again.
The baby’s cries grow louder.
The door in front of me storms open and I freeze in my tracks. Lifting my gun, I aim it straight for the redhead running toward me.
“Where’s the baby?” I shout at her. Her eyes widen as she stares down the barrel of the gun and I use her condition to my advantage and throw her into a headlock. Digging my gun into her temple, I lean against her ear and whisper.
“Tell me where the baby is or I’ll splatter your fucking brains across these walls.”
“Let her go, or the baby dies!”
Turning my head a fraction, I spot Rush. He’s holding a gun to Skylar’s head, mimicking my stance with the junkie.
“It’s over Rush. Put the fucking gun down before I blow your whore’s head off her body,” I demand.
“No!” He tears the gun away from Skylar and points it at me. “Let her go, Parrish, or I’ll fucking kill you and the kid.”
“Don’t cry, baby,” the junkie calls to the child. “We’re just playing a game.”
“Game’s over bitch,” I growl as I spot Blackie creeping up behind Rush. His eyes dart to Skylar and I know I have to act fast. Out of the corner of my eye I see Riggs side step toward Rush. I order him with my eyes to take the kid when I make my move and then I send a prayer up to God.
Not for me but for the kid.
I point my gun at the ceiling and fire two shots before throwing the bitch across the floor. It’s fast and Rush doesn’t know where to look, his coordination is off because of the drugs and that benefits me. He releases Skylar, but before she can fall to the floor, Riggs scoops her up and cradles her against his chest, blocking her vision from the mayhem. Rush drops to his knees thinking the whore’s been hit and Blackie pulls the trigger, sending a bullet through the back of his head.
Ignoring the redhead as she screams, she sits against the wall and stares into Rush’s lifeless eyes as I walk toward Riggs.
“Stryker?” the whore asks.
“Ally,” he mutters, shaking his head as he looks her over. “I’m sorry.”
What the fuck is he sorry for? I don’t know and I don’t care. Boy’s got problems. He thinks he can save everyone and probably feels guilty he couldn’t save this bitch too.
Brushing it off, I take Skylar from Riggs and inspect her.
Beautiful.
Safe.
Alive.
“You’re okay, girl, you’re going home to your mommy now,” I whisper before lifting my head and glancing over at my men. “Where’s Deuce?”
“I got him,” Bas calls from another room.
“What did you do?” the redhead cries. “You killed him!” She turns to Stryker. “They killed Rush, you let them kill him.”
“Can someone please shut this bitch up?” Riggs asks.
I step toward her, lift my boot off the ground and slam it against Rush’s throat.
“Yeah, I did and you’re next bitch,” I sneer, looking over my shoulder. “Put this whore out of her misery,” I tell Blackie before glancing at Stryker. He doesn’t say a word as he crosses his arms and stares back at her.
I follow his eyes and smile down at her.
“You’re welcome,” I say as Blackie lifts his gun and points it between her eyes.
I bring Skylar closer and lift my boot off of Rush’s throat. Not wanting to fuel any more of the nightmares I’m sure the child will have, I start for the door.
The bitch whimpers.
I hear the distinct sound of Blackie’s safety being pulled back.
Then Deuce shouts.
“Don’t shoot her!”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Riggs asks him.
“Why the fuck shouldn’t I?” Blackie growls.
“Because you’d be killing Cobra’s sister.”
Spinning around on my heel, I glare at Deuce. This motherfucking cowboy better not be fucking with me. If I find out this is a ploy he’s using so he can get his dick wet with this junkie, I’ll shoot him too.
“Say what?” I demand as I stare at the redhead, strung out on the floor crying over the lifeless body of the man that used and abused her.
She lifts her head and stares back at Blackie.
“Do it,” she shouts. “Pull the fucking trigger!”
“What do you mean she’s Cobra’s sister?” Stryker demands, his eyes darting between Deuce and the bitch he knows as Ally.
“Take a look at this, Jack,” Bas says.
“Every wall in that ro
om your boy was in has clippings pasted to it,” Needles offers as I walk over to Bas.
He lifts a newspaper clipping featuring a sketch of the woman begging us to kill her. One side is the last actual picture of the girl who went missing at fourteen years old. Beside it is what an artist believed she would look like in her twenties.
The caption names her as Alexandria Richardson.
Daughter of Keith and Cora Richardson.
Sister of twin brother, Jagger Richardson.
Last seen at the age of fourteen.
Gone without a trace.
Robotically I hand Skylar to Bas and walk back to the girl sobbing on the floor. I crouch down beside her and lay my hand on her shoulder. She lifts her head and I lean back on my haunches.
Blue eyes.
Identical to her brothers.
So similar to her niece’s.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her.
A minute ago she was about to die on my order.
But life has a funny way of fucking you when you least expect it.
Now the junkie crying over a worthless cocksucker begging me to end her life is part of this thing we have here.
She’s property of Parrish.
-Forty-three-
Celeste
I was never one to watch the news. I didn't need to be reminded how miserable the world we lived in truly was, and they very rarely broadcast the good stuff. Why would they? Beautiful doesn’t draw in the same ratings as ugly does. Society likes to bitch about how our generation is full of hate, but everyone fails to see how addicted we’ve become to the grit.
It’s that very reason the detectives want me to make a statement to the news. They’ve contacted the local media outlets and have told them about Skylar’s disappearance. They even threw in that we are a family victimized twice by the same crime, paralleling Skylar’s story to Alexandria’s. Keeping their ratings in mind, several local stations have been chomping at the bit to hear a mother plea for the safe return of her child. It helps that Skylar’s father is part of the Satan’s Knights MC, and the reputation that follows them draws even more attention to our story.
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 60
