The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  They all see right through me.

  Even the guy in the far corner. He’s looking at me, but he doesn’t see me.

  I’m just an object taking up space within these walls; the chair he’s sitting on serves more of a purpose than I do.

  Realizing I’m not going to get what I need out of any of them, I turn around and start for my room. Tears blur my vision as flashes of another life assault me.

  Before I was a woman who used her body as a tool to survive, I was an innocent child who never knew the world could be so ugly. Once upon a time I was Alexandria Richardson, a quirky girl who had two parents that loved her and a twin brother who couldn’t resist teasing her.

  A girl who had good grades and a bright future.

  A girl who loved to dream, someone who wanted to be a nurse one day.

  A girl who couldn’t wait to turn eighteen so she could go skydiving.

  A girl who believed in love and wished for her own fairy tale.

  A girl who never stood a chance because she was abducted before her life could truly begin.

  As a child, my parents warned me of strangers and made me believe not everyone in this world was kind. My brother and I were taught to be aware of our surroundings and never to accept rides from people we didn’t know. Every Halloween I remember our mother checking each piece of candy, throwing away any that were partially open. I perceived strangers to be monsters, hideous looking creatures with deep voices that forced the hairs on the back of my neck to stand to attention.

  I knew the dangers.

  I knew kidnapping was real.

  I knew there were sick people in the world who preyed on innocent children.

  I knew to scream and run if I ever found myself face to face with a monster.

  Still, knowing all of that, I never expected for it to actually happen to me.

  I never expected to be kidnapped at fourteen.

  Why would I?

  The monster wasn’t all that ugly. In fact, he looked nothing like the evil villain I suspected capable of ripping a child from the streets. He came dressed in a suit and spoke in a soft voice. Each word he uttered was laced with desperation as he begged me to help him find his daughter. Part of me knew I should have been weary while the other part thought of my dad. I rationalized he’d act the same way if my brother or I became lost. He’d wander the streets looking for answers, begging anyone he could find to bring us home safe. I made myself believe following the strange man down the street was the right thing to do and that my parents would have approved of my act of kindness.

  I remember reaching the corner of the block and spotting a van parked haphazardly in the middle of the street. The man froze beside me as the back doors burst open and three men wearing ski masks appeared.

  I screamed.

  I tried to run.

  But it was too late.

  It’s all right, there isn’t anything to fear.

  Those were the words he whispered in my ear as he covered my mouth with his hand. Those were the last words I heard as Alexandria Richardson. The words that closed the book on the perfect life I was born to.

  One night.

  One wrong decision.

  A single sentence.

  The end of my childhood.

  The death of my future.

  Even now, after all these years, those words still haunt me. They’re the words that assault my subconscious and make me scream into the night. It’s those words that remind me of what I lost and what I became. The drugs wear off and I can clearly hear his voice, that thick accent as he whispers those words.

  My body shakes with need as his voice rings in my ears.

  A needle to drain into my vein.

  A mound of fine white powder to snort.

  Anything.

  As long as it sucks me into a state of oblivion. A safe place where Alexandria’s memory doesn’t exist and all I know is Ally.

  Closing the door behind me, I lean against it and dig my nails into my arms, using pain as a substitute for the drugs, hoping it will make Alexandria disappear from my memory. I scratch and scratch until I draw blood, but it’s not enough. Knowing I can’t stay in this room like I’ve been ordered to by Bas, that the solitude will only entice my demons to ruin me, I turn around and pull open the door.

  Determined not to succumb to my memories, I hurry down the hallway knowing the risk I’m about to take may get me killed. However, death is still a better option than reliving the life I lost. Pausing in front of the door to Rush’s office, I fight for courage and twist the knob. Stepping into the darkened room, I close the door as the addict in me taunts me, goading me into stealing the drugs Rush keeps locked in the bottom drawer of his desk.

  Maybe he won’t notice.

  I’ll only take a little.

  Just enough to get me through the night.

  Enough until he slips into my bed and stabs the needle into my arm.

  I tell myself it’s a solid plan and turn toward the desk. My eyes latch onto the man standing behind it and the air deflates from my lungs. It’s the guy from before, the same guy that looked right through me as if I didn’t exist.

  He’s a new face, someone who has heard the stories but isn’t sure they’re true. Someone who also doesn’t belong in this room. Someone I can manipulate to give me what I need.

  “What’re you doing in here?” I ask hoarsely.

  Unguarded, he lifts his eyes to me and I watch in fascination as they change.

  Dark.

  Dangerous.

  Uninviting.

  Murderous.

  His lips set into a thin line as he straightens his back. Silently, he glances down at his hand and back at me, cocking his head to the side. Waiting for him to answer my question, debating if I should turn and run back to my room, he slowly lifts his hand and I spot the uncut heroin.

  “Searching for the same thing you are,” he replies, dropping the brick of drugs into his other hand. “Looks like I beat you to it,” he adds.

  Drawing his hand to his chest, he brushes his jacket aside and goes to tuck the drugs into his pocket.

  “No,” I yelp, rushing around the desk in a panic.

  “No, what?” he taunts, raising an eyebrow.

  “Give me that,” I snap, reaching for his hand. “He’ll know you took it.”

  My hand wraps around his and I try to pry his fingers off the brick. He lets me pry one finger, then another, before he opens his fist and drops the drugs onto the floor. A curse flies from my lips as he grips both my wrists and pushes my back against the desk. In one swift move, he pins my arms behind me and leans into me.

  “You didn’t really think I’d let you get away with that, did you?”

  “Fuck you,” I sneer, wriggling to get free, but he’s too big, too strong. I kick my legs, but he presses his weight against me and crushes my legs against him.

  “Is that your plan?” he whispers. Everything about him oozes control, even his husky voice. “You think if you spread your legs I’ll give you what you want, don’t you?”

  I swallow.

  My body is the only possession I can barter with and I’ve never thought twice about using it…until now. Until I met his gaze and those dark brown eyes stare back at me with pity. I’m so used to looks of disgust, of anger and even lust occasionally that I brush them off. But the way this man is looking at me hits me hard. It breaks me and makes me yearn for things I’ll never have.

  Normalcy.

  Peace of mind.

  A future.

  Everything Alexandria could have had.

  I blink back the tears and drop my gaze to his patch.

  “Deuce,” I read, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Seconds tick by as I slowly meet his gaze, praying I see more than pity. Then he loosens his hold on me and takes a retreating step back. I watch as he bends, grabbing the heroin from the floor, but I don’t reach for it anymore. Instead, I close my legs tightly and cross my arms against my chest as he pulls a knife from
his belt. A part of me wishes he’ll use it on me, that the pity he felt for me will give him the courage to end my nightmare.

  “You never saw me,” he whispers, stepping closer to me.

  My eyebrows knit together in confusion as I watch him make a small slit in the plastic wrap covering the drugs.

  “Do you understand?” he probes as he pulls the knife away and I stare at the residue glistening from it.

  One hit.

  Just a taste.

  An escape.

  “I never saw you,” I reply. Eyes on the prize, I inch forward and part my lips. He swipes his thumb across the blade and holds his thumb to my mouth.

  “Open up,” he rasps.

  I do as I’m told, drawing his thumb into my mouth and suck it clean.

  Goodbye Alexandria.

  -Five-

  DEUCE

  Age: 27

  Place: Brooklyn, New York

  It’s never a good move to piss on another club, steal their fucking drugs and make a run for it in the middle of the night. At least not when you’re dead fucking tired and sleep isn’t an option. Flickering in the distance, I spot the neon sign of the motel and pull off the side of the highway. This dive is a fucking palace compared to where I’ve been parked for the last week and that hard as fuck mattress inside my room is a fucking throne. Seeing how the other half lives opened my eyes, and while I never thought I’d say it, it’s good to be home.

  Parking my bike in the back lot of the motel, my eyes dart around looking for Cobra’s bike, but of course I don’t see it. He’s got a real fucking place to lay his head at night, a warm body to curl into and a little girl to wake him up in the middle of the night. The son of a bitch has it all.

  Heart.

  The shit Jack’s always going on a tangent about, it really exists and both Stryker and Cobra have found theirs, leaving me here holding the fucking candle or in this case the brick of heroin which is currently burning a hole in my leathers.

  Slinging the duffel bag over my shoulder, I cross the dimly lit lot and head for my room. Anxious to get my ass in the shower, I fit my key into the lock and kick open the door. I’m about to step inside when a stream of light flashes behind me. An engine purrs to life as I turn and glance over my shoulder. The headlights temporarily blind me, causing me to squint as the car moves away and speeds across the parking lot.

  “Fucking hell,” I hiss, watching the tires skid across the asphalt and vanish from the lot.

  Shrugging it off as another asshole looking to get his dick sucked in the parking lot, I turn back and cross the threshold to my humble abode.

  What a fucking joke.

  “Home sweet home,” I grunt as I step inside. Dropping my bag to the floor, my hand travels the wall in search of the light switch.

  “Well, it’s about ducking time,” a voice bellows as I flick the light on. Instinct causes me to reach for my gun as I spin around and pull it on Riggs. Before I left for Albany he was promoted. Not only was he our tech guy, but now the sergeant at arms as well.

  “Jesus, fuck,” I grind out, shoving the gun into the waistband of my jeans. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  Throwing my keys onto the dresser, I roll my eyes and pull out the top drawer.

  “Why? Did your Kitten kick you out?” I snicker, picturing Riggs’ woman throwing his shit out the window. Lauren’s a nice enough girl, but she’s got her mother’s blood and those Italians are fucking ruthless. I’ve heard the stories and Riggs’ Kitten is known to take out her aggressions with a baseball bat.

  Hot as fuck if you ask me.

  “Yeah, right. Never happen,” he scoffs, pointing his finger at me. “You, my friend, fucked up.”

  “The fuck I did,” I retort, eyeing him with a steady look. “I did my job.”

  “And made mine harder in the process,” he says. “Jack didn’t like you going in there without a wire, and you insisted on not taking your fucking phone.”

  “He agreed to my terms,” I remind him as I pull my phone from the drawer. I left it behind and bought a prepaid at a gas station. I was crazy for volunteering to go to Albany, but I wasn’t fucking stupid. If those motherfuckers got wind I was playing them I wouldn’t have been able to get the intel my club needed. Powering the phone on, I ignore the message alerts and turn to Riggs.

  “Still doesn’t explain why the fuck you’re here.”

  “I put a tracking device on your fucking bike, asshole. Next time you think you make the rules around here you better think twice,” he points out smugly as he reaches for his own phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  Ignoring me he grins mischievously and lifts the phone to his ear.

  “Yeah, it’s me. He just got back,” he says, pausing to listen before his eyes narrow at me. “You get what we need?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” I roll my eyes.

  “Did you hear that? I vote we change his road name to Bear,” he says. “Yeah, okay. We’ll meet you at the garage.”

  My eyes widen as he stands. So, apparently sleep wasn’t part of the plan. Fine. But I needed a shower and let’s not forget the fucking drugs. I needed to get rid of them before I went anywhere.

  “Shit, man, I’ve been on the road all fucking night.”

  Without another word, Riggs ends the call and shoves his phone into his pocket before crossing his arms against his chest. Quietly, he assesses me before speaking.

  “What’s your point?”

  “At least give me time to shower,” I tell him.

  “Make it quick, Bear. Clock’s ticking.”

  Knowing he’s right, I don’t argue as I head into the bathroom and turn the shower on, letting the water turn hot.

  Lifting my eyes to the dirty mirror, I stare at my reflection and the exhaustion that taints my face. Moving my hands over the worn leather of my cut, I pause over the bulge before I reach into my pocket and pull out the brick of heroin. My fist tightens around it as my jaw clenches and I’m haunted by the memory of Chelsea. I try to remember a time when she was unscathed by King’s drugs.

  When she was unscarred.

  From the start, I knew she loved her drugs, but it didn’t bother me. I wasn’t looking for anything more than a way to stick it to King. Chelsea was a warm body with a willing pussy. She was revenge of the sweetest kind.

  Until she wasn’t.

  Falling in love with her was a mistake.

  Trying to fix her was a disaster.

  If I could go back in time, I’d do everything different. I’d force myself not to care. I’d walk away and let her have the fucking needle and I sure as hell wouldn’t beg her to choose me.

  Her face fades away as I stare down at the drugs in my hand and it is replaced by another haunting image.

  Blue eyes.

  Eyes that belong to another woman who is as fucked as the day is long.

  Another addict.

  One I didn’t try to save, but instead fed poison to.

  Turning my gaze toward the toilet, I lift the lid. Hovering over it, I fight back the regret eating away at me and tell myself she’s a lost cause. One way or another that bitch would’ve scored what she craved. I spared her the trouble of lying on her back and spreading her legs for anyone willing to crawl between them.

  Angrily, I dump the drugs into the toilet until there is nothing left and then I flush, watching it disappear down the drain. I ball up the plastic wrapping and chuck it into the wastebasket before stripping my clothes. Steam begins to fill the room, fogging up the mirror, yet the words tattooed to my abdomen are still visible.

  Unscarred.

  Tearing my eyes away, I push back the memory of the lost woman and jump in the shower. I take the quickest shower known to man and dress even quicker, shrugging on the leather cut that still carries her faint scent. Some things are easy to forget, but sins usually aren’t. They stick with you, reminding you of all the low points of your life and how dark
your soul truly is.

  The sun has already risen by the time Riggs and I straddle our bikes and head to the garage. Craving a cup of coffee, I pull into the crowded lot of Pipe’s garage and head straight for the coffee pot inside the office and fix myself a cup of sludge. With a mouthful of grinds, I make my way into the garage and take in all the faces, wondering when they all became such early fucking risers.

  I take a seat on one of the oil drums and another sip of the world’s worst coffee.

  “Who made this shit?”

  “That right there is a man’s cup of coffee, none of that mocha latte shit you people fucking drink now. It’ll put hair on your pretty little chest you fuckers wax these days,” Wolf says, lifting his own cup of mud to his lips.

  “I don’t wax my chest,” I argue.

  “Don’t be lying to me, boy, your chest is smoother than a baby’s ass.”

  “I shave it,” I retort, because shaving sounds manlier.

  Like this cup of sewage I’m drinking screams manly so does a razor and a bottle of Gillette. Wolf is about to reply when the garage doors slide open and Cobra and his bounty hunter buddy, Rick, stroll on in. They pull two crates toward the table and take a seat. Aside from Rocco Spinelli’s smart-ass comments, the room grows quiet as Jack leans back in his seat and stares down the table at the gangster.

  Why the fuck is he even here?

  Oh, right.

  We’re a team now.

  Bullshit.

  Fucking bullshit.

  Fuck my life.

  “Your uncle was a patient man, how he ever chose you to run his shit I’ll never know,” Jack comments.

  “Yeah, well when you know the answer be sure to clue me in too,” Rocco grunts, raising an eyebrow at Jack. “But until then maybe you can slam your little meat cleaver on the table and get this show on the road?”

  “Mallet, it’s a meat mallet,” I correct with a sneer. The motherfucker knows how to push all the wrong buttons. A lot of heart went into that meat mallet. It’s not every day three fucking bikers take a trip to the black hole known as Bed Bath and Beyond.