Hours later, I’m still in the exact position they left me—hunched over the toilet, too weak to move an inch—when the door opens and the lights flicker on. The room spins violently as I’m temporarily blinded by the lights. I groan as I lay my head back on the toilet seat.
“Jesus Christ,” Deuce mutters.
Incoherently, I mumble a response as his large frame looms over me and his eyes pierce into mine, lighting my clammy body on fire. A moment later the faucet turns on and I feel my hair being lifted from my neck. Chills run down my spine as he places a damp towel around the back of my neck.
“Please,” I beg. “I’d rather be dead than have to feel like this,” I cry, lifting my head a fraction.
“Do you need help getting back to bed?” he asks, ignoring my plea.
“What I need is drugs. I’ll take anything, a pill, a line…whatever.”
“Can’t help you there, darlin’.”
“The fuck you can’t,” I sneer, reaching around my neck to shove the towel away. Gripping the toilet for support, I lift my head and force myself to focus on his badly bruised face.
“I know you have Rush’s drugs,” I hiss.
Quickly, his eyes dart toward the open door before they narrow back at me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he seethes.
“I know what I saw,” I insist as a bout of nausea washes over me, forcing me to lean back against the tub. “You took pity on me then and I wasn’t nearly as fucked as I am now.”
“That was then,” he says simply, rising to his full height.
Looking up at him for the first time, I notice how big he is compared to myself. Aside from his height, he also has very broad shoulders and his arms—his arms are fucking tanks. Leaning against the wall across from me, he scratches at the coarse hairs lining his jaw. The short stubble he had the first time I saw him is growing into a short beard, making him more mysterious, and a touch more dangerous. He stares back at me with irritation and despite the silent warning his eyes seem to possess, I don’t cower. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m dying and I don’t want to suffer alone.
“What difference does it make?”
My question sounds like a dare and I watch his jaw tick with annoyance.
“You were nobody then.”
“I’m still nobody,” I remind him.
“You’re Cobra’s sister,” he replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Makes you somebody to all of us.”
A day ago the name meant nothing to me. Sure, it was the reason Jack didn’t kill me, but I didn’t know the Cobra they spoke about was really my brother Jagger. That wasn’t something I processed until I watched him bleed out on the pier. To be honest, I’m still not sure I fully comprehend it all.
“And if he dies? Then who am I?”
Staring at me thoughtfully, he chooses his words carefully.
“I don’t know, Ally. Who are you?”
Fighting back nausea, I lift my head and defiantly stare back at him. My lips part and the smartass retort dies on my tongue as he shifts his weight, pushing off the wall. Taking a step closer, he winces as he drops the toilet seat and sits. His body shifts awkwardly trying to get comfortable before he pins his dark eyes on me.
“Are you the victim or the survivor? The drug addict or the recovering addict? The girl who was lost or the one that was found? The girl who gave up or the one who took back her life? No one’s going to make that decision but you. You can beg me for drugs, hell, you can raid the medicine cabinet and down a bottle of cough syrup for all I care, but it would be a damn fucking shame because not everyone gets rescued, not everyone gets a second chance.”
I wish his words had the power to awaken the hope buried deep inside of me, but words are just words and actions are what count, actions I’m not sure I’m capable of. Sure, I’d like to be the girl who takes back her life, finds her purpose and puts the nightmare behind her, but I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know where to begin. My life hasn’t been mine since I was a child. It’s easier to succumb to poison than to hope for a better life, a better me.
Yet, part of me can’t ignore his words.
“Why do you care?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my body as chills dance across the back of my spine.
“I don’t,” he insists, placing his hands on his knees. “You’re a pain in the ass and nothing but trouble since I laid eyes on you,” he hisses as he pushes himself up from the toilet. “I only came in here because I need to take a piss and I’m too fucking tired to drag my ass down the stairs.”
I don’t know what bothers me more, his honesty or the way I feel in response to it. I shouldn’t give a damn what he thinks of me. Ten minutes ago I wanted to die, and now I’m not so sure. Part of me wants to prove everyone wrong. Part of me wants to spit in the face of despair and claim victory. When your life hasn’t been your own to live, you don’t know where to begin. When you’re sitting on the floor of a bathroom inside a strange house, surrounded by people you’re not sure you can trust, well, you can’t help but feel hopeless.
“For what it’s worth,” he starts, pausing as he reaches the door. “I don’t know what you’ve seen, what you’ve had to endure, but judging by all the screaming you did in that cabin, I’d say it was ugly as fuck and it’s probably easier for an outsider who doesn’t know the details to judge you. But your life isn’t the only one that ended when you disappeared. I might not care too much about your final decision but that don’t mean your brother won’t.”
My mind wanders to Jagger and I try to block out the memory of him on that dock, covered in blood and staring at me as though I was a ghost. Maybe I am. Like he clearly isn’t the brother I remember having, I’m not the sister he’s mourned. We’re strangers, two strangers who have a chance at being reacquainted. Deuce is right, not many people who have lived through what I have get a second chance.
“Don’t be the girl waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. Be the girl who strikes the match,” he says softly.
Lifting my head, I watch as he walks out of the bathroom, leaving his words hanging heavily in the air.
They’re just words.
Strong words but still just words.
Until someone decides to make them actions.
Someone being me.
-Thirteen-
DEUCE
If I had any sense at all, I wouldn’t have walked into the bathroom; I would’ve ignored Ally and carried my ass downstairs. But I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I stupidly made it my business to check on her. I used the excuse I needed to take a leak; the truth was I couldn’t sleep. Between Jack’s infant son waking up all night and Ally’s shrill cries it was impossible. This wasn’t hell, this was Satan’s lair, and I apparently was the poor dude stuck here. My shithole room at the motel was looking more and more like a fucking sanctuary these days.
After I finally took a piss, I made my way to the living room deciding I had a better chance at getting sleep if I separated myself from the distractions. The baby didn’t bother me so much; it was Ally that had my gut twisting. It was all too familiar, the way she cried and doubted her ability to be anything more than what her demons allowed her to be. Like Chelsea, Ally didn’t know her worth. She didn’t know there was a fire inside of her, a beautiful fucking fire, and once she lit that match there wouldn’t be any taming her.
Chelsea made the wrong choice, she bet against herself. Her flame never got a chance to spread, and I never got to know Chelsea the way I wanted to. I never got to know her past or if she had a family that was missing her. All I knew was she was a victim of unfortunate circumstances, a casualty in a life I wasn’t sure she chose for herself. In the end, I wondered if I had been more, pushed her harder, or showed her there was more than drugs and bad decisions, maybe then I wouldn’t have had to watch her die. If I had committed and made her my responsibility, then I wouldn’t be running alone. We’d be running together, side by side.
There was no point in rehashing it though. She was gone and I wasn’t about to take on the burden of another woman with a death wish. So what if she was Cobra’s sister—she was his problem, not mine. I did my part. I kept a bullet from entering her pretty little head, my conscience is clear. Tomorrow, I’d convince Jack I was in tip top shape and head back to the motel, away from Ally and all her fucking problems.
Away from the constant reminder that drugs will destroy all that is beautiful in the world.
Far away from the dire need to help her.
I’d put a fucking planet between us if I could. She could stay here on Earth, get to know her brother and all that jazz while I flew my ass to fucking Venus.
Reaching behind me, I pull the pillow from behind my head and cover my face as the faint sounds of the baby’s cries ring through the house. Lucky for me I must’ve become immune to the crying because I was out like a light minutes later until the persistent banging on the front door woke me.
Moving as quickly as I can, I lift myself from the couch and head toward the door to answer it. However, Jack comes bounding down the stairs, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head and beats me to it.
“Well if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” he mutters as he reaches for the door.
“How the fuck are you awake right now?” I admonish. Rubbing the crust from my swollen eyes, I let out a stream of curses remembering I got the shit kicked out of my face and I’m probably wiping away puss not the crusty remnants of sleep.
“Shit,” I hiss as the door swings open and Jack’s daughter, Lacey, and Blackie step inside. Instantly, Lacey wraps her arms around her father’s neck, giving him a squeeze as Blackie steps aside, allowing Stryker room to enter behind him. Pulling out of her father’s arms, Lacey turns to me and smiles.
Damn, her smile is fucking perfect. When I first arrived in Brooklyn, I had set my sights on Jack’s little girl only to find out she was already claimed by our vice president. Fucking Blackie—the dude is a perfect example of second chances. Strung out on drugs, mourning his wife, Blackie turned his life around and got the fucking girl. The son of a bitch even managed to get Jack’s approval.
“I bet the other guy looks worse,” Lacey teases.
“He’s dead,” her father supplies, closing the door.
“Didn’t stand a chance,” I add, glancing over her shoulder at the man who pulled the trigger. Impassively, Blackie shrugs his shoulders and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“I smell coffee,” he says when Lacey narrows her eyes at him. Giving her ass a squeeze, he winks and strides toward the kitchen.
“Where is she?” Stryker asks Jack.
“Upstairs,” he replies before pausing. Quietly, Jack crosses his arms and stares at him. “She had a rough night,” he adds, cocking his head to the side.
My eyes dart between the two of them, noticing the unease in Stryker’s demeanor. Pulling down the brim of his baseball hat, he draws in a deep breath.
“Do you think she will be receptive to me?” Lacey asks her father. “Blackie said he wouldn’t mind telling her about his addictions.”
“She didn’t choose to be an addict,” Stryker bites back. “It was survival for her.”
“Look who’s defending the girl he never gave a second thought to,” I interrupt, sarcasm dripping from each word.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he growls, snapping his gaze to me.
Shit.
I don’t know where that fucking came from. It shouldn’t matter he walked away from Albany three years ago and never looked back. Truth is, I would’ve done the same and I most definitely wouldn’t have given Ally a second thought. So why the fuck am I giving my brother shit for it? He didn’t know he was leaving Cobra’s sister to rot. Back then, Ally was nothing but a stereotypical whore he sank his dick inside of whenever he felt like it. I had no right to be angry with him suddenly having an interest in her well-being.
No fucking right at all.
Clearing her throat, Lacey glances between the two of us before raising an eyebrow at her father.
“Okay, well, whatever the case may be, I can get her started with a program. But she has to be willing and it probably wouldn’t hurt to have her checked out by a doctor before we go any further,” she says before turning back to me. “How long has she been without drugs?”
“I don’t know when her last hit was, but she hasn’t had anything since this guy showed up and played the hero,” I tell her, jutting my thumb toward Jack.
“Before you go in there, let me talk to her,” Stryker interrupts, causing all our eyes to shift toward him. “Look,” he starts, deciding to give his attention to Jack. “Cobra’s laid up in the hospital, and to be fair neither of them has had a chance to process any of this shit. I’m a familiar face.”
“You also got your hands full with your woman,” Jack replies, strumming his chin with his index finger. “The last thing that girl upstairs needs is to get the wrong impression of your intentions.” He shakes his head. “She’s too fragile, too vulnerable.”
“Listen, why don’t I go up there and talk to her. You said on the phone she’s been abused, right?” Lacey questions her father. “The last thing she probably wants is to be surrounded by men. Maybe she just needs a woman she can trust.”
“Do your thing, Lace,” Jack agrees. “Get her on the mend so something good comes from this pile of shit we’ve been dealt.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lacey promises, slipping out of her leather jacket. Handing it to her father, she presses a kiss to his cheek and starts for the stairs. The three of us remain silent until she’s out of sight; it’s then that Jack turns to me and Stryker.
“It’s too early for this shit,” he mutters, pointing to Stryker. “Go take care of your woman. Don’t worry about the girl, whatever happened between the two of you was a long time ago. Once she gets the help she needs, you won’t be anything but a memory. Hell, you might not even be that.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Stryker slowly nods.
“I wish I had put the pieces together—”
“You couldn’t have,” Jack says, cutting him off.
After a moment, Stryker releases a sigh and turns for the door, pausing before he steps outside.
“I told Gina I would check in on Celeste before I went home. If there’s any news on Cobra I’ll call you,” he adds.
“Appreciate it,” Jack replies and then without another word Stryker leaves. Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through my hair as Jack turns his gaze onto me. “There something you want to share with me?” he asks.
I could shrug it off and pretend like I didn’t just throw a tantrum in front of him, but it would probably only bite me in the ass.
“I fucked up,” I admit, pausing to gauge his reaction.
Mumbling some shit under his breath, he sighs and scratches the back of his neck.
“I can’t handle much more of this shit,” he growls. “What did you do, Cowboy?”
“The contracts weren’t all I found in Rush’s office. He had a shit brick of heroin the size of your head too. Ally walked in on me that night and I gave her a sample of the drugs, hoping she’d keep her mouth shut.”
“That worked well for you,” he says after a moment.
Ignoring the sarcasm, I continue.
“I took the drugs with me and flushed them at the motel when I got back to Brooklyn, but Ally remembers me giving them to her and she keeps asking for them,” I reveal.
“She’s an addict,” he says pointedly, shrugging his shoulders for extra emphasis. “She’d ask you for a bottle of turpentine if she thought it’d get her high. Why you beating yourself up over this? You got rid of the drugs, right?”
“Every bit,” I reply.
“Then you won’t be feeding her anything while we try to get her clean,” he adds.
“Of course not,” I answer. “I’m not that guy.”
“Good, because I’d rip the patch off your
back if you were,” he says nonchalantly. “Now, if there isn’t anything else you’d like to confess, I’m going to go fry up some bacon and go about my day like we never had this conversation.”
That was relatively painless and for a second I feel compelled to confess all my sins to Jack, but before the words spill from my mouth he pats my back and grips the back of my neck forcefully.
“You ever fucking play with another club’s drugs wearing my patch, I’ll cut your balls off and send you back to the south with your dick in your hand,” he threatens calmly, erasing any thoughts of confession from my mind. “You hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” I hiss.
“Idiot,” he growls, releasing his grip on my neck. Shaking his head, he leaves me in the living room staring at his back as he walks away.
Jack was right.
I was a fucking idiot.
-Fourteen-
ALLY
I scream. Not because I woke up on a plush bed in a clean room or even because of the nightmares that plague me every time I close my eyes. No, I scream because there was a strange woman lying beside me wearing one of those weird drama masks with a frown painted on it.
“Damn,” she says, flipping the mask onto the top of her head. “That’s some set of pipes you got there,” she adds with a smile.
“Who the fuck are you?” I stammer. Sitting up, I inch further away from Little Miss Crazy and lean against the headboard.
“I’m Lacey, Jack’s daughter,” she explains. “Sorry I scared you,” she says, pulling the mask from her head before placing it on her lap next to the one that has a smile painted on it. “I forgot these were here,” she adds, tracing the smile with her index finger.
“Yeah, well, it’s not Halloween,” I huff, pulling the blankets over me.
“Does it really have to be Halloween to wear a mask?” she asks thoughtfully.
Staring at Lacey, I wonder if I’m past the pain of my withdrawals and if the hallucinations have kicked in.
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 73
