The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Start her off small, something that will fit nicely in her hands,” he instructs, flicking the ashes from his cigar onto his lap. “Ah, shit,” he mutters, blowing the ashes off his body.

  “Will do,” I say as I turn to Ally.

  My natural instinct is to place a hand on the small of her back and lead her inside but somehow, someway, I stop myself. Consciously aware of her state of mind, I don’t want to do anything that might set her off.

  “This way,” I say, clearing my throat.

  She glances over her shoulder and I jut my chin toward the door. Following her inside, I step around the front counter as she takes everything in and grab two pairs of noise reducing ear muffs. Shoving them under my arm, I grab the keys to the vault and lead Ally down the hall to where the guns are stored.

  Once inside the vault, Ally gasps as she takes in the massive amount of firearm lining the walls.

  “Holy shit,” she mutters, stepping further into the room. I watch as her eyes dart from the AK-57’s to the automatic shotguns. “This place is like the Target of firearms,” she comments, turning around to face me. “Do you know how to use all of these?”

  Eyeing the selection, I nod.

  “Just about every single one,” I admit.

  “That’s nuts,” she says. “Some of these things are almost as big as me.” She pauses and glances over her shoulder curiously. “Is this legal?”

  Crossing my arms against my chest, I think about the question. If she’s asking if shooting here is legal, it’s not. A couple of years ago, this place got shot up, ironic if you ask me, but not surprising since every fucked up thing imaginable seems to happen to the Satan’s Knights. Anyway, it was legit business back then and Pops took it seriously. Every gun was registered, the proper permits hung on the walls and everyone signed waivers and shit. Now, he doesn’t give a fuck and this place is more or less a place for him and Jack to deal guns.

  “Nope,” I answer, turning my attention back to her. She draws her lip between her teeth and I crook my finger. “C’mere,” I coax as I turn around and open the cabinet filled with smaller guns. Stepping next to me, Ally’s eyes drift over the variety of guns.

  “These are so small compared to the others,” she points out.

  “Small but powerful,” I tell her as I stare at her. “Kinda like you.”

  She lifts her gaze to mine and I wink at her. Reaching across her, I grab a 9mm from the cabinet and hand it to her.

  “See how this one feels,” I offer. “If it’s too heavy, we’ll find you something a little smaller.”

  Diverting her eyes between mine and the gun in my hand she hesitantly takes it from me. Her eyes go wide with wonder as she studies the gun and gets familiar with the feel of it.

  “Here, like this,” I say, helping her find the trigger. “Now hold it up and aim straight ahead,” I instruct.

  Following directions, she extends her arm straight ahead.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Strange,” she admits.

  Furrowing my eyebrows, I bend my knees so we’re eye level.

  “Strange how? Like it’s uncomfortable—”

  “Strange because it feels right,” she interrupts. “Almost as if it was made to fit my hand,” she continues to explain.

  I straighten up and take a step back, letting my eyes sweep over her and Jesus, fuck, if there was ever a woman who looked as if she was meant to hold a gun, it was Ally. Her stance needed work and I’ll have to teach her the importance of breathing and trigger control, but her grip was fucking perfect.

  She was fucking perfect.

  Taking the gun from her hand, I pocket it and lead her out of the vault. Grabbing a pair of noise reducing ear muffs and a pair of plugs we make our way to the shooting line. I set everything on the table next to us and reel in the targetFeeling Ally’s eyes on me, I replace the previous paper target with a fresh one and send it back down the line. She takes the old one from my hand and studies the gunshots before lifting it to me.

  “Where’s the best place to aim?” she asks.

  “Don’t worry about where to aim,” I tell her as I pull out the clip and load the gun. “You just shoot. Today is about getting familiar with a gun and learning to take control. It is about understanding the power you have in your hand, it’s feeling it. The release, the pressure…everything. First, I’m going to show you how to stand and hold the gun. It’s important your feet are shoulder width apart and your back is straight. Once you pull the trigger, the impact will knock you back, but I’ll be right behind you. It’s going to be loud, really fucking loud so you need to wear both the ear plugs and the muffs,” I pause, watching her throat as she swallows. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m anxious,” she whispers. “You’ll be right behind me, right? That’s what you said?”

  “Yes,” I assure her, placing the gun on the table. “I’ve got your back,” I promise.

  She nods, drawing out a breath before she gives me a small smile.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” she murmurs.

  Reaching up, I tuck her hair behind her ears and hand her the plugs. She fits them to her ears before I grab the ear muffs. Worried that putting them on her will be a trigger like the helmet, I hesitantly hand them over to her and instruct her to fit them to her head. Once I know she’s not affected by them, I help her adjust them so they cover her ears.

  Next, I gently lay my hands on her shoulders and internally struggle with myself not to let my hands roam.

  Touching her makes me think about the kisses I’ve tried so hard to block from my mind and entices an onslaught of thoughts; thoughts I won’t allow myself to think when I’m around her. Mainly because I don’t trust myself not to throw her up against a wall and fuck her into next week. Somewhere, somehow the lines blurred and I started seeing Ally as more than just a responsibility, more than just a girl who needed my help. Beneath the rough exterior of a lonely girl filled with devastation is a girl who can tear down the whole world with her fire. To everyone else she’s just the girl we rescued, someone everyone pities, but to me she’s a flame. A flame that burns so bright that if you stare too long you’ll burn with her. You’ll think she’s your last chance to create beautiful fire and dive right in, praying your spark is half as powerful as hers.

  You’ll forget you’re not what she needs.

  Trust me, I know.

  I also know I’m not good for her; that I never will be. I’m fully aware I’m fucked but that doesn’t mean I won’t try. If all I have is this short time then I’m using my last match to see her through to the end of that tunnel, because if nothing else, she deserves to live, and by live I mean wildly without abandonment.

  Freely.

  Shaking my thoughts from my head, I pull myself back into the moment and let my hands skim down her arms, positioning them so they are extended straight in front of her.

  “Just like that,” I say loud enough for her to hear me despite the protection covering her ears. Letting my hands fall to her sides, my eyes drift downward and I inspect her stance. Laying my hand on the small of her back, I apply a little pressure.

  “Square your shoulders back and widen your stance. Remember, your feet should be shoulder width apart.”

  Licking her lips, she keeps her eyes on the target and her arms perfectly straight before she spreads her legs further apart.

  “Good,” I tell her. Positioning myself behind her, I put enough space between us so that she can feel my presence but not enough that we touch. “Whenever you’re ready,” I probe.

  Being the only two people in the range, the silence is deafening and as the minutes pass I begin to wonder if she’s changed her mind.

  Then it happens.

  Bang!

  Bang!

  Bang!

  She creates a fire.

  Deep within herself.

  A fire only I can see.

  Spreading my arms wide, I step forward as the power of pulling the trigger slams into her
and she falls back against me. With one hand wrapped tightly around her, I gently coax the gun from her trembling hand and draw it down, tucking it into the back of my jeans. Her hand falls limply to her side and I wrap my other arm around her. Her body shakes against mine and when I glance down I see a lone tear fall from the corner of her eye. Before I can turn her around and console her she knocks me on my ass.

  Ally smiles.

  Through the tears.

  Through the pain.

  Through the darkness, she smiles.

  She gives me her fire.

  Beautiful fucking fire.

  Right here in my arms.

  -Twenty-five-

  ALLY

  Standing in the shower, I reach for the coconut shower gel and let the water spray over me. The steam begins to loosen all the knots twisting in my back and I relax, letting my mind wander back to yesterday. I hadn’t had a chance to process the epic sense of power or the instant satisfaction that coursed through me as I pulled the trigger. Picturing Yankovich as my target, hearing the cryptic words he whispered in my ear was all the ammo I needed to take that first shot. Remembering my own hell, hearing my own cries, well, that’s all I needed to take the two shots that followed.

  It was powerful.

  It was healing.

  And it was shocking. In that single moment, I learned the biggest lesson of all. I learned I could be more than a nightmare.

  I could be fearless.

  I also learned shooting provides you with an indescribable adrenaline rush, making it impossible to sleep. I drove Deuce crazy, tossing and turning all night, making him swear that he would take me again and work on my aim. Realizing it was the perfect remedy to soothe me after a grueling therapy session, Deuce suggested we make it a thing and recommended we shoot on the days I have therapy.

  Of course, I agreed and it got me thinking; there were so many things out there for me to try. Things that might be therapeutic for someone like me or things that I might just find fun. I hadn’t had much fun in my life. I hadn’t had any at all, and adventures, I didn’t have any of those either.

  If being kidnapped taught me anything, it taught me that life was too short. One day you’re here, the next you’re not, so you better make every day count.

  “Deuce!” I shout, sticking my head out from behind the shower curtain. Wondering if he could hear me over the shower, I holler for him again.

  Kicking the door open, he comes skidding to a stop when he spots me.

  “What’s the matter? What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I say simply as my eyes dart down to his chest. I’m a sucker for his chest and for that crazy beautiful tattoo that’s inked to it. I think it’s pretty cool he has the engine of his first Harley forever imbedded to his skin. I learned that last night when he was trying to sleep and I kept nagging him.

  “Jesus, fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” he growls, swiping his hands over his face.

  “A big strong guy like you, scared?” I tease. “Maybe I’m more like Bonnie Parker than I thought,” I say as he drops his hands from his face and stares at me.

  “You’re taking a shower.”

  “Yep but the water is getting cold now so do you mind handing me a towel?”

  “What?”

  “A towel,” I repeat, holding the curtain with one hand and pointing to the towel rack with the other.

  “You’re fucking killing me,” he grunts.

  “Well, you can’t die yet. I’ve got big plans for you,” I say as he angrily pulls the towel from the rack. Turning around, I shut the water off before sticking my hand out from the curtain and taking the towel from him.

  “Keep your plans to yourself.”

  “Nonsense, I need a wingman,” I say, wrapping the towel tightly around me. Once I have it firmly tucked into place, I peel back the shower curtain and smile at him. “I’m going to create a list.”

  “Fuck my life,” he groans as he crosses his arms and stares up at the ceiling. Ignoring his foul mood, I step out of the shower and continue to share my plans.

  “I’m going to fill it with all the things I never got to do and all the things I want to do,” I say, brushing past him to stand in front of the sink. Grabbing my toothbrush, I squeeze the toothpaste onto it and feel his eyes drilling into my back.

  “Stop looking at my ass,” I chastise. “I’m being serious.”

  “Of course you are,” he mutters, lifting his eyes to meet mine in the mirror.

  “Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes, for fuck’s sake. You want to create a bucket list.”

  “A what?”

  “A list of shit you want to do before you kick the bucket,” he explains.

  Lifting the toothbrush to my mouth, I pause and furrow my eyebrows.

  “It sounds morbid when you put it that way,” I reply thoughtfully before shaking my head. “Let’s call it something different.”

  “I need coffee,” he mumbles.

  “How about Ally’s Adventures?” I ask with a mouthful of toothpaste.

  “Sure, whatever you want,” he says, taking another glance at my ass. Before I can order him to lift his eyes, someone knocks loudly on the door. He turns around abruptly and I follow him out of the bathroom, watching as he lifts his gun from the nightstand.

  “Who is it?” he calls.

  “Deuce, it’s Celeste.”

  Fitting the gun back into his waistband, he glances over his shoulder at me before moving to answer the door. I haven’t seen her or my brother since that day in the hospital. Deuce has checked in with her, reporting Jagger’s progress to me, but for some reason I’ve been avoiding any more visits. I think I’m afraid they’re going to expect me to give more than I’m ready to, or worse they’ll expect me to be the same girl I was when I was fourteen.

  “Blondie,” he greets, stepping aside so she can enter the room. “When did you start leaving Cobra’s bedside?”

  “Funny,” she retorts, slapping his shoulder playfully before walking further into the room. Her eyes land on me and she freezes. I wonder if she’ll ever stop looking at me like I’m a ghost.

  “Alexandria,” she stops herself. Shaking her head, she closes her eyes for a moment before blinking back at me. “I’m sorry, Ally,” she corrects. Offering me a smile she shrugs her shoulders. “I guess it will take me time to get used to that.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply, grabbing a paper cup off the table. Spitting the excess toothpaste into it, I swipe a hand across my mouth as both her and Deuce look at me funny.

  “Ally was just getting dressed,” Deuce explains.

  “Oh shit,” I say, remembering my daily appointment. Still dressed in nothing but a towel, I rush around the room to grab my clothes.

  “Ally has to be at the clinic at a certain time every day,” Deuce explains as I hurry into the bathroom. Quickly, I throw my clothes on and run a brush through my hair, twisting it into a bun. Looking presentable, I step out of the bathroom as Deuce pulls a shirt over his head.

  “Why don’t I take you today?” she asks me hopefully before spinning around to look at Deuce. “It’ll give you a break and us a chance to spend some time together,” she adds, turning back to me. “Besides, it’s a special day. Jagger thought it would be a good idea if we went and had some girl time to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” I ask in confusion.

  “What’s the occasion?” Deuce asks, stepping around Celeste.

  Regret fills her pretty features as she mulls over what to say.

  “Blondie?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d forget,” she whispers, staring back at me.

  “Forget what?” I question.

  “Today is your birthday,” she says softly.

  My birthday.

  A day I blocked from my mind.

  A day that went without any recognition for so long.

  A day I didn’t realize could mean more than lost years.

  Realizing the last birth
day I celebrated I spent with Celeste, I agree to spend this one with her too and awkwardly say goodbye to Deuce. Unsure if I’m supposed to give him a kiss on the cheek or a fist pump, I decide to play it safe and give him a wave. It seems ridiculous considering we spend every night in the same bed, but he hasn’t made another attempt to kiss me. Which is fine, maybe I’m not his type. I bet he likes his woman blonde and equipped with a big rack. He’s clearly an ass guy so that probably makes him a boob guy too.

  Deuce continues to stay on my mind when we arrive at the clinic. It’s weird being there without him, knocking back my medicine knowing he’s not outside waiting for me. I miss him. You know, just a little bit.

  After the clinic, Celeste surprises me with a present, giving me my first cellphone. At first I stared at it like it was a foreign object. It wasn’t my first time seeing a phone or anything like that—Deuce’s phone rings nonstop. It’s always Jack busting his balls. Sometimes its Jagger, a few times it was even Celeste. But I never picked up the phone. I never made a phone call either so I had no idea how to turn the damn thing on.

  Celeste and I laughed about it as she showed me how to work it and patiently guided me through my new list of contacts. I had four. Her, Jagger, Deuce and Jack. I’d never call Jack, but I guess she thought having the crazy dude’s number was a good idea so I left it alone.

  Arriving at the nail salon, Celeste tells me to pick a color polish as she checks us in with the receptionist. As I mull over the selection of colors, I remember doing the same thing with Deuce only it was lipstick I was picking and not nail polish. Itching to make my first official phone call, wanting it to be to Deuce, I lift the phone from my pocket. Finding his number, I hit send and place it to my ear, listening as it rings.

  “Hello?” his deep voice questions roughly.

  “Can you hear me?” I call into the phone.

  “Ally?” he asks, sounding shocked. Then he pauses briefly before continuing. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I assure him, laughing slightly as I grab a bottle of red polish from the rack. I’m starting to think red is my favorite color. “I’m calling you from my new phone. You’re my first official phone call. Celeste gave me your number.”