The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “What’re we going to do?” she cries as I rack my brain to find a way out of this mess. If it was just me I would’ve closed my eyes and welcomed the incineration.

  “We’re going to get the fuck out of here,” I hiss, lifting my head. Peering through the fog I notice a sliver of light.

  “Oh my God,” she cries, forcing me to slice my eyes back to her. She lifts her hand between us and I see the blood drip from her fingertips. “You’ve been shot,” she shrieks, coughing between the words.

  “It’s nothing,” I lie as I close my hand over her fingers. Dragging them to my shirt, I wince through the pain and wipe the blood from her fingers. “Look, the bathroom is just a few feet away. It’s the only way out of here.”

  She strains to follow my gaze toward the bathroom.

  “The window is too small,” she says as she coughs.

  “We’ll manage,” I tell her. “If we stay low to the ground we might make it before the fire spreads. We have to be quick though because if that beam collapses it’ll block us and we’ll be fucked.”

  She turns back to me.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she agrees quickly. Turning so she is on her hands and knees, she begins to crawl in the direction of the bathroom. I stick to her like glue. Alleviating the pressure off my shoulder, I use my good arm and my legs to follow her.

  Reaching the bathroom, she scurries inside and I stumble in behind her. I kick the door close and we both choke on the smoke.

  “Grab a few towels and wet them,” I order, leaning against the rickety door. I can feel the heat from the fire in the other room against my back and watch as she forces herself onto her feet.

  “There’s only one,” she stammers as her hands fumble over the faucet. Shoving the bath towel in the sink she turns the water on, soaking it before she turns to me and offers me the dripping wet towel. Taking it from her, I wring it out and line it under the door before scrambling to my feet.

  Her eyes dart to my shoulder and I press my hand against the small of her back.

  “Ignore it,” I tell her, turning her around to face the window.

  I pull the shower rod from the wall and order her to stand back. Cursing through the pain, I pull my arm back and smash the glass with the rod. It breaks the glass but it’s not enough so I slam the rod repeatedly into it until it shatters completely and I push the shards of glass out of the way. I drop the rod onto the floor and turn to her. My shoulder feels like it’s going to fall off but I bite through the pain and grab her hand.

  “You first,” I tell her, patting the edge of the counter. “Climb on.”

  She stares at me with uncertainty and I glance over her shoulder at the towel that has now caught fire.

  “We’re ground level, Ally, you’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried about that.”

  “Darlin’, we don’t have time for you to be worried about anything. Get the fuck out the window.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going to be right behind you,” I assure her.

  “How? Your shoulder…”

  “Ally, now!

  “Fine,” she grunts, lifting herself onto the counter.

  I grab a hold of her legs as she reaches for the windowsill and sticks her head through the broken glass.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “You’ll be right behind me?”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” I promise.

  “Okay.”

  “On three,” I tell her.

  “One,” she whispers. “Two…”

  Sensing her nerves, I don’t let her count to three. I give her ass a shove and push her through the window. Then I hoist myself onto the counter as the flames burn through the wooden door and dance around the tiny bathroom. Crossing my good arm over my bad arm I dive head first out the window and stumble onto the ground.

  “Deuce!” Ally screams.

  Groaning, I push off the concrete and sweep my eyes around searching for her. My eyes find hers, wide and full of fright and then my lungs constrict.

  My heart stops.

  Everything just fucking stops as I stare at the man who has her in a choke hold. Joker, the president of the Bastards of Mayhem, has his hands all over my woman and his gun pointed to her head. Then I glance around and see the rest of the Bastards behind him, locked and loaded, and just like Chelsea found herself staring down the barrel of four guns…so do I.

  -Forty-five-

  DEUCE

  On my knees, I stare into Ally’s eyes and raise my arms in surrender. Darting my eyes to the man with his arm wrapped around my girl’s throat, I glare at Joker.

  “Let her go, Joker.”

  He laughs sinisterly, tightening his hold on her, robbing her of the little oxygen her lungs can take.

  “Let her fucking go,” I demand as she gasps for air.

  “I’m sorry, Roamer, did you think you called the shots?” he sneers.

  “No,” I say instantly. “But it’s me you want not her. Come on, you got me where you want me. Take your shot. Get your do vengeance.”

  Ally writhes against him, shaking her head violently.

  “Your girl doesn’t seem to like that idea,” he comments. “Do you?” he questions her, digging the gun deeper into her flesh. “I know who you are.”

  My brows knit in confusion and I push myself onto my feet.

  The five Bastards instantly cock their guns and I go to reach for mine, quickly realizing I don’t have shit. All my guns are burning in hell.

  Joker’s eyes flicker with mischief as he glowers at me.

  “You really think I couldn’t find you all this time? Thought you were slick trying to stay under the radar, but I’ve known every fucking move you’ve made. Yeah, I could kill you for offing King, but like that stupid cunt you were fucking deserved death, so did that cocksucker.”

  “Then what the fuck do you want?” I sneer.

  He juts Ally forward, loosening his hold on her neck.

  “This little bitch right here,” he growls. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill her,” he hisses, turning his attention back to me. “Not until she talks.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You want to know something, ask me. I’m right fucking here, motherfucker. Let’s go,” I holler.

  “Right, like I’d get a straight answer out of the pussy whipped fool who sticks his dick inside every fucking mole.”

  “Mole?”

  “Don’t fucking play me!” he rages. Taking his gun off Ally he points it at me and advances toward me, dragging Ally with him. She struggles as she stares at me. Those blue eyes call to me just as Chelsea’s did. They plead with me to do something. Anything. Again, I do nothing. I stand there, staring at her as Joker wildly flings his gun in my face.

  “Pull the trigger,” I say as the sirens blare around us. “Pull the fucking trigger before you lose your chance.”

  “Fuck you, Roamer. I’m the one in charge here. This is my rodeo,” he says, turning his attention back to Ally. “That Russian fuck planted that little cunt in my club and you’re going to tell me why.”

  “She doesn’t know anything,” I shout. “She had no idea what happened to Chelsea. That Russian motherfucker kidnapped these girls when they were just kids. He fucking tortured them and then sold them,” I sneer.

  “Your pussy must be good,” Joker sneers against Ally’s ear. “He didn’t put up this much of a fight for the other treacherous bitch. He just stood there and let us kill her. I might have to try it myself.”

  “The fuck you will.”

  I turn around at the sound of the familiar voice and I thank fucking God he’s forgiven me for the Bible incident as I stare at Cobra’s stone-cold face.

  ALLY

  Nothing registers.

  Not the gun digging into my temple.

  Not the man choking me, sucking the little air out of my lungs.

  Not the information he spilled about Sara.

  All I see are the guns pointed in every di
rection.

  At me.

  At Deuce.

  At my brother.

  I want to scream.

  I want to cry.

  But I do nothing but stare in shock as everything seems to unfold in slow motion.

  “Close your eyes, Ally,” my brother commands as he pulls the trigger.

  The scream finally finds its way from my throat as I watch my brother’s bullet fly straight toward me.

  “NO!” Deuce screams as I close my eyes.

  Blood rains over me as I jolt forward and fall to the floor. Joker’s lifeless body falls next to me and I scream as I stare into his lifeless eyes and the bullet hole between them. Escaping one horror, I roll over and find another one. Someone grabs my ankles and I scream as they drag me away from the gunfire.

  “Ally, it’s Blackie,” he grunts, releasing my legs as he moves me out of the line of fire. “Stay here and don’t you move,” he orders before running back toward the war.

  Shaking uncontrollably, I lift my head and notice Jack charging into the chaos. With every step he takes, he fires two shots until he tosses one of his guns to Deuce and orders him to shoot. I watch as bullets fly back and forth between the Satan’s Knights and Bastards of Mayhem, neither side cowers and then I notice the fire has spread throughout the entire motel. Hues of amber illuminate us, dancing and swirling high then disappearing into the smoke-filled sky. The fire temporarily distracts me until I hear Deuce scream out.

  Fearfully, I divert my eyes back to the showdown between the two clubs and watch as he lunges forward. Following the direction of his body, I stare at my brother who releases his clip. Out of the corner of my eye I see the copper casing fly straight for him.

  “NO!”

  It’s not a shrill scream.

  It’s a plea.

  A prayer.

  A desperate prayer from me to God.

  A prayer that goes ignored.

  I stare at the two men in my life.

  We were born into this world together, my brother, my twin. The other half of the Richardson twins.

  Then I look at the other half of my heart, my love, my fire. The man who ignited my soul and my spirit with a single match. The only person I want to leave this world with.

  Tears stream down my cheeks as I will time to stop.

  Then it happens.

  Deuce dives in front of my brother, the bullet finds its way home and they both fall to the ground.

  Fate makes a choice, deciding which of them gets to live and which gets to die.

  -Forty-six-

  ALLY

  Covered in blood, I stare at myself in the mirror and pick pieces of Joker’s brains from my hair. Flicking them into the sink, I turn the water on and wash the bastard down the drain before diverting my eyes to my shirt. Once perfectly white it is now covered in ash and Deuce’s blood. Tears sting my eyes as the memory of him lying on the ground assaults me. Blinking, the tears slide down my cheeks as I stare at my hands and the dried blood caked into the crevices. I can almost feel the blood ooze onto my hands as it did when I pressed against the wound and begged him to live.

  I can hear his raspy voice play in my head as he whispers his love for me and I can feel my brother’s arms wrap around me. His voice barely a whisper as he pulls me away from my Clyde, knowing the only way I would leave Deuce’s side is if I was physically removed.

  Sobbing uncontrollably, I shove my hands under the stream of water and wash his blood from my hands. It stains the porcelain sink and swirls down the drain, mimicking how one’s soul swirls down to hell.

  The door opens behind me and I lift my swollen eyes back to the mirror and meet my brother’s sorrowful gaze in the reflection. For the first time, I notice the slight difference in our eyes. While mine have flecks of black in them, his hold flecks of gray, making them slightly lighter than mine. It’s hardly noticeable especially when both pairs portray so much grief.

  Jagger hesitantly steps forward as I peel my eyes away from his and stare at the blood on his shirt. Like mine it’s stained with Deuce’s blood, reminding us both that fate spared him. He lays his hands on my shoulders and I whimper in despair. Feeling pushed beyond my limits, I lean into him and the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours streams from my body.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, turning me around in his arms.

  His arms tighten around me and I grip his shirt. My shoulders slump and the weight of tragedy falls from me as I cry into his chest. All the strength I prided myself on fades away from me and I get lost in the comfort of my brother’s embrace, wishing it was enough to fill the emptiness inside. Sadly, we both know his arms can’t fill that void.

  I’m first to break our embrace but he takes a step backward and our eyes meet. I briefly wonder how we got here, how we went from two carefree kids to two broken souls. I don’t think we’ll ever uncover the truth as to why our family became a target of violence and I’m sure even if we did it wouldn’t change much. No answer or reason will ever bring our parents back and nothing will fill the dull ache in our chests losing them left behind. The time we spent apart won’t magically be added to our lives and all the bloodshed won’t ever truly be cleansed from our memories.

  On top of the crimes that marred our family we’ll both remember wearing Deuce’s blood. And while we might pray for brighter days, they’ll never be guaranteed. This is our sentence and for whatever reason it’s been delivered to us, it’s our cross to bear.

  “Clean up,” he says, breaking the silence. “I’ll grab something of Celeste’s for you to change into,” he adds. Like changing my clothes will make everything better.

  There is no fight left in me so I don’t argue with him. I simply nod my head and watch as he excuses himself. Stepping forward, I turn on the shower and strip down my clothes. Thick black soot covers my body and I reek of fire, ash and smoke. Still, I don’t hurry to wash it from my body.

  I wear fire like I wear my heart and when I bend down to grab my pants from the floor, I pull a book of matches from my pocket.

  Fire.

  Beautiful fucking fire.

  Clarity sets in—bold and bright.

  Life isn’t always pretty and the world is downright ugly, but then something happens. Something you never expected to find in the darkness. A beacon of light flickers in the distance of a long dark tunnel.

  Not knowing what was at the other end of that tunnel, I was terrified to chase that light, but I’m so glad I did. For a brief pause in tragedy, I found fire in myself all the while experiencing the love of a man.

  Deuce wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t a prince, but he was my knight in shining armor. Dressed in leather, with a reaper on his back and a single match in his pocket, he saved me. He taught me fairy tales are for unsuspecting children. They’re not real, they’re scripted and once you close the book it’s done. But an unscripted happily ever after lives long after the final page is turned.

  The unexpected romance, the one you never see coming, the love that lights your whole world on fire, well, the flames may perish but the love burns with no end.

  Strike the match.

  Let it build slowly.

  Feel the flutter of the flames in your belly.

  Let the heat carry you away.

  Ride the fire out.

  Ride that beautiful fire you created.

  Cherish it.

  I know I will.

  Side by side.

  Forever.

  Until we die.

  DEUCE

  “Ah, shit,” I groan, lifting the bottle of booze to my lips. “You’re fucking killing me, Blondie.”

  “Stay still,” she orders as I bleed all over her couch. She’s going to be so fucking pissed. It wasn’t that long ago I stumbled through her front door with her drunk and wounded baby daddy attached to my hip.

  What can I say? Bullets love us.

  “I’m sorry about the blood,” I slur, as she threads a needle through my skin. Fuck that burns.

  “Do
n’t worry about it,” she replies, concentrating on patching one of the two bullet wounds damaging my shoulder. “I bought the protection plan at Bob’s,” she adds, lifting her eyes from the hole in my shoulder to wink at me.

  “Smart girl,” I mutter, lifting the whiskey back to my lips.

  Morphine is for pussies.

  “Jesus,” Cobra grunts, leaning over her shoulder to inspect her work. His gaze darts over to me and our eyes meet. Through my state of oblivion, I watch him clench his jaw. “I guess I owe you one.”

  I’d laugh if I remembered how to or if I could feel my face.

  “I reckon we’re even,” I say instead.

  “How’s that?”

  Fuck if I know. It sounded good in my head. Then I remember my point and I force my eyes to stay open and look at him.

  “You saved Ally.”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “She’s your sister but she’s my girl.”

  “That so?”

  “Don’t make me sorry I took a bullet for you,” I warn as my eyelids droop.

  “I had to peel her off you,” he says after a moment. I think my lips curve. I can’t be sure, but fuck, I’m smiling in my head. “She stole Reina’s car and drove straight to you.”

  “Ride or die,” I mutter, thinking about my fearless Bonnie.

  “What?” he asks, taking a seat on the coffee table.

  “You wanna know what ride or die means, just look into your sister’s eyes,” I tell him. “I’m going to marry her,” I promise.

  My words seem to have more of an effect on Celeste and she loses her grip on the needle poking through my skin.

  “Ouch,” I wince.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles.

  “What’s the matter, Blondie? Am I not good enough?” I question, already knowing I’m not. I turn back to Cobra. “I know I’m not,” I explain. “Not even close, but I love her and I can promise you no one will love her as much as I do.”

  “Are you asking for my permission?” Cobra asks, swiping a hand down his face. I think about it and I shake my head side to side, deciding I don’t really care if he approves or not.