“Would you have let me die?”
“That don’t matter.”
“Sure it does,” he argues. “I did exactly what you would’ve done if the roles were reversed. No brother of mine gets left behind.”
Rolling my eyes, I grit my teeth and blow out a breath.
“Give it up, soldier. You’ve been back on American soil for some time now. You should worry about your own fucking issues before you bother making mine your concern. How’s those nightmares of yours? Still wake up screaming like a bitch?”
It’s a cheap shot he doesn’t deserve but, I’m too angry to give a fuck. Still, I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye and see the aftermath of my disrespect. Spinning around, I leave him on the deck with my callous words ringing in his ears and make my way back inside the house.
Bouncing from one heated argument to another seems to be a trend and I watch Cobra slam his fist against the granite counter.
“You need to calm down,” his girl, Celeste soothes. Only her words don’t heal shit and he spins around abruptly. His eyes narrow and his fists ball at his sides.
“How do you stay calm when you have to listen to your sister admit she was raped for fourteen fucking years? I’m sorry but, I can’t keep it together. She’s lost too much time, suffered too much pain and nothing will ever make that right. All these years I’ve spent hunting this fuck are wasted too because any torture I deliver will never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough.”
“We’re going to get him, Cobra,” Blackie says. “Your sister should make a list of all the things she wants us to do to him because it’s going to happen. He’s going to fucking pay and when the time finally comes, that girl in there pouring her demons out to Jack is going to be the one orchestrating his death. She’s going to be the one ordering every blow,” he grinds out, pushing his ragged hair away from his eyes. “This ain’t your revenge anymore. It’s not any of ours. It’s hers. It’s Gina’s. It’s Oksana’s. This one is for all the faceless women we’ll never meet, the ones who don’t get to fight back. This one is for them too.”
Like a moment ago I believed I could walk, I also believe every word Blackie says.
“He’s right,” Wolf agrees. “It will take Rocco some time to set it up. He’s got to get one of his associates to get us in and then, Linc will set the ball in motion,” he adds, turning his gaze to me. “But, first he’s gotta get the fuck out of the chair.”
“I don’t need to walk to con the motherfucker,” I argue.
“No, you don’t need to walk. You need to run,” he retorts. “Because it’s going to rain motherfucking bullets.”
I don’t have the opportunity to reply as Jack pushes through the kitchen doors and silently commands everyone’s attention. The sliders leading to the backyard open and Stryker joins the silence. Sensing the tension, the women clear the room and we all idly wait for Jack to say something. Instead, he pours himself a drink, emptying the bottle. Taking the first sip, he draws the crystal away from his mouth and stares at the amber liquid in deep thought.
“Where is Ally?” Cobra questions, breaking the silence.
A brave man.
For we’re all familiar with the look in our leader’s dark eyes. It’s the telltale sign that informs us when he’s teetering on the edge of insanity. It’s the look he gets when his maker calls to him. When his mind feeds him the crazy, and he battles for clarity. It’s when we shut the fuck up and pray she don’t win him over.
Walking to the fridge, he pushes the glass against the lever and watches as two ice cubes drop into the whiskey. Mesmerized by the cubes as they circle and clink together, he ignores Cobra for another minute before finally answering him.
“Deuce took her back to the hotel,” he says, lifting his eyes to Cobra’s. “She’s an amazing creature. Truly fascinating.”
“Parrish,” Wolf calls. “Should I get Reina?”
“For what?” he retorts, knocking back what’s left of the whiskey. “She sees enough of this shit.”
Placing the glass on the counter, he turns and scans the room, his gaze lingers on each face before latching onto mine.
“You should think long and hard about what you’re signing up to do,” he says hoarsely.
“I have—”
“Don’t speak over me,” he growls, stepping closer. Bending his knees, he makes us eye level and I witness the struggle in his eyes. “I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” he continues, closing his eyes briefly. “No matter how badly I want to, there are things I can’t stop. Things I can’t control.”
Unsure if he’s talking about his mind or this shit with Yankovich, I swallow the lump in my throat and wait for him to elaborate but, something changes. Awareness flits across his features as he rises to his full height.
“For fuck’s sake,” Wolf grunts. “Reina!” he bellows.
“Do you hear that?” Jack questions, moving toward the window.
As he moves to the window and draws the blinds up, I realize in the few months I’ve been in the hospital, Jack has begun the descent into crazyville. Lithium and Reina used to be his saving grace but, I think he’s too far gone for either remedy to work.
“What’s going on?” Reina asks walking into the kitchen with their baby boy on her hip.
Riggs points to Jack.
“He’s birdwatching again,” he says pointedly.
It’s at that moment we all hear the distinct rumble of pipes.
“Round up the kids,” Jack orders. “All the women too. Bring them upstairs and away from the windows.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Reina shouts.
Dropping the blinds, Jack turns to her.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
The sound draws closer and everyone begins to move. Reaching for their guns, they pull the safety’s back and follow Jack through the length of the house. We reach the living room and Wolf opens the top drawer of his credenza and pulls out a gun. Tossing it to me, he tips his chin.
“You remember how to shoot?”
“Want me to practice?” I retort, angling my head as I lift the barrel of the gun.
“Watch it, kid,” he growls.
Reaching the front door, Jack pulls it open and raises his gun. By the volume generated, it’s not a pack of bikes rolling onto Wolf’s lawn but a single engine. Passing the threshold, the engine dies and we all point our guns at the intruder.
“I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but, our enemy has a rack,” Riggs points out. “A nice rack too. Shit, don’t tell Kitten I said that.”
“The enemy’s got a killer pair of legs too,” Blackie adds, lowering his gun.
Legs that wind around your waist and draw you into heaven and an ass you dig your fingers into as she rides you.
“Fucking hell,” Wolf hisses. “Put your guns down,” he commands.
Everything seems to move in slow motion as Jack turns to Wolf, confirming the identity of the woman dismounting the bike like she used to dismount me.
“You know who this is?” Jack questions, keeping his gun straight but his eyes on Wolf.
“Yeah, she’s my fucking niece.”
Pulling the helmet from her head, she shakes her hair out and disappointment instantly clings to me. Gone are the pink locks I used to spend my nights threading my fingers through. Replacing them are long blonde waves that cascade down her back. It’s the first of what I’m sure are many changes.
Hanging her helmet on the handlebars, she turns her attention toward us and I wait for her to notice me.
For our eyes to meet.
For the sparks to fly and the ground to quake.
It builds as she starts up the walkway.
Step by step.
My breath catches and suddenly my legs aren’t all that’s paralyzed.
My whole being freezes at the mention of her name.
“Kelly,” Wolf greets, moving to stand next to Jack. “What the hell are you doing here?”
�
�Is that any way to greet your favorite niece?” she croons. “Nice sign,” she adds, pointing to the welcome home sign taped to the porch. “Are we having a party? I love parties.”
“Why didn’t Wolf mention this little whippersnapper before?” Riggs questions, clearly amused.
“Did you just call me a whippersnapper?”
“I sure did,” Riggs replies. “I’m Riggs,” he adds offering his hand. “Some people call me Tiger.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kelly says, flashing her smile.
That fucking smile does me in. Mainly because I know how much of a struggle, it’s been for her to find it. I’m glad despite everything she managed to keep it. Well, at least I think so—a smile is only genuine if it reaches your eyes, something I can’t tell because she’s wearing a pair of sunglasses that take up half her face.
“So, are you the guest of honor, Riggs—or would you rather I call you Tiger?”
“Only my Kitten calls me Tiger,” he tells her. “She’s Italian and you know how crazy Italian women can be. She’ll make sausage out of my balls if I let another woman call me that.”
“Sounds like your Kitten and I are going to be best friends,” Kelly chuckles. Pointing to the sign, she turns to Wolf.
“You didn’t have to get a sign made to welcome me, Uncle Al.”
“He didn’t,” Riggs supplies. Stepping to the side, he juts a finger toward me. “We just sprung this guy from the hospital.”
Following the direction of Riggs' finger, Kelly’s gaze sweeps over me. Instantly the smile falls from her perfect lips and at first, I think it’s because she’s shocked by my presence. She looks at me and all the hurt I caused her comes rushing back. The four years we spent falling in love are forgotten and all that remains is the memory of her sleeping form lying on my bed and the bright pink hair splayed across my pillow as I closed the door.
She draws in a breath and her perfectly straight teeth dig into her lower lip.
It’s what she does when she’s trying not to cry.
However, the Kelly I know would rather die than swallow her pride and admit I broke her heart. I don’t need to look her in the eye to know the tears she’s fighting aren’t about the love I ruined. Those dark lens shielding her don’t hide the truth. She’s staring at my legs…at the fucking chair I might as well be chained to and her tears are tears of pity.
Ready to tell her where she can shove her pity, I shove the gun into the front of my pants and grip the arms of my chair. The words get lost on my tongue as Kelly lifts her hand and slowly removes her glasses, unveiling her battered face. Angry hues of purple, blue and green mark the swollen skin surround her hazel eyes, and a gash stretches over one eyebrow.
Those tears in her eyes aren’t for me but they bring me back to the beginning.
To the day I first saw her and the thoughts that filled my head.
Like me, she looks unsure if she wants to keep turning the pages in the book of her life.
Like me, she looks like she’s done with the cards she’s been dealt.
Like me, Pinky wants to fold.
-Eight-
KELLY
Age 16
If you look up the definition of an egotistical self-centered bitch, I’m willing to bet an organ you’ll find a picture of my mother. If there was ever a woman who shouldn’t have had a child, it’s her. There are days I tell myself she wasn’t always this way. Days when I naively allow myself to believe she wished for me. It’s just a stupid dream because the truth is I was never anything more than a drunken mistake my parents made.
Some people learn from their mistakes and turn an unfortunate situation around. People like my father who did his best to make me feel wanted when my mother was too busy crying over how miserable her life was. It’s too bad he died in a car accident when I was six. Life is cruel and sometimes I wish God would’ve taken her instead of him. Maybe then I would have more than a handful of cherished childhood memories. It’s horrible, I know but, when you’ve spent most of your short life nursing your mother’s hangovers and kicking her johns out the door, you become bitter.
“Al, she’s impossible,” my mother shrieks, releasing an exasperated breath as she stares at her brother. Crossing my arms against my chest, I roll my eyes to the heavens knowing Uncle Al is as fed up with her bullshit as I am. While he may be sick of bailing her out time and time again—he’ll never turn his back on her. Say what you want about my uncle, call him all the derogatory names in the book but, no one can call him disloyal. In fact, some might argue it’s his biggest flaw.
“I don’t know what to do with her,” she continues, faking a sniffle. “She’s out of control and as much as I try to be a good mom, she makes it impossible. Now, she’s robbed one of Sin’s cars,” she adds exasperatedly. “What if he kicks us out of here? Then what will I do? Where will I go?”
“There’s a whole lot of I in that speech,” he mutters.
“Wait a minute,” I snap. “When do you ever try to be a good mom? A good mom doesn’t spend her daughter’s social security check on her hair! My dad died! That money is supposed to be for me!”
“You spent the check on your hair?” Uncle Al asks, clenching his fists. “Your fucking hair?”
“I didn’t know that she needed it for the road test,” she argues, smoothing down her overly processed hair. I don’t know what angers me more, her lack of remorse or the fact her hair looks like shit. I’m not surprised by her behavior and decide it’s the latter. If you’re not feeding her habits and greasing her palm, you’re not worthy of her time or her interest.
“If you paid attention you would know but, you’re too busy following around that asshole like a lost puppy,” I shout.
“That asshole puts a roof over our head,” she spats.
“Enough, for fuck’s sake!” My uncle bellows. The veins in his forehead bulge as he rolls his neck from side to side and cracks his knuckles.
“How many times do I have to repeat myself, Jo?” he growls. “If you need money, you ask. Especially, when it concerns Kelly.”
“Don’t let her fool you,” I interject, ignoring the death glare my mother sends me. “Sin gives her money, and she works at the bar three nights a week. Maybe if she wasn’t such a lush, she could hold onto a dollar and not rob me.”
“You ungrateful bitch!”
And the award for mother of the year goes to Joanne Scotto…not.
Rubbing his temples, Uncle Al’s jaw ticks as he slices his eyes toward the table. Following his gaze, I notice there is someone else in the room. Silently, our eyes lock as we assess one another. My stare rakes over him, taking in the apparent void shadowing his features and although his face is worn with sadness, he doesn’t appear much older than me.
“Linc,” Uncle Al calls, breaking the silence and forcing me to close my parted lips. The handsome stranger lacking leather turns to my uncle and lifts an eyebrow in question. “Take Kelly back to your room so, I can handle this shit.”
“His room?” I blurt, looking back at my uncle.
A few days ago, my uncle surprised us with one of his infamous impromptu visits. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Since my mother hooked up with Sin we’ve seen more of my uncle. He often shows up unannounced to check in on us. Like my mother’s boyfriend, Uncle Al is a member of the Satan’s Knights MC. The only difference being he’s a big shot in a charter up north and talks with a heavy New York accent.
Ask him to say the word coffee—you’ll die!
Anyway, this visit was unlike any other seeing as he didn’t arrive solo. He brought the guy sitting across the table and the whispers around the clubhouse immediately started. Rumor has it, his mother died, and he has nowhere to go. He hasn’t left his room since he arrived and he doesn’t speak—like at all. I can’t imagine he’s a barrel of fun and surely not someone I’m looking to get stuck with.
“He’s the guy everyone is calling the mute,” I exclaim.
“Kelly,” he growls, his pati
ence running thin. My eyes slice from the mute to my uncle and I watch that angry vein pulse. “Now,” he grunts.
Maybe I should quit while I’m ahead.
“Fine,” I hiss, turning to the mute. “Well, are you coming or what?”
Keeping his eyes trained on me, he shocks me by speaking.
“What am I supposed to do with her?”
The sarcastic response dies on my tongue as I’m caught off guard by the sound of his voice. It’s nothing like I assumed. I guess I figured there was a reason for his silence like there was something wrong with him. In my head, I pictured Alvin and the Chipmunks but, there is nothing squeaky or annoying about the mute. His voice is deep yet smooth, raspy and melodic all the same. A sound full of beautiful contradictions.
“Fuck, if I know,” Uncle Al mutters, rubbing his temples. “Keep her out of trouble until I square this shit away.”
Rising to his full height, he pushes back the chair and stares at me.
“Let’s go, Pinky,” he says.
“Pinky,” I repeat as I subconsciously run my fingers through my fuchsia colored hair.
“If the shoe fits,” he mumbles. Grabbing my elbow, he leads me toward the door. Annoyed, I pull out of his hold.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I spat, crossing my arms defiantly as he pauses at the entrance of the chapel allowing me to walk in front of him.
The second we step foot into the common area of the clubhouse, I divert my attention to the chaos imploding around us. Two patrol cars sit outside the clubhouse while four police officers, a room full of pissed off bikers and the disgruntled owner of one of the cars I crashed all try to speak over one another. If you ask me it’s a bit of overkill for a little fender bender. I mean the way they’re all acting you would think I stole the prince of Egypt’s car and wiped out the entire monarchy.
The scene between the cops and the bikers takes a backseat to the sibling feud exploding in the chapel behind us as Uncle Al’s voice vibrates off the walls and my mother flings a chair out the door. Her voice pitches and she theatrically shrieks about how life has been so hard for her since my father’s car rolled off a cliff and he drowned. I’d roll my eyes but, I’m truly afraid they may get stuck in the back of my head.
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 104
