The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Everything is going to be beautiful,” Celeste says.

  “Except the bridesmaid dresses,” Kelly adds.

  I slam my hand down on the bar and turn to the girls. They all look at me like I have a horn growing out of my forehead.

  “Everything is not going to be beautiful because it’s not a reflection of who we are! I’m not the same girl who pranced around in skirts and Louboutins.”

  “Um, you’re wearing a pair of Louboutins right now,” Celeste says, pointing to my shoes.

  Ignoring her, I continue.

  “I’m wearing them because they were in my closet and, so was this dress. I didn’t go out and buy something to wear tonight because I didn’t care.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Nikki says. “Do you want to take your shoes off?”

  “No, I want to marry the man I love and have him be himself,” I blurt, blowing out a breath as I make sense of all the thoughts running through my head. I shouldn’t have done that last shot…things are a little fuzzy. “I’m marrying a Knight. He wears motorcycle boots and Timberlands, not Italians loafers. His favorite pair of jeans are six years old and they have a rip on the knee. He doesn’t know how to put a pair of cufflinks on, but man, he can fucking rock the shit out of a chain belt. Do you know my favorite part of the day is when he comes from the clubhouse and he smells like motor oil and leather? He always goes to wash his hands and remove his kutte before he hugs me, but I stop him because I don’t want him to rid himself of what he is before he touches me.”

  “Did you say you’re marrying a Knight?” The bartender interrupts.

  I shoot him a look.

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly I’m hit by a wave of pride and before I can think better of it, I climb on top of the bar stool.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Celeste hisses, pulling at the hem of my dress.

  “I’m marrying one of the Satan’s Knights!”

  “Now, can we call one of the guys?” Kelly questions.

  “No need,” Adrianna replies.

  Ignoring them, I look at the sea of bikers staring at me.

  “Hey, you!” I call, pointing to one of them. “If your old lady asked you to wear a tuxedo on your wedding day, would you do it?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “What if she made you go to pre cana classes?”

  “Fuck that shit,” another growls.

  A grin spreads across my face. I may be drunk, but I just got a dose of clarity. Knowing Stryker would do anything to marry me and make this wedding something little girls dream of is enough for me to realize the only thing I need in this world is him. The only thing I want is him.

  And I want him just the way he is.

  Leather and motorcycle boots.

  Tattoos and scars on display.

  My beautiful broken hero.

  “Gina.”

  Oh, shit.

  I know that voice.

  Reluctantly, I follow the sound and a hiccup flies past my lips when my eyes lock with my brothers.

  “Get down,” he growls. “It’s time to go.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I had someone tailing your fucking limo. Now, get the fuck down it’s time for you to go to bed.”

  “I’m not going to bed!”

  “You sure as fuck are not staying here. Let’s go.” He turns to the girls. “All of you, let’s go.”

  There used to be a time when I thought having an older brother was the greatest thing in the world. Then I decided having an older brother was nothing but a pain in the ass. Apparently, the latter is true.

  -Five-

  Stryker

  “Fuck,” Deuce hisses.

  Peeling the longneck away from my lips, I watch as he frantically pats the front of his kutte.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  “What’s he fucking about?” Parrish asks in between his coughing fit. He passes me a joint and I struggle not to laugh in his face.

  In an effort to make my bachelor party a little livelier, he and Pipe thought it would be a good idea to twist one out. The only thing they accomplished is confirming the two of them need lung transplants.

  “I lost it,” Deuce shouts.

  “A long time ago, but no one wanted to bring any attention to it,” Cobra says. “It happened around the time you thought it was a good idea to fuck around with my sister.”

  “I don’t think he’s talking about his marbles,” Bash says, taking the joint from me.

  “Fine, I’ll bite,” I mutter. “What’d you lose?”

  “The ring.”

  “You gave this idiot Gina’s ring?” Cobra questions.

  “Nope,” I reply, shaking my head as I keep my eyes on Deuce.

  It’s about time he pulled his head out of his ass and make things official between him and Ally.

  “Fuck,” he grunts.

  “Yeah, you said that already,” Pipe chimes in.

  Deuce turns to Cobra, holding up his hands.

  “Alright, don’t kill me…I was going to ask you for your permission—not that I need it, but you’re kind of an asshole when it comes to me and Ally, so I figured asking would spare me from having to deal with one of your tantrums. You’re no fun when someone ruffles your feathers.”

  “My permission for what?” Cobra questions. The vein in his forehead protrudes as his jaw tightens.

  Deuce blinks.

  “To fucking marry her. What the hell else would I ask permission for?”

  “I don’t know you never asked permission to date her,” Cobra growls.

  Personally, I don’t think he’s all that mad by it. Beneath his rugged exterior, the man has a big heart and all he wants is for his sister to experience life to its fullest extent. Deuce not only encourages Ally to take risks, he gives her wings to let her discover the world. He’s just there for the ride because like I said, it’s incredible reliving parts of life through Ally’s eyes. It’s like we all get a rewrite at some of the things we didn’t do all that great the first time around.

  “You people put me and her in a hotel room together what did you think was going to happen?” Deuce shouts. “One trip to Target, and there was no looking back. She had me hook, line and sinker, in between the condom aisle and trying on shades of red lipstick.”

  “What is this Target place?” Pipe questions.

  “I don’t know about any of you but when I go to Target, it’s not nearly as eventful,” Linc mutters.

  “According to this guy, that’s because you’re hitting the wrong spots. Take Kelly for a stroll down the condom aisle and that shit might change,” Parrish suggests.

  “Ally isn’t ready to get married,” Cobra growls, swiping a hand over his face.

  “Here’s an idea,” Deuce begins. “Why don’t we let Ally decide what she is and isn’t ready for?” He sighs and runs his fingers through his dark hair, fixing Cobra with a stare.

  “You know, I get it, man. You still see the fourteen-year-old girl you lost, but she’s been found and she’s living her best fucking life. You need to stop looking behind you and start looking in front of you.”

  Silence engulfs the room and we collectively turn to Cobra. Everything Deuce just said is something we’ve all struggled with telling Cobra in the past. How do you tell a man who harbors so much guilt, it’s okay to live again?

  “Don’t fucking pretend to know what I feel when it comes to what happened to Ally.”

  “Why don’t we just look for the ring and shut the fuck up?” Blackie asks. “We can bypass the fight, and no one will have a black eye for the wedding.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” Deuce defends. “I’m telling you to wake the fuck up, man. Your sister is alive. She’s well and she’s fucking happy. Me..” his voice trails as he pokes his thumb against his chest. “…I’m the guy who makes her happy and if we want to get married, we’re gonna get married. And if we want six fucking kids, guess what? We’re going to have six k
ids. Maybe seven.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Riggs. “Make those cubs.”

  Before Riggs can start chanting for Deuce to mate, I stand and make my way to where the poor bastard was sitting most of the night and drop to my knees, looking for the ring—because, fuck, I want him to get the girl after that speech.

  “What does it look like?” I ask.

  “It looks like an engagement ring! You know, a big shiny diamond, costs about fifteen grand.”

  I’m about to tell him to find his damn ring himself but I get distracted by the pair of loafers entering the bar. I’d know those fancy as fuck shoes anywhere, they belong to my future brother in law.

  Lifting my head, my eyes connect with Rocco’s.

  “Well, well, look what the wind dragged in,” Parrish sing songs. “Take a hike, Al Pacino.”

  “Parrish, always a pleasure,” Rocco replies sarcastically before he slices his eyes back to me. “I have something that belongs to you.”

  Curious, I remain silent and quirk an eyebrow as I rise from the floor.

  “Since you’re here to return precious belongings, you don’t happen to have an engagement ring in the pocket of that monkey suit, do you?” Deuce mumbles miserably.

  “What is he talking about?” Rocco asks me.

  “Ignore him. Why are you here?”

  Nothing good ever comes from Rocco unexpectedly showing up and a sense of dread washes over me as I anxiously wait for him to put me out of my misery. Rocco glances back at Deuce for a minute before shaking his head and walking back towards the door. Skeptical as to what he’s up to, I take a step closer. He pushes the door open and one by one, our women enter the bar, each escorted by one of Rocco’s bodyguards. Last to enter the room is Gina.

  My eyes narrow and dart between the guy with his fingers around Gina’s arm to Rocco.

  “What the fuck is this?” I hiss.

  “Found them at a bar in Brooklyn owned by the Corrupt Hellraisers,” Rocco supplies, jutting a finger towards his sister. “This one was standing on top of a stool professing her love for you. It was a disaster.”

  My eyes shoot to Gina and scan her from head to toe. Shoving Rocco’s bodyguard off her, she runs to me, throwing her arms around my neck. All the questions I have for her flee my mind as I breathe her in.

  The familiar scent of her perfume is masked by all the alcohol she’s consumed and still, she’s heaven.

  “I love you,” she cries into my neck. “I love you so fucking much and I’m so sorry for the tuxedo, the flowers, the pre cana classes and making you receive confirmation.”

  Ah, drunk Gina.

  She’s a trip.

  “What’s going on?” I question, looking over her head towards her brother.

  “She’s drunk,” Rocco confirms with a shrug. “Is it not obvious?”

  “Really? You’re the best my father could find?” Adrianna asks.

  “You like your husband alive, right?” Rocco retorts.

  Yes, I’m willingly marrying into this family—Christmas should be fun.

  Gina pulls away from me and takes hold of my face. I have no idea what’s going on, but fuck me, I ain’t about to argue with her. Possessive Gina is my favorite.

  “Marry me,” she murmurs.

  I laugh.

  “That’s the plan,” I remind her.

  I’ve got the canceled checks and depleted savings account to prove it too.

  “No, now. Marry me now.”

  There’s an urgency to her voice and I start to wonder where all this is coming from. Did she fall and hit her head? My gaze shoots to Rocco.

  “Are we sure she’s just drunk?” I ask.

  “I’m not drunk…well, maybe a little,” she admits, sighing exasperatedly. “Stryker, look at me.”

  I bring my eyes back to hers, watching as they fill with tears and my chest goes tight.

  I hate when she cries.

  “Babe—”

  “I want to marry you just the way you are. Right now. Say yes.”

  This girl.

  This beautiful girl.

  I’d do anything for her.

  “Gina, baby, we don’t have anyone to marry us,” I say softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

  “Actually,” Ally starts. “I can marry you.”

  “Excuse me?” I reply.

  “Ally is a reverend,” Gina blurts.

  “A what?”

  Her future fiancé failed to mention his woman was suddenly a woman of the cloth.

  “And a Pampered Chef consultant as of next week,” Ally adds.

  “See, living her best life,” Deuce adds, throwing his arm around her shoulders proudly.

  “Maybe you can run for president too,” Pipe says.

  “Stryker,” Gina whispers, bringing my attention back to her. “Marry me.”

  “Babe, this is crazy. What about your dress—”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” she interrupts. “We can still go through with the whole thing tomorrow, but in the years to come, I want to celebrate this moment as our anniversary. I want to remember pledging my undying love to you in this bar, surrounded by our friends and family, with no false pretenses. I want to remember you as I fell in love with you.”

  As a kid, I used to hide in a closet as my father beat on my mother. I’d silence her cries with dreams and pictured what life would be like if I grew up to be rich. You see, foolishly I thought if I had money, I could buy us a new life. When I realized that wasn’t how the world worked, I enlisted in the Marines and I learned it takes will to change your life.

  It takes sacrifice.

  It takes determination.

  If I could go back in time, I’d tell that boy in the closet, being rich ain’t about the size of your bank account.

  I’d tell that boy to dream of a girl with pretty eyes and fancy shoes.

  An independent woman who didn’t need a hero but wanted one anyway.

  She’d come into his life like a tornado, flip his world upside down and change his life. She’d teach him to be rich is to be loved by her.

  We got married in Big Nose Kate’s that night, with Ally acting as our officiant. I wore my kutte and she wore her red bottom shoes. Her brother gave me her hand and my brothers raised their glasses after we sealed our vows with a kiss.

  It was perfect.

  It was us.

  And the next day, we did it all over again.

  THE END

  Excerpt from Straightened Out

  -One-

  Rocco Spinelli

  “I want you to understand something, dear nephew…you are not a choice, you’re my last fucking resort. You are what happens when a dying man loves his children more than anything in this fucking world. You are what happens when a powerful man sacrifices everything he’s built so long after he’s gone, his daughters can live happily and without fearing the consequences of their father’s lifestyle. You are what the underworld gets when all the greats are gone.”

  The buzzer sounds, slicing through the memory and I slowly lift my head. My gaze shoots towards the door and the instant my eyes lock with my uncles my throat tightens.

  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  Everyone always assumed the streets would kill Victor Pastore, that he’d be shot and killed in front of his family like so many other dons that came before him. But God had a different plan for the man who ruled the streets of New York City for nearly three decades and decided to make him pay for his sins by giving him stage four lung cancer. I wonder if the big guy in the sky knew the man walking towards me was too proud to fight the disease, that he would succumb to the shit eating away at his body. It’s crazy when you think about it. For as long as I can remember, my uncle didn’t cower to anything and here he is, ready and willing to roll over and die.

  I guess it’s true what they say about real men.

  It’s the family that makes them, not the suit and definitely not the power.

 
; My father wasn’t a real man.

  He was the scum of the earth, a low-life thug who took cheap shots and always found the easy way out of everything—even death. Think about it, it’s a hell of a lot less painful to die by a spray bullets than it is to have an uncontrollable disease spread throughout your body and gradually kill you. If you’re really lucky, the shooter is skilled and ends your existence with the first shot. A blow to the head, maybe one to a major artery—every shot that comes after is simply for decoration. A reminder for your family when they keep the casket closed at your funeral because no undertaker could fix the holes in your face, you were nothing but a piece of shit.

  In case you were wondering, my old man’s casket was closed.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite nephew,” Victor greets as he approaches the table. I quickly push any thought of my father out of my head, and round the table to pay respect not just to the boss, but the man who stepped up and became a father figure to me and my sister.

  After my old man was killed, my mother brought me and my sister, Gina, back to New York. She claimed we weren’t safe in Italy, but part of me wonders if she knew she was dying long before she ever told us. Anyway, when we came back, me and Gina weren’t allowed to have any contact with Uncle Vic or that side of the family. For Gina, it wasn’t a big deal, she always had her head in a book. I think she applied to every college on the Eastern seaboard for shits and giggles.

  Me, I was different.

  I had more of my prick of a father’s blood running through my veins than she did.

  Before dear old dad was deported and our lives were uprooted, I was making a solid name for myself on the streets. I still remember the first time my uncle ever pulled me aside and sung my praise. He hugged me as tight as he hugs me now, kissed my cheek and said, ‘stick with me, kid, and you’ll be alright’.

  “You look good,” I tell him, pulling away to meet his gaze. I mean, he looks better than I expected. I guess that has to do with him refusing treatment. The cancer may be making a war zone out of his insides, but on the outside—it’s business as usual.

  Thank God, because appearances are everything to Uncle Vic.