“Two weeks,” she scoffs. “Yeah, I suppose I could’ve told you after I saw you covered in blood, holding a dead woman’s shoes,” she hollers sarcastically. “The thing is, two years ago, I ran into you at a hotel. It was one fucking night and when you were finished with me, you were out the door.”
“You’re the one that walked out the door.”
“Yeah, after you made me. After you told me the boy I loved was dead and all that was left was a monster,” she reminds me, stepping closer. “You were dead to me, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve learned once someone’s gone they’re gone for good.”
There is no mistaking the reference to my sister.
Gone.
Gone for good.
“Don’t make this shit about Alexandria,” I order.
“It’s always about Alexandria. Don’t you get it? Don’t you see? Every damn thing that’s ever happened to us always goes back to that night. This is no different. You made me walk out of that hotel room so you could go on searching for the answers you hoped would clear your conscience, answers you needed to put your sister to rest. As much as I wanted you to stay and choose me, I knew you couldn’t. I also knew there was a small part of me that didn’t want you to, a small part of me that wanted you to find the bastard that took her from us and ruined our lives. It’s that small part of me that made it possible for me to walk away from you. It’s that small part I clung to when I was alone in a hospital delivering our daughter. It’s what I hold onto every damn day I look at her and see you.”
“Her.”
“Yes, her. You have a daughter,” she rasps, her voice trembles the same way her whole body does. “No, I didn’t look at you that day in the hospital and fight some crazy urge to tell you the truth. I looked at you and thought how fucked the universe is. Then I saw you again, sitting in Linc’s room and I still didn’t want to tell you, but I ran upstairs to the day care center and hugged her because seeing you again wrecked me. Here I was with this precious girl that was equal parts you and me, a testament of everything we shared and everything we lost. A precious girl I will do anything to protect. I didn’t tell you then because I had no idea you were living here. I thought you’d pick up and leave. I waited for you to leave, expected to find you gone every day I walked into the hospital. I didn’t want her to have to watch you walk away. But you didn’t leave. You stood there day after day, and the few times you and I were with one another, you began to make it clear you weren’t leaving.”
“Even if I was leaving don’t you think you should’ve told me? I would’ve stayed.”
“Really? You really think you would’ve? Because I’m looking at you right now and all I see raging in your eyes is the need to flee.”
“Don’t mistake what you see in my eyes for anything other than anger. If I walk away, it’s because I have to. It’s because staying here is too fucking much for me to wrap my head around. It doesn’t mean I won’t be back. It doesn’t fucking mean I’m not going to want more than to know her name,” I grind out, shoving my arms through a t-shirt before pushing my head through it.
Once its on, I push my hair away from my eyes and pin her with a look.
“You make that girl by yourself?”
“Of course not,” she fires back.
“Then you don’t get to decide my part in her life.”
“I don’t want to decide your part in her life that’s why I told you,” she says, stepping forward so that we’re only a breath apart. “But decide wisely, Cobra, because once you’re in, you’re in. I won’t let you walk in and out of her life.”
I open my mouth to rip into her but my words die on my tongue once I hear the distinct roar of motorcycles. Her eyes dart toward to the door as someone pounds a fist against it. Quickly, I reach for the gun on my nightstand and glance over my shoulder.
“Get down,” I demand as I inch my way closer to the door.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” she shrieks.
“Quit giving me your lip. Shouldn’t be too hard for you to keep quiet, you seem to be a pro,” I sneer, pulling back the safety of my gun as I aim the barrel toward the door. The rumble of engines grows louder as the banging on the door persists.
“Cobra, open the fucking door, bro,” Deuce bellows.
Lowering my gun, I stand behind the door and peer into the peephole as he flips me the bird knowingly.
“Open the door, dickhead,” he shouts.
After a quick glance at Celeste, I pull it open and meet his amused stare.
“Ready to ride, motherfucker?” he asks as he wiggles his eyebrows and glances over my shoulder. “I bet you are, you dirty dog.”
“I need a minute,” I tell him.
The amusement leaves him as he studies my features, instantly recognizing the devil in my eyes.
“Shit,” he hisses as I turn to hand him the duffel bags.
“Take these, tell them I’ll be ready in five. If they give you any shit, tell Blackie he’s fucking early,” I instruct.
“Gotcha, brother,” he says with a nod before looking back at Celeste. “Blondie,” he acknowledges before slinging the bags over his shoulders and walking away.
Spinning around, I reach for my cut and slide my arms through it.
“Is this the ride you were talking about?” she questions lowly.
I shove my gun into the waistband of my jeans and load the clip into another one. Fully loaded, I turn my eyes back to her.
“Go home, Celeste,” I order evenly.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“That’s it,” I confirm. “That’s all I can give you right now. It’s all I got.”
She stares at me blankly.
In another life, I’d take her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay.
In another life, I’d forget about the reaper on my back and I’d go meet my daughter.
In this life, I do none of those things.
In this life, I turn around and walk right out the door.
In this life, I straddle my bike, banding together with my brothers.
Brooklyn.
Bergen County.
In this life, the two become one.
In this life, I rev my engine and ride straight to revenge, thinking of a faceless child that’s mine.
In this life, I stare at the patch sewn to the backs of the men riding in front of me and I wonder how they do it. How do they balance both—the club and family? Blackie doesn’t have kids, but Riggs does and here he is, riding in front of me locked and loaded, prepared to kill.
The men at my sides, Deuce and Stryker, they don’t have shit. Like me, they’re still lost, but the men behind me, the Bergen County chapter, well, I’m sure some of them forgot to wrap their shit and have a kid or two floating around.
Maybe all they know is hell.
Maybe they never got to experience heaven.
They don’t know there is more than this.
When you live chaos, you breed it too.
They don’t know there is beauty buried deep beneath the ugly.
Yeah, they don’t know about that life.
In this life, all they know, all I know is what is staring in front of me.
Lit up like the shiny unsuspecting target it is, the Corrupt Bastards’ clubhouse comes into view and Blackie swirls his finger in the air.
It’s our cue.
Wrangle in the mayhem.
Deliver the evil.
Sin.
Flashing my headlights like the rest of my brothers, I steer my bike with one hand and reach for the rifle strapped to my back.
In this life, I am Satan’s deadliest soldier, a man who isn’t worth shit.
A man who isn’t worth the glory of being an innocent little girl’s daddy.
In this life, I am the man who tips his chin toward his brother and accelerates his bike to cover his acting president’s ass.
In this life, I throw my life down for his and fire away f
or brotherhood.
In this life, I pull the trigger and try to imagine a little girl I’ve never seen.
In this life, I hear Celeste’s voice say her name as I dismount from my bike.
Skylar.
Skylar Alexandria.
Holding my gun steady, I send bullet after bullet whizzing through the air.
I wonder if she has blonde hair or brown.
Are her eyes blue like mine or the color of chocolate like her mama’s?
Blackie pulls a glass bottle from his saddle bag and shoves a soaked rag inside it. Lighting the tip of it with a match, he sends the Molotov cocktail flying into the enemy’s window.
Satan has arrived.
Pay up motherfuckers.
Running straight for hell, I spot three Bastards locked and loaded, ready to take us out. It’s then, that fucking moment, watching as Riggs steps in front of Blackie and sprays the three men full of lead, that it all becomes clear. He is an asset to his club because he has the most to lose. He fights harder than anyone because he has heaven waiting for him and this shit, this hell, it will not tear him away from that. He’s got heart, and that shit is what keeps him breathing.
Riggs waves us through the front door and the first sight I catch is a woman dancing in fire, screaming at the top of her lungs.
A sight like that makes you wonder why anyone brings life into this world.
But then one wouldn’t know the answer to that unless he decides to stick.
Unless he decides to go all in and man the fuck up.
Unless he decides to be the man that protects his daughter from this shit.
Unless he vows for her never to know ugly.
In this life, I wonder if the woman in front of me ever knew beautiful, if she ever got to know heaven. Her screams resonate inside me and my sister’s face flashes before me. I fight for focus, blinking as I watch Deuce shoot the woman so she doesn’t feel the flames eat away at her.
In this life, I pray my sister never suffered a fate like that.
In this life, I swear my daughter will never know that kind of ugly.
Mine.
It’s the final thought I have before I transform into the motherfucking reaper and take out the whores and bastards creeping from the crevices.
Fighting for what is ours, we kill with no regret.
Retribution is alive in all of us and it’s raining down on these cocksuckers.
The club divides, taking out targets left and right, but it’s Pipe who makes me freeze in my tracks. He screams his wife’s name as he spins in a circle firing away.
In this life, Pipe is desperate.
He’s a man lost.
A man without a heart to go back to.
In this life, I decide I don’t want to be Pipe.
I want to be Riggs.
I want to be the guy who is an asset to his club because he’s got a little girl at home he needs to protect.
Her.
Skylar.
Intuition.
It knows the game.
Better than you.
Better than I.
I should have listened to my gut and turned right instead of left, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from Pipe and as a result my shoulder catches a bullet. The scream rips through me as I reach for my shoulder, level my arm and shoot back, tearing the fucking ear off the motherfucker who shot me.
Shot me but didn’t catch me.
You gotta catch me to kill me.
And now you have to try a whole lot harder because I got heart waiting for me.
Stryker finishes the bastard by blowing his dick off.
All in the name of brotherhood.
The shots die down as Blackie calls Pipe over and hands him a knife. Biting through the pain, I focus on the lost soul as he cuts the tear drops tattooed to the face of the president of the rival club.
In this life, when a man bows down to pray he cuts the flesh from the man who stole his wife’s life. Then he flicks his skin from the tip of his rusted knife and slices his neck wide open.
In this life, a man delivers death.
And he takes his revenge.
I close my eyes as the pain washes over me and I stumble to the floor. Stryker moves quickly. Pulling the belt from his jeans, he wraps it around my shoulder and ties it tight to stop the bleeding.
“I’m fine,” I grind out. “I just can’t ride back.”
“We’re going to need a cage,” he shouts.
“I’ve got one a mile out waiting for us,” the president of Bergen County replies.
In this life, I order Stryker to call Rick Grayson, and this time when he answers, I wait for him to give me Celeste’s address.
Then I close my eyes and say her name.
“Skylar.”
In this life, there are two things that make the world go round.
The innocence of a child.
And the sins of a father.
Chapter Twenty-two
Turning onto my side, I stare at the baby monitor perched on my nightstand. At the black and white image of my little girl sleeping peacefully.
Not mine.
Ours.
“You make that girl by yourself?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you don’t get to decide my part in her life.”
Sighing, I roll onto my back and gaze up at the ceiling. Giving in to another sleepless night, I push off the covers and let out a deep breath.
A million different thoughts, fears and dreams all twist in knots as I climb out of bed and make my way toward the kitchen. Before I told Cobra the truth, I played all the possible scenarios in my head. I thought I was prepared for anything and I wasn’t surprised when he walked out the door. The anger and vicious words he spat didn’t shock me either.
I was prepared for everything.
The turmoil he passed onto me, the wonderment of our daughter having a place in his life—I had thought of everything.
I completely expected one of us to walk away, knowing we both would need time after the ground stopped shaking. Time to stand on level ground and decide what happens next.
So why am I up at four o’clock in the morning pouring myself a cup of coffee?
My heart and soul knew the answer to the question and a moment later the universe answers when my doorbell rings.
Placing the mug on the counter, I walk around the breakfast nook and pad through the living room. Placing one hand on the knob I lean my forehead against the door and close my eyes.
“Who is it?”
“Blondie, it’s Deuce, be a sweetheart and open the door,” he calls from the other end.
Dread churns in the pit of my stomach as I swallow down the lump stuck in my throat and push down my fears.
No, no, no.
Why is here?
Where is Cobra?
With trembling hands, I unlock my door, prepare myself for the worst and pull it open. My eyes widen, darting between Deuce and Cobra, then down to the blood staining his shoulder.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, spreading the door wide as my gaze sweeps over Cobra.
“It ain’t as bad as it looks,” he growls.
His baby blues darken as they pierce into me.
“The hard headed son of a bitch wouldn’t let me take him to our doc, insisted I bring him here,” Deuce explains, repositioning Cobra’s arm around his neck.
“Fuck,” he hisses, wincing in pain.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Deuce cringes, turning his eyes back to me. “I think we stopped the bleeding so he shouldn’t make too much of a mess,” he adds, flashing me a smirk. “So what do you say, sweetheart, you going to let us in or what?”
“Of course,” I stammer, moving around to help Deuce bring him inside. “Let’s get him over to the couch.”
“No, the blood will stain your couch,” he grinds out, moaning as we move him through the small living room.
“Then you’ll just have to buy me a new couch,” I whisper.
&
nbsp; “Add it to the list of arrears,” he grunts, falling back onto the couch with a groan.
“He might be a little drunk,” Deuce offers, dimples on full display.
“How drunk?”
“Well…you know…we gave him a little whiskey to take the edge off the pain,” he states. “Just a smidge.”
“Whiskey,” Cobra mutters. “Every sip tastes like you.”
“Yeah, let’s hope he’s talking about you,” Deuce says, scratching the top of his head before turning back to me.
“I’ve got it from here,” I tell him, looking back at Cobra.
He opens his eyes halfway and the corners of his lips twitch.
“Do you now?”
“Yeah, that’s my cue,” Deuce declares. “Bullet grazed his shoulder. Stryker is going to want his belt back so hang onto that thing. If there are any complications, don’t take his ass to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Sweetheart, no offense, I know they’re your people and all, but hospitals are cop callers. We don’t need none of that right now. If there are any issues, call me and I’ll get him to the club doctor. My number is programed into his phone,” he says, handing me Cobra’s phone. “Take care of him.”
“I will,” I promise, following him toward the door.
He steps into the hallway, turning back to face me and appears to debate what to say next. Shoving his hands into his pockets he lifts his dark eyes to mine and quirks his lips.
“Makes sense.”
My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“What does?”
Smiling, he shakes his head and I see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Everything about him makes much more sense now.”
“He told you?”
“Wouldn’t be on your couch if he didn’t,” he says evenly. “Call me if you need anything,” he adds as he starts to walk away.
Swallowing, I start to close the door but Deuce turns back to me. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a bag of M&M’s.
“I almost forgot,” he says. “Son of a bitch made me stop off and grab these too.”
Taking the bag from his hand I smile slightly before he walks away. Drawing in a deep breath I walk back into my apartment and close the door. My eyes slice to my couch and the man sprawled across it, grunting as he tries to undo the belt tied to his shoulder.
Wanderer (The Nomad Series Book 2) Page 15
