Wanderer (The Nomad Series Book 2)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  The door pushes open one final time and my gorgeous girl walks through it. Exhausted and beautiful…mine.

  All fucking mine.

  Home is her.

  It’s her smile.

  “Come here, gorgeous,” I murmur, crooking my finger lazily. My body feels, well, it feels like I’ve been fucking shot, but that won’t stop me.

  I used to think someone had to catch me to kill me, but I had it all wrong.

  I got caught.

  She caught me.

  And she saved me.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, she twists her body and stares at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m better than okay,” I tell her. “I’m complete, baby.”

  She leans forward and presses her lips softly against mine.

  Home.

  In this life, I’m Jagger Richardson. I’m the guy who gets the woman, the guy that gets to love her and make all her dreams come true. I’m the guy who has the family he never thought he’d have.

  I’m also Cobra and I am Satan’s deadliest soldier. I have brothers I am proud to call mine, brothers who respect me and my family.

  Once a wanderer, I am now home.

  THE FUCKING END

  Glory Be!

  Epilogue

  It’s been a long fucking time since I stepped foot in this garage. It’s different from Pipe’s. Smaller. Neater. A whole lot more professional than the chop shop the Satan’s Knights use as a front to hide money. Then again, I’d expect nothing less from Salvatore Spinelli. He’s a man who takes pride in everything he does. From his family to his business, he gives one hundred percent.

  I’ve got big shoes to fill and can only hope I’m half the husband and father he is.

  Getting his hands dirty, not willing to delegate responsibility to his workers, he shoves his head under the hood of a car and does what he does best.

  “Sal,” I call out, watching him hit the back of his head on the hood.

  “Shit,” he mutters, grabbing the back of his head as he turns to me. “What’re you doing here?”

  My lips quirk as I round the back of the car and walk toward him. I glance under the hood and back at him.

  “Whatcha working on?”

  “Tune up,” he says, pulling a rag from his pocket. He wipes his hands on the rag and eyes me suspiciously. “Should you be out and about?”

  “You sound like your daughter.”

  “Yeah, well,” he mutters. “How’s everything going?”

  “Good, trying to get back to normal…whatever that is,” I say. Unable to help myself, I bend my head and start to tinker with the engine of the car. It’s like second nature—some shit just never leaves you.

  “Your sister?”

  “She’s not ready to come around yet,” I reply, biting back the frustration that claws at me.

  Since I’ve been released from the hospital I’ve made several attempts to connect with Alexandria, but she shuts me down every time. Celeste has made very little progress too, but she’s taken to Skylar and jumps at the opportunity to spend time with her. She’s staying at the motel with Deuce. I don’t like it, but I’m afraid if I push her too far I’ll lose her, and I only just got her back.

  Fucking crazy.

  The club is on the mend. After the showdown on the pier, Bas and Needles asked Jack to join forces, knowing they weren’t able to fix the mess Rush left their chapter in. They sold what was left of the club’s assets and turned the rest over to Jack almost like a buy-in. Now they wear the Brooklyn patch too and with the money Jack made off selling Rush’s shit we started the construction on our clubhouse. We also set money aside for Linc’s rehabilitation. He had his final surgery, and once he’s released they will send him to a rehab facility.

  As far as Yankovich is concerned, he’s been off the grid again. Gone without a trace. Ironic but not surprising. He got away with his transport but he didn’t win. I’m the fucking winner this time and I’ve got Jack Parrish to thank for that.

  “I’m guessing you’re not here to shoot the shit or dirty your hands,” Sal speaks up, causing me to turn my gaze to him.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I shake my head.

  “No, I’m not,” I answer honestly.

  “Then are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

  “Think you know why I’m here, Pops,” I counter as I shove my hands in my pockets. “In another life, I made you a promise.”

  Pulling out the tiny black box, I juggle it from one hand to the other before handing it over to him.

  “We stood in this very spot when I first told you I was going to marry your daughter and promised to ask your permission before I do. For a long time, I didn’t think we’d ever have this conversation. I thought I’d lost her for good. I don’t want to wait anymore, Sal. I want to move on from all the bad shit that dragged us down. I want to make a good life for her and our kids. I might not be the guy you would have hoped she’d marry, but I promise I’ll love her better than any other man ever could.”

  “Son, you don’t have to pitch yourself to me,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “You had my blessing when you were just a kid, willing to do anything and everything possible to make her smile.”

  “You caught onto that?”

  “I loved you for it. You’re a father, you understand what it feels like to see your daughter smile, and when she finds someone who wants that smile more than his next breath, you’ll also know relief. You’ll be able to leave the world without worry, knowing there is someone else out there taking care of what you cherish. You’ve had my blessing for a long time, Jagger,” he says hoarsely as he flips open the box and stares at the solitaire set in an antique setting.

  “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  “She’s going to love it,” he whispers, snapping the box closed before handing it to me.

  “When are you going to do it?”

  “As soon as I shake your hand and get the fuck out of here,” I quip.

  He laughs as he extends his hand to me. I grip it firmly, shaking on it as an understanding passes from my eyes to his.

  I’ll respect her.

  I’ll love her.

  I’ll give her all I am capable of.

  I’ll make her happy.

  I’ll live up to the standard you set.

  “Go get her, son,” he rasps.

  It’s all the encouragement I need. I can’t ride because of my injuries but I have a prospect driving me wherever I have to go. Perks of the job and all that. Glancing down at my phone, I spot an unread text message from Celeste. Swiping my thumb across the screen, I open and read it.

  Celeste: Where should I meet you?

  Me: The football field.

  Celeste: Are you serious?

  Me: Live a little.

  Grinning, I make the prospect stop off at a bodega and grab her a bag of peanut M&M’s then we head back to where it all began.

  Innocence and sin.

  They do exist.

  Walking across the field, I’m transcended back to that night and I can almost hear the crowd. I can hear the coach’s voice ordering me off the bench. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  I spot a football laying on the ground and I lift it in my hands. Placing my fingers on the threads I fake a pass.

  “Should’ve told me you’d be making a comeback, I would’ve made a sign,” I hear her call out from behind me.

  Turning around, I smile at her and drop the ball onto the ground as I make my way toward her.

  So fucking gorgeous.

  Mine.

  Always mine.

  “Hi,” she murmurs as I reach for her.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist I bend my head and take her mouth. I nip and suck at her lips until they part, inviting me in for a taste of heaven. So fucking good it’s sinful. We fight fire with fire as our tongues wrestle for control.

  In war there usually is only one victor.

  In
love we’re both winners.

  And we both come out on top, breathless and needing more. One taste is never enough.

  “C’mere,” I murmur against her mouth as I lace our fingers together.

  Regretfully, I pull away from her lips and pull her toward the bleachers.

  “You looking to have your way with me under the bleachers?”

  “Well, I couldn’t at fourteen might as well try now,” I tease as I lead her to our spot.

  Back then, neither of us knew it was our spot and after everything that happened we cursed that night. It didn’t matter how good it felt to be under here with her then, it was when we walked away that the nightmare began. It swallowed the good and turned everything ugly. Now we’ve got nothing but beautiful. Time to recreate what this place means.

  The beginning of us.

  I pull the bag of M&M’s out and hand them to her, watching as a grin spreads across her lips.

  I’ve lost count of her smiles, vowing to keep a new tally once she’s my wife. Tearing the package with her teeth, I watch her pour the candy into her palm.

  “You going to share?” I ask.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” she replies.

  “We’re going to have to fix that.”

  “Oh yeah, why’s that?” she says with a mouthful of chocolate. Releasing a moan, she teases me and empties more into her palm.

  “Sharing is kind of a requirement when you’re married,” I point out.

  Her face goes still and I’m pretty sure she swallows down the candy without even chewing. Blinking, she hands me the bag of M&M’s.

  “Oh, so now you want to share?” I laugh, winking at her.

  “Change of heart,” she croaks.

  Slowly, I crouch down on bended knee and take the M&M’s from her hand. I empty the bag into my mouth and watch as she smiles.

  Fuck it, I’ll start the new tally now.

  She runs her hands over the shaved sides of my head and tilts my head back.

  “How’s that for sharing?”

  “It’s a start,” I tease.

  “You’re going to make me sweat it out, aren’t you?”

  “Thinking about it,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Jagger!”

  Laughing, I take her hand and place it over my chest, between the wounds that are healing over my heart.

  “Feel that, don’t you?” I rasp, watching as her eyes glass over. “Yeah, you do, always have and always will. I love you, Celeste. You’re everything that makes this life worth living. You’re everything that keeps this heart beating. I was told I’d come back to Brooklyn and I’d find my heart, but I found my heart at fourteen, I just needed to reclaim it. Now I’m never letting it go. I’m never letting you go.”

  “Promise.”

  “I fucking swear it,” I say, bringing her hand to my lips. “Live a little, gorgeous, marry the bad boy who loves you with all his heart. Give him your smile for the rest of his life.”

  Tears fall from her eyes as I reach into my pocket and pull out the box.

  “I never thought this would happen,” she whispers. “I prayed. I wished but I never truly believed we’d ever be here.”

  “That’s all over now,” I promise.

  “I was born to be Mrs. Richardson,” she murmurs softly. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

  Another smile.

  Another tally.

  Mine.

  Always mine.

  Bonus Epilogue

  Fuck my life.

  No, seriously, I’ve got to have the worst fucking luck imaginable. This shit doesn’t happen to everyone, just schmucks like me. I’ve been burned more times than allotted in a lifetime. One would think by now I’d have learned my lesson, but I keep making the same mistakes.

  My mother called me a giver.

  She told me I gave too much of myself to people.

  I thought it was a good trait to have—honorable, even. But there isn’t a damn honorable thing about the man I’ve become. All that giving isn’t worth shit when you take what’s not yours to take.

  And Lord knows, I’ve taken plenty.

  I’ve roamed the country, running from the destruction I left in my hometown, from the club I was born to and the mess I made of it. Now I wear a different cut, one with a reaper on my back. Trading my nomad patch for one that keeps me in Brooklyn was the biggest mistake I could have made. A man running from his life doesn’t park his bike in one place so his enemies can find him.

  Tired of running, I followed Wolf here and got comfortable. I felt like I belonged, like I was part of something bigger than everything I ran from. For the first time, my past didn’t define me, brotherhood did. It’s why I offered to go to Albany and get the intel my club needed.

  It was the giver in me.

  Give and take.

  That’s me.

  I can’t separate the two no matter how many times I try. I’m too selfish and too fucked to change. As usual, I took what wasn’t mine to take and it bit me in the ass.

  I’m like the guy with the forbidden fruit. What’s his name?

  Abe?

  Adam?

  You know who. That motherfucker just couldn’t help himself and neither could I.

  Every mistake has repercussions, but none of mine get a slap on the wrist. Not only did my mistake bite me, she left a fucking mark then ratted me out to her old man—if you can even call him that.

  She opened her fucking mouth and started a goddamn war. Got my ass kidnapped along with Cobra’s little girl. I suppose I should be semi-grateful to her. Since the bastard fucking beat the living shit out of me I was no use to Skylar, leaving her in Ally’s care.

  Because a junkie makes an ideal babysitter, right?

  Fucking told you my life sucked.

  But wait, the shit storm isn’t finished. Nope, the fucking thing is just getting started. It turns out Ally wasn’t just some club whore I needed to sample to stick it to her old man. Nope, she wound up being Cobra’s sister. His sister that was abducted twelve years ago and believed to be dead or traded by a Russian douchebag.

  It gets better.

  After Jack saved our asses and brought us back home, he stuck me with Ally, making me her fucking babysitter, her goddamn shadow. A fucking caretaker of a disgruntled junkie who doesn’t know the outside world. When she’s not bitching at me, I almost feel bad for her.

  Of course I do.

  Because I have a soft spot for girls like her. After all, that’s the reason I’m in this fucking mess. When I first laid eyes on her, she reminded me of everything I was running from and I couldn’t resist.

  Not her.

  Not the familiarity she provided.

  Or the sweet high I got knowing I was getting one over on her old man.

  Just a taste.

  Yeah, just a fucking taste and this is what you get.

  A constant reminder.

  Now I can’t escape her. I can’t escape the snarky attitude the same way I can’t shake the screams she releases every time she falls asleep in the room next to mine.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asks beside me.

  To add insult to injury, I’m her fucking chauffeur too. It’s like Driving Miss Daisy over here. Glancing at her from the corner of my eye, I clench my jaw, knowing the minute I tell her where we’re headed she’s going to give me shit. She’ll probably kick and scream and try to climb out of the car like she does before every visit. Fuck, I wouldn’t put it past her to jump in front of traffic. Yeah, I’m not in the fucking mood for that headache.

  “This isn’t the way to the methadone clinic,” she points out, reaching for the door handle. Of course she knows where that is, but if I tell her to grab me a soda from the vending machine at the motel, she needs me to draw her a map on a paper napkin.

  Fucked, I tell you.

  F-U-C-K-E-D.

  “I told you I don’t want to go to therapy anymore,” she hisses.

  “That’s nice,” I mutter.

&n
bsp; “I won’t go in there,” she shouts, crossing her arms against her chest. “Pull over, Deuce.”

  Progress!

  She isn’t trying to jump out while we’re moving. Turning to her, ready to give her the same fucking tirade I gave her last week and the week before that, I open my mouth but don’t get the chance to. A car slams into us from behind, sending us both forward. Ally braces her hands on the dash and screams as my head slams against the fucking windshield.

  “What’s happening?” she shrieks.

  Knowing she has very little experience with the outside world, I bite back the sarcastic retort and glance in the rearview mirror at the shiny fucking Bentley that’s hit the club’s truck. Glancing back at Ally, I watch her lean back, eyes wide as saucers.

  “Fuck, are you hurt?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Stay right here,” I order as I open the door. “I mean it, Ally, don’t fucking try any funny shit or I’ll shoot your ass. I’m in no fucking mood.”

  I’m about to climb out of the truck when the Bentley swings alongside me.

  What the fuck is this asshole doing?

  Doesn’t he know I’m about to call 1800-Lawyers on his sorry ass? The tinted back window rolls down and a man stares back at me.

  Rich.

  Powerful.

  Score!

  “Sorry about that,” he says with an accent, flashing me a sinister smile. Straight white teeth, so fucking bright I’d bet my left nut they glow in the fucking dark. He leans forward and looks at Ally.

  “It’s all right, there isn’t anything to fear,” he says slowly, enunciating each word.

  Fucking quack.

  “Yeah, how about—”

  Ally gasps beside me, forcing me to turn to her and notice she’s as white as a sheet.

  “What?” I question as my eyes roam her looking for possible injuries. Tires screech across the pavement as the Bentley pulls away, speeding out of my sight before I can catch the license plate.

  “Motherfucker,” I shout as I slam my fist against the steering wheel. There goes my fucking neck brace and my million dollar lawsuit. Remembering Ally next to me, I turn back to her.