Roamer (The Nomad Series Book 3)

by Janine Infante Bosco

  It was nearly two in the morning when I was released and the club’s lawyer drove me back to Jack’s house. By some sort of miracle, everyone was sleeping when I got in so I fixed myself a sandwich and threw my ass on the couch. My body finally relaxed as I turned on the television and surfed through the channels, stopping when I found my favorite movie. I lasted ten minutes before I settled into the cushions and dozed off.

  Then I heard her.

  The shrill scream vibrated through my bones and I was quick on my feet. Ally ran down the stairs straight for the door, but I caught her in my arms before she could open it. She fought me, elbowed me in my fucking ribs and still I held onto her because letting her go was never even a thought. That right there should’ve been my warning. How do you yield to something you never saw coming?

  Waking the whole house with her episode, Jack offered to help, but I brushed him off. I was unable to explain why I followed my gut and allowed myself to be the guy who helped her in her time of need. Thinking about it now, I’m going to say I helped her because it’s what Cobra would’ve done and I was still feeling guilty for being the guy who couldn’t keep his little girl safe. It sounds better than the truth which was; I was making her well-being my responsibility.

  Mistake number two.

  Defying any shred of sense left in my body, I asked her if she wanted to talk about what sent her running down the stairs, but she quickly shut me down. For a few moments, I watched her drift away from the present and live within her mind. I wondered if it was torment plaguing her thoughts or confusion. A deep frown worked her full lips and her bewitching eyes glistened with tears, making it clear that pain consumed her mind.

  Tears I begged not to fall.

  When she finally spoke, it was gratitude that was on her tongue—gratitude for me. She may not have said the actual words, but it was evident, and again I used the Cobra excuse.

  Another mistake. I was racking them in.

  At the mention of her brother, Ally started to unravel, confiding her feelings and fears to me. Every thought she expressed was another broken piece, pieces I was fighting not to collect because I couldn’t be the man who made Ally whole again.

  Knowing I was in over my head, I forced myself not to look at her.

  I fucking failed and made the biggest mistake of all. Turning to her, I stared at her, into those blue fucking eyes. Unbeknownst to her, Ally sucked me into her hell and I touched her.

  It was only a strand of her hair, a soft strand that smelled like coconut, but it was too much. That simple touch was where I crossed the imaginary line. It was a touch that turned into a memory, one that haunted me the second I woke this morning. It’s that touch that had me staring at her while she slept.

  One touch.

  That’s all it took to see Ally as more than a victim.

  One touch and I was memorizing her features, realizing she was more than a sob story—she was a woman.

  A pretty woman to boot.

  That touch had danger stamped all over it, but in order to run the other way I had to touch her again.

  How’s that for fucked?

  Careful not to wake her, I slipped out from under her, propping her head on one of the pillows before grabbing a throw blanket from the back of the couch. Draping it over her, I slowly backed away from the scene of the crime. Quietly, I grabbed my shit, making sure not to wake anyone in the house, especially Jack, and got the fuck out of there.

  Straddling my bike, I took to the wind and found myself here, at the hospital. Not ready to face Celeste and Cobra yet, I take the elevator up to the fifth floor. Before all this shit happened with Ally, I spent most of my days and nights alternating shifts with Cobra watching over Linc. Feeling like a shit friend, I knock on the door before entering his room and brace myself to face the disgruntled man who used to be the life of the clubhouse.

  Linc lived in the fast lane, scheming his way through life, looking to turn a quick buck any chance he got. Out of all of us, he was the nomad most comfortable taking roots here in Brooklyn. It made me wonder about his past and whether or not he had one.

  Cracking open the door, I stick my head inside and glance around the room. Surprised to find him sitting up in the bed, I enter the room.

  “Hey,” I greet, closing the door behind me.

  Shifting his eyes away from the window, he glances over at me.

  “Sorry, I haven’t been here in a few days,” I start, walking further into the room. “Jack says you’re all done with the surgeries.”

  He doesn’t respond, causing me to sigh. Every time I think I’m making progress with him, he gives me the silent treatment, reminding me I have no idea what it’s like to be in his shoes. One minute he was singing on top of the bar, the next he was pinned to the ground by a steel beam. He didn’t ask for any of this, he didn’t put that patch on his back expecting to be paralyzed, but here he is, living a life he didn’t choose.

  “I heard you started therapy yesterday. That’s good, you’ll be out of here in no time,” I say hopefully.

  My words strike a chord with him, causing him to glare at me.

  “Yeah? I can barely wiggle my toe, but yeah, you must be right…I’ll be out of here soon.”

  “Man, you’ll get there,” I reply, swallowing hard. “This ain’t it for you.”

  “I shouldn’t be in this fucking bed,” he sneers.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” I agree.

  “You don’t get it, Deuce. None of you fucking get it. You think I didn’t have a life before this club; that I was born to ride like the rest of you. I didn’t take that patch because Wolf suckered me into it. I knew what I was doing, I knew coming here would be a means to an end. What I didn’t know was that I’d survive. I should’ve died in that blast. It’s what I wanted, what I signed up for,” he shouts, angrily throwing the sheets off his body. “I didn’t sign up to live like this, stuck in a life I don’t want.”

  “You don’t mean that,” I argue.

  “How the fuck would you know what I mean and what I don’t? You don’t fucking know me, Deuce.”

  “I know you’re not a fucking coward so stop acting like one. Get your fucking head out of your ass and back in the game. I promise you if you don’t you won’t walk again,” I grind out angrily.

  Silence envelopes us before he lifts his hands and begins to clap loudly.

  “Bravo,” he sneers. “Bravo.”

  “Fuck this,” I growl, throwing up my hands. “No one can help you.”

  “Now you’re getting it, brother,” he taunts.

  “No one can help you motherfucker because you have to help yourself. So your legs are fucked, be happy you still have them. You want to be angry, be fucking angry. You’re entitled but fuck, man, turn that anger into something right, into something good, use it to prove your capabilities. Spit in the eyes of the enemy and stand, fucking take charge and get those legs moving,” I holler, drawing in a deep breath as I teeter on the edge of self-control. Pausing, I cup the back of my neck and clench my jaw as he turns his head.

  “Or don’t,” I add with a grunt before turning around. Without another word, I stride out of his room and slam the door behind me.

  Maybe Linc had a past after all.

  Maybe it was just as ugly as the rest of ours.

  Raised loyal to a fault, I didn’t give up on the people who mattered most. It was something my father instilled in me at a young age. To some it’s a great quality to possess, to others it’s a major character flaw, but for me, it’s a way of life. That’s why I kicked myself the minute I stepped out of Linc’s room. Forgetting my values, I let my frustrations get the best of me and turned my back on a brother.

  Knowing I couldn’t take back my actions, that Linc would hand me my ass if I tried, I made my way to the intensive care unit. If I couldn’t make amends with one brother then I’d make them with the other. It was time for me to man the fuck up and apologize to Cobra and Celeste for what happened.

  Reachin
g his room, I go to knock on the door when my phone vibrates inside my jacket. Jack’s name flashes across the screen and I bite back the urge to fling the fucking thing across the hallway. I’m starting to think this man’s sole purpose in life is to fuck with me. Like a schmuck torn between right and wrong, I hold the phone like it’s a bomb and pace in front of the door.

  “Fuck my life,” I groan, accepting the call. “What do you want, Parrish?”

  “Good morning, princess,” he cheers.

  Crazy and chipper—he’s a fucking gem.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something,” I growl, leaving off the end of the sentence. If I told him I felt like I was having a breakdown, Jack would either call me a pussy or drag me along to his next visit with his shrink.

  “Then I’ll be quick. Where the fuck are you?”

  “I came to see Linc and Cobra,” I reply, running my fingers roughly through my hair with my free hand.

  “So early?”

  “Yeah, I’m an early riser. You know, farm life and all that shit,” I ramble, having no control over the nonsense coming out of my mouth.

  “No, I don’t. I’ve never been to a farm,” he replies.

  “Yeah, well you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Yeah, somehow I don’t think me and farms mix,” he says, pausing for a moment. The silence jumpstarts my imagination and I try to picture Jack Parrish riding a tractor. Yeah, I’ve lost my shit.

  “Listen, we’re headed over to the hospital now, I told Lacey I’d pick up Ally from the therapy session she scheduled for this morning. I also have Skylar, Celeste’s father dropped her off this morning. He and his wife had to go back to work and asked if I would take her to see Celeste since she won’t leave Cobra’s side.”

  Not really sure why he was telling me all this, I glance back at the door to Cobra’s room and wait for the next blow Jack Parrish is sure to deliver.

  “Okay,” I caution.

  “Stay where you are, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

  The light tone he had a moment ago fades and is replaced with authority, causing my mind to race with all the possible scenarios.

  “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll hang around.”

  “Oh, and Deuce, good job taking care of Ally last night,” he adds.

  I should’ve hung up before he had a chance to say those words because the instant they hit my ears, her face flashed before me. Unable to draw myself away from the memories, I succumb to them—I fucking welcomed them. Deep inside, a need to protect awakens and my mind begins to reel as I compare Ally to Chelsea. Naively, I wonder if there could be a difference between the two women. Chelsea didn’t rise above her torment but maybe Ally could. She had an advantage that Chelsea wasn’t privy to—she had people who loved her, people who never gave up on her, and she had the Satan’s Knights. The Bastards of Mayhem didn’t give a fuck if Chelsea lived or died. For fuck’s sake, they killed her.

  “Yeah, no problem,” I mutter quickly. “See you soon,” I add before ending the call. Shoving the phone in my pocket, I shake the insane thoughts from my head. Ally was Cobra and Celeste’s responsibility.

  I didn’t do responsibility.

  I didn’t do commitment.

  Not with a target on my back and a price tag on my head.

  No, that would be suicidal.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Knocking back my daily dose of methadone, I watch as the doctor scribbles notes on a pad. It doesn’t provide the instant numbness the heroin did, wearing off before the next fix and leaving me strung out.

  This morning I woke up alone suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Waking up alone with no one to reach for you is something most people dread. It’s the sting of rejection, the fear of being lonely that makes people think they need to have someone in their bed. I was never one of those people. Maybe if my life had been different I would’ve been. For me, waking up alone was a blessing. Though they didn’t happen often, those mornings were when I felt most safe and at peace.

  No one bothered me.

  No one hurt me.

  No one owned me.

  It was those mornings when I belonged to no one other than myself.

  Yet, today when I woke up by myself, I didn’t feel any of the things I once craved.

  Expecting to find Deuce on the couch beside me, I opened my eyes only to learn he had left me. Lonely and out of place, I glanced around the living room and found Skylar staring at me. Shaken to my core, I momentarily forgot where I was and thought we were still in that cabin. I immediately bolted up from the couch and reached for her. The instinct to protect her was as natural as it was the moment I first laid eyes on her, but this time I knew she was my niece.

  My brother’s daughter.

  She and I weren’t Rush’s prisoners anymore.

  We were saved and back where we belonged.

  Well, at least she was. I wasn’t so sure where I belonged. That realization caused bits and pieces of the last week to flash before my eyes, reminding me how we got here. The memory reel ended with a movie about outlaw lovers and Deuce stretched out beside me.

  Last night, my nightmare got the best of me and sent me running, but it was him who comforted me. It’s strange to trust a man without knowing much about him and even stranger not to feel threatened by him. For the first time in a long time I felt safe, safe enough to confess some of my truths to a man who has every reason in the world to hate me. After all, if I hadn’t told Rush about the drugs, he and Skylar never would have wound up in that cabin with me.

  Those thoughts left me reeling and my body started to betray me as yesterday’s dose of methadone wore. I escaped to the bathroom, took a shower and dressed in more borrowed clothes. When I was finished, Lacey was waiting for me and brought me here, to the outpatient facility across from the hospital. Now here I am, waiting for the medicine to hit me, hoping it’s enough to get me through until tomorrow. Since I am new to the program, they’re being cautious. People overdose on methadone just the same way they do on street drugs. Once the doctor can regulate my dose, I should be able to function normally—whatever that means. By the time I find out, they’ll start weening me off and I’ll be back to square one. Deuce was wrong, there was no light at the end of this tunnel and the match I lit would likely burn to ash before I ever found my way.

  Like yesterday, the doctor logs my vitals and warns me of the possible side effects of the methadone. He proceeds to schedule me in for the same time tomorrow before he tells me I’m free to go. Lacey is outside, ready to take me across the street to an appointment she scheduled for me—an appointment I didn’t ask for and one I was dreading more than anything.

  “How do you feel?” she asks, breaking the silence.

  “Peachey,” I bite back, not really in the mood to converse.

  “Give it a chance, Ally. I promise you’ll start to feel better soon,” she says as we cross the street. Feeling the intensity of her stare, I snap my head in her direction and peer back at her.

  “What?”

  “I know you’re nervous about going to therapy,” she starts.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I snap. “Not a thing. I’m not like you, Lacey. I don’t have an illness you can fix with a pill or a session on some strangers couch.”

  “You’re right, but ignoring what happened to you, keeping it bottled up inside isn’t going to make it better. It’s not going to erase all the years you lost and the longer you hold onto those demons, the harder it will be for you to free them,” she insists.

  As much as I wanted to argue, I didn’t have it in me. The truth was I didn’t know if therapy would help but the thought of opening my chamber of secrets scared me more than anything. Isn’t that funny? I survived a life of torment, lived through the darkest of nightmares and reliving them scares me more than living through them did.

  I didn’t understand how urging me to acknowledge the destruction I came from would help me lay the foundation of
a new life. Everyone thinks talking about traumatic experiences and confessing what plagues you will somehow heal you. How was a complete stranger supposed to fix me?

  Once inside the hospital, I reluctantly follow Lacey to the therapist’s office. She checks me in with the receptionist as I take a seat in the waiting room. Seconds later she turns to me and tells me either her or her father will be waiting for me in an hour when my session is over.

  I watch her leave and glance around the empty room noticing the rich leather chairs and fancy paintings that line the walls. It makes me wonder who is flipping the bill for this and what it will cost me in return. Everything has a price. Something I learned far younger than most.

  While most kids my age were working at saving their money for a car, I was standing in line; naked and praying my body would be enough to keep me alive. Survival wasn’t free, it came at the price of my own shame.

  My body involuntary shudders at the memory and panic begins to set in. If one memory can entice so much anxiety how will I feel when the therapist probes me with questions, forcing the horrible truth to spill from my mouth. Things aren’t real until they’re spoken aloud and once you say it, well, you can’t take it back. Those words won’t be my dirty little secret. They will be the words that define me.

  Too weak to relive what I’ve tried so hard to forget my lungs constrict and I gasp for air. In a flash, I’m on my feet running toward the door. I don’t think twice, I just run.

  I run like I should have ran the day I was abducted.