Loner (The Nomad Series Book 4) Read online

  I’m learning Wolf isn’t the forgetful type though. It’s been a week since he came charging into my life, five days since my mother’s passing and he’s still around. At first, I figured he was helping me out of respect for my mother. I thought he went out of his way to bring me to the Satan’s Knights clubhouse because of who my father was but, I’m not so sure anymore. With both parents out of the picture he could’ve taken off, left me on the streets to rot, but he didn’t, making it apparent that once he brings you into the fold and makes you part of his life, there is no escaping his devotion to you.

  The door opens to my room and I lift my head from the pillow expecting to find Wolf in the doorway. My eyes narrow trying to place the tall lanky guy wearing a leather vest. When I was brought here, Wolf introduced me to nearly two dozen people—none of which I paid much mind to.

  “Sin wants you in church,” he grunts, grinding his teeth as he glares at me. Staring at him hard, I process his order but don’t move. “You deaf or something? I said, Sin—you know the man who is letting your broke ass stay here free of charge, that guy wants you in church now.”

  Ignoring the judgmental asshole in front of me, I strain to recall the day I first arrived and the man who Wolf called the president of the charter. His face flashes before me. The slightly crooked nose that symbolized it had been broken a time or two and the piercing blue eyes I felt chilling my bones as he assessed me.

  “I’ve got it from here, Shady,” Wolf says, pulling me away from my thoughts. Shady glances over his shoulder at Wolf and crosses his arms, seeming to size him up.

  My money is on Wolf.

  “I’ve got orders from Sin to bring him to the chapel.”

  “And, I told you I’ve got it from here,” Wolf counters with a growl. “Now, get a move on, wouldn’t want you to be late for church.”

  Shady hesitates for a moment, turning his gaze back to me briefly before stepping around Wolf. Once out of the way, Wolf steps into the room and slams the door.

  “Fucking imbecile,” he mutters, shaking off the altercation as he cracks his knuckles and draws his attention back to me. Silently, his boots pad across the worn carpet bringing him further into the small room. I watch as his eyes slice to the untouched bag of food he brought me yesterday. With a shake of his head, he turns to the window and tugs on the string of the vinyl mini-blinds. The sunlight streams through the window temporarily blinding me and I hiss as I shield my eyes.

  “The coroner called me today,” he starts, keeping his back to me. My vision adapts to the daylight and my eyes fixate on the reaper on his back. “They can’t keep her in the county morgue, kid. If we don’t give them a decision, they’re going to put her in a pauper’s grave. Is that what you want?” he asks, finally turning to face me.

  The thought of burying my mother amongst the others no one gives a fuck about hits me and it’s the first time I feel any emotion over her passing.

  “No,” I reply hoarsely.

  “Then you gotta tell me what you want to do,” he says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his vest. He takes one between his lips and pats his front in search of a light. “I’m headed back north in a day or two which gives us time to give her a proper burial. However, if you’re looking to cremate her, then I will start the process for you but, it’ll be about a week until the ashes are ready.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I blurt as he pulls out a book of matches and strikes one to light the end of the cigarette. Taking a puff, he peers at me before blowing out a billow of smoke.

  “I thought we had this conversation already,” he replies, sounding exasperated.

  “I don’t get it,” I mutter, shaking my head.

  “You don’t have to,” he counters. “But, if you stick around these parts and really take notice of the rules the club follows you’ll learn about loyalty and respect. You’ll start to understand they’re the driving force behind every honorable man.”

  “Another lesson,” I say, numbly.

  “The only one worth knowing,” he says, taking another pull of his cigarette. “Told you before, you need to wipe whatever that sick fuck told you from your mind.”

  “Easier said than done,” I argue, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I drop my head into my hands and fight with my mind not to relive the scene in the butcher shop. It’s a losing battle because no matter the time of the day, whether I’m sleeping or conscious, I see Savannah’s face. My stomach rumbles interrupting the gruesome memory of her hanging lifeless from the hook in the freezer, reminding me I haven’t eaten in days—a punishment I’ve inflicted upon myself.

  If she can’t eat, neither should I.

  If she can’t breathe, neither should I.

  If she can’t live, neither should I.

  “Jesus fuck, kid, you need to snap the fuck out of this shit,” Wolf warns. “You didn’t touch the food I brought you yesterday.”

  “I wasn’t hungry,” I argue.

  “Yeah, your stomach is singing a different tune,” he mutters, opening the bag he dropped off yesterday. Pulling out a sandwich, he unwraps the foil and shoves it at me. “Fucking eat.”

  Reluctantly, I take the ham and cheese sandwich he offers me and bite into it. At the first taste of food, I moan and before I realize it I eagerly attack the day old bread and deli meat like a savage. It disappears in five bites and doesn’t satisfy me at all. Taking the bottle of water from his extended hand, I guzzle it down my throat and swipe my hand across my mouth. My eyes meet Wolf’s and I nod my appreciation.

  Silently, I mull over my options regarding my mother. Burying her in a place I’m not sure I’ll stay doesn’t seem like the right thing to do and staring at an urn every day doesn’t seem too appealing either. I could spread her ashes somewhere. Maybe I could take her back to Tennessee, to the park she would take me when I was a kid.

  “I think it would be better if I cremated her,” I say finally, watching as he grinds the last of his cigarette into an ashtray. With a nod, he shoves his hands into his pockets.

  “I’ll make the call after church,” he replies.

  “You don’t strike me as the holy type.”

  “We all need religion, son, and not all of us kneel for the cross,” he says with a smirk. “Whenever the patched members of the club congregate they call it church and it takes place in the chapel of the clubhouse,” he goes on to explain.

  Finding it odd that this old converted warehouse has a chapel, I look at Wolf waiting for him to elaborate as I picture a darkened room lit by candles and decorated with saints made of resin.

  “Look, before we go in there and Sin rips into you, I wanted to go over a few things.”

  “What do you mean rip into me?”

  Rolling his neck from side to side, he lets out a heavy sigh.

  “They’re letting you stay here as a favor to me, Linc. They don’t know who your father is, and it’s better if we keep it that way,” he warns, settling me with a stern look.

  “I thought my father was some big shot in your world,” I mutter.

  “Your father was the president of my charter. He wasn’t a big shot—he was the fucking king of Brooklyn but, your old man fell off his throne and he took the whole fucking kingdom down with him. A lot of blood was shed, a shit ton of enemies were made and if he hadn’t died someone would’ve likely killed him.”

  Makes a bit more sense why my mother called him the devil. However, it makes zero sense why Wolf or anyone else would want to help me.

  “I mean it, kid,” Wolf reiterates. “The less who know the truth, the safer you’ll be. Now, I know you got some death wish or something but, that shit ain’t happening on my watch. You’re going to straighten your life out and when I’m fucking old and can’t find my dick, I’m going to call you to help me take a piss. You’ll be my personal aide and we’ll be even.”

  “Sounds like something to look forward to,” I mutter sarcastically.

  Wolf’s lips quirk s
lightly as he cocks his head to the side and stares at me.

  “Well, I’ll be damned, you might actually have a personality,” he marvels. Pulling his hands out of his pockets he clasps them together. “Let’s get this over with before Sin kicks you out on your ass and I have to shoot him in the dick.”

  Reluctantly, I force myself to my feet and follow Wolf out of the room. As he leads me down the hallway briefing me on what I should expect, I partially listen as I acknowledge my surroundings for the first time since I’ve arrived. The red walls look as if they’ve been freshly painted and the bar that spans the length of the room is fully stocked. There are wooden tables and chairs scattered throughout the large room along with a few leather sofas. Towards the back sits a pool table, making the warehouse look more like a bar.

  Beside me, Wolf comes to a stop and I turn my attention to him as he juts his chin toward the pair of wooden doors that are partially open. Above them hangs a sign that reads Satan’s Chapel. He walks in first, holding the door for me and once I step into the room, every man with a reaper on his back turns their attention to me. Feeling like I’m under a microscope, I focus on the one man sitting at the head of the table who summoned me here.

  “Sit,” he commands, pointing to the only two vacant chairs left. Wolf shuts the door behind me and we both make our way toward the table. Sitting, I cross my arms and glance around, taking in all the strange faces. I drink them in just as they do me and I wonder how I will fit in amongst them—if I even want to.

  Sin slams his gavel against the table, drawing every pair of eyes back to him. He glances between me and Wolf before finally settling his gaze on me.

  “Before we get down to business, Wolf is leaving in two days and has asked the club to provide protection for this kid and give him a room until he gets on his feet,” he starts, leaning his elbows on the table.

  The man sitting to Sin’s left turns his attention to Wolf.

  “He yours?”

  “No, but, I’m asking the club to treat him as if he is.”

  “We’re not in the business of giving free rides,” the guy counters, causing me to glance at the patches on his vest. “This ain’t no charity.”

  Wolf’s jaw clenches as he rolls his neck and slices his gaze back to Sin.

  “He ain’t afraid to work, isn’t that right Linc?” he asks, without looking at me. Wondering when we shortened my name to Linc and if I like the sound of it, I lean forward as everyone watches me closely. I don’t know what kind of work they’re talking about but, I’m no slouch. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to earn a buck.

  “I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty,” I say finally to the room full of leather.

  “Famous last words,” Sin mutters, leaning back in his chair. The leather stretches across his arms as he crosses them and eyes me. “Wolf’s told me some about your situation,” he adds.

  “What situation might that be? That I left home at sixteen with my girl? That we lived like paupers for a year before I started gambling or that I got in over my head with a lunatic who murdered her? Wait, I know…he told you I watched him chop her up.”

  “Jesus,” one of the men growled.

  “Linc hasn’t had an easy go of it and like I told you, his mother just passed. He needs a place to stay in case this motherfucker should decide he isn’t done with him. I’m not saying to make him a prospect but, if you need someone to serve drinks at your clubhouse parties or shine your bikes, give him a shot,” Wolf says.

  Shine bikes and serve drinks? I guess it’s better than sifting through dumpsters. With no other choice, I sat back and let a bunch of men I didn’t know decide my future.

  The vote was unanimous.

  I was not only going to be taking up residence in the Satan’s Knights clubhouse but, I was also their official errand boy.

  A steep fall from my father’s mighty throne.

  Chapter Three

  Brooklyn, New York

  Age 26

  Good and evil exist within the bounds of a person and one does not harm those who have not sought the destruction to man. His lot, his life, his freedom or his happiness. They say we’re the rulers of our destiny and sin is a choice. Maybe for you that’s true but, for me, the same rules don’t apply.

  Born into a life I didn’t ask for, with the spirit of Satan trapped inside of me and his blood pulsing through my veins. I’ve spent most my years walking in his shadow paying for his sins. Something I didn’t realize until I was nineteen-years-old and prospecting for one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs. After spending a year hanging around the Raleigh, North Carolina charter, and another prospecting, I became a full-fledged member of the Satan’s Knights MC. It was during those early years when I learned there was no escaping Hell. It was alive inside of me. Its ember flames were the foundation of my soul.

  Being part of an outlaw motorcycle club only reinforced the painful knowledge that I was not invincible. The days of believing in luck died along with Savannah and I wasn’t in control of anything—certainly not my own life. My path had already been mapped out for me and anyone who came into my life would be a victim of my destiny.

  No one associated with me would ever be granted a pardon.

  Not my newfound brothers or the girl who somehow wormed her way into my life and into my bed. The girl who got under my skin and wrapped herself around my black heart. That girl would suffer the most.

  Maybe there wouldn’t be a man like Sally waiting to make a dress out of her skin but, there would be something. Someone. Another ruthless villain who took her away from me and made her suffer on the cross for my sins.

  After Savannah I thought I’d never feel again, that I’d never look at another woman and want my whole life to revolve around her.

  I was wrong.

  Again.

  It was becoming a pattern and so, the decision to leave North Carolina was relatively simple. It was finding the courage to walk away from the greatest thing I’d ever known that was hard. It was waking up next to waves of pink hair and leaving her sprawled between my sheets that was the problem. I knew I had to cut her loose but, every day I found another reason to stay.

  Another reason to hold onto something I could never truly have.

  Then one day tragedy struck. Wolf showed up and I found the courage I was seeking in the desperation reflected in his eyes.

  Like clockwork, every six months Wolf came barreling through the door with his thick New York accent. I thought it was just another routine visit from the man who saved my life—that he was there to make sure Sin was doing right by his sister and that his sister was doing right by his niece.

  During these visits, he also made sure I was prospering and like a father would take his son to dinner to catch up, Wolf took me. Throughout the meal, we’d talk shop. I’d tell him about the shit in North Carolina and in exchange he’d school me on the Brooklyn charter. Very rarely he would throw me a crumb and tell me about the old days when my father was his commander and chief. On those days I paid close attention because like any other orphan, I wanted to know where I came from. It didn’t matter how miserable of a man he was, the mystery of Cain would always fascinate me.

  However, I knew I wasn’t going to get much out of Wolf during that particular visit. There was something off. It was as if he disconnected from life. I probed and probed but, he brushed off my concern until the night before he was scheduled to ride out of North Carolina. It was then as we shared a bottle of whiskey that he confessed the cause of his misery.

  His club was dying.

  My father’s club was about to be wiped off the map.

  In short, the Brooklyn charter had been struggling a lot since my father’s death. Their new ruler, Jack Parrish, had done his best to save what they all cherished and mostly, he had kept them breathing for a long time. However, you can only ride on luck for so long and theirs had finally run out. Their enemies were too advanced, too powerful, and it was hard to find their footing after being knoc
ked down so many times.

  It became Wolf’s mission to scour the east coast for new blood. He figured if he could sway a couple of Nomads to take purchase in Brooklyn, then maybe they would have a fair shot at fighting whatever threat came next.

  Somewhere in the middle of him confiding in me, the solution to both our problems became clear. I would go with him. I’d be one of the four men he recruited for his club. So, I wasn’t technically a nomad—no one needed to know that. Just like no one needed to know I was Cain’s biological son. I was still a patched member of the Satan’s Knights. I served my time and earned my colors without riding on my father’s legacy. I could finally repay the man who saved my life and in turn, I’d also be saving his niece from succumbing to the wrath of my destiny.

  I’d spare Kelly the fate she’d likely suffer loving me.

  Being on his turf, I’d also have the opportunity to learn more about the man whose blood ran through my veins.

  I thought I’d have to put up more of a fight to get him to agree with my plan but, desperation weakens even the toughest motherfuckers and when I suggested it, Wolf agreed without pause. Before the sun rose the next morning, I rolled away from the sleeping pink haired beauty beside me and without so much as a goodbye; I straddled my bike and followed Wolf home to Brooklyn.

  To the streets ruled by a clinically insane man name Jack Parrish.

  It’s funny how certain things stick with us through life’s misery. Things you assume would be blocked from your memory find a way of taking root inside your head and at your lowest points assault you. If I close my eyes, the sterile scent of the hospital will fade and, I will be transcended back to the first day I walked into the Dog Pound. The very first day I laid eyes on the self-proclaimed Bulldog and caught a glimpse of the tribute to my father he had inked on his shoulder.