Loner (The Nomad Series Book 4) Read online

  The doctors circling my hospital bed will disappear and I will stare into the darkest pair of eyes I’d ever seen. He’ll size me up and I’ll wonder if he sees the resemblance between me and the man he held in such high regard. He’ll welcome me into the fold and the lonely ride to hell will officially begin.

  “Do you understand what we’re telling you Mr. Brandt?” one of the surgeon’s questions, drawing me away from my head and back to the present. Taking a minute, I process his words forcing myself to replay everything he’s said since I first realized I couldn’t move my legs.

  I survived a bomb—one I don’t remember. I should be thankful I am alive after suffering a long list of injuries. According to him and the fleet of surgeons surrounding him, I was thrown from the blast and pinned beneath a shit ton of debris, including a bar. Both of my legs had complex compound fractures, and they needed to surgically install titanium rods in order to fix them. On top of that my spleen ruptured and needed to be removed to stop the internal bleeding. Lastly, I was informed of why I couldn’t feel my legs. There was severe swelling on my spinal cord and it was impacting my nerves, causing what they believe is a temporary paralysis. They relieved some swelling but, it didn’t do much. My legs feel like lead and I can’t even wiggle my fucking toes. I’m a crippled son of a bitch. A useless motherfucker who should’ve blown up.

  “I’m fucked is what you’re telling me,” I say finally, lifting my eyes to meet a room full of expressionless faces.

  “Mr. Brandt please understand we’ve done everything in our power to help you. Now once the bones heal properly, we can remove the rods but the real issue is the swelling.”

  “Why don’t we cut through the bullshit,” I growl, losing my patience.

  My eyes dart to my legs and the two casts that cover them. The thought of never standing on my own two feet, of never walking again cripples my mind and rage engulfs me. I’ve felt like a burden my whole life and now I’ve finally become one.

  “Will I be able to walk again?” I rasp hoarsely.

  “Once the swelling goes down completely and there aren’t any obstructions leaning on the nerves, then you should regain sensation in your legs. However, your mobility will not return without extensive physical therapy.”

  It sounds more like a life sentence than a diagnosis.

  A punishment to fit the crimes of my past.

  Whoever said karma was a bitch had it wrong. It’s a prank Satan pulls when he wants to remind you of who you are and where you came from. When you think you’re better than your D.N.A. and you can right the wrongs of your old man.

  Another lesson learned.

  Cain always wins and me, I lose every fucking time.

  Chapter Four

  When you wake up from a coma and they tell you there’s a fifty-fifty shot of you walking again, it’s hard to think about anything else. Nothing mattered after that. Not the reasons I joined the Satan’s Knights MC or why I took up permanent residency in Brooklyn. I didn’t give a fuck about the men who I proudly called my brothers or the legacy of Cain. All that consumed me was misery and suicidal thoughts.

  At twenty-six years old, I had already lived longer than I should have.

  Longer than I deserved.

  I had survived both parents, my first love and the heartbreak of losing Pinky. I hustled and conned more people than I can count and pulled the trigger on more than a dozen lives and still that wasn’t enough sins for the devil to call me home.

  Well, I wasn’t about to live the rest of my life in a chair. Riding was all I had left in this world and now that was gone too. Everyone has a breaking point and having to ask one of my brothers to hold my dick whenever I took a piss was mine.

  I certainly wasn’t thinking about my finances or lack of health insurance. When I learned the hospital was looking to throw my ass on the street—crippled and all—it was the final nail in the coffin and another reason to end the nightmare.

  However, committing suicide was a hard feat for me thanks to Jack Parrish. The former righthand of my father had a rotation of brothers guarding over me. Between the sea of leather and the constant flow of doctors and nurses, I was never alone long enough to go through with my plan.

  It became impossible once Wolf got wind of the hospital's intentions to throw me into some state-funded rehab. The son of a bitch came riding in on his white horse to save the day, taking a mortgage on a house he owned free and clear. Not only did he pay my outstanding medical bills but, he also cut them a check for my last surgery where they removed the rods from my legs.

  If this was a movie, now would be the part where I tell you I miraculously walked after that and all is well. But, this is no mainline cinema production and after the rods were out of my legs all that changed was the fact one leg had healed better than the other. Which meant I could balance twenty pounds of weight on my good leg. I’m six feet three and a hundred and ninety pounds—you do the math.

  I regained mild sensation in my limbs but that don’t matter much either. They still feel like dead weight every time the physical therapist tries to get me moving.

  With no surgical procedure left to try, I’m being discharged from the hospital and the fate of my legs relies on an hourly paid therapist who doesn’t really give two flying fucks if I walk again. The doctors here have also referred me to a shrink—apparently, it’s alarming when a crippled bastard doesn’t clap his hands in elation after finding out he’s being discharged. I suppose to them fresh air is a mediocre consolation prize.

  After being locked inside a hospital for months, one might look forward to being thrown into the world that chewed him up and spat him out. He might even find comfort at the thought of going home but, I didn’t have a home. All I had was a room in the Satan’s Knights clubhouse and like my legs, the explosion left my home, my bed and all my belongings in ruins.

  Upon my arrival to the concrete jungle, I along, with the three nomads Wolf managed to turn, all took a room in the clubhouse. After the explosion, I heard Styker, Cobra, and Deuce had relocated to a motel. Now a man stripped of his independence, that wasn’t an option for me. The motel wasn’t wheelchair accessible and even if it was; I needed someone to help me wipe my ass. Wolf, of course, thought that someone should be him and while I’ve been wiggling my toes like a trained chimp at the circus, he had his other monkey’s—Stryker, Cobra, and Deuce—turn his house into a crippled man’s oasis.

  Now, it’s discharge day. The papers have been signed and instead of rolling out of here on my Harley, there is a shiny new wheelchair that offensively awaits me and a bag of clothes sitting on the foot of my bed that I refuse to have the nurse help me put on.

  If I don’t comply maybe, they’ll throw me on the street like yesterday’s trash and be done with me.

  A knock sounds on the door, dragging me away from my thoughts. I’m about to tell the nurse to go fuck off when I hear Wolf’s deep voice echo off the sterile walls.

  “Why the fuck are you still wearing that dress?” he growls, curling his lip as he eyes my hospital gown with disdain. “Riggs is downstairs waiting with the cage.”

  He grabs the bag of clothes sitting at the foot of the bed and dumps them onto my lap.

  “The fucking clown charges by the hour,” he adds, clapping his hands together.

  And you thought I was being a smart ass when I said we’re all his monkey’s.

  A sane man would think better than to argue with Wolf. After all, he didn’t get his name because he had the disposition of a lamb. Like a master predator, he lives amongst the wild and silently stalks in the shadows. He destroys anything that stands in his way and defends what he holds dear. Loyal to a fault, he is the heart of the Satan’s Knights.

  He’s also a glutton for punishment.

  But, so am I.

  A fact we both surrender as we continue to stare at one another. This isn’t his first attempt at saving me when I don’t want to be saved.

  “I’m not going,” I tell him defiantly as
I swipe my hand across my lap and send the bag flying to the floor.

  “The fuck you talking about?” he grinds out, combing his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. The times have changed. Murder and mayhem have hardened Wolf and as a result, his patience has thinned.

  “I should’ve died in that explosion,” I tell him. Balling my fist, I lift it and pound it against the center of my chest as I glare at him. “I wanted to die,” I reveal. “But, no one asked me what I wanted. No one gave me a fucking choice.”

  Stryker pulled me from the debris.

  Jack Parrish and his vice president, Blackie, gave consent every time they sliced me open.

  And if it was up to Wolf, he’d keep tugging on those puppet strings.

  “I’m done letting you motherfuckers play God. From here on out, I decide what happens to me.”

  “Let’s get something straight, kid,” Wolf growls. “I didn’t lie to my brothers and sacrifice my loyalty to my club for nothing. I put my life on the line for you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to,” I remind him.

  “No, your mother did and before your father killed himself, I swore that if you or she ever needed anything I would make sure you got it,” he fires back.

  The instant the words leave his lips, he lifts his chin. Regret fills his eyes and frustration wears on his face as I narrow my eyes.

  “I thought my father died from hepatitis.”

  “You and the rest of the world,” he mutters, scratching the scruff lining his jaw.

  I’ve always known my father was a dangerous man. Being the former president of the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club, he was no choir boy. He was a criminal. a hellion who lied, cheated and stole from others. A stone-cold killer with ice in his veins.

  Since a young age, the story of his death had been engrained in my brain and it goes like this, Cain was a drug addict. Years of swapping dirty needles finally caught up to the menace, and he contracted Hepatitis C. Two years after he was diagnosed, he learned he also had liver cancer. The doctors gave him six to eight weeks. He survived two.

  It’s the story my mother told me anytime I asked about my old man.

  The very same tale Wolf has spun for the last eight years. I never had a reason to doubt him. Especially when every man wearing a reaper backed him with the same story. Sure, Wolf lied through his teeth but, I was never on the receiving end of those lies and every deceitful thing he’s ever said or done was to protect me.

  At least that’s what I thought until now.

  Until this very moment when all his lies—all the secrets he’s harbored—they pour from his tortured eyes like venom. The exposed truth weighs heavily between us and before he can spin another bullshit story, I demand the truth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask angrily.

  “I came here for answers,” I remind him. “You were on the balls of your ass, desperate to save what my old man created and, I offered myself to you on a silver fucking platter. I figured I’d repay my debt and, in the process, I’d learn more about the man who fathered me. All I got in return was a rap sheet a mile long, more faceless enemies and a fucking wheelchair. I’ve undergone the knife more times than I can count and, I can’t fucking walk. You owe me something!”

  Silence engulfs the room as I watch Wolf take two steps toward me, closing the distance between us. Leveling me with a glare, he rolls his neck from side to side. It’s the first time I fear what will come from his mouth but, I’ll never admit that.

  “Lies,” he calls, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Yeah, I was desperate. Yeah, I took you up on your offer but, don’t for one second tell me it was to repay a debt. I never asked you for a goddamn thing. Everything I did for you I did without ever expecting something in return. You chose to hightail it out of North Carolina because you fell for my niece and you needed an excuse to ease your fucking conscience after bailing on her. You want truth? You want answers? You’re a fucking pussy just like your old man,” he roars.

  Anger rolls off him stunning me into silence. It’s not the vulgar comparison to my father that shocks me. It’s the fact Wolf called me out on leaving Kelly. I thought I had done a good job hiding the true reasons I left North Carolina. But, as long as Kelly believes she was nothing more than a willing a body that’s all that matters. Just a much needed distraction to pass the time. A reason to move on with a life I was tired of living.

  As long as she never knows she meant the world to me.

  That she was everything forcing my vital organs to work.

  The air that inflated my lungs.

  The blood that pulsed through my veins.

  Everything.

  And when I close my eyes, she’s still the glimpse of heaven I never deserved.

  She was my everything but the only one who knows is me.

  Me, and apparently Wolf too.

  “Wipe that look of surprise off your fucking face,” he growls, gripping the side rail of the hospital bed. His knuckles turn white and I imagine he’s wishing it was my neck he’s strangling. “I knew it from the moment she stormed into Sin’s chapel that first day. I knew you’d fall for her when she looked at you and you saw a piece of yourself.”

  His words are like gravity to my memory, pulling me down and grounding me back in time to the day I first laid eyes on Kelly Monroe.

  The double doors to the chapel swing open and a girl with bright pink hair comes charging into the room.

  “Kelly!” a woman shouts. “You know you can’t go in there!”

  “Fucking hell,” Wolf mutters beside me, dropping his head into his hands. Turning my head, I look at the wild girl with fire in her eyes. She clenches her fists at her sides and stares at Wolf with her eyes full of tears.

  “Joanne,” Sin bellows from the other end of the table.

  “Uncle Al,” Pinky cries as another woman barges into the room. Aside from the pink hair, she looks very similar to the young girl. Must be mother and daughter—then it clicks. The woman must be Wolf’s sister.

  “Uncle Al?” I question, tearing my eyes away from the two females. “Your name is Al?”

  “Zip it, kid,” he mutters, lifting his head from his hands to stare at Pinky.

  “Kelly, you can’t come barging into the chapel,” he hisses, pushing back his chair. Standing up, he nods to Sin. “I’ll handle this.”

  “I’m sorry, Sin,” Joanne says, smoothing down her barely fitting tank top. She juts one hip out and places her hand on the other. “Let’s go, Kelly.”

  “No!” The young girl shrieks, turning back to Wolf. The tears she was trying to hold back fall freely down her cheeks. “This is all your fault.”

  “I didn’t tell you to steal a car!”

  “She stole a fucking car?” Wolf growls.

  “Smalls left the keys to the Durango in the ignition and she took it to her road test,” Joanne explains.

  “Who the fuck is Smalls?” Wolf snarls.

  “Prospect,” Sin supplies. “Fucking idiot,” he adds, pointing to the man seated to the left of him. “Go get that fucker.”

  “She crashed into three cars on the way to the test and the cops just brought her back. They’re talking to Smalls now but, they want you Sin because you’re the registered owner of the vehicle,” Joanne explains, linking her arm around her daughter’s.

  “Get off me!” she shrieks, pulling out of her mother’s hold. “If you wouldn’t have spent the money I could’ve rented the car from the driving school. That money is supposed to be for me, for my needs not for you to get your hair dyed.”

  “Enough!” Wolf shouts angrily. The veins in his neck bulge as he tightens his jaw and turns to Sin. “You deal with the cops, I’ll deal with these two.”

  Sin curses as he slams the gavel on the table and pushes back his chair. Not knowing my place, I remain seated as the room clears. The doors close once the final member leaves and Wolf starts ripping into his sister. Ignoring them, I turn to Pinky. Black makeup runs down her cheek
s as she wipes angrily at the tears.

  Like me, she looks unsure if she wants to keep turning the pages in the book of life.

  Like me, she’s tired of playing the same tragic song on repeat.

  Like me, she looks like she’s done with the cards she’s been dealt.

  Like me, Pinky wants to fold.

  Wolf is right, I remember looking into her eyes wondering which of us would be the first one to throw in the towel. I took comfort in knowing she was just as broken as me. It was what drew me to her. The realization leaves me feeling hollow and cheapens what she wound up being.

  Everything.

  “You two are one and the same, cut from the same fucking cloth. When life gets hard, you damn the fucking consequences and look for a quick fix. Your old man never fought a day in his life. Not for himself, not for you and certainly not for the club he claimed to love. He took the easy way out—the coward's way and let the pieces fall where they may. He left this earth holding my fucking hand and me, I was left holding an empty bottle of pills and a used syringe.”

  His hands loosen around the rails and I watch him take a step backward. Fighting for control, he runs his hands over his face before searing me with another glare.

  “You can cry woe is me until the fucking cows come home or whatever the damn saying is but, I won’t hold your hand too. Not in this lifetime and not in my next one either,” he hisses, turning his attention to the bag of clothes on the floor.

  Wrapping his fist around it, he lifts it before dropping the bag onto my lap.

  “Now put your fucking clothes on,” he growls. “I wasn’t fucking around when I said the clown charges by the hour.”

  Smoothing down his hair, he composes himself and without another word he leaves my room. A minute later a nurse enters but, I’m too wounded by Wolf’s admission of truth to acknowledge the loss of pride I feel as she dresses me and moves me from my bed to the wheelchair. All I can do is picture Wolf sitting beside my father, holding his hand as he drew his last breath.