Wanderer (The Nomad Series Book 2) Read online

  Eventually we found our way, night after night, he’d climb through my window or I would sneak into the back door of his house and we would experiment with our bodies, figuring what worked for us. It was all vanilla in the beginning until we mastered the things that got us off. We became brazen enough to try all the things you would find between the pages of one of those dirty romance novels my mother always kept on her nightstand. It wasn’t long before we started going at it every chance we got. Chasing orgasms kept us out of trouble and allowed us to forget the black cloud that seemed to follow us everywhere. Behind the bedroom walls we were two kids unaffected by the twisted world we lived in and the nightmare we were burdened with. We were free from the truth and able to live in the moment.

  I don’t remember the last time we had sex or even the last time we kissed and that wrecked me for a long time. Maybe if I did, I would have been able to supplement the lack of closure. Maybe if he’d given me then what he gave me now, I would have been able to look back and say there was an ending.

  Tonight, he kissed me goodbye with his body and wrote the end of our childhood romance.

  We’re not those kids anymore.

  I’m not sure who we are.

  They say tragedy changes people but no one ever said it killed them.

  The old Jagger I knew and loved was gone and the man panting beside me was nothing more than a stranger. Before I threw caution to the wind, I rationalized with myself that if I had just one night with him, then I’d finally be able to move on. The resentment I harbored for six years could finally fade and the ghost of the boy I loved would no longer haunt me. As I lay here staring at the ceiling with tears in my eyes, I realize all that’s left is the phantom of us.

  The sheets rustle beside me and the mattress dips as he rolls onto his side. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, I don’t have to look at him to know he’s ready to flee. It’s what he does best. However, this time I’m not expecting anything so maybe it won’t hurt as much as it did the first time he left me.

  Who am I kidding?

  I might not know anything about the man he is now but my heart doesn’t understand that and still sees him as the other half of a tragic love story.

  Dramatic, I know…but true.

  Jagger and I never stood a chance.

  Suddenly feeling vulnerable and as though I’m exposing more than just my body to a stranger, I clutch the sheet and cover myself, naively thinking I’ll mask my heart with the thin cotton. I steal a glance at him and watch as he leans forward on his elbows and swipes a hand over his face. My gaze roams over his back, taking in the tattoos covering every inch of skin, lingering on the delicate script that stretches across his shoulder blades and reads his sister’s name. I swallow, pushing back the memory of that night and the flashing lights that blinded us as we turned the corner of his block.

  Lights that symbolized the beginning of the end of our carefree existence.

  “Ask me why once more,” he says hoarsely as he drops his hand from his face and glances over his shoulder at me.

  Feeling the intensity of his gaze, I swallow down the lump in my throat before I speak.

  “Why did you leave?” I whisper.

  “Because leaving New York was the only shot left at finding out what happened to my sister,” he admits. “After the cops shoved her file along with all the other cold cases that no one gave a shit about, my parents turned over every piece of information collected since the day she went missing to a bounty hunter.”

  My eyes close as I fight to stay in the moment and not relive the nightmare, but when images of my smiling friend assault me; my eyes snap open and stare back at his. Some scars aren’t visible, some are imbedded deep in a person’s soul and those don’t fade with time.

  “The man serving you and your date tonight is Rick Grayson, and he’s the man my parents hired on the strength of one meeting and the promise to bring our family closure,” he reveals.

  “Wait a minute—”

  “As per Rick’s order we moved in the middle of the night, taking only the necessities and abandoned everything and everyone,” he interrupts, turning slightly so he is fully facing me and reaches for my hand.

  “I thought if I discovered the truth then we could lay the tragedy to rest. I thought I could come back to you and free us both from the guilt we’ve been carrying since she first went missing. I learned that I’ll never be free from this. I will carry this with me until the day I die…but you, you don’t have to.”

  I shake my head in confusion, still stuck on the fact that he knew the waiter in the restaurant. My hand moves to my throat as if rubbing a hand down my throat will ease the suffocation his admission inflicts.

  “The waiter,” I croak.

  “He’s no waiter, baby,” he replies as his hand moves to my knee. “And the man whose arm you were on tonight…”

  His jaw clenches and his eyes darken as he glances down at his hands.

  “That’s the man who killed my parents.”

  What? I’m sure I misheard him. I shake my head but his eyes lift to mine and the pain radiating from them confirms one family tragedy bled into another.

  “Jagger—”

  “I need to know what that man means to you,” he interrupts, removing his hand from my knee before rising to his feet. “No lies, Celeste…I gave you the truth, now give me mine.”

  “He’s nobody,” I stutter, trying to wrap my head around everything he dumped on me. “He was a patient at the hospital who asked me out.”

  “Is there any way he can tie you to me or to what happened?”

  “No, he doesn’t even know my last name. It was our first date,” I say as I try to backtrack to be sure. After a moment, I stare back at him. “He killed your parents,” I whisper disbelievingly. “Is he responsible for Alexandria’s disappearance too?”

  “No, the man he works for is.”

  “Is she—”

  “She’s gone,” he says quickly.

  I don’t think any of us, me nor anyone in the Richardson family, believed that Alexandria was still alive. The cops had never found her body and with no body we couldn’t consciously say she was dead. Especially Jagger, he would lash out at anyone who even insinuated that his sister had been murdered.

  Now here he is saying the words nobody ever wanted to say. The words that sealed the fate of the girl who was cruelly taken from us. I feel the tears stain my cheeks as the sob spills from my mouth.

  “Listen to me, Celeste,” he says, walking around the bed to kneel next to me. Imploring eyes trace every feature of my face. “I don’t have much time but it’s important for you to understand what I’m telling you.”

  “This is too much,” I cry, leaning back against the headboard as I shake my head and peel my eyes off of him. “I can’t handle this right now, Jagger—”

  “You don’t have a choice,” he argues, placing his palm to my cheek, his thumb skates over my chin before he turns my head and forces me to look at him.

  “Tonight never happened. Jagger Richardson is dead to you, do you hear me? He’s dead,” he stresses. “Your fucking life depends on those words…give them to me, let me hear you say it,” he demands gravely.

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I realize that the words I once told myself in an attempt to ease my broken heart are now very much my truth.

  “Jagger Richardson is dead,” I sob, choking over the words.

  It’s times like this I wonder if God and Heaven truly exist. How does one continue to believe in Him when He gives you a million reasons to quit the life He bestowed upon you? He stuck Jagger and me in this vicious cycle of loss, tossing one heartbreak after another at us, each one worse than the other. While I held onto faith, Jagger gave up, and now I know why.

  He leans over me, presses his lips to mine quickly before he cups my face and stares back at me with his heart on his sleeve and conviction in his eyes.

  “But he died loving you,” he rasps.

  I wrap m
y hands around his wrists desperate to hold onto him…to keep him.

  “Don’t go. Stay with me…choose me,” I plead, glancing over his shoulder at the offensive duffel bag. I may not know what has happened in the last six years, but I know deep down inside there is a sliver of the innocent boy who loved me.

  “Whatever it is you’re planning on doing with those guns, don’t do it. Don’t throw your life away. You said it yourself…she’s gone. We don’t have to spend the rest of our lives blaming ourselves. We can turn evil to good if you stay.”

  His thumb brushes over my lips and he leans in, pressing his lips to my forehead.

  “I wish it was that easy, but I’m in too deep. I’ve sinned too much to back out now. This is all I got left,” he says, pausing as he cocks his head to the side and stares at me thoughtfully.

  “In another life, baby…in another life I would’ve given you my all. I would’ve chosen to be a better man and not one that carries his sins on his sleeve. I’d choose Heaven over Hell. I’d choose you over and over again.”

  His hands drop away from me and he backs away.

  “It’s your turn to walk away,” he rasps, bending down to retrieve my dress. Holding it tightly in his hands, he pauses for a moment, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before dropping it on the foot of the bed and turning around.

  I stare at his back watching as he walks away and disappears into the bathroom. Foolishly I wait for him to return, but minutes later I hear the water and know our reunion is over. Feeling numb I reach for my dress and slip it over my head. I pull my panties up my legs, slip my feet into my shoes and grab my purse. I glance over at the bed, kiss our love goodbye, and vow to hang onto the memory of tonight for all my days.

  I reach the bathroom door, lay my hand over it and fight back tears as I silently pray for his soul. Look at that—I guess there is still a shred of faith inside of me.

  I slip out of the hotel room, lean against the door and finally give into the tears. Trying to understand how one person can lose the love of their life twice in a single lifetime. I say my final goodbyes to the tragedy that changed me, the family who suffered with me, and the man who will spend the rest of his cruel existence seeking vengeance.

  Goodbye Alexandria, no one can hurt you ever again.

  Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Richardson, may you finally rest easy.

  Goodbye Jagger, I’ll always carry a piece of you with me.

  Selfishly, I wonder if I dodged another bullet. If God spared my life only so I could live in pain. I push off the door, force myself to walk away and learn it’s not that easy.

  Maybe being the one left behind isn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter Five

  By the time I step out of the shower I know she’s gone. A part of me expected her to stay and put up more of a fight, but the bigger part is relieved I don’t have to watch her walk away. Regretfully, I pull open the door to the bathroom, watching as the steam escapes and fills the room that has conformed into a prison, holding captive the memory of her. Ignoring the scent of her perfume that lingers in the air, I grab my clothes from the bottom of the duffel bag and begin to dress, transforming back into Satan’s soldier. I shrug the worn leather cut over my shirt, glance over my shoulder at the reaper on my back and the words stitched across it.

  Satan’s Knights.

  There’s no chapter stitched to the bottom and the word nomad stares back at me offensively, reminding me the picture-perfect life I had was over the day the devil called me home.

  Taken and destroyed.

  Wrecked and ruined.

  Dead and buried.

  Gone.

  Slipping the silver rings over my fingers, I crack my knuckles and bend down to pick my suit up off the floor. I throw it into the duffel bag, zip it closed and sling it over my shoulder. Glancing around the room one more time, I let my eyes pause over the rumpled bed sheets and shake the image of Celeste from my head before striding out the door.

  Eyes cast down, I glide like a phantom through the lobby of the hotel and out the door. The bitter New York cold smacks me in the face as I walk three blocks to the parking garage where my bike has been hiding out. Spotting a trash can on the corner, I reach into my bag and grab the suit. I throw it into the trash and pull my pack of smokes from inside my cut. I stare at the traffic signal, pretend like I’m every other native New Yorker waiting for the cue to cross and flick open my zippo, lighting my cigarette. I take two drags before it’s time to cross and chuck the cigarette on top of the suit. I’m half way across the street when I hear someone shout fire and a smile creeps onto my face as the threads of my suit burn to ash.

  The parking attendant brings my bike around and I strap my duffel bag to it before straddling it. Peeling out of the underground garage, I turn onto the street and take advantage of the early hour and the lack of traffic. Speeding through the streets of the big apple, I make my way into Brooklyn and toward the shipping yard where the enemy waits.

  I spot the cargo ship making its way through the Hudson and the empty pier where Yankovich’s men are waiting to unload it and poison more innocent lives at his command.

  Satan’s waiting for these motherfuckers and I’m the disciple sent to deliver them to Hell.

  Throwing down my kickstand, I bide my time and light another cigarette. I step around my bike, unlatch my bag and drag the zipper down. Pulling out the AK-47, I lift the loaded semi-automatic rifle over my shoulder and shove two Glocks into the front waist band of my jeans.

  I finish my cigarette, grinding the butt with the steel tip of my boot and grab the AK-47. My finger wraps around the trigger as I take long strides toward the pier. The closer I get the clearer the faces become and my eyes zero in on the cocksucker who pulled the trigger on my parents. The motherfucker who blew my father’s head right off his body and made my mother watch before he riddled her with bullets.

  The motherfucker who made the grave mistake of thinking he could take from me and live to take some more. I was too slow, too young, and a whole lot jaded to save my parents, but you better fucking believe I’m not that guy anymore. I pull the trigger with confidence, meeting my mark every single time. I dig my holes deep and I bury with precision, making sure to turn the dirt over each kill. This motherfucker thinks he’s invincible, that his sins have no consequence. He thinks he can take what is mine and keep breathing. He thinks he can take her.

  Motherfucker is going to learn that no one takes what’s mine.

  No one touches and taints what’s mine.

  There is no such thing as coincidence in this world.

  As long as the name Yankovich is involved there is a plan. I don’t doubt that Russian prick is somewhere grinning from ear to ear thinking he’s got the upper hand.

  Today might not be the day, tomorrow either, but it’s going to come. My day is going to come and I’ll be the one grinning as I turn the dirt on his fucking grave.

  I’m a generous killer, I give them the heads up—spraying the dock with bullets as I walk toward them. Their eyes shoot to me and they scurry around the pier like cockroaches. I’m not going to lie, it’s my favorite part. I get off on the idea that they think they can escape me, but no one gets a pardon from me. Before they can reach for their weapons I pump them full of lead.

  I leave the best for last, savoring the moment I look Ian in the eyes and see the recognition beneath the fear.

  He knows who I am.

  He knows why I’m here.

  And he knows there is a hole waiting for his body.

  “Richardson,” he sputters as the barrel of my rifle digs into his neck.

  “No, motherfucker. Allow me to introduce myself…”

  My finger tightens around the trigger as I spit between his eyes and grin.

  I don’t hesitate, I pull the trigger and blow his fucking head off the same way he blew my father’s off.

  “The name is Cobra,” I sneer, dropping my hand as the rest of his body falls onto the wooden planks. I lift m
y free hand, wipe the splattered blood from my eye and sling the gun over my shoulder before reaching into my cut. I pull out the short list of names on the folded piece of paper.

  With Ian’s blood on my finger I cross out his name and stare at the only one left.

  Yankovich.

  Chapter Six

  Age: 26

  Place: Brooklyn, New York

  Life is made up of choices, some are ours to make, while others are made for us. That doesn’t mean the choices that are ours to make are right. In fact, every fucking choice I have made over the last eight years was probably wrong. Hell, I’ve got more regrets than any one person should have, but choosing to hang up my nomad patch and join the ranks of the Satan’s Knights Brooklyn chapter is not one of them.

  Nearly a year ago I was at the end of my rope, drowning my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey when I met the man that would change the course of my life.

  Whiskey.

  Suicide in a bottle.

  Never cared for that shit until two years ago.

  Now, every sip reminds me of that night and the woman I let go.

  I was half a bottle in, dreaming of a different life when a big hand reached across the bar and snatched my poison. Ready to pounce on the motherfucker for taking my booze and the memories attached to the bottle, I lifted my head and peered into the face of one scary son of a bitch.

  Wolf.

  Normally I would have shot his fucking hand off for touching mine, but there was something about the way he looked at me that kept me from reaching for my gun. Staring at him, I saw the same shit I did every time I looked in the mirror.

  Desperation.