The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition by Janine Infante Bosco

Author:Janine Infante Bosco [Infante Bosco, Janine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-28T05:00:00+00:00

-Three-

DEUCE

Age: 27

Place: Albany, New York

I’m going to murder Wolf, dress him in all black and bury him in a swamp. Then I’m going to do a fucking rain dance on his makeshift grave and damn that crazy bastard straight to hell. This is all his fucking fault. I’m sitting here in filth, knocking back cheap fucking booze and watching every guy in this joint get their dick sucked by the same whore because the Johnny Cash wannabe couldn’t mind his own fucking business.

No, he had to stick his nose in my shit and now I’m here in Albany, likely to get gangrene as I wait for some magical piece of information to fall into my lap. Pouring myself a refill of whatever garbage these fools keep stocked on their shelves, my eyes take a sweep around the clubhouse and over the unsuspecting fools who think I’m just passing through their charter.

Then I see her.

I see those dark blue eyes.

Eyes that mimic the ocean under a midnight sky.

They are unique in color but not in what they portray. There are very few souls roaming the world with eyes as lost and lonely as hers. If you’re lucky, you live life never having to stare into the eyes of a broken soul. If you’re me, broken souls are your kryptonite and you gravitate toward them.

She turns her head and her eyes lock with mine. For a moment, I’m back in Arlington, back to a place where I’m helpless and captive to a woman’s eyes. It knocks me on my ass, punches me in the gut and steals the breath from my lungs. I bring the glass to my lips and greedily gulp the booze. Draining the glass, I welcome the burn as it slides down my throat.

I order myself to look away, to get my head back in the game, but I can’t. The familiar torture in those eyes calls to me, reminding me of Chelsea and all my careless mistakes. It reminds me of the consequences of them.

The gunshot.

The screams.

The blood.

Her death.

“Don’t even think about it,” a voice warns.

Tearing my eyes away from the girl in the corner, I turn to my right as Needles pulls up a chair beside me. Snatching the bottle in front of me, the man covered head to toe in ink helps himself to a glass and leans back.

We’ve come a long way since I first arrived a few days ago. With my nomad patch on my back, I barreled through the front door of the clubhouse and was greeted by Needles. I asked to speak with the president of the club and in return I got thrown against the wall and frisked. Needles confiscated my piece and demanded to know what I wanted with Rush. I kicked him in the balls and pushed him off me before I gave him the same rehearsed story I told every other club who gave me a bed. I vowed to have their back as long as I was under their roof, but made it clear I was just a temporary fixture.

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