Page 4 of Nomad
***
Bracing myself against the wooden frame of one of the bedroom windows of my two-story home, I gaped at the vast mountainous terrain, trying to push away the memories bombarding me. Five years had passed since I’d settled in the small town of Windhaven, Arizona, population somewhere around 401. At least, that was what the old wooden sign said at the edge of town. It welcomed tourists looking to experience the history of the Old West.
During its heyday, Windhaven was the place to go if you wanted to strike it rich. The silver mines that had made the small town a boomtown dried up decades ago. Along with most of the townspeople. Now Windhaven had what I wanted—solitude.
The area’s isolation drew me to the former Old West mining town despite it being in the desert. I’d never believed I’d enjoy the arid air again after spending many years on different missions in deserts. But I enjoyed the home I had made for myself, and I wouldn’t change my decision to call this place home for anything or anyone.
The picturesque view of the rocky landscape and rolling foothills stretching for miles was a remarkable sight. The sputtering of animals and the whistles of eagles filled the air during the days. Only the occasional howls of the wind and coyotes filled the void of night. Many days and nights, I craved the heavy silence, the desolateness of this place. Like tonight, I ached for the silence Windhaven provided. My thoughts were becoming too much to suffer through.
Most of the residents kept to themselves despite knowing everyone and their business, like in most small towns. When I purchased the single-family residence, I’d made sure my home wasn’t close enough to the nosy townspeople, all who wondered who I was and where the hell I came from. Many were descendants of the town’s original settlers and considered me an outsider, anyway, since I wasn’t born and raised in Windhaven. I was fine with everyone keeping their distance from me and my property. I needed privacy to keep my sanity. So, if I was the devil incarnate because of my tattoos and long disheveled hair, or because a Harley was my preferred means of transportation, I wouldn’t try to change anyone’s mind.
“I love this place, but something’s missing,” I mumbled.
Not something. Someone.
I pushed the thought from my mind as soon as it infiltrated. It would never happen.
“It could never happen.”
“Did you want something, William?” Angie asked while lounging on my bed.
“No, Angie.” My voice was passive. “Just thinking out loud.”
When I left the military, I joined the motorcycle club Demons United as a Nomad at the insistence of Daniel Gonzalez, a fellow veteran I’d met at a bar after I returned stateside. Like him, I’d needed the same camaraderie as being in the military after being through hell overseas.
Not everyone comprehended what the horrors of war did to the mind. The things I’d done for God and country would scare people shitless or those disgusted by me. However, it was what I signed up for, and I’d loved it while I served.
A lot of guys in the motorcycle world were vets. They understood the darkness that came with service. They understood needing a brotherhood among those who’d experienced the same things—who fought the same demons and needed to be alone when it was necessary. We shared a deep connection no one else comprehended and were family despite not being blood related. A union forged by service and blood.
We were all Outlaws.
One-Percenters.
In the beginning, when I returned from overseas, being on my bike and riding across the country brought me salvation. The sense of peace I’d experienced when I stayed still for too long. I went wherever the club sent me, doing what needed to be done for the good of my brothers without complaint. And, for a long time, the freedom of the road kept the demons of war away.
Then it took a toll on me.
Not the jobs, but riding from place to place. No place to lay my head and call my home had bugged the hell out of me when before, I couldn’t have cared less. The urge to set down roots started plaguing me, and I’d needed somewhere no one would bother me unless I wanted them to. Something the larger cities didn’t offer.
I loved the open road—the wind brushing against my skin, seeing unfamiliar places, and not having any responsibilities other than the upkeep of my motorcycle and what the club wanted me to do. I lived what I considered the American dream. For years, I’d lived out of cheap motels that charged by the hour and ate inexpensive greasy diner food or junk food. I’d lived a nomad’s way of life, moving place to place when the time came.
Then everything changed.
When Aaron, a Special Forces Operator in my unit lost his life during a firefight overseas, I met someone who changed mine. Without knowing it, she helped me see it was time to call somewhere home, even if wasn’t with her. Windhaven became a place to start living my life and start a family of my own, but most of all, it was where I would move on from her.
So far, the shit hadn’t quite worked out as planned. I still craved her every day without fail. Her laugh. Her smell. I coveted it all. After years apart, I still yearned for the life I’d desired with her, even though it was unrealistic to believe it was possible.
“You coming back to bed, baby?” Angie’s slender fingers slid up the muscled planes of my back, her signature black manicured nails scraping against my sweat-slicked sensitive skin. “We have some time before I need to go home.”
I dropped my head, loving the warmth of her beautiful tits pressing against my back and the sting of her nails scraping my flesh. But Angie wasn’t the person on my mind, especially around this time of year. Only one person occupied it, no matter what I was doing or who I fucked.
My Angel.
I worked hard to push Angie’s voice from my head. The silence called tonight. I wished for it. It was an insatiable hunger eating at me. However, I knew Angie wasn’t my problem. Long, silky, platinum hair with baby blue eyes and a body any woman would die for, Angela Snyder was dropped dead gorgeous. However, no matter what she offered with her looks and her bubbly personality, she couldn’t hold a candle to Jade, the widow of my military brother, Aaron Milan. The woman I loved.
“I can help you forget whatever’s weighing on your mind if you let me in, William.”
How much I wished that was true as Angie’s soft voice infiltrated my thoughts. But hers wasn’t the voice I needed to hear. Hers wasn’t the body I desired.
