The samaritan, p.1
The Samaritan, page 1
part #3 of Ghosttown Riders Series
The Samaritan
Ghosttown Riders Book 3
Amelia Shea
Copyright © 2020 Amelia Shea
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyright work is illegal. No part of this book may be distributed, reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
For Maddie. Small but mighty, my sweet girl. You keep being you, and the world will be a better place.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
About The Author
Ghosttown Riders Series
The Samaritan By Amelia Shea
A Ghosttown Riders Motorcycle Club Book
A heartbreaking past may stand in the way of a beautiful future.
Born into a motorcycle club dynasty, Caden Reilly chose a different path. A single dad struggling to keep his business afloat while caring for a hostile, arrogant and ill biker father, his life is anything but normal. Just when it seems life couldn’t throw him another curveball, he comes face to face with the Good Samaritan who helped his dad. Caden isn’t prepared for the feelings she evokes within him. The woman is a game changer for Caden, who never envisioned himself settling down.
A devastating loss two years ago has left Marissa Nichols, a shell of her old self. After losing what she held most precious, she gave up on life and any hope of happiness or normalcy. Until one good deed changes it all. An odd encounter with a stranger has Marissa thrust into the lives of the seemingly dangerous Reilly men, turning her dismal life inside out. One man, in particular, awakens all the feelings, she lost long ago.
As they both struggle with their pasts, they grow closer, falling deeper for one another. But outside obstacles and tragic secrets threaten to ruin any chance they have for a future together. Will Caden’s steadfast devotion and solid roots be enough for Marissa to find peace and a home of her own?
Chapter One
“People are strange.”
Marissa shook her head, resting her elbows on the old, filthy picnic table at the rest area. She had stopped twenty minutes earlier to give her legs a stretch, use the bathroom, and eat dinner. The place had been deserted when she pulled in. That changed fifteen minutes ago when he appeared. It was like something out of a movie—one minute she was alone, and then suddenly she wasn’t. The man kept his distance, though she didn’t think he was even aware of her presence. Something about him was off.
She took the last bite of her turkey sandwich and intently focused on the older man as he paced back to the bathroom entry for the fourth time. It had been an odd ritual he’d done for the past ten minutes. He was dressed in dirty jeans stained with what she assumed were grease spots. They hung low from his frail, thin waist. His back was hunched slightly, and his leather jacket seemed to swallow him. Even slouched forward, she could tell he was tall, well over six feet. His stringy gray hair draped over his back just past his shoulders.
“Homeless vagrant?” It was a fair assessment from his appearance. She sipped her soda and continued to watch him and play her game. She smirked and licked the remaining crumbs from her lips. The game. Single-player only. During the last two years, she’d spent the majority of her time alone, yet surrounded by countless strangers. She’d concocted “the game” to pass the time. It had spiraled into an obsession. It was pretty simple: find a target, observe, and fate them. Who were they? Where were they going? How would their story end?
Marissa folded her arms and leaned on the table, squinting for a better look. You’re a Rockstar, well, has-been Rockstar. Never made it huge, but locally you were a legend. People thought you’d make it big, but the booze, drugs, and women were your downfall. Yes, definitely a woman. Named…Rose. Same woman you named a song after, the one who left you a tattered mess when you fell for her, and she left you for your tour manager…um…Leonardo. You never quite recovered. You stopped making music, became a laughingstock of the town you grew up in, and have been a hermit ever since. You’ve been holed up in the woods, tent and your guitar destined to only come out of hiding when you’ve written the next best hit song, aptly named, ”The Dark Rose.”
Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. “Or? You’re just a man who’s lost his way.”
Strange man, though. Just as he reached the doors to the rest area building, he stopped and spun around, rushing down the walk. Again. While his actions screamed suspicious, he didn’t strike her as dangerous. He looked malnourished and sickly. With his profile in her view, she noticed his cheeks were gaunt. The only color to his face was his silver beard.
She wrapped up her sandwich crumbs and wiped off the table before making her way to the garbage a few feet from where she sat. It was time to get back on the road. Destination? Wherever. She needed to check the map once more before she headed out. By the looks of this town, hotels were probably few and far between. Not a tourist hotspot, that was for sure. It didn’t matter much to her. She was a night driver anyway. She’d get a room at sunrise, as usual.
She tossed her wrapper and empty soda in the garbage can, giving a last glance at the old man who was now sitting on the curb. His head swung from side to side frantically. He gripped his hands in front of him, still looking around. Oddly though, he never glanced her way.
Not your problem, not your business.
Marissa couldn’t remember the last time she even considered voluntarily talking with someone. She’d made a habit of avoiding contact. She chewed on her bottom lip. Walk away. Her gaze shifted to the guy. It had also been a while since she’d experienced an internal struggle. Her mind was advising her to walk away, but her gut was keeping her planted on the pavement.
She tilted her head. “Waiting on a ride?”
He continued to grapple with his hands, bowing his head to the asphalt. He gave no indication he’d even heard her. Deaf, maybe? The corner of her mouth hitched up at the irony of the situation.
In the past two years, she’d avoided conversation at all costs when she was on the road. With the obvious exception of necessity.
“Yes, I’d like fries with my burger.”
“I need a room for one night.”
“Yes, please.”
And,
“No, thank you.”
She had almost become a mute of her own doing.
Now here she was, trying to make conversation and being blatantly ignored. She scanned the empty parking lot, and her gaze landed on the old man again. He must have been waiting on someone. The rest area was deserted and had been since she stopped there a half-hour ago. It was just off the highway, not a single house or business in sight.
So where the hell did he come from? She perused the dense woods backing to the rest area. Do you care? She ignored the voice in her head. This man, who he was or where he came from, was none of her concern. Then why am I hesitating? Why was she finding it almost impossible to leave? Her mind shouted “walk away” while her gut burned with angst. I can’t leave him here alone. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Her heart pumped faster than usual, and her skin prickled up her spine, sending the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. It’d been so long since she felt anything. She was getting a rare glimpse of who she used to be. She felt almost…human again.
Nope!
She side-eyed the man who hadn’t uttered a word or even acknowledged her. Time to go. She had gotten a later start than usual today, which would have her stopping at nine in the morning. It was not her usual routine; she preferred to be off the road by morning rush hour. She liked driving at night and having the road to herself.
A late-night gypsy drifter. At one of the many truck stop diners she stopped in, a lonely trucker had taken a seat at her booth. He was uninvited, but it didn’t stop him from taking a seat across from her and spending the next forty minutes sharing his life story. Some people just needed to talk, she figured. She never spoke a word except when he grabbed her bill and paid it. She told him it wasn’t necessary, but he shook his head. “You let me sit with ya, talk your ear off. In my book it gets ya a free dinner. Consider it a thank you from one late-night gypsy drifter to another.”
Inhaling a breath, she focused back on the old man standing and pacing back to the bathroom. He looked lost. Why do I even care? I don’t. She forced herself to turn around and headed toward her car. Her stomach rolled, another unfamiliar feeling, as she neared her car. She gripped the handle and glanced over her shoulder. If she had to guess, this rest area wasn’t used too often. The bathroom was filthy and the lot overgrown. It could be days before another driver stopped. Would he still be here?
“Damn it,” she mumbled, jerking her gaze to her door. She had tried to talk to him. He ignored her. What more could she do? Nothing.
She hopped in her car and got situated for her long ride. She tried to put the old man out of her head. She backed out of her spot and started to the exit. Don’t do it. Shut up. Peering out her window, she saw him again. He was walking back down the path, same as he had done before. However, this time she was close enough to see his eyes. Her heart sank and found residence in her st
She leaned forward and angled her head to get a better look at him. Fear had a distinct appearance. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, and she could see the panic when his gaze met hers for the first time. She had been in plain sight for the past thirty minutes, but he was looking at her as if she had just appeared out of thin air. Then his brows furrowed into a harsh scowl, transforming his face. He didn’t look quite as vulnerable as he did minutes ago.
This was where the warning bells in her head should have gone off. Most people would turn their heads and keep on moving. She was a thirty-one-year-old woman alone in a dark, deserted rest area. No one was around. No one but her and the old man. What if he was a psycho serial killer? What if this was his ploy to capture and kill his next victim?
She waited for her own fear to set in. It didn’t. She knew it wouldn’t. Dying for most people was a fear. For her, it would be a welcomed end. She shifted her car into park and grabbed the door handle. She had nothing to lose. She had already lost everything.
He stepped away from her as she slid out of her seat and stood. “You okay?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. His back straightened, and he stood well over six feet tall. She angled her head up and took another step toward him. Her initial assessment had been off. This man, though frail and gaunt, was not helpless. He probably had enough strength to snap her neck, or at the very least squeeze the life out of her.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Marissa asked, scanning the empty lot again. It was just the two of them. She wasn’t panicked or anxious. Her heartbeat was steady as she approached him and halted only a few feet away.
The man stared back at her in wonderment, and she smiled. If this guy was a killer, he was doing a crappy job at his capture. His eyes followed her smile, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He seemed mesmerized by her smile. It had been a long time since she smiled, she realized.
She inhaled a deep breath and looked over her shoulder and then back to the man. She could offer him a ride. Why not? She had nothing to lose.
She raised her eyebrows and pointed over her shoulder to her car, which was running. “Do you want a ride somewhere? I’m heading west. I can drop you off at the next town if you want?”
She could almost hear the mental scolding from her father. “Are you insane? A woman alone does not offer a stranger a ride!” She smiled faintly. He would have been furious with her. If he was still here.
He continued to stare at her, focusing on her mouth. His lids were drawn down and his head cocked to the side. She stepped closer but immediately paused and exhaled a harsh breath. She let her own gaze travel over the man standing in front of her. The putrid smell of urine invaded her nostrils before noticing the oval-shaped dark stain on the crotch of his jeans. Oh crap, he pissed himself.
“Don’t know where I am.” His voice was deep and shaky. His gaze was solemn as though he were in a trance. Was this guy high? She bit her lip, considering her options at this point.
She blinked in his direction as he moved closer to her. He was examining her face. It was as though he knew her, or he thought he did. Marissa stood grounded. Again, no fear. She just watched as he inched closer. There weren’t many times she felt emotion, but his eyes met hers, and she felt his sadness and uncertainty. He was so lost. Her heartbeat was steady, an ache penetrating her skin. This man was scared, not of her but of everything.
She licked her dry lips. “Do you know how you got here?”
His gaze was trained on her when he shook his head. She couldn’t leave this man. Shit. She held up her hand. “Wait here a sec. I’m just going to grab my phone, okay?”
He stood frozen without a response. She sighed and stepped back but halted when he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a cell phone and extended his arm. She took it from his hand, glancing down and seeing black dirt under his overgrown nails. His wrinkled hand pulled back from her sight, and she glanced up at him.
She saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He was showing a bit of trust, something she hadn’t seen in years. She curled her hand around the phone and turned away from him. This never happens. A perfect stranger was evoking emotion. It was as if a knife had been speared through her heart, an ache so deep she dug her fingers over her breast, trying to release the pressure. Here was a man, obviously troubled, looking to her for help. Her.
She inhaled deeply and fidgeted in her stance. When she turned back to him, he was staring at her expectantly. She forced a smile, which seemed to ease the stress lines on his forehead. Leaving him alone was not an option. She could do this. She’d help him because that’s the kind of person she was, or at least the kind she used to be.
Her shaky fingers slid across the screen. She pulled up the keypad and prepared to call 911 when she heard the man speak.
“My boys, call my boys.” There was a surprise in his tone, and he looked away deep in thought, as though he had forgotten he had sons. It was strange. How could he forget he had children? She would never forget. The thought felt like a slap to the face, and immediately, her mind drew back to her past. No! She clenched her jaw and jerked her head, shaking her memory back to the present. She straightened her shoulders and inhaled a deep, long breath. She eyed the man in front of her.
“Your sons? You want me to call them for you?”
He slowly nodded as his lips curled down.
“Okay, what are their names?”
She waited and watched as the confusion flashed across his face. His bottom lip trembled slightly, but he remained silent and looked up to the sky. Oh God, he doesn’t know. It all made sense, a very sad sense. He didn’t know where he was or how he got there. He had forgotten he had sons, and then couldn’t remember their names. It all made sense now.
“No worries, I’ll find them in your phone,” she lied.
She gulped and drew her attention back to the phone and away from the man in front of her. The sight of him was growing gloomier by the second. She scrolled through his contacts, which were dominated by male names. Great! Needle in a haystack. As she continued down the contact list, she finally caught a break. Bingo! She smiled as she clicked on the contact named Ice. She had seen a special on television about the Ice contact as an “in case of emergency.” Bringing the phone up to her ear, she sighed in relief.
It rang twice before a loud booming voice shouted from the other end of the receiver. “Where the hell are you?”
Marissa jumped and yanked the phone from her pulsing eardrum. The cell phone slipped in her hand, but she tightened her grasp to keep from dropping it. Who answered their phone with such an abrupt greeting? She blew out a breath and arched her brow. She raised the phone to her ear again.
The shouting man continued. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been looking for you? Cade called the fucking hospitals, dammit.”
The man on the other line was livid. She glanced up to the older man standing across from her and raised her eyebrows. This is your in case of emergency person? As if he could read her expression, he shrugged and looked away. She focused on the positive. At least someone was looking for him. It was a good sign.
“Pop?” The menacing shout was followed by a snarl. Whoever was on the other line sounded more like a rabid dog than a concerned son.
She lowered the phone to her ear and cleared her throat. “Uh…hello?”
The line was quiet, but only for a brief second.
“Old man is with a whore. Goddamn bastard got us all worried, and he’s banging some broad. I’m done, Cade, it’s fucking over with him.” He must have been talking to someone else. The voice, though completely clear, sounded far away as if he dropped it. This wasn’t good.
Aside from the obvious, the mystery son being livid. If he thought his father was with someone, he wouldn’t come retrieve him. Shit!
