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My feet become strangely planted while my head floats as if it’s curiously light. As I turn my head to find Chevy, the entire room spins. Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?
“Let him go,” the old man says.
I throw my arm out, searching for a wall to stay upright and instead discover a warm hand. A solid arm around my waist and then there are beautiful dark eyes. “I got you.”
My hand goes to Chevy’s face and I gingerly touch his eye that’s swelling, the bruises forming on his face, the blood flowing near the corner of his lip. “I’m sorry.”
This is my fault. Maybe we gave up too easy at the car. Maybe we should have run into the woods. Maybe I should have yelled at Chevy when he stopped his motorcycle to help. I should have pushed him away then. I should have known that I’m cursed and that I’m only capable of hurting everyone I love.
“Get him out of here,” says the old man.
The guy with the scar lets Fiend go and the two men who were fighting Chevy grab Fiend and drag him away. I blink several times and lean into Chevy’s body as my mind has fractured.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Chevy, but he only shakes his head. His fingers tap twice to my side and I straighten. Two fingers tapping. It’s a childhood code. He’s telling me we’re in danger, and considering the past few hours, it scares the hell out of me that we’ve somehow fallen into a deeper hole.
The old man hands the gun back to the guy with a scar on his face, then scans me and Chevy as if he’s perplexed. His blue eyes tell me he sees all, knows all—a god to many in his world. “I’m going to apologize, but I know it won’t sound like much. I’m—”
“Emily’s grandfather,” Chevy cuts him off. “You’re the president of the Riot.”
Realization causes me to curl my fingers into Chevy’s shirt. This is the man whose daughter, Meg, left him to be with Eli when she fell in love with Eli over eighteen years ago. The man who has tortured the Terror since the day Meg left. Then when Eli’s life in the club proved too much for Meg, she left Eli for good as well, taking their daughter, Emily, with her. This past summer, Emily and Eli reconnected, and Emily and my best friend Oz fell in love. Those newly cemented relationships burn the Riot up and they’re holding a grudge.
The old man cocks his head. “I am. The name is Skull and I know who both of you are. There’s been a gross misunderstanding, and I only learned that you had been picked up by Fiend about thirty minutes ago. Came straight here when I found out. I had no idea about the conditions you were taken under or how you were being held. Again, my apologies.”
I don’t believe him and obviously neither does Chevy. “Then let us go home.”
“We will,” he says. “But why don’t we get you upstairs first. Let you clean yourselves up, get you some food and then me and you will call Eli together. How’s that sound?”
Sounds like heaven, but by the way Chevy and I grasp each other, we’re both aware that we’re mere steps away from descending into hell.
CHEVY (#ufa3e80b5-765b-5d24-9e67-9a882593b3af)
MY ENTIRE BODY THROBS, but I ignore it as I watch Violet enter the bathroom. She’s slow going in. Shuffling her feet. Most of it in reluctance to face what’s waiting for her in there, also could be because they kicked the hell out of her last night by the road in order to make her kneel. She has a limp and I can’t help but wonder if they did damage to her knee.
I don’t think she notices. I don’t think she feels any of the pain from the bruises on her body. Too much in shock. Too damn headstrong. What the hell was she thinking gunning for a man ready to shoot her? I rub the back of my head, feeling my own head wound. I know what she was thinking. She was trying to protect me, trying to take on the world on her own...again.
Violet’s knee gives, she trips and I shift to the balls of my feet to catch her, but she remains unaware, recovers and keeps moving. Not sure if I’m grateful Violet’s numb to the pain or if that scares the hell out of me more. If we survive this, how are either of us going to snap back mentally?
Violet looks behind the bathroom door, then hobbles to the bathtub and peeks behind the light blue curtain. We’re upstairs now, but there’s no window in this bathroom. Still no escape.
She glances at me to let me know that, at least in the bathroom, she’ll be safe.
In the basement, Violet dozed in my arms, did that thing where she dreams but stays somewhat conscious. Could tell by the way she jerked and murmured. Even with the seminap, the circles under her eyes are black against her pale skin and the bruises are overpronounced.
“You can take a shower if you want.” The president of the Riot, Skull, is by my side, acting like we’re out-of-town guests. “Towels are under the sink. You’re safe now.”
“Take your time,” I say, meaning if there’s a lock on the door to use it, shatter the glass of the mirror and use it as a weapon and hide in the bathroom until help hopefully arrives.
“I’m not taking a shower.” Violet holds eye contact with me. “Just using the bathroom.”
“Take your time,” I repeat, and Violet nods before shutting the door. There’s the click of a lock. Good girl. Got to admit I could pick that lock in seconds, but it’s better than nothing.
Skull inclines his head down the hall, away from the bathroom. “Why don’t we go in the kitchen? Give her a few minutes to regroup, get you some food.”
Considering we were kidnapped, he should be offering to call the police. I’m not stupid enough to mention that. Not stupid enough to think this scenario is over. There are no pictures in the hallway. No personal touches in the kitchen we passed on the way here. No color to the walls. This place is nothing more than a dump house—a place to lie low, a place to hide, a place to take people you kidnap or want to kill. “I’m staying here.”
“Come to the kitchen and we’ll call Eli. Faster we make that call, faster you two go home. You and I both know she’s not coming out unless she knows you’re on the other side of that door.”
I want ten-foot-thick concrete walls between Violet and the Riot. For now, a door will do. I knock on it. “I’m going to the kitchen. Stay in until I come back.”
“Okay,” comes her muffled response.
Skull goes first, I follow and weigh my odds of making it out of here with Violet if I were to knock the hell out of him from behind, but figure there’s a wall of cuts surrounding the house. We enter the kitchen and I’m surprised when no one else is there. House feels too empty and that’s eerie.
“Take a seat.” Skull pulls out a folding chair from the cardboard table.
I choose to lean my back against the corner that leads to the hallway so I can keep an eye on Violet. “I’m good.”
He shrugs. “Your choice. Before we call Eli, there are a few things we need to discuss.”
Skull looks over at me as if waiting for my permission to continue, but I say nothing. He eases down at the table in the compact kitchen and kicks out his legs. “Look, I did send out my guys to find you, but they misunderstood my instructions. I told them to tell you that I needed to talk to you. To convince you to come with them. Not kidnap. Just for us to talk.”
My eyebrows rise and the action causes a slice of pain. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
Skull sighs, then leans forward, drawing his legs in and rubbing his hands together. “Son—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You turn eighteen soon,” he talks over me, ignoring my response. “And the way you’ve been groomed, I’m betting you’ll have the shortest prospect period in the history of your club or you’ll have a full-blown cut on you by the time the clock strikes midnight on your birthday.”
Not seeing how that’s his concern.
“Before that happens,” he continues, “I only felt like it was right to let you know some pertinent information. There’s a detective from Louisville who has been digging into our past and he seems intent on talking to your club, too. Because of that, I think you should know before your club does. Give you a chance to protect yourself.”
He’s talking in code, in circles, verbally waving his right hand to keep me from looking at his left. My eyes flicker down the hallway and the bathroom door is still closed, light still peeking out from the cracks.
Some of what he’s saying is true. There’s a Louisville gang detective who’s been trying to nail the Riot MC and the same detective talked to some members of the Terror in hopes of us being able to supply them with information. I’m in the dark on whether or not the Terror can or have helped.
“I liked your father, Chevy, and for what he did for us, you deserve to know the truth before you have the Terror’s colors on your back.”
Did for them? There’s a ringing in my ears as my world narrows in on him. My dad died before my birth, and I’ll admit to not knowing much about him other than family ramblings about Thanksgivings and Christmases, but I know my father was Terror through and through. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your father may have had Terror colors on his back,” says Skull, “but he was loyal to the Riot.”
Violet (#ufa3e80b5-765b-5d24-9e67-9a882593b3af)
CHEVY WANTED ME to stay in here, but each second of silence is maddening. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and my hands shake. I don’t know why they shake. The rest of my body feels oddly calm, sort of like I’m drunk, but I haven’t drunk in weeks.
I’ll admit to getting wasted more than I should have this past summer. Upset over some pictures some idiot guy had taken of me at a party, upset he blackmailed me into dating him—because that’s the way to make a girl care for you—upset that my dad wasn’t alive to protect me from the real-world monsters.
But the pictures are no longer an issue, and neither is the guy. Razor’s to thank for that and the only thing he asked of me in return was to stop drinking around people who weren’t the Terror. I decided to stop drinking, period. The drinking didn’t help anyhow. Didn’t make me forget like TV and movies said it would. It only made my crazy emotions crazier, made the sadness sadder, made me fall into dark places when I already couldn’t see daylight.
I roll my neck and try to focus. Try to make out any sounds outside the bathroom door, but it’s been hard. My mind keeps wandering. Goes to random places, but then returns to the way my heart slammed in my chest as I ran for the gun, the way my stomach sank when I heard the bang, the bullet that missed, and then my thoughts wander off in weird directions like to this past summer and how I’d give almost anything to push rewind and get a second chance.
A second chance—will I have one going forward? Will Chevy?
Focus!
I suck in a deep breath and try to listen, but I hear nothing. How long have I been in here? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Did they take Chevy out of the house? Are they hurting him? My eyes burn and I quickly stand, not wanting to let visions of him bruised and bleeding enter my mind.
I stare at the door and will it to open. Will Chevy to be standing on the other side, offering me his hand and telling me that we’re safe and that we can leave. But nothing happens. No noise. No turning of the knob. Nothing.
My entire body quakes. He’s been gone too long, and I need to find him. I need to know if he’s okay, but what if he’s not okay? What if I open the door and there’s another gun pointing at me?
I shake my head. What if there is? If I’m going to die, I’m going to die. At this point, it could be a relief compared to thinking of how this is all going to end.
The three steps to the door are the longest of my life, and when I turn the knob, I quit breathing. The hallway right outside the bathroom is empty. I step out, I turn my head and Chevy’s down the hallway, leaning his back against the corner of the kitchen, and he swings his head in my direction.
I blink. Something’s wrong. This whole situation is wrong, but his expression...
“Kenneth’s talking with Chevy on some club business.” A woman appears to my left. She’s older, in her sixties maybe, but she has blond hair, blue eyes, jeans, a purple sweater, pearls in her ears and a gold cross around her neck.
My hand goes to my father’s cross. It should be buried beneath my shirt, pressed against my skin, but Fiend stole it along with my bracelets, Dad’s watch and my other necklaces.
“Sweetheart, do you hear me?” she asks.
I died. I died and I’m in some sort of hell.
“Kenneth is Skull,” she continues. “My husband. I’m Jenna. We’re both sorry about how you were treated. I’m sure Kenneth explained it was a misunderstanding.”
Sure it was. “Then let us leave.”
“Chevy and Kenneth are calling Eli now. We’ll figure out how to get you home safely without entanglements.”
She means police. If what she says is true, I’m not sure why she thinks we won’t call the police the moment we’re free, or why Eli wouldn’t call the police if he hasn’t already. We were kidnapped. Me and Chevy. Two people who haven’t blood-pact-pinkie-sworn to be part of an MC.
“Why don’t you come in here and give Chevy and Kenneth the time to work out details?” She waves her hand toward a bedroom diagonal from the bathroom and farther away from Chevy. “I have something to drink ready for you. Tea. It’s warm and can help calm your nerves. There’s also something to eat in there if you’d like.”
As if I could eat, but I swallow in an effort to ease my dry mouth. I follow her, and once I reach the doorway, I jerk back. The man with the scar stands in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Don’t freak,” he says. “If you remember correctly, I’m the one that kept that bullet from going into your body. And as a public service announcement, I’m not into seventeen-year-old girls nor am I going to hurt one in front of my mother.”
The scar across his face—that’s from Eli. I’ve heard about this my entire life. Eli fell in love with this man’s sister, Meg. Meg left with Eli, had a baby with Eli, and when she refused to return to her family, this man tried to force Meg to come home and Eli came to her rescue. The bad part of the rescue is that Eli became so violent, he almost killed this man and Eli went to prison for attempted murder.
Scarred Guy’s mother sits on the bed and crosses her ankles. “See? Justin confirmed you’re safe.”
They aren’t using road names. They’re trying to make me feel like they’re normal, like I’m safe. I glance down the hallway at Chevy again and he looks as lost and bewildered as me.
Chevy cocks his head to the kitchen, then gestures with his chin for me to remain where I am. He returns his attention to whoever is speaking to him. He’s okay and he doesn’t want me to be a part of what they’re talking about. If he’s okay, maybe I am, too, for the moment.
I rest my shoulder against the door frame of the room.
Jenna and her son share a look because—shocker—the kidnap victim isn’t cooperating.
“I’m ready to go home,” I say.
Jenna mashes her lips together. “I’ll tell Kenneth.”
She leaves, goes down the hallway to the kitchen, and then I hear the door to the outside open and close. Funny how I didn’t hear her make a peep to Kenneth.
Scarred Guy Justin still stands in the corner, still has his arms crossed over his chest, still watches me. Chevy wants me to stay here and I don’t.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Justin says. “We weren’t after Chevy. It was you we wanted to talk to, but our guy got out of control. He thought he had you alone, he was ordered to convince you to come talk to me or Dad. Fiend didn’t know Chevy was going to be there when they pulled up, and when that kid started swinging, our guy lost his mind.”
“Well, gee, I guess that makes everything okay.”
His lips edge up but then fall back down. “Fiend will be punished, so there’s no need for you and Chevy to go all crazy and cause legal problems for us later.”
“I feel so much better,” I say drily. “Besides, you’re full of crap. Chevy’s the one with the possible power play, I’m nobody.”
“We’ve been watching you for a while,” he continues. “You’re the one that brought Emily to us this past summer.”
I readjust as the need to shed my skin overwhelms me. I did bring Eli’s daughter to Louisville, but in our defense, neither of us knew at the time that her grandparents were Riot royalty. She thought she was meeting her long-lost normal grandparents, at a time when she really needed some normal and some answers in her life.
“You lost your dad, and I’m sorry. Frat was a good man.”
Anger wells up in me from the tip of my toes and then explodes out of my mouth. “You know nothing about my father.”
“Untrue. Your father was the one reason why the Riot and Terror never went Apocalypse Now. He had a steady head. Smart as hell. If he was still around, none of what happened this summer surrounding Emily would have happened. He would have figured out a way for Eli to see her, for us to see her, and she wouldn’t have been caught between us, trying to figure out who’s good and who’s bad.”
Easy. If I had to pick, they’re both bad, but the Terror are annoying-little-brother bad and the Riot are serial-killer bad. No-brainer.
“Your father wanted peace more than anything else. Did you know he was on his way to meet me when he died? Once every three months, he met with me and he listened to our list of grievances with the Terror and he’d tried to explain how we somehow had done the Terror wrong.”
I straighten away from the door frame. “Are you saying you killed him?”
Justin’s face screws up. “Fuck no. I respected the hell out of Frat, regardless of whose colors he had on his back. He wanted peace. Our club wants peace. His death was an accident. Trust me, we looked into it just as much as your club did. We weren’t sure if your side was trying to take him out because he was the one person who was able to see both sides and tried to keep us all from killing each other.”
I roll my eyes and Justin catches it. “You don’t believe me?”
“No. I may not know much, but your club is the one always pushing on the Terror to pay for riding through your territory and your club is always the one hurting Terror members.” I hold out my arms in a “hello.”
“There are rules, ways things are done, and the Terror think they’re above it.”
Maybe they do, maybe they don’t, but regardless... “Your politics have nothing to do with me.”
“It does.”
He’s delusional. “It doesn’t.”
