Nowhere But Here
Nowhere But Here
Katie McGarry
The long awaited all new series from the #1 bestselling author of Pushing the LimitsEmily likes her life the way it is…Doting parents, great friends, good school… But she’s curious about her biological father – the one who chose life on the road over being a parent.When a reluctant visit to him turns into an extended summer, one thing becomes clear: nothing is what it seems. Not her secret-keeping father and not Oz, the dangerous boy who can help her understand her family’s deepest secrets.When Emily’s father asks Oz to keep her safe, Oz knows it’s his chance to prove himself. What he doesn’t count on is Emily turning his world upside down.And Oz is everything Emily isn’t supposed to want… but sometimes the road you fear is the one that leads you home.Praise for Katie McGarry'The love story of the year' - Teen Now on Pushing the Limits'A real page-turner' - Mizz on Pushing the Limits'A romance with a difference' – Bliss on Pushing the Limits.
Top three awful moments of my life:
• Meeting my biological father at ten
• Breaking my arm in three spots at nine
• Falling into a hole and being trapped there overnight with a dead body at eight
Other than that, I love my life. While some of my friends are all, ‘Woe is me, no one understands my traumatised soul,’ I’m pretty happy. I like happy. I like simple. I like predictable and I hate surprises.
With that said, I’m not particularly thrilled when my father tries to hand me a piece of paper that causes my mother to choke up with tears and excuse herself from the kitchen.
Praise for Katie McGarry (#ulink_d506c804-035b-5d35-94b1-ef7b231a3518)
bestselling author of
PUSHING THE LIMITS
‘The love story of the year’ —Teen Now
‘A real page-turner’ —Mizz
‘A romance with a difference’ —Bliss
‘McGarry details the sexy highs, the devastating lows and the real work it takes to build true love.’
—Jennifer Echols
‘A riveting and emotional ride’
—Simone Elkeles
‘Highly recommend to fans of hard-hitting, edgy, contemporary and to anyone who loves a smouldering, sexy, consuming love story to boot!’
—Jess Hearts Books blog
‘McGarry is definitely a YA author to keep an eye out for.’
—ChooseYA blog
KATIE McGARRY
was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings and reality television and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. She is also the author of Pushing the Limits, Dare You To, Crash Into You, Take Me On, Breaking the Rules and the novella Crossing the Line.
Katie would love to hear from her readers. Contact her via her website, katielmcgarry.com (http://katielmcgarry.com), follow her on Twitter@KatieMcGarry (http://www.twitter.com/katieMcGarry), or become a fan on Facebook and Goodreads.
Katie McGarry
www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#u802a1c90-57e8-5929-9fbc-9095c2d34b64)
Praise for Katie McGarry (#ufa37ab32-d73d-5f9b-8b41-3110c027e946)
About the Author (#u2854e0c7-7d55-599a-840f-582992354e5f)
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Emily (#u69551fcf-7d98-5104-a75b-c83f86d224f3)
Oz (#ufdaf4131-a6e0-595b-b32c-9607403cb688)
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Emily (#ulink_16bb2090-595c-5fac-bf9c-edfa9753d087)
TOP THREE AWFUL moments of my life:
Meeting my biological father at ten
Breaking my arm in three spots at nine
Falling into a hole and being trapped there overnight with a dead body at eight
Other than that, I love my life. While some of my friends are all, “Woe is me, no one understands my traumatized soul,” I’m pretty happy. I like happy. I like simple. I like predictable and I hate surprises.
With that said, I’m not particularly thrilled when my father tries to hand me a piece of paper that causes my mother to choke up and excuse herself from the kitchen.
Dad and I continue to stare at one another as we listen to Mom race up the stairs then close the door to their bedroom. Life is out of whack and it’s easy to tell. Dirty dishes are piled in the sink. A stack of unopened mail is tossed across the island. A pile of balled tissues creates a mountain on the wooden oval table. The yellow kitchen that seemed cheery this morning is darkened with emotional storm clouds.
The awkward silence between me and Dad has officially stretched into painful. I shift under the strain and my foot nudges my backpack on the floor.
“You should go after her,” I say to break the stillness and to ignore the fact I haven’t accepted what Dad is offering. Plus, Dad always knows how to pull Mom out of her drama pit. It’s one of the million things I love about him.
“I will.” His lips lift a little, a strong indication he’s planning to mess with me. “How do you want to handle this? Straightforward, gradual introduction, or head in the sand?”
I brighten. “Head in the sand works well for me.”
“Good try, but pick another option.”
Fine. “Gradual.”
“How does it feel to be a senior?”
Despite the impending knowledge that my life is about to suck, I smile. I’d walked into the kitchen after my last day of school expecting to gush to Mom about how Trisha and I were invited to Blake Harris’s party tonight.
What I didn’t expect? Dad home, Mom in tears and a note that possibly brings tidings from hell. “It feels awesome. It’ll feel even better if you put that piece of paper in the garbage disposal.”
“Please read it,” Dad presses. “It was hard for your mom to make the decision to let you see this and we should respect her wishes.”
My stomach aches as if I’d been elbowed. This debilitating reaction from my mother means one thing: contact from her childhood home in Kentucky.
Kentucky is a painful subject for her and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ease her suffering because, until Dad came into the picture and adopted me when I was five, Mom raised me on her own. That deserves some major respect.
Out of the corner of my eye I take in the collage of framed photos on the wall. The middle picture is my favorite. It’s an eight by ten of the day Mom and Dad married. Mom’s in a white wedding gown. Slender. Graceful. Her sleek blond hair falling around her shoulders as she beams down at me. Dad crouches beside me. His sun-kissed hair strikingly gold compared to his black tux.
He tucks a rose into my dark brown hair. I’m five and focused on him like he’s Superman. That’s because he is. My own personal superhero. He adopted me mere days before he married my mom.
Dad clears his throat and I snatch the paper from his hands with just the right amount of ticked off. I’ll wander down this dark tunnel of insanity for a few minutes...for him and my mom.
It’s an e-mail and it’s short and to the point and it’s from my biological father.
Jeff,
Please tell Emily.
Eli
Underneath the message are an obituary and a photo of a woman I’ve never met. Her name is Olivia McKinley and she’s Eli’s mother. A weighted sigh escapes my lips and I slouch into a seat at the table. Please tell Emily. Eli does his best to make an impression. It may not be a great impression, but he leaves one nonetheless.
I squish my lips to the side as I absorb Olivia’s obituary. It’s the first time I’ve seen an image of her. Eli’s talked about her on our rare occasional visits, but he never drew enough of a mental picture for me to visualize what she looked like.
Eli’s this biker my mom hooked up with once and he abandoned us the moment Mom said, “I missed my period.” While he gave Mom the slip, he also gave me my dark brown hair and my matching dark brown eyes and the ton of freckles over the bridge of my nose. But other than that he hasn’t given me much.
“So...” Total hesitation as I hunt for the correct words. “Eli’s mom died.”
“That’s right. Your mom wants us to attend the funeral.”
Um...I don’t do funerals or cemeteries. Mom and Dad are aware of this situation. My fingers tap against the table. There’s definitely a diplomatic way out of this. I need to find it and find it quick. “Why does she want to go? Not to be rude, but we don’t know this lady. We barely know Eli and...well...I thought Mom hated Kentucky.”
Dad rubs the back of his head. “I don’t know why. I forwarded the e-mail to your mom this morning. A few minutes later, she called me at work in tears. I came home and she’d already purchased the plane tickets. Your guess is as good as mine here, but there’s one thing I do know—I don’t like seeing your mom cry.”
Neither do I.
“What are your thoughts on this, Em?”
I shrug. There are no words for this. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. “I don’t get it.”
“I know.”
That’s it? He knows? “I was hoping for something a little more like ‘I’ll talk to your Mom and I’ll convince her to shelve the crazy for a few days.’ I mean, we are underestimating the value of sending a well-written note attached to a nice flower arrangement.”
Dad does that thing where he’s quiet while mulling over a response. It’s reason one million and one why I love him. Dad hardly ever loses his temper or yells. He thinks everything through.
“I don’t claim to understand most of this,” he says. “But this is important to your mom, and you and she are the two most important things to me. If she needs to attend this funeral then we’ll attend.”
“What if I don’t want to attend?”
Dad’s patient blue eyes search me and I consider ducking under the table before he notices how much the prospect bothers me. Dead people. He’s asking me to voluntarily enter a building where there are dead people. Inside, I’m screaming. Very loudly. Very manically.
“Your mom and I will be there and absolutely nothing will harm you. Besides, you and I have had this discussion. The best way to get over your fears is to face them.”
Sure, his words sound pretty, but there’s this serious anxiety suffocating me like a shroud. Hives form on my wrist and I scratch at the welts under the table while flashing a forced grin. “Are you suggesting a body isn’t going to come back to life and try to eat me?”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re safe from a Walking Dead episode.”
I release an unladylike snort and Dad laughs. His chuckles fade and I loathe the heavy silence that follows.
“I’m not only talking about your fear of dead things,” Dad continues. “I’m talking about the paperwork I found in the trash. I believe it mentioned visiting out-of-town universities with your school this summer.”
Dang it, I should have used the paper shredder.
“There’s more to life than Florida,” he insists.
“I love Florida.” I love it so much that I have plans that involve staying here in town after graduation. Specifically, Trisha and I have plans. We’ve spent the past two years dreaming of going to the local college and rooming together. We even have color-coordinated comforters picked out, because that’s how Trisha rolls.
Dad waves his hand at the room. “There’s more out there for you than these four walls.”
“I love these four walls.” I do. The kitchen, to the three of us, is the focal point of our existence. Mom’s created a homey room with fresh flowers in several vases scattered on the table, island and counter. She painted the walls yellow because she read an article that said it’s a welcoming color.
“Emily—”
“I love my life.” I flutter my eyelashes in an attempt to appear cute. “I’m happy, so stop trying to mess with it.”
Dad leans back in his chair and tosses a pen he’s been fiddling with onto the table. “Aren’t you even curious about what’s out there?”
“No. But I’m curious about what the deal is with Mom and this funeral.” I change the subject because I hate arguing with my father. I don’t possess a burning desire to leave home and explore every part of the universe like he did when he was my age. He doesn’t understand and I don’t know how to explain it. Because of that, we fight and it’s the only thing, besides Eli, we disagree about.
“I already told you I don’t know,” he answers, “but it’s our job to support her. You know as well as I do that demons haunt your mother’s past.”
It’s true. Mom avoids discussing her life before my birth. I assume it must be because it hurts to know she has family that threw her out because she chose to have me. “Do you think attending this funeral is her way of going home without going home?”
His eyes snap to mine and I know I hit the nail on the head. Nausea rolls through my intestines. This is one of those moments where doing the right thing makes me want to puke, but this is my mom. My mom. She’s crazy and she’s dramatic, but she has loved me since she saw two lines on the pregnancy test. I refuse to say no to a woman who raised me for the first four years completely by herself.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m in.”
“Thank you. And Emily...” A long, painful pause. “You need to view this as an opportunity. Maybe this will help you and your mother reconsider Eli’s offer for you to visit him for two weeks this summer.”
Oh, hell no. Three weeks ago, Eli contacted Dad with this massively awful idea. Seeing Eli when he wanders into town once a year is one thing, but visiting him—for two weeks straight—on his home turf? “Mom said no.”
“I think it would be healthy for you to see where your mother once lived and to understand your father’s history. I overheard you asking your mom questions the other day.”
All right, sue me. Eli’s offer made me curious. Actually, not true. My mother’s sharp shout of “no” when Dad broached the subject of the visit is what did it. And I’m not concerned with Eli or his family, but more over my mother.
Were Mom’s parents the superconservative people she’s described them as? How did she meet Eli? Was it at school or did they meet the night they conceived me? Was Mom a crazy teenager or was she a good girl until she decided to hook up one night with a biker?
I’ve asked, but Mom redirects the conversation. I haven’t found the courage yet to press for answers when she shuts me out.
“I see the curiosity in your eyes whenever Eli is mentioned,” Dad tells me.
I push away from the table and as I go to walk past him, he gently snags my fingers. “It’s okay to have questions. They’re your biological family. In fact, it’s extremely normal. I’ve seen it before with my patients.”
A tremor of anger runs through me. I’m not one of his hundreds of pediatric rug rats. “I am not curious.”
“Not at all?” he asks.
I swallow, attempting to sort through the thoughts. When I look at my father, I see the man that not only lowered himself onto one knee to ask my mother’s hand in marriage, but dropped to both knees to ask for my permission to marry her. I see the smile on his face and remember the answering joy inside me the day my adoption went through. I see the man who has not abandoned me once since he entered my life.
Being curious would mean that I don’t appreciate all Dad has done for me and I do appreciate him. I love him more than he could imagine.
“No,” I repeat. “I’m not curious at all.”
Oz (#ulink_447e7010-68f2-5bf7-904a-ac895e139e86)
IT’S THREE IN the morning and Mom and I continue to wait. The two of us deal with the heaviness of each passing second differently. She paces the tiny living room at the front of our double-wide while I polish my combat boots in my room. Regardless of what happens tonight, we have a wake to attend in the morning.
The scratching of the old scrub brush against my black boot is the lone sound that fills the darkened house. We each pretend that the other isn’t awake. Neither of us has turned on a lamp; instead we rely on the rays of the full moon to see. It’s easier this way. Neither of us want to discuss the meaning of Dad’s absence or his cell phone silence.
I sit on the edge of my twin mattress. If I stretched my leg my toe would hit the faux-wood-paneled wall. I’m tall like my dad and the room is compact and narrow. Large enough to hold my bed and an old stack of milk crates that I use as shelves.
Mom’s phone pings and my hands freeze. Through the crack in my door, I spot her black form as she grabs her cell. The screen glows to life and a bluish light illuminates Mom’s face. I quit breathing and strain to listen to her reaction or at least hear the roar of motorcycle engines.
Nothing. More silence. Adrenaline begins to pump into my veins. Dad should have been home by now. They all should have been home. Especially with Olivia’s wake in the morning.
Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, I set the boot on the floor and open my door. The squeak of the hinges screeches through the trailer. In two steps, I’m in the living room.
Mom continues to scroll through her phone. She’s a small thing, under five-four, and has long straight hair. It’s black. Just like mine and just like Dad’s. Mom and Dad are only thirty-seven. I’m seventeen. Needless to say, my mom was young when she had me. By the way she slumps her shoulders, she appears ten years older.
“Any word?” I ask.
“It’s Nina.” My best friend’s mom. “Wondering if we had heard anything.” Which implies neither Eli nor Cyrus have returned home.
From behind her, I place a hand on Mom’s shoulder and she covers my fingers with hers.
“I’ll be out there watching their backs soon.” Now that I’ve graduated from high school, I’ll finally be allowed to enter the family business.
A job with the security company and a patch-in to the club is all I’ve thought about since I was twelve. All I’ve craved since I turned sixteen and earned my motorcycle license. “They’re fine. Like I’ll be when I join them.”
Mom pats my hand, walks into the space that serves as our kitchen, and busies herself with a stack of mail.
I rest my shoulder against the wall near the window. The backs of my legs bump the only piece of furniture in the room besides the flat-screen—a sectional bought last year before Olivia became ill. The couch and TV are extravagances we never would have bought if we’d known we would be covering medical bills.
Trying not to be obvious, I glance beyond the lace curtains and assess the road leading to our trailer. I’m also worried, but it’s my job to alleviate Mom’s concern.
I force a tease into my voice. “I bet you can’t wait until Chevy graduates next year. Then there will be two more of us protecting the old men.”
Mom coughs out a laugh and takes a drink to control the choking. “I can’t begin to imagine the two of you riding in the pack when the image in my mind is of both of you as toddlers, covered in mud from head to toe.”
“Not hard to remember. That was last week’s front yard football game,” I joke.
She smiles. Long enough to chase away the gravity of tonight’s situation, but then reality catches up and her face falls. If humor won’t work, I’ll go for serious. “Chevy would like to GED out.”
“Nina would skin him alive. You both promised Olivia you’d finish high school.”
Because it once broke Olivia’s heart when Eli, her son, dropped out of high school and instead took a test to get his GED. I might not share blood with Eli’s parents, Olivia and Cyrus, but they gave my mom and dad a safe place to lie low years ago when their own parents went self-destructive. That means Olivia became the closest person I knew to a grandmother.
“No more talk of Chevy and GEDs.” Mom tsks. “It’s bad enough you won’t consider college.”
The muscles in my neck tighten and I ignore her jab. She’s still ticked I won’t engage in conversation about college. I know my future and it’s not four more years of books and rules. I want the club. As it is, membership isn’t a guarantee. I still have to prove myself before they’ll let me join.
Mom rubs her hands up and down her arms. She’s edgy when the club is out on a protection run, but this time, Mom’s dangling from a cliff and she’s not the only one. Lately the entire club has been acting like they’re preparing to jump without parachutes.
My dad belongs to a motorcycle club that formed a security business when I was eleven. Most of the employees of the security company are members of the Reign of Terror. Not all, but most. It works vice versa, as well. Not everyone who’s a member of the Terror here in Snowflake works for the business, but work is there for any member who needs it.
Their main business comes from escorting semi-loads of high-priced goods through highly pirated areas.
Imagine a couple thousand dollars of fine Kentucky bourbon in the back of a Mack truck and, at some point, the driver has to take a piss or stop for a meal. My dad and the rest of club, they make sure the driver can eat his Big Mac in peace and return to the parking lot to find his rig intact and the merchandise still safely inside.
What they do can be dangerous, but I’ll be proud to stand alongside my father and the only other people I consider family. Maybe Mom will sleep better at night when I’m out protecting Dad. “Try not to worry. You’re acting as if they’re the ones that could be caught doing something illegal.”
Mom’s eyes shoot straight to mine like my comment was serious. “You know better than that.”
I do. It’s what the club prides itself on. All that TV bull about how anyone who rides a bike is a felon—they don’t understand what the club stands for. The club is a brotherhood, a family. It means belonging to something bigger than yourself.
Still, the medical bills from Olivia’s illness aren’t going away and between me, Chevy, my parents, Eli, Cyrus and other guys from the club giving all we have, we still don’t have enough to make a dent in what we owe. “I hear that 1% club a couple of hours north of here makes bank.”
“Oz.”
As if keeping watch will help Dad return faster, I move the curtain to get a better view of the road that leads away from our house and into the woods. “Yeah?”
“This club is legit.”
“Okay.” Meaning that we aren’t a 1% club—that we don’t dabble in illegal.
“I’m serious. This club is legit.”
I drop the curtain. “What, you don’t want gangsta in the family?”
Mom slaps her hand on the counter. “I don’t want to hear you talk like this!”
My head snaps in her direction. Mom’s not a yeller. Even when she’s stressed, she maintains her cool. “I was messing with you.”
“This club is legit and it will stay legit. You are legit. Do you understand?”
“I got it. I’m clean. The club’s clean. We’re so jacked up on suds that we squeak when we walk. I know this, so would you care to explain why you’re freaking out?”
A motorcycle growls in the distance and it cuts off our conversation. Mom releases a long breath, as if she’s been given the news that a loved one survived surgery. “He’s home.”
She charges the front door and throws it open. The elation slips from her face and my stomach cramps. “What is it?”
“Someone’s riding double.”
More rumbles of engines join the lead one, multiple headlights flash onto the trailer, and not one of those bikes belong to Dad. Fuck. I rush past Mom and jump off the steps as she brightens the yard with a flip of the porch light. Eli swings off his bike. “Oz! Get over here!”
I’m there before he can finish his order and I shoulder my father’s weight to help him off the bike. He’s able to stand, but leans into me, and that scares me more than any monster that hid under my bed as a child.
“What happened?” Mom’s voice shakes and Eli says nothing. He supports Dad’s other side as Dad’s knees buckle.
“What happened!” she demands, and the fear in her voice vibrates against my insides. I’m wondering the same damn thing, but I’m more concerned with the blood dripping from my father’s head.
“Medical kit!” Eli bursts through the door and the two of us deposit Dad on the couch. Mom’s less than a step behind us and runs into the kitchen. Glass shatters when she tosses stuff aside in her search. Mom’s a nurse and I can’t remember a time she hasn’t been prepared.
More guys appear in the living room, each man wearing a black leather biker cut, the vest that labels them as a member of the Reign of Terror. Not one man would be the type to leave a brother behind.
“I’m fine, Izzy.” Dad scratches the skin above the three-inch-long cut on his forehead. “Just a scratch.”
“Scratch, my ass.” With kit in hand, Mom kneels in front of him and I crouch beside her, popping open her supply box as she pours antiseptic onto a rag. She glares at Eli. “Why didn’t you take him to the ER?”
Dad wraps his fingers around Mom’s wrist. Her gaze shifts to Dad’s and when Dad has her attention for longer than a second, he slowly swipes his thumb against her skin. “I told him to bring me home. We didn’t want it reported to the police.”
Mom blinks away the tears pooling in her eyes. I fall back on my ass, realizing that Dad’s not dying, but somehow cracked his head hard enough that Eli wouldn’t allow him to ride home.
“You promised you’d wear your helmet,” Mom whispers.
“I wasn’t on my bike,” he replies simply.
Mom pales out and I focus solely on Eli. He holds my stare as I state the obvious. “The run went bad.”
Jacking trucks for the cargo inside is a money-maker for hustlers and the security company is good at keeping hustlers on their toes. But sometimes the company comes up against an asshole who thinks he can be badass with violence.
“Someone tried to hit us during a break at a truck stop, but we were smarter.” Eli jerks his thumb in Dad’s direction. “But some of us aren’t as fast as others.”
“Go to hell,” Dad murmurs as Mom cleans the wound.
“You should have reported it,” Mom says. “This is the fifth hit in three weeks. There’s no way this is isolated bandits. The police need to look into this.”
A weighty silence settles over the room and Mom’s lips thin. The security company is as thick as the club. Business in both areas stays private. Everyone is on a need-to-know basis, me and Mom included...that is, until I patch in. I’ll possibly learn more when I’m initiated as a prospect and I’m counting down the days until I’m officially part of the larger whole.
“He okay?” Eli asks.
“You of all people should know how hardheaded he is,” Mom responds. Eli’s a few years younger than my parents, but the three of them have been a trio of trouble since elementary school. “I believe everyone has a wake to attend in the morning, so I suggest sleep.”
That’s as subtle as Mom will get before she’ll stick a pointed, steel-toed boot up their asses. Everyone says some sort of goodbye to Mom and Dad, but my parents are too lost in their own world to notice.
“Walk me out, Oz?” Eli inclines his head to the door and we head onto the front porch. The muggy night air is thick with moisture and a few bugs swarm the porch light.
Eli digs into the leather jacket that’s under his cut and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He cups his hand to his mouth as he lights one. “We need you out on the road.”
“They told me they’ll send my official diploma next week.” I was supposed to walk in graduation tomorrow, but Olivia’s wake is the priority. Not caps and gowns. “You tell me when to start and I’m ready to go.”
“Good.” He cracks a rare grin. “Heard that we might be adding a new prospect this weekend.”
The answering smile spreads on my face. Becoming a prospect is the initiation period before the club votes on my membership. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.
Eli sucks in a long drag and the sleeve of his jacket hitches up, showing the trail of stars tattooed on his arm. “Keep an eye on your dad. He cracked the hell out of his head when he hit the pavement. Blacked out for a bit, but then shot to his feet. When his bike began swerving, I made him pull over and double with me.”
“He must have loved that,” I say.
“Practically had to put a gun to his head.” Eli breathes out smoke.
“Was it the Riot?” The Riot Motorcycle Club. They’re an illegal club north of here. I’ve heard some of the guys talk when they think no one else is listening about how our peace treaty with them is fracturing.
Eli flicks ashes then focuses on the burning end of the cigarette. “As I said, we need you on the road.”
Our club and the Riot have had an unsteady alliance from the start. We stay on our side of the state, they stay on theirs. The problem? A new client that the business has contracted with resides in the Riot’s territory.
“This stays between us,” says Eli. “This new client we signed is skittish and doesn’t want the PR related with possible truck jackings. We need this business and I need people I can trust with those loads. I need you in.”
“Got it.”
“Two of those truck jackings were bandits, but the other three...”
...were the Riot. The shit has to be thick if Eli’s talking to me so freely. “If you choose to start working with us, there won’t be much room for a learning curve. You’ll have to be vigilant at every turn. We haven’t had trouble with the Riot in years, but when we did, they had no problem making it personal.”
Meaning they don’t have a problem hurting people—like my dad. Meaning I have to play it smart with them and be okay with the danger, which I am. I’d much rather be on the road protecting my family than sitting at home with Mom.
“The moment you give me a cut, I’m in.” I throw out the question, not sure if Eli will answer. “You had his back, didn’t you? You pushed Dad to the ground.”
A hint of a smirk plays on his lips and he hides it with another draw. He blows out the smoke and flicks the cigarette onto the ground. “Be out here at six in the morning. I’ll pick you up in the truck and we’ll go get your Dad’s bike before the wake. I want him to sleep in.”
Hell, yeah. “You going to let me drive his bike home?”
“Fuck, no. I’m bringing you along to drive the truck back. No one touches a man’s bike and in desperate situations only another brother can. You know better than that.” Eli pats my shoulder and his expression grows serious. “See you tomorrow, and be dressed for the wake when I pick you up.”
Eli starts his bike and rocks kick up as he drives off. I watch until the red taillight fades into the darkness. Through the screen door, I spot my mother still caring for my father. She uses special care as she tapes gauze to his head.
Mom smooths the last strip of medical tape to his skin and when she goes to close the kit, Dad tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. They stare at each other, longer than most people can stand, then she lays her head on his lap. Dad bends over and kisses her temple.
They need a moment together and, having nothing but time, I sit on the top step and wonder if I’ll find someone who will understand and accept this life like my mother. Mom loves Dad so much that she’ll take on anything. His job, this life and even the club.
Emily (#ulink_12d01a5a-4c9c-535b-bb32-078eec7f2d66)
I’LL ADMIT IT. I’m freaked.
Freaked that the flight from Florida to Kentucky was nothing more than a turbulence-ridden nightmare. Freaked that the man beside me on the plane puked three times. Freaked that June in Kentucky means severe storms. Freaked because I’m sweating through my favorite black dress and it’s dry-clean only. Freaked because I’ve been in this poor excuse for a cab for over an hour, with no air-conditioning and a driver who refuses to speak. Or maybe he’s mute.
Or maybe he murdered the real cab driver, picked me and my parents up at the airport and is taking us to our final destination before he chops us into Kibbles ’n Bits. Maybe...but probably not. We entered the small town of Snowflake a few minutes ago and if this guy was a mass murderer bent on a little fun, he’d find somewhere more original than here.
“Did you say Richard’s Funeral Home?” the cab driver asks. Wow, the man talked.
“Yes,” Dad answers. We flew into Louisville in order to be relatively close to Snowflake. The rental-car company botched our reservation and paid for the taxi.
The cab driver eases into the left turn lane and stops at the red light. Blood pounds at my temples in the rhythm of the car’s blinker when I spot the funeral home. It’s no different than the ones at home in Florida, except this one is surrounded by oak trees instead of palms and is one stiff breeze away from being condemned.
“You’ll be okay.” Dad squeezes my hand and I wrap my fingers around his before he can withdraw. “Keep breathing and try not to overanalyze it.”
Easy for him to say. “Did you get a hold of Eli?”
“No, I’m still going straight to voicemail.” Dad probably has to force the patience into his voice. It’s the fiftieth time I’ve asked since we disembarked the plane. Eli must have powered off his phone. Dad attempted to contact him, but I don’t blame Eli for not answering. I’d be devastated if my mom died.
Dad offers me a reassuring smile. “Eli will be thrilled to see you.”
I release a sigh... Sure he will. “What do I say when he asks about Mom?”
Dad’s smile fades and he lets go of my hand to readjust the watch on his wrist. “Tell them that your mother is sorry for their loss, but that she isn’t feeling well. She’ll try to attend later if she’s feeling better.”
Mom morphed into an unnatural shade of blue when she spiraled into a panic attack the moment we left the airport. Dad decided, since the viewing ends at eight this evening, that he and I would pay our respects first. Then if, after a rest, Mom was able to walk and breathe at the same time, he would go with her again.
Mom protested, but Dad, with his smooth doctor way, won. So she’s holed up at the sole motel in this dump of a town and I’m heading to a funeral home. I tried to throw myself into a panic attack in order to get out of this hellish event, but evidently holding my breath on purpose doesn’t count.
The light changes, the driver makes the turn, and I press a hand to my stomach. Oh, God. Dad has way too much faith in me.
The cab driver pulls into the funeral home, but is stuck behind two cars. Neither car shows signs of moving as they chat to the people on the sidewalk. The driver taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a ticked-off thump. I totally understand the feeling.
“My daughter and I will get out here,” Dad announces.
The cab driver assesses a group of men standing in a semi-circle outside the entrance. “You sure?”
“It’s not a long walk,” Dad answers.
I open the door and the driver freaks. “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”
No. Dad maintains his superhero calm. “Yes.”
“Snowflake’s not exactly Disney World.” The driver waves his hand toward the men. If Dad won’t listen to me, maybe he’ll listen to our now talking driver.
I lean so I have a better look at the men standing around. They all have Eli’s style: redneck with a hint of grunge. Sort of like if Linkin Park fashioned their own clothing line inspired by L.L.Bean: jeans and T-shirts covered by flannel shirts. Some wear blue University of Kentucky baseball hats—just like Eli. A couple even have his...well, my dark brown hair.
What probably messes with the driver is that almost every man here sports over their T-shirts or flannels a black leather biker vest with the words Reign of Terror in white lettering. On the back of each vest is a large white half skull with red flames raining down. Fire blazes out of the eye sockets. I bet the guys who designed the emblem pat themselves on the back for the play on words.
“This is not a place for a young girl,” the driver exclaims.
He’s off on the young part. I just turned seventeen. And despite my previous hopes, Dad doesn’t share the cab driver’s, or my, assessment of the situation. “We’ll be fine. Right, Em?”
The driver rotates in his seat, reminding me of a possessed person in one of those horror movies. “Those are bikers.”
In his dark suit, deep blue tie and clean-cut blond hair, my father could be a model on the cover of a business magazine. He screams competence and authority and all that’s good in the world. So the next words cause the driver’s mouth to slacken. “My daughter is a relative.”
While the driver continues to gape in disbelief, I inwardly cringe. I’m related to them. More specifically, I’m most likely related to the men with the patch on the front of their vests stating Mother Chapter. Which, according to Eli, means the founding chapter of their club.
I’m a relative by blood and blood alone. We are not family in the ways that really matter. I may share genetic code with the people inside the building, but that’s where our relationship ends.
Dad and I climb out and the cab backs up, leaving us alone. Well, sort of alone. The side entrance of the funeral home opens and a woman with dark hair hurries out with a toddler on her hip. The baby’s hacking the type of deep coughs that cause chills to run down my spine.
Without missing a beat, Dad starts toward them and I follow. The woman sets the blonde girl with pigtails on the ground and the little thing is a combination of red face, tears and coughs. The woman rummages through her oversized purse, tossing receipts and pens and other crap onto the ground.
“Excuse me,” broaches Dad. “Can I help? I’m a pediatrician.”
The woman’s head jerks up and her eyes have a wild spark. “I can’t find my phone. I need my phone. I can’t get her to take the medicine. I can’t get her to take this.”
She shoves an inhaler into my father’s hand and he reads the prescription. “Asthma?”
The woman nods profusely. “Yes. We have that machine at home with the mask and that works, but this was for emergencies, and she won’t use it.”
Dad gestures to the child, who is now hacking out more air than she’s taking in. “May I?”
“Yes. Please. Help us.”
Dad kneels next to the toddler. With a few calm words and an expression that makes every toddler relax, he has the inhaler in the child’s mouth. It’s not working exactly like it should. I mean, the child is young and doesn’t suck in as much as she needs, but with Dad’s help, she’s inhaling some of the medicine and, more important, she’s no longer crying, but breathing.
The woman strokes the child’s hair as Dad continues to talk to both of them in his calm voice. He peers over his shoulder at me and my chest tightens. “Emily, I want to stay with them. Why don’t you go in, find Eli and pay your respects, and I’ll be in shortly to pay mine.”
I fidget with the purse in my hand, clasping and unclasping the magnetic strip that keeps it closed. Um...no? “I can wait.”
Dad inhales deeply and the disappointment is clear on his face. “Five minutes. That’s it. Find Eli, say hi, tell him we’re sorry for his loss and then we’ll return to the hotel, get your mother and go out to lunch.”
It’s dawning on me that Dad doesn’t want to be here any more than I do and that he’s ready to return to Mom. His words from yesterday as he was trying to explain why he was allowing us to take this hellish trip float in my head: it’s our job to support Mom.
Got it. This is the first time Mom has visited her childhood state in over seventeen years. If we check the “we attended” box then life can return to normal.
Dad excuses himself and walks over to me. “Sorry for snapping, Em. It’s been a rough morning. Go in and pay our respects, and I’ll be in shortly. And so you know, it’s okay if you want to stay longer and talk to Eli.”
Yeah, not going to happen. I pivot away from Dad, tug at the hem of my black dress to confirm nothing rides up and start for the entrance with my purse in hand. I whisper to myself, “No worries.” Even though I have a ton.
As I step closer to the entrance, I hear several conversations at once and someone always seems to be laughing.
“...nothing larger than a 10-gauge...”
“...take a Ford over that foreign crap any day...”
“You lost?”
Everyone stops talking and stares at me. Great. I meet the eyes of the guy that called me out. He’s part of the group, yet not. He doesn’t wear a leather vest like everyone else, but somehow he appears just as dangerous.
The guy leans against the corner of the brick building as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s around my age, has black hair, is definitely ripped and he has suck-me-in blue eyes that wander over my body like he’s seeing me with my clothes off.
I cross an arm over myself and his lips edge up in response. My mom’s warned me about bad boys and I trust that she understands the world here better than I do.
I appraise my black high heels. Nice, they’re scuffed already. “I’m looking for Eli McKinley.”
Smoke rushes out of the mouth of the older man standing beside the guy my age. I’d wager he’s in his sixties and he scares the hell out of me. Well...everyone here frightens me, but him more. While the style here is stepped-out-of-a-trailer-park, he maintains the cliché of 100% pure biker thanks to his black bandanna, black leather vest and gray beard with matching ponytail. I attempt to ignore that his patch states Mother Chapter and President.
He keeps eye contact while taking a drag off his cigarette. “Eli’s inside.”
“Thanks.”
They continue their conversation and I open the door then steal a glimpse over my shoulder. The older man angles his head and his mouth moves as he mumbles something to the guy my age. The guy nods and pushes off the wall. Not wanting to be caught spying, I slip inside and the moment the door shuts behind me, I freeze.
Let’s get one thing straight. I hate funeral homes. Hate. I hate the smell of them. I hate the look of them. I hate the thought of them. Hate. And what I hate more than funeral homes are dead things. Dead bugs. Dead dried-up worms on the sidewalk. Roadkill. And since that ill-fated stroll in the woods at the age of eight when I fell into a hole and spent the night with a corpse, I hate dead people’s bodies.
I force myself forward on the red velvet industrial carpeting of this outdated house of death and rethink this entire situation. Badly painted landscapes hang every few feet over the black-and-white peeling wallpaper. My muscles twitch as if a million spiders crawl over my skin. And the smell! I cup my hand over my nose to smell something other than tragically scented potpourri and wilting lilies.
Thankfully, there’s only one viewing room, which means only one dead person to avoid. The fine hairs on my neck prickle as if eyes are trained on me. I glance back and my heart stutters when I spot black hair and a dangerous grin. The guy who called me out hangs near the door and he’s watching me. His jeans ride a little low. Low enough that his boxers peek out and it’s hard to tear my eyes away, but I do.
Not eager for anyone to touch me, I tuck myself in tight as I duck through the crowded hallway. If anyone runs into me, I’ll recall being eight and enclosed and the feel of cold skin, and me spazzing out is not part of the plan.
“...playing at the bar tonight. Plan on taking the girl...”
“...hit that hard...”
“...and she said I don’t want that trash on my property and I said I ain’t trash, bitch...”
Trash bitch woman wears skintight jeans, a tank top that exposes her midriff and, holy mother of God, flip-flops. She steps back and nearly knocks into me. I sidestep her, but I collide with someone else.
Cold skin with black markings grazes my arm and my heart lodges in my throat. I flinch and suck in a sharp breath while twisting my feet. I stumble back, completely off-balance, and my arms flail in a poor attempt to stay upright.
A warm hand grips my elbow and halts me from ramming into anyone else. My head snaps up and I’m greeted by dark blue eyes. The guy who was watching me is now touching me. Remember to breathe. Yes, he’s pretty, but bad things come in gorgeous packages—at least that’s what Mom says.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper and immediately return my attention to the guy I crashed into. He’s not dead. He’s very much alive and he’s taking a swig from a beer. Wait. A beer? My gaze switches from him to the bottle.
“Would you like one?” He motions to a cooler full of ice on the floor.
I shake my head. Major WTF.
Black hair guy releases me and motions with his chin to the left. “Eli’s in the viewing room.”
Viewing room. Right. I mumble a thank-you, but he doesn’t notice as he’s bumping fists and accepting a beer from the guy with the tattoos.
The viewing room is beyond crowded. Like the-fire-marshal-should-be-notified crowded, which means it will be difficult to find Eli. People laugh, shout and talk as if they’re attending a pep rally instead of a funeral.
I rise to my tiptoes and clutch my purse. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months, but Eli always looks the same: dark brown hair cut short, plugs in both ears, T-shirt, jeans and a smile that, for some insane reason, can make me smile.
My stomach sinks like the Titanic as I catch sight of him. Just no...why-does-it-have-to-be-so-difficult no. His back is to me, but I know it’s Eli. A tattoo of stars runs the length of his arm. Like most of the other men here, he wears the black leather vest. And of course, he stands next to the one spot I want nothing to do with—the casket.
Reminding myself that I’m here for Mom, I squeeze through the mob. Eli stares at the body. The body I’m trying desperately to avoid, but it’s kind of hard to so I focus on my biological father.
He doesn’t seem to be upset. He’s not crying or anything, but it’s not really Eli, either. His hands rest in his jeans pockets and his typical grin doesn’t grace his face. He appears...thoughtful.
Until he does something that makes me shiver. He touches her. The dead body. My grandmother. The one I’ve never met. Eli gently readjusts the blue scarf covering her hair, or where her hair would have been. Oh, God...cancer.
What’s odd—other than that he’s willingly touching a dead person—is that the casket is open. Completely open. Legs and all. Weird. Very weird. Now that I’m looking, I take a deep breath and permit myself to study the woman that brought me to the outskirts of nowhere.
My grandmother is dressed in blue jeans and a white silk sleeveless top. A sad rush of air escapes my lips. She’s young. A lot younger than I expected. Why this surprises me, I have no idea. Mom and Eli were young when they conceived me. Teenagers still in high school.
I hurt for Eli. I’ve never lost someone I was close to. He must have loved her and she’s dead. Gone. I’d die if I lost Grandma or Gramps or Mom or Dad. “I’m so sorry.”
His head whirls in my direction and my dark eyes stare back at me. “Emily?”
Yeah, I forgot. This visit is unexpected because he didn’t answer his phone. “Hi.”
He’ll say “how are you,” I’ll say “fine,” and we’ll be done with conversation for the year.
Eli flicks out his arm, pulls me closer to the casket and him, lifts me off the floor and hugs the air out of me. “How did you know? What about school? Does Meg know you’re here?”
Wow. A lot of questions in a short timespan. He kisses the side of my head and shakes me from side to side like a rag doll. My leg bumps into the side of the coffin and I swallow a dry heave. “Um. Dad, it’s over and duh.”
“What?” he asks, still hugging and shaking me.
I pat his shoulder and my nonverbal put-me-down works. The moment my feet hit the ground, his hands go to my shoulders as if the only way to confirm I’m here is by physical contact.
“You sent Dad the obituary, school’s done and I wouldn’t go anywhere without telling Mom.”
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says. His head jerks back and he squints. “Did you say obituary?”
“It means a lot to me, too,” says a woman’s voice to my side.
I scream. And scream again. And it doesn’t stop. I can’t make it stop. It’s one long, agonizing scream, and I’m tripping over myself to get away. It’s not just hysterics. It’s my mind ripping in two. Into pieces. Multiple pieces. It’s my worst nightmare.
The dead woman. She’s sitting up and blinking and the scream stops for a moment as my body forces in air and the next sound is a sob. I must have hit a wall, because I can’t go back any farther and I need to get back. I need to get away and run. Run as far as I can.
But I can’t move to the side, either. I’m trapped! Now it’s getting out of the coffin. One leg after another. It’s climbing out and moving in my direction. Hands out. Head swaying from side to side and it’s saying something, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want it to touch me.
“No!” It’s the first word I can articulate, but it’s hoarse and slurred through the sobs.
“It’s okay.” It’s Eli. He’s behind me and I realize I’m not against a wall. Eli’s arms have locked me against him. “She’s not dead, Emily. She’s not dead. Stay back, Mom.”
Two feet from me, it halts its advance. The arms slowly drop to its sides. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
I’m struggling, though I didn’t know it until now. A monster wouldn’t sound so nice and feminine. I press back against Eli, not trusting what I’m seeing. His arms hold me—a reassuring hug to confirm he’s on my side. It glances behind me to Eli.
“Emily,” says Eli, “this is your grandmother, Olivia. Mom, this is Emily.”
I suck up the snot in my nose, but I can’t end the tears. They’ll keep coming until I can understand that my mind is still intact. She smiles and it reminds me of Eli’s smile, but hers is a little hesitant. “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private.”
I clutch Eli’s hand and a blast of heat races along my body. She stares at me. I stare at her and as I attempt to respond, dizziness disorients me, and warmth rushes from my toes to my head. My mouth opens and the pathetic breakfast I ate on the plane lands squarely on Olivia’s shoes.
Oz (#ulink_08486dd0-46eb-5670-8ebf-04c71f38def0)
“EMILY FREAKING OUT—that was some funny shit.” Chevy bites into the mammoth ham sandwich he created from the meat tray Mom prepared for the party. Except for me and Chevy, the kitchen area of the funeral home is empty. We sit at the table while everyone else attempts to decipher what the hell is going on.
Only a handful of us know why Eli’s posted guards outside and inside every entrance and is allowing no access in or out. The funeral home is on disaster-area shutdown and if it wasn’t for Cyrus telling me to follow the long-lost daughter, I wouldn’t have had a clue that Emily has returned to Snowflake.
Eli’s real secretive about Emily and this surprise visit must be his worst nightmare, especially with the shit going down with the Riot. The next few hours ought to be interesting.
“Ahhh!” Two young kids race through the kitchen with their hands raised in the air. “Dead person. Dead person.”
Chevy laughs, then chokes on the sandwich, coughing into his elbow. Now that’s some funny shit.
While I should be concerned he’s choking to death, I’m more worried about the dark shadows under his eyes. The kid was up early running routes with his coach before the wake. Football and motorcycles are the boy’s life. Chevy’s an all-American boy with his dark brown hair, brown eyes and love of apple pie and football. That is, if Yankee Doodle went to town riding on a Harley.
I slap his back much harder than needed and he nearly spits out the sandwich. Chevy drinks from a longneck he swiped from a cooler. “Guess Emily thought Olivia was dead.”
“You think?”
Sneakers scuffle against the linoleum floor and Chevy and I nod our heads in greeting to the fourteen-year-old standing red-faced flustered near the table. Brandon’s a tall kid, fire-red hair like his older sister and as lanky as they come. More feet and height than he is muscle and he gets uncomfortable around people. We don’t care how he acts because he’s part of our non-blood family.
He blinks a lot then rubs his eyes.
“Contacts, Stone?” I ask. Good guess since those big, black, thick-rimmed glasses are MIA.
Chevy and I, along with another good friend of ours, Razor, nicknamed Brandon “Stone” when he turned fourteen last month. Some dickhead teenager who’s my age jumped Brandon as a birthday gift. Even though he was beat to hell, Brandon never shed a tear. That kid, he’s solid stone. The guy who gave Stone an ass-whipping—he cried after justice was served.
Stone shoves his hands into his pockets and blinks hard twice. “Eli bought them for me last week. What do you think?”
Chevy scans him as if he’s honestly mulling over an answer. Chevy and I, we dedicate every second with this kid to building him up. “I think Oz and I are going to have to give you the birds and bees talk sooner rather than later. Here’s the condensed version—cap it before you tap it.”
The kid’s neck flushes pink and he scratches his chin twice in that fucked up way of his when he’s nervous, but grins. Stone’s dad was a member of the club and worked for the business. He died in a motorcycle accident and since then the club takes care of Stone, his mother and his older sister, Violet, even though Violet is determined to extricate the club from her family’s life.
“You look good,” I confirm. Stone’s smile grows as he focuses on the ground. The kid is awkward as hell, but he’s one of ours. The club will always have his back. “You’re going to hang with us this summer, right? We need you on our team.”
His eyes widen. “You’re going to let me play football? On your team?”
The way Chevy eyeballs me asks the same question. Football on Sundays is the way we like it—blood-and-guts rough.
“You’re fourteen,” I answer both of them. “You’re a man now, and, yeah, I want you on my team.”
Chevy nods his understanding. He gets that I have the urge to protect and help people younger than me.
“Cool.” Stone goes to readjust the glasses that always slid down his nose and his hand twitches when he discovers them missing. “Who’s the girl that freaked out?”
Chevy and I share a glance. Family rule: no one outside a select few can discuss Emily. We don’t bring her up and no one else is allowed to know she exists. Because Olivia practically raised me for the first few years of my life, I’m part of the McKinley inner circle and know more than most when it comes to personal family business. But Stone is searching to feel like family and with Violet in his ear telling him we aren’t, I make an executive decision. “She’s someone who means something to Eli.”
Stone trembles as he realizes I told him something serious. “That’s Emily?”
“Never said that, but regardless of what you think, keep it to yourself.”
“Olivia and Eli don’t appreciate people discussing her,” Chevy warns. “Even in meaningless conversation.”
Chevy and Emily are cousins. The Emily situation is one of the sole reasons I’m glad I’m not blood-related to the McKinleys. Emily’s mother is a traitor and because of how Emily constantly pushes Eli away, I consider her a traitor, too.
“Is she staying?” Stone asks.
Truth? Stone hit on a question that neither Chevy nor I will dare to answer. Stone’s a part of us through the club, but only the McKinleys are allowed info on Emily. Though I’m not genetically a member, I’m an honorary McKinley so I’m more informed than most, but in the end, I’m still in the dark. Emily is this family’s dirty little secret.
“Where’s your sister?” Chevy asks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but unfortunately, he does. The two of us got wasted last night and picked up two girls in an attempt to extract Violet from his brain. We both got laid and a hangover, but it didn’t help his broken heart.
“She’s...uh...well, Violet said...that she wants to go to Louisville today and she wants me to go with her and since it’s such a long drive she had stuff she needed to do at the house—”
“Louisville’s over an hour away,” Chevy presses. “Why does she need to go there?”
Stone spirals into uncomfortable muscle spasms.
“Tell her to stay out of Louisville.” Chevy’s tone is demanding now. “There’s something going down between the Riot and the Reign of Terror and we don’t need trouble.”
The Riot’s based in Louisville and it’s not where any of us should be. We aren’t the type to run from a fight, but with the club’s focus on Olivia, our resources are split. We don’t need anyone associated with the Terror to take stupid chances.
“Tell her to go to Lexington,” Chevy continues. “Or if she’s so damned bent on going to Louisville, tell her to wait until I can go with her.”
Because Violet can’t remove her head from her ass, her younger brother is now dealing with the guilt of her selfish decisions. I tighten my fist, trying to squeeze away the sharp surge of let down and pissed off.
Growing up, Violet, Chevy, Razor and I were sibling-close and now...she treats us like dirt. Even on a day that’s precious to Olivia. I passed up walking in graduation because the funeral home conceded and let us have a party. They said if we were going to do it, it was now or never.
Stone’s still stuttering out whatever pathetic crap Violet forced him to memorize and Chevy goes in for the deflection. “Hey, Stone.”
Stone squints at Chevy. In a smooth motion, Chevy waves his open palms in the air, claps them together and in a twitch of his fingers produces a daisy. My eyes automatically flash to the now empty vase on the table.
Chevy’s been doing sleight of hand shit since we were kids. “Give this to your sister and tell her we missed her.”
Meaning Chevy misses her. Stone takes the flower and his eyes glow. “That’s cool. Will you teach me?”
I wink at Stone. “Girls don’t go for guys who do magic. If a guy relies on sad shit like that it means he’s got no game.”
Chevy snorts. “Tell that to the girl who let me in her pants last night. Stick with me, Stone, and the world will be ours to dominate and control.”
“No, Mom.” Eli busts into the kitchen with Olivia hot on his heels. His stride is wider than normal, indicating he’s upset or pissed. I’m going with a combination of both. “I’m calling Jeff after she calms down to find out what’s going on. Then and only then will I bring her over to see you and Dad. Not everyone in the damn place.”
Chevy gets up, reaches around Eli and dumps his trash. “Where’s Emily?”
“In the bathroom with the funeral director.” Olivia has a hop to her step that makes me smile. The past week has been rough on her. So rough she wasn’t sure she could last the whole party. But now there’s color in her cheeks.
“You know Meg will make her leave. Meg thought I was dead. This was a pity offering. Let’s take her up on it. Get Emily a drink, give her a second to collect herself then bring her out to meet her family.” She motions to us. “Don’t you want to meet Emily?”
The girl’s my kind of gorgeous, no question: sexy, beautiful dark hair and eyes like a doe’s. Gotta admit, her curves turned me on and that dress she wore sealed the deal. It clung to her in all the right ways, but what was smoking was the way she wore it. Mysterious. Classy. Never seen anyone from Emily’s world walk up to the Reign of Terror as if they didn’t have a single fear.
But Emily is bad news. She’s been a nonstop thorn in this family’s side and has continually caused the people I love to bleed. Her being here will rupture already vulnerable arteries.
“No.” Chevy, as always, preaches the truth. “I don’t want to meet her.”
Olivia points at Chevy. “For that answer, you’re tilling my garden and spreading compost to get ready for tomato planting.”
“Hell,” Chevy mutters.
“Hi, Olivia,” Stone says quietly. “I’m really enjoying your wake.”
Olivia touches her fingers to her lips. Twenty bucks she didn’t notice him, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have spoken so openly. She reaches out and pushes Stone’s overgrown hair away from his eyes. “There’s something different about you. What is it?”
Stone peeks at Eli, who stands behind Olivia beaming like a proud papa.
“Contacts, ma’am.”
“Well, I love them, and don’t ma’am me. You know better than that. Why don’t you go find Cyrus for me? I need to talk to him after I get done grilling Eli. And Stone, remember, what’s said in my house, stays in my house.”
He beelines it out of the kitchen into the thick crowd in the hallway. Once Stone’s gone on the hunt for Olivia’s husband, she returns to hammering her son. There’s no question of kicking us out—Olivia has always talked openly in front of me and Chevy because she considers us her flesh and blood, too. “She’s my granddaughter. I want the chance to meet her. Talk with her. Get to know her. Meg will never allow that if she knows I’m alive.”
“As I said, once she calms down, I’ll bring her to the house. I don’t like the idea of her being here.” He drops his voice. “It’s too wide-open. Too many eyes.”
“A few minutes here won’t hurt,” pleads Olivia. “A half hour tops. If you leave, you’ll have to tell her father. He’ll tell Meg I’m alive and then I’ll lose my chance.”
“You’re telling me what you want and I’m telling you what I can give you.” Eli rummages through the two-liters, continually picking up the Sprites only to come up empty each time. “Damn leeches drank everything dry.”
He goes to pull his wallet out of his back pocket and his face turns an unusual shade of crimson. “Chevy.”
My best friend tosses Eli’s wallet back.
“Do it again and I’ll nail you to the wall, got it?” threatens Eli.
“It’s compulsive.” Never met a guy that can pick any pocket clean like Chevy. “Besides, I always give it back.”
Eli checks his wallet and when he’s certain everything’s inside he yanks out a couple dollars. “Oz, there’s a vending machine across the street. Go get Emily a Sprite. After that, help Cyrus keep this place contained. If they aren’t associated with the Reign of Terror, throw their asses out. With Emily here and the shit going on with the Riot, I want this placed locked down.”
“Dammit, Eli!” This gains everyone’s attention. A lull falls over the once boisterous conversations in the hallway. Olivia hasn’t raised her voice like that in months.
She continues in a whisper. “She’s my granddaughter. My granddaughter.”
Olivia thumps her fist against her chest each time she says granddaughter. Both Chevy and I shoot to our feet, but it’s Eli that catches her before she sways too far.
My heart beats wildly and my throat constricts. I don’t understand what the hell is happening inside me, but I know what’s happening inside Olivia. She’s dying and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.
Eli hugs his mother. “We’ll go in after we get you something to eat.”
I move because it hurts too bad to stay still. “I’ll get her the Sprite.” Though I don’t know why. It’s Emily’s fault that Olivia is upset. I wish Emily had remained the illegitimate daughter that disappeared and never returned.
Emily (#ulink_eaeafbe7-ef2b-50c1-af04-d0329b5966d7)
THE OFFICE OF a funeral director resembles those of normal people: file cabinets, a desk, a rolly chair, paperwork, a computer, pictures of kids and families. No jars of blood, no dead people or dead people parts. Small consolation.
I’m ticked. Extremely ticked. Like a-tick-interrupted-from-a-meal ticked.
She’s alive. My freaking non-grandmother is still alive, and she scared the hell out of me.
Completely spent, I sit in the chair, hold my phone and wait impatiently for it to vibrate. I left Mom a message, and someone went to find Dad. I want to go home.
My legs have the strength of mashed potatoes. I’m cold and clammy, and my stomach churns like I vomited. That’s because I did, in the viewing room, and I discovered that yellow bile does not blend well with red velvet industrial carpeting. My crowning achievement in overreaction.
Through the large window facing the hallway, I can see the crowd hasn’t dispersed. Instead, the mass of bodies has increased since my moment of glory. Almost everyone gawks at me—laughing. My mom said Eli’s family was psychotic, but this...this is...
The door squeaks open and the guy who caught me and kept me from falling to the floor enters the room with a can of Sprite. He’s rocked out in those loose jeans, a studded black belt and a black T-shirt. “Olivia says it’s not officially a party until somebody pukes.”
“Glad I added to the fun.”
He perches on the edge of the folding chair across from me and offers the Sprite. “Eli told me to get you this.”
I keep my hands planted in my lap. Nothing today has gone right and I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m done puking.
“It’s Sprite, not crack,” he says.
“Thank you.” I accept the soda and set it on the desk. “Are you my cousin?”
He doesn’t resemble me or Eli with his blue eyes and grown-out black hair. The type of hair that’s not overly long, but long enough that girls would be drawn to him because it’s the correct length for seductive rebellion. The ends lick the collar of his shirt and hide his ears. He has the type of hair Blake Harris was suspended from school over. But that’s not where my eyes linger. What captivates me is the way the sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his muscles. He’s ripped in a very awesome way.
“No blood relation,” he answers.
Good, because he has that alternative-music-band hotness and thinking someone I’m related to is sexy could send me into another meltdown.
“Will you do all of us a favor?” he asks.
I shrug, not exactly in the mood for conversation.
“Play nice with Olivia, then leave.”
“Excuse me? Play nice? With her? She freaked me out.”
He leans back in the chair and sprawls his legs out in a way that makes him appear larger than life and leaves me feeling claustrophobic. “Look, I know you’re going all prodigal daughter, but this ain’t the time or place. This is Olivia’s party and you’re ruining it.”
“Prodigal what?”
“Daughter. Bible. The long-lost son returning home.”
I stare at him, not sure what to say.
He gives a short laugh. “I heard that about your mom. Gave up God and family.”
No one speaks badly about my mom. “I heard you’re all crazy. And guess what? It’s true.”
“Why? Because Olivia’s enjoying her life?”
“Because she plays make-believe in a coffin and all of you are okay with it.”
“Better than screaming like a two-year-old and puking our guts out.”
I was wrong—he’s not hot. He’s evil. Very, very evil. “It’s sick. This whole thing is sick. You people are absolutely insane!”
The guy stands. “You need to leave. You want to see Eli? Wait for him to spend all his money so he can visit you this summer. This party is for Olivia and the people who care for her. You don’t belong here.”
The door opens and Eli and Olivia walk in. Eli had been smiling, but one flickering glance between me and Sprite guy and Eli’s mouth firms into a hard line. “Is there a problem, Oz?”
His crazy name suits this insane day. Oz flashes an easygoing grin and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to slap him. “Nope.”
Eli surveys me and his jaw relaxes. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassed—yes. Mortified—definitely. Okay—not at all. “Yeah.”
“I need to speak to my granddaughter.” Olivia pats Oz’s arm.
He envelops her in a bear of a hug, looks at me over her shoulder and mouths “leave.” He walks out and I’ve never been so happy to see someone go in my life. Hot or otherwise.
Olivia eases into the chair across from me, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her jeans and lights one up. “I have cancer and the doctors aren’t hopeful.”
I steal a peek at Eli, who rests his back against the wall. He’s watching me, and I suddenly feel like a fish in a glass bowl. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Olivia says. “I’ve fought a good fight and lived a great life. God calls us all home at some point.” She blows out the smoke and I swallow the cough that tickles my throat.
“Funerals are expensive,” she states. It’s a pause and an uncomfortable one. She props her elbow on the desk, and I’m strangely fascinated by the way she holds her forearm up and dangles the cigarette from her bent hand.
“Okay,” I prompt, hoping this will continue the conversation.
She nails Eli’s smile and I notice her dark eyes—my eyes. Olivia is pretty and doesn’t seem old enough to have a granddaughter my age. A part of me wonders if I’ll resemble her when I grow older.
“And if I’m going to waste that much money on a party, I prefer to be part of the action.”
“So you planned your own funeral and attended it.” Weird. Very, very weird.
“Yes. Sorry about earlier. Bad timing. I thought I’d test-drive the bed in a box. See what these bones could be spending eternity in. It’s either that or the furnace.”
I shift in my chair. That’s not weird. It’s nuts.
“Eli fucked up the e-mail to your family. Put in the obituary instead of the party announcement. I wrote the two at the same time. Figured I’d be the best person to write what I want people to read after I bite.” Olivia takes another drag off her cigarette and flicks the ashes into a coffee mug.
“Muck.” I’ve heard people say fuck before. Guys say it at school constantly, but...
Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“You should use muck instead. You’re a...grandmother...” and the words fall off because they sound stupid.
She cackles. Like a witch. Head thrown back and everything. I shrink farther into the chair and will my phone to ring or my dad to show. Why is it taking so long for him to find me?
“Muck. I’ll remember it. Back to the conversation. I don’t regret what Eli sent.” She sucks in one more draw before dropping the cigarette into the mug. It sizzles in the liquid. “I’m meeting you.”
Simultaneous buzzing. My phone vibrates against the palm of my hand. Eli yanks his phone out of his back pocket. Too bad he didn’t answer it last night. He could have saved us from this terrible torment.
We both accept the calls. “Hi, Mom.”
“Are you okay, baby?” She sounds close to hysterics. I regret leaving the message while sobbing like a lunatic.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just freaked.” Nothing a lifetime of therapy won’t fix.
Mom rattles on and I tune her out while listening for key words that indicate I should speak. I’m more interested in Eli’s conversation.
“I know.” Eli rubs his forehead. “Jeff...” It’s my dad. “Hear me out.”
From the silence on Eli’s end, it’s obvious Dad’s in no mood to listen, and I wonder why he’s not in here talking to Eli face-to-face. Mom pauses. “Em?”
Crap, caught not listening. “I’m here.”
“I said you need to leave. Right now. Walk out the door, do you understand?”
A twinge of panic strangles my heart when I look out the office’s window. Two men guard the door. These guys weren’t present before. At least I don’t think they were. They aren’t laughing or carrying on like everyone else in the hallway. Their backs are to us and their spines are arrow-straight. But what causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end is how they turn their heads to observe the crowd as if they’re expecting something...or someone.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask Mom.
“Outside,” she answers. “He’s outside and he can’t get in. Eli won’t stop you, honey. He’s capable of a lot of things, but he’ll let you go. Do it now, Emily. Leave.”
Eli runs a hand over his face as he continues his conversation with Dad. “That’s not necessary. There’s no reason to change those plans. Emily is fine. A little shaken up, but she doesn’t need to go home.”
He opens the door and snaps his fingers at the two huge men. Both wear the same black vest as Eli. “Emily’s dad is at the front entrance. I told someone to get him in here. I won’t ask nicely again.”
Eli closes the door then returns to talking to Dad. “They’re going to let you in. Give me your word that she can visit with my mother. Not here, though. Somewhere...quieter.”
“No.” Olivia’s eyes widen and she touches Eli’s arm. “You promised.”
Eli gives his head a small shake. Olivia pivots in my direction. “Tell Meg to let you stay.” Her voice rises with each syllable. “Tell her you want to meet your family. Tell her you want to spend time with me. With your father!”
“Tell her?” My forehead furrows. I don’t tell my mom what to do. It’s Mom.
“Tell me what?” Mom asks.
“Olivia wants me to tell you that I should stay.”
“No.” Mom grows suddenly firm. “Leave now.”
“Thanks for the reminder!” Eli smacks his hand on the wall. A corkboard tacked up beside him crashes to the floor. I jump with the impact and draw myself in, wishing I could disappear.
I don’t know these people and they don’t know me and my dad’s outside and not inside and these people could have tempers and they could hurt me and...
“I’m aware I have no rights to my daughter,” Eli snaps. “I’m the one who signed the damn papers!”
“Baby,” Mom says in my ear. “Say goodbye to Eli and leave. The cab is waiting.”
“Okay.” I focus on my shoes. I never want to wear them again. “I’ll see you soon.”
Even though Mom’s still talking, I end the call and drop the phone to my lap. Eli, on the other hand...
“No, Jeff. Let her stay... No. No.” He opens his mouth to speak again and then lowers the phone to look at the screen. “Fuck!”
I flinch with the anger shaking out of his body and Eli swears again under his breath when he notices. “Dammit, I mean...I’m sorry, Emily.”
“It’s okay.” I comb my fingers through my hair and pretend to be interested in the strands. Mom said Dad’s outside and I’m going to ignore any reason for why he can’t make it in. It’s not because I’m trapped here. It’s not because these people are trying to force something I don’t want.
This is okay and I’m going to be okay. Deep breaths in. Long breaths out.
“Call her back,” Olivia says to me. “Call Meg back and tell her you’re staying.”
My hands tremble as I pick up my purse and slip my phone into the pocket. “She told me to leave.”
“Do you always do what you’re told?”
I cling tighter to the handles on my bag. My mom told me to come home. Home. A place that is safe and familiar and nothing like this insanity. This place is scary and confusing and... “She’s my mom.”
“Don’t, Mom,” Eli mumbles under his breath.
“And you’re seventeen,” Olivia points out. “Old enough to make this decision.”
“Barely seventeen,” I whisper.
“Leave her alone,” Eli says. “It’s me you’re upset with.”
Olivia wheels around. “Not you. Your daughter is caving to that woman and I’m tired of Meg telling us what we can and cannot do with our flesh and blood!” She rounds on me. “McKinley blood runs in your veins. Take a stand and tell them you’re staying.”
My wrist begins to itch and I scratch, not caring that it will make the welts bigger. Hives, my Achilles’ heel. The physical manifestation of the chaos inside me. I slowly stand, but not in the way she desires. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”
“Eli!” It’s a plea, and it causes guilt to ripple within me. I glance out the window and catch Oz watching me from the hall with his thumbs hitched in his pockets. He lowers his head and shakes it.
“She’s a good kid,” Eli says in defeat.
“What does that mean?” Olivia yells.
Eli pushes off the wall and settles his hands on Olivia’s shoulders like he did with me earlier. “It means she’s a good kid. She’s a good kid with good friends and she makes good grades at a good school and lives in a good neighborhood in a good house in an even better community. She’s a good kid with a great life and every now and then I get to be a part of it. Think about what Meg’s given her. Think about what we really have the right to demand.”
Olivia crosses her arms. “You mean she’s locked up in a safe padded world and she does everything everyone tells her.”
“Yes.” Eli nods. “And she’s happy.”
My would-be grandmother studies me and for some reason, she appears to pity me. “And that is sad.”
Oz (#ulink_bd501c9a-15a3-5d29-93c0-e07f019dce0c)
HOOK AND PIGPEN guard the door to the office, and it’s a good thing, too. Otherwise I probably would have bolted in and shaken the hell out of Emily.
My teeth grind as I witness the drama unfolding through the window. Olivia, the strongest woman I know, is close to tears. She’s been the focus of my life since I was a child, and I’ve never seen her this way. Not when she discusses the son she lost around the time of my birth. Not when she told me I wouldn’t be living with her anymore when I was eight. Not when she hurts year after year as she marks another passing of Emily’s birthday with no contact from her or Meg. Not when she found out she has greater odds of being hit by lightning than surviving the cancer.
Tears. Olivia’s eyes are glassy and she lifts her chin like she doesn’t give a damn, but there’s only a fragile veil of pride hiding her devastation.
Emily stands in the middle of the room with her purse in her hands, looking completely lost as Olivia cups her face. Fuck Emily for hurting Olivia. Fuck Emily for returning and ruining this day.
The door to the office opens and Eli walks out. Hook and Pigpen grant Eli their undivided attention and Eli points at me. “I need you in on this, Oz.”
I slide closer and the four of us create a tight circle. Eli talks so only we can hear. “Pigpen, clear this hall. Hook, tell her father we’re taking Emily out the back. I want a wall of leather cuts giving her shade, do you got me?”
They mumble their agreement and Pigpen rounds to face the crowd. Like a lot of the brothers in the club, he’s ex-military. The voice of the six-two, massive former Army Ranger rumbles against the walls. “If you ain’t a brother, clear out!”
The volume of conversation in the hall rises along with the sound of shuffling feet. Everyone associated with us comprehends that a demand is a demand, not a request. Hang-arounds, people not associated with the club, are permitted to party with us, but are only allowed on our terms. If they don’t like it, they can get the hell out.
I shift to help Pigpen with the herding, but Eli catches my arm. “Walk with me.”
Eli’s on the move in the restricted hallway of the funeral home and I keep step by his side. We turn the corner and he imitates a Navy SEAL on a mission when his eyes roam the area. He’s performing a run-through to confirm the area is clear. “What the fuck was Meg thinking letting Emily come here?”
His hand slams on a swinging door that’s marked “No Entrance” and I keep my mouth shut. That question wasn’t for me. We enter a barren hallway and I stay near the exit as Eli checks a room at the end. “Fifteen years since they’ve been in this town and now with the Riot breathing down our throats Meg allows Emily to show.”
Eli kicks an empty cardboard box and it bounces against the wall. He breathes hard and I meld into the equivalent of paint. I’ve known Eli since I was eleven. He’s the biggest badass I’ve met and he doesn’t easily lose his shit. It’s best to let him ride this out.
“I e-mailed Jeff.” Eli stares at the wall. “I e-mailed him in the vain hope he’d let Emily come, but I didn’t think he would. I knew Meg would say no, but I had hoped and then he did call and I didn’t answer. I had turned off my cell, forgot I had and now...”
His hands go to his hips and his head falls back. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
“Name it.” This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since I was sixteen.
“I need you on Emily. Follow her until she gets on the plane. Stay close enough to make sure she’s out of trouble, but far enough away that no one figures out that you’re tailing them. If you do this for me, you’ll have a cut on your back the moment you walk into the clubhouse and you’ll be our newest prospect.”
“Not a problem.” I’ll follow Emily through hell in order to make prospect. “Do you mind telling me what I’m watching for?”
Eli works his jaw. “The Riot.”
Never thought of Eli as paranoid. My mind races for why the Riot would give a rip about Emily. “The Riot would never step into Snowflake, so how would they know that she’s here?” And why would they care?
“The Riot’s pissed we’re doing security business in Louisville. Even more pissed we won’t give them a cut of our profits because we’re running through their area. Remember what I said to you last night? The Riot can make a business issue personal fast.”
“Yeah, but you think they’ll go after Emily?”
“There’s a scar forming on your father’s head that tells me the Riot is ready for a war, and there are over two hundred people in this building. I can’t risk the chance there’s someone loyal to them here gathering info on us. I wasn’t worried until I saw Emily. We’re strong together as a club. We protect our own, but she’s not one of us and I won’t have them go personal with her. The Riot don’t think straight when they’re mad. They act first and never ask questions later. She’s my daughter and I don’t want her caught up in my shit.”
I nod. This is the guy Eli is—loyal to those he loves. But it’s lost on me why he has this sudden commitment to Emily. He visits her once a year. From what I understand, he never tried for custody, but I’m not going to question my path into the club. He wants me to watch Emily, so I’ll watch Emily. She officially has a stalker.
“Meg will be able to spot a Terror member,” he continues, “so you’ll be driving my truck. If anyone can own the role of teenager out for a joyride who doesn’t give a shit, it’s you.”
From Eli, that’s a high compliment. “Emily will know me.”
“Emily won’t be looking for you, but Meg will be searching for the club.” He digs into his pockets and tosses the keys to his truck to me. “Tail them until she boards the plane. I need to know that my problems with the Riot don’t follow my daughter.”
“Consider it done.” I open the exit door and Eli stops me from walking out into the summer sun.
“Anyone who messes with Emily messes with me,” he adds.
Which means anyone stupid enough to cross paths with her is suicidal. “I got her back.”
Eli smiles like we’ve been chatting about the weather. “You’re a good man, Oz.” And he disappears back inside the funeral home.
* * *
In pleated khaki pants, Emily’s adoptive father, Jeff, paces outside the sidewalk of his motel room talking on his cell. He sports a pair of Aviator sunglasses and holds himself like he’s God. Heard he’s a doctor so he probably thinks he is. I’ve been ordered to maintain my distance, otherwise I would have offered the three of them a ride into Louisville hours ago.
My cell buzzes. Eli’s hourly check-in. What’s going on?
Same thing as the past ten hours. Nothing.
I followed Emily and Jeff here after they left the funeral home. Three hours ago the rental-car company showed and dropped off an SUV. Emily and her parents piled into the rental and I rapped my head against the headrest of the truck when the engine of the SUV wouldn’t turn over.
Since then, Jeff’s bought takeout and talked on his phone. No sign of Emily or her mother. Both have stayed safely inside the motel room.
Buzzing.
I don’t like them staying here overnight. We’re hearing some chatter that the Riot are riding closer than normal, but we don’t have visuals. Don’t like the feel of the situation. Keep vigilant.
Like stalking a girl who hurt Olivia is my definition of a wet dream. Will do.
I toss my cell onto the bench seat and press the balls of my hands to my eyes. Last night’s lack of sleep is catching up. First the private party at the lake with a twelve-pack, Chevy and two blondes more than willing to be on the back of a bike, then the hours waiting for Dad and then the adrenaline rush of all that followed.
I got an hour’s worth of sleep, maybe less, before Eli picked me up to retrieve Dad’s bike. I stretch my legs in the small space against the floorboard and roll my neck. Eli checked flights after it was clear their rental wasn’t moving and confirmed that it would be impossible for them to reach Louisville and still board a flight out tonight.
It’s killing Eli to do nothing, but they haven’t asked for help and they aren’t answering his “benign” texts asking if Emily’s okay and if they arrived in Louisville without issue. Any further contact by him would tip them off that they’re being tailed and Eli’s adamant this remains on the down low.
Jeff ends a call and looks up at the sky. Night’s falling. The lights on the motel overhang flicker on. He glances around the mostly abandoned parking lot, but dismisses me and the truck. I’m in the corner, near the Dumpster, and in the shadows.
Taking the key card out of his pocket, he enters the motel room. Another buzz and I wish Eli’s cell would run out of power.
You gonna be able to stay awake on this?
Do I want Eli to think I can handle the club?
Yes.
Don’t fail me.
Won’t happen.
I wait for Eli’s next text, but the silence confirms that he has faith. Should’ve asked for some coffee or a shot of adrenaline, but there’s no asking for help here. I do this or I don’t, and I won’t let Eli down.
I rest my head on the seat and stare at Emily’s motel room. If there’s one thing that’s been confirmed today, it’s that she’s more trouble than she’s worth.
Emily (#ulink_4313354c-a0a4-5c92-8d0d-b182a6d37b0f)
IT’S AS IF I’m living the opening segment of an apocalyptic thriller. Young family’s rental car breaks down in parking lot and they’re forced to stay the night in dilapidated motel. Soon, the local townspeople morph into skin-eating demons and the family fights to survive until sunrise.
Maybe our situation isn’t that dire, but it’s close. The past few hours have been the worst sleep of my life. With no rental and no Louisville cab company willing to spare a driver to take us back into the city, we’re stuck here. To make matters worse, Snowflake is limited in overnight accommodations and, short of pitching a tent, this is where we ended up.
The stain on the sheets of the bed I lie in gives me the bugs-walking-on-the-back-of-my-neck creeps and, speaking of bugs, I’m sure there are a hundred million of them nesting in the innards of the mattress. Something continuously moves in the corner of the room, but disappears each time I click on the light.
It doesn’t help that Mom and Dad have been sharing a whispered intense conversation all night. Yes, they had a lot to discuss after the funeral home debacle, but a call from the room phone around eleven caused a new round of conversations. Most of it taking place in the bathroom.
For hours, I stared at the light streaming from the crack under the bathroom door. Occasionally their voices would rise, but they were still too muffled for me to understand. Even when I tiptoed to the door to listen.
I’m impatient for daylight yet the minutes drag into days. It’s 3:03 a.m. and I’ve been parched since two. The thought of interrupting Mom and Dad in the bathroom for a drink of water doesn’t thrill me, so I roll out of bed. In the darkness, I shimmy out of my pj pants and into a pair of shorts. There’s a vending machine a few doors down and a bottle of cold water is calling my name.
Oz (#ulink_38698898-ee93-50f9-8db9-6195703d6bb7)
THE SLAMMING OF a car door jerks me awake. My heart hammers with the realization—I fell asleep. I scrub a hand over my face to wake myself, then grab the phone. It’s after three and there are two missed messages. Eli’s going to kill me and I deserve his wrath. I messed this up big time.
Message one: What’s going on?
Message two: You better be awake and taking a piss or you better be dead.
My fingers hover over the cell as my attention is drawn to movement from the right. On the opposite side of the parking lot are two guys who stand near the front of a blacked-out SUV. Cigarettes burn in their hands and I don’t like how they’re watching Emily’s room.
I scan the rest of the area and my stomach drops. Dark chestnut hair. Tanned, toned legs. Damn me to hell, Emily’s walking toward the vending machines. One of the guys drops his cigarette to the ground and smashes it with his foot.
His mouth moves as he talks to the guy next to him and in the barely dim light surrounding him, he slips off a cut. I don’t catch the entire patch, but I see enough. With a surge of adrenaline, I start the truck and then my fingers fly over the letters.
The Riot are here.
Emily (#ulink_0146dd70-ee85-5419-bfac-d5bc414c6037)
GOOSE BUMPS RISE on my arms when I open the door and the early-morning Kentucky air drifts over my skin. It’s the first time I’ve stayed at this type of motel—the type with no interior corridors and only exterior doors.
I flip the security latch to prevent being locked out and follow the hum of vending machines. The lights of the overhang burn bright enough for me see where I’m heading, but are dull enough that I’m again reminded of walking into a horror flick.
The night surrounding the motel parking lot is dark. Very dark. My dad once told me that it gets darker before the dawn. I shiver. He must be right. I’ve never seen anything so black that it’s completely void of light.
I turn the corner and pause. My back itches like I’m being watched. The sensation crawls along the fine hairs of my neck and my heart pumps hard. In a slow movement, I peer over my shoulder. Nothing but darkness. Nothing but small bugs swarming near the overhead light that leaves a green tint to the world. Nothing. Nothing but my overactive imagination.
One foot angles in favor of the room, but the rest of me pushes forward. Five seconds to get a drink and then back to the room. Maybe ten. With my stomach in my throat, I brave the enclave, slip the fifty cents into the coin slot and then attempt to shove the dollar into the machine. With a whine, it spits the money back out. With a second whine, the machine cranks the bill out again. “Come on!”
My skin shrinks against my bones. Saran Wrap tight, my flesh feels like it needs to be shed. There’s something wrong out here. Something evil. With shaky hands I try one last time and the machine inhales the dollar.
A push of a button. A racket that could wake the dead. My hand swipes up the water. A flash of black to my right and I suck in a breath to scream.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Taller than me. And he blocks my way.
I stumble back, tripping over myself. The water thumps to the concrete and a hand whips out and grabs my wrist. Air leaves my lungs in a hiss when my body slams into the cinder-block wall.
My mouth opens again and a hot hand presses against my lips. A sob racks me and blue eyes lower to mine. “It’s me, Emily. It’s Oz. Right now I need you to be quiet. Do you hear me? Quiet.”
He’s whispering while he muffles my scream. Quiet is not what I need. My eyes dart around. We’re wedged in a small space between the vending machine and the wall. His body is pressed tightly to mine, so much so that it’s hard to draw in air. Cobwebs touch the top of Oz’s head. A spider the size of my fist swings precariously above us, its legs twisting as it spins its web.
A sound leaves my throat as a tear cascades down my face.
“Quiet,” Oz demands again. “Please, Emily. Be still.”
I blink at the please. His blue eyes soften and my senses go on alert. Almost like my energy is reaching out to find the real threat—a threat my instincts inform me is worse than what’s in front of me.
Oz slowly withdraws his hand from my mouth and the flood of cold air on my face causes me to tremble. He continues to lower his hand to his hip and wraps his fingers around the hilt of a blade stuck inside a leather sheath.
There’s activity beyond us. A slow tapping of a boot against the sidewalk. A scrape comparable to sandpaper against the concrete wall. Then a shadow. Large. Looming. The head of the dark shadow hits near my feet.
“The water bottle.” My lips move.
Oz tilts his head as if he sees the shift in my mood. “I know,” he mouths. “Shh.”
Chaos reigns inside my mind. Oz can kill me or Oz can save me or Oz can do one now and then another later.
The footsteps begin again, echoing closer to our hiding spot. Fear gains in strength, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me. Oz weaves an arm around my back and circles us so that I’m wedged into the corner and he’s positioned near the threat.
Heat builds between us and my pulse beats wildly at my pressure points. He continues to gently guide me into the extremely small crevice behind the machine. My foot tangles with a cord and I trip to the right. My hand snaps out and I grab on to Oz’s belt loop as both of his hands land on my hips.
We’re crushed against each other. Warmth rolls off his body and onto mine. He must feel it—my fear, the blood drumming throughout my veins. My eyesight nearly shakes with it.
Oz does a strange thing. He smiles. It’s a crazy smile, but beautiful. My body tingles when he swipes his thumb under my shirt and across the sensitive skin of my waist.
He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. Only one guy has been this near me before. Body against body. Thighs against thighs. Warm breath brushing the back of my ear. We didn’t go far that night. We didn’t go far at all—not emotionally, not physically...just not. And standing here pressed between a wall and Oz, my entire body becomes aware.
“If he finds us,” he breathes into my ear, “you run, Emily. You run and keep running until you lock yourself in the room. Then you call Eli.”
Oz pulls back and our noses almost touch. I strain to listen. No footsteps. No sound beyond my own frantic breaths. Then a thump to the concrete. Like a bottle dropping. My stomach sinks along with it. And there’s a rolling of plastic...getting closer...closer. So close that it’s next to us.
My eyes flash to Oz’s. I’m about to explode out of my skin yet he’s calm, steady, solid. He meets my gaze, never once looking elsewhere. The bottle continues to roll away...away...to the point I believe that the sound I hear is only in my mind. An echo of my fears.
No longer able to handle Oz’s intense stare, I lower my head and my body sags. Oz eases a hand to the nape of my neck, encouraging me to rest my head on his shoulder. I do, then inhale the calming scent of burned wood. It conjures images of bonfires on the beach. S’mores on the back patio with my father. Nights by the fireplace as a child.
Oz’s hand is hot on my skin and my muscles melt under his strong caress. An eternity passes. Stars are born then die. He relaxes his grip on me and my fingers curl into his belt loops when he tries to maneuver away.
“Did you hear that?” he asks.
The rolling? It’s still in my head and so are the footsteps, but I shake my head no.
“It’s my cell,” he says under his breath, and sure enough I hear a vibration. “I need to answer.”
I release him and he slips his phone out of his back pocket. “I nine-one-one’d Eli and he’s on his way. I need to get you within walls. Stay here and don’t move.”
Oz steps back and I shiver with the cold infiltrating where he had been. My eyes widen. His knife is in his hand. I never saw him free the blade and I never felt him move to do so.
Oz peers around the corner. One way. Then the next. The fear is so encompassing that it almost shifts into hysterics.
“Stay put,” he commands. I’m normally not a take-orders-from-a-guy type of girl, but I’m all for following directions since my feet are frozen to the ground.
Oz disappears and a small part of me internally cries. Alone has never felt so...alone.
An electric buzz of the vending machine. The gentle tap of water leaking from a pipe above. Not knowing if the footsteps drifting away are what I should be terrified of.
Because it’s overwhelming, I count. Throwing in the Mississippi in between like Mom taught me. I count slower when I hit fifty, then even slower when I hit two hundred. I start again at zero, pretending that his absence during the first three hundred seconds doesn’t matter.
Oz appears in front of me again and my knees give out at the sight. He extends his hand. “Those two guys are still here, but they walked around the corner. I can slip you back in your room, but we need to be quiet.”
“Who are they?” I ask.
Oz’s shoulders stiffen and his eyes bore into mine. “People neither one of us want to mess with. Let’s go.”
Oz (#ulink_47e2c8a3-c81d-5611-a1fd-278c10eb386a)
EMILY’S CHEST RISES and falls at an alarming rate and I pray she doesn’t faint.
She’s smaller than me and she’s curvy as hell. She wears a pair of hip-hugging jean shorts and a tight blue tank that covers enough of her top, but rides short and highlights her flat stomach. I’ve never been so damned captivated by a belly button in my life. Hate to admit it, but with that long chestnut hair and those big dark eyes, Emily is hot.
She’s also in a ton of trouble and if she doesn’t trust me soon and take my hand, she’s going to turn her problems into my problems and that will be dangerous for us both.
“If I was the enemy, Emily, I would have already slit your throat and thrown your body into the trunk of a car.”
“You’re not helping,” she whispers.
“But it’s the truth. Now, let’s go.”
She sucks in her bottom lip and I wiggle my fingers, signaling for her to follow. It’s like convincing an injured animal to eat from my hand. I get why she doesn’t trust me. If I were in her shoes, I’d be weighing my options. One of them being jacking the knife in my hand and slicing my way out of this situation.
Emily extends her hand—moment by moment. Centimeter by centimeter. At any point, I could have grabbed her and hauled her out, but something tells me that she’s never faced any level of danger. To expect her to be braver than most is unfair, especially when she’s impressed me with how well she’s handled tonight.
The moment her smooth fingers touch mine, I link our hands together and we’re on the move. As I tighten my grip on her, I secure my knife in my other hand. Eli and Dad have taught me stuff over the years. All of it without Mom’s knowledge or permission. It involves the whereabouts of arteries, kidneys and liver, and each conversation and demonstration involved a blade.
We round the corner and I halt, hiding her from view. A burly guy with fists the size of concrete blocks stands outside the door to Emily’s room. I push Emily back into the walkway and silently curse. “Tell me you locked the door behind you.”
Her face pales out and I have my answer. She shoves at me, but she’s such a tiny thing that it’s nothing more than the beats of a butterfly’s wings. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t bother replying. We go in the opposite direction of her room. Actually, I go and pull her behind me. She yanks at my hand and tries to dig her feet into the ground, but I’m bigger and I’m stronger and I’m getting her the hell out of here.
I peer around the other side of the building and when I spot nothing, I head for the truck, thanking God I had the forethought to drive it to this side before chasing after her. I drag Emily forward and open the passenger-side door. “Get in.”
At the sight of the truck’s interior, Emily tries to create space between us as she jerks at my hold on her wrist. “I’m not going with you.”
Screw this. I lean into Emily and she stumbles until her back smacks the inside of the door.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you have the biggest illegal motorcycle club in Kentucky literally on your doorstep. We don’t have time to argue. Get in the truck now!”
Her frantic movements stop and I don’t care for the deer-caught-in-headlights thing she’s melded into. With a ragged breath, her eyes shoot to the small tunnel of a hallway we emerged from and I can read her mind.
My arm snaps out and I clutch the edge of the door, blocking her path. “Eli’s on his way and he will protect your parents, but I can’t protect you and them at the same time. You know as well as I do, you can’t stop anything that’s happening. By standing here fucking with me, you are placing them in danger. Not me. Get in the truck, Emily, and let me get help.”
“They’re my parents,” she pleads.
“And you’re stopping me from getting them help. Get in the truck so I can make some calls.”
She swallows and in seconds she’s in the passenger side of the truck. I shut her door, race around, slide in and start the engine. With my cell out and the number dialed, I place the phone to my ear and slowly ease out of the parking lot.
One ring and Cyrus answers, “Eli’s coming in fast and dangerous, son. The text you sent better mean that death’s on Emily’s doorstep.”
Close enough. “The Riot’s at her motel. Emily’s with me. Tell me where to go.”
“You bring her home.”
I check the rearview mirror as I floor the gas and pray I don’t see headlights.
Emily (#ulink_9bc63aee-33d2-59e9-bac4-a65f62e4e519)
WE’VE DRIVEN IN silence and, mile after black mile, I keep wondering if I’m in a dream. I’ve lost all sense of direction as we’ve ridden through a maze of back roads and a few minutes ago we ended up on blacktop so narrow I consider it more of a path than a road. There was a crudely made street sign at the turn and it read Thunder Road. Frightening how the name describes the storm I’ve been sucked into.
The truck gently jostles back and forth and dips with the occasional pothole. From the limited range of the headlights, I can tell that the sides of the road are thick with brush and trees. Every now and then a low-hanging limb smacks the cab of the truck. There’s no moon. There’s no light. There’s only darkness.
My teeth chatter and Oz turns his head to look at me. “Are you cold?”
I don’t know. Am I? Oz flicks a few switches, points the vents toward me and heat begins to dance along my skin. Even with the added warmth, my teeth chatter again and I run my hands along my arms. The cold...it’s not in a place that a heater can reach. It’s past my skin, past my muscles and into my bones.
“Maybe we should go back for my parents.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he responds.
“Are they okay?”
His phone has rung a couple of times. Oz answers it, listens, then mumbles some sort of an “okay” and drops his cell back into the cup holder. Surely, he’s heard something. We’ve been driving for too long. Forever. But according to the clock, forty minutes.
“We’re almost there,” Oz says as an answer.
“I asked about my parents,” I snap.
His forever-roaming eyes check the rearview mirror again. “They’re safe. At least they were the last time the club checked in.”
I close my eyes as the tension escapes from my neck. “Why couldn’t you say that?”
“Because I don’t know how long that will remain true and I’m not about false hope.” Before the shock of his words can set in, he continues, “The club’s with them, but the next couple of hours are critical. Your job is to lay low and not contact anyone. Do you understand?”
No. I don’t understand any of this. I draw my knees to my chest in an effort to fight the freezing temperatures in my veins. “Where are we going?”
Oz switches the hand on the wheel and leans against his door. “Olivia’s.”
Olivia’s. My head hits the back of the seat. “Oh.” Oh.
“I spend a lot of time there. Sometimes more than at my own home,” he says, and before I can respond he continues, “And here we are.”
My breath is stolen from my body as I take in the sight. It’s an overgrown log cabin with every window lit up like a Thomas Kinkade painting. Running along the wraparound front porch are rosebushes tangled with vines of honeysuckle. It’s beautiful, picture-perfect and surely not the place where bikers live.
“Shocked?” There’s a bite in Oz’s voice and it causes me to stare at him. He parks the truck off to the side of the house and shuts off the engine. “Considering what most people think of us, shocked is the most common reaction.”
Because they are bikers and this...this place is gorgeous. Oz swings out of the truck and I’m surprised when he meets me at my side, opens the door and then offers me his hand. “It’s a jump.”
He’s right. I didn’t notice it on the way up, but now facing the prospect of down, I have a respect for the two feet. He has a strong hand. It’s a bit rough, but not sandpaper. It’s a hand that leads, not a hand that follows, and I really shouldn’t be thinking too much about this anymore.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod then jump. Once on the ground, Oz pulls on my fingers, encouraging me to move forward. I barely trust him so I slip out of his grasp and he doesn’t fight the distance I crave. “The next time someone calls, can I talk to my parents?”
Oz’s forehead wrinkles and suddenly the big, scary guy doesn’t appear so big and scary as his eyes soften. “Let’s go inside. We’ll know more then.”
“What if you’re lying to me?” I ask, because I’d prefer that to my parents being in danger. “What if this was some sort of elaborate scheme to get me to talk to Olivia? I mean, you guys kept my father from me today.” Well, yesterday.
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“What if this is a—” air quotes “—misunderstanding?”
“Not that you’d know, but I don’t jack off to shoving hot girls into spider-infested crevices between vending machines, so how about you cut me some slack?”
I blink. Several times. Did he just call me...? And did he just say...? Heat flushes my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and shock. The door on the porch squeaks open and a figure made of solid muscle stalks onto the porch. “Oz.”
The porch light flips on and it’s the man with the long gray beard and ponytail who stood beside Oz outside the funeral home. He’s dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and an open red flannel with the sleeves rolled up. Seeing him, I empathize with Jack swaddling the stolen goose in his arms as he faces down the very ticked-off giant.
His gaze lands on us and I don’t miss how it lingers on me. I inch closer to Oz and my side brushes against his. I don’t know why, but my instincts scream that Oz means safety. He presses a hand to the small of my back and it’s as if an invisible force field forms around us.
Oz doesn’t push me ahead. Instead, he skims one finger along my spine. I shiver and this time it isn’t from the cold.
“That’s Cyrus,” Oz says so only I can hear. “He’s Eli’s dad. Your grandfather.”
My heart aches. The pain comes sharp and fast and it hits so hard that I know it will leave a scar. “I didn’t know I had one.”
Eli mentioned Olivia before, but he never discussed his father and I never cared enough to ask or imagine one existed. Maybe Eli did mention him and I blocked it out.
Oz inclines his head to the house. I walk forward and Oz is kind enough to match his pace to my slow stride.
“You’re being nice to me,” I say. “Thank you for that.”
“Did you think I was an asshole?”
Um...yeah. “Well...”
“Your first instinct was right.”
“Why are you being nice to me then?” I ask as we reach the stairs.
Oz pauses on the bottom step and glances at the bear of a man towering by the front door. “Because nobody deserves to be thrown into the middle of a tornado.”
The screen door opens again and the woman I had abandoned hours before shuffles onto the front porch. Her head is covered by a blue scarf and she wears a pair of jeans and a form-fitting black T-shirt. Olivia touches Cyrus’s arm and smiles down at me. “Welcome home, Emily.”
Oz (#ulink_d01358c9-2029-524f-9d92-b0e12ed9f9ea)
I ENTER THE living room and rub my knuckles against the stubble forming on my jaw. Every single baby picture of Emily has disappeared. That’s left a lot of noticeable dust-outlined bare spots.
Olivia fusses over Emily in that demanding way of hers, telling her that she must be hungry and thirsty. Emily scratches a spot on her arm and my eyes narrow at the red welt developing on her wrist. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.
Mom appears in the doorway from the kitchen and she rests a hand over her heart when she sees me. One of her men home. One more to go. From what I understood on the phone, Eli, Dad and a bunch of other members tore off on their bikes for the motel. Because of Olivia’s cancer, Mom often stays with Olivia when Mom’s off work.
“Don’t stand there like a statue, child. Tell me what you need,” says Olivia.
Emily rubs harder at her wrist and her eyes shoot to mine as if she’s asking me to answer for her. Guess I am an asshole because I don’t swoop in for the rescue.
“Can I talk to my mom and dad?” she asks.
Olivia immediately glances to Cyrus and he clears his throat. “Soon.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yes,” Cyrus answers.
Emily’s eyes dart around, trying to take in the people surrounding her and the bright, open room. Lincoln log walls. Wooden floors. Flat-screen television. Overstuffed couch. A recliner for Cyrus. Surround-sound system. Most of the furniture and electronics are gifts from Eli. His attempt to buy his way out of guilt.
“Why...” Emily’s whole body shudders like an epileptic fit and she brushes her fingers over her arms as if to warm her skin. She’s acting so damn cold that even I’m starting to believe it’s winter. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” says Cyrus.
“Seems to be a lot of those.” Emily throws a death glare in my direction. Damn, she’s got fire. That’s shocking considering I pegged her to be a mouse of a girl who did everything exactly as her mother told her.
“And we apologize for that,” Cyrus continues. “We’re having some business issues and our negotiations have hit a snag.”
Emily tosses her arms out to her sides. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”
That’s the only explanation Cyrus will offer. Emily’s inquiring about club business and Emily’s not part of the club. By the scowl on her face, she’s pissed. Being shut out doesn’t sit well with most girls. Women like Mom and Olivia are a rarity.
Olivia straightens her scarf as she starts to shake. Last week, Olivia was so sick she was in bed with an IV. While I love that Emily’s brought a hop to her step, Olivia’s wasting energy to put on a show for her long-lost granddaughter.
“Emily’s in shock,” I say. “She’s cold and she mentioned she hasn’t slept yet.”
Dirty look number two. If Emily keeps this up, she might be elevated from good-girl status to bad.
“I’m fine,” Emily mutters, but what she doesn’t realize is that I didn’t say it to humiliate her. I said it to force Olivia off her feet and my plan works.
Like she’s herding a timid sheep, Olivia corners Emily until she practically falls back on the couch and Olivia relaxes beside her. Mom’s in front of Emily with a mug of something steaming and uses a soft tone as she introduces herself.
Cyrus inclines his head to the porch and as I move to walk out, Emily’s head snaps up. “Where are you going?”
All eyes land on me. Cyrus strokes the length of his beard as his eyes flicker between me and Emily.
“Front porch,” I answer.
Emily scoots to the edge of the couch like she’s going to stand and my mom and Olivia flutter their hands to keep her seated.
“Oz isn’t going anywhere,” Cyrus says. “I need to follow up with him on a few things and then he’ll be back in.”
“Oz?” asks Emily.
Cyrus motions with his head for me to confirm it and I do. “I won’t be long.”
Emily reclines back against the couch and cups the mug in her hands, but doesn’t drink. Odds are she thinks it’s poison.
Cyrus and I step onto the porch and, off in the east, dark blue creates a line against the black of night. Dawn’s coming and I have no idea what this day is going to bring.
“You were supposed to become a prospect last night,” says Cyrus.
I lean my shoulder against one of the log columns supporting the roof of the porch and cross my arms over my chest. Cyrus eases up beside me, resting a hip on the railing.
“I know.” Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life, but Emily’s visit messed everything up.
“It’ll happen,” Cyrus says. “But Eli’s priority is his daughter.”
I nod, because there’s nothing else to say.
“Eli called you, Oz. Multiple times. You texted as he was heading to hunt you down.”
My gut twists. I fell asleep on my debut assignment. I didn’t even get to wear a cut and I blew my chance. Anger and frustration tenses my muscles and I fight the urge to slam my fist against something. Anything. This is my life. My family. I may have lost it all because I fell asleep. “What do I do?”
Cyrus stares straight at me with those emotionless gray eyes. “Man up and accept the repercussions. Any other option isn’t acceptable.”
The club doesn’t tolerate excuses. The brotherhood is built on family and trust. Lying my way out of a situation would be the same as showing myself the door.
“Tell ’em the truth. That’s all you can do.” Cyrus pats my shoulder. “Besides, you saved his daughter and my granddaughter. That holds some weight.”
His words sound good, but none of them erase the fear that I might have sabotaged the most important goal in my life. A sickening nausea envelops me and it’s similar to the devastation of being told that Olivia has cancer.
Cyrus pushes off the railing. “You did good tonight.”
“You never mentioned why the Riot would be going after Emily. Or how they’d even know who she is.”
Frogs croak in the nearby pond. I wait for an answer and Cyrus smirks. “You’re right. I didn’t. When was the last time you had decent sleep?”
I shrug. I fell asleep for a half hour. A half hour that could cost me my future. “I’m good.”
“Glad to hear it. The way Emily looks at you, moves in your direction—that girl trusts you.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She trusts you more than anyone else on this property. I know you’re tired, but I’d like you to stay. It’ll make the next couple of hours easier on her and I know Eli will appreciate that.”
While I feel sorry for the girl, she’s a bomb on countdown. “She’s bad news.”
Cyrus’s boots clomp against the porch as he heads for the door. “Then she’ll fit in, won’t she?”
The sky in the west continues to get lighter and the stars above dim like a candle flame down to the quick. Only a few more hours of Emily, then Eli will fix whatever the hell is going on with the Riot, she’ll return to her spoon-fed life and I’ll beg Eli for another shot. I shove a hand through my hair to shake away the need for sleep. Just a few more hours.
“You coming?” Cyrus asks.
“I’ll be in in a sec. I need a minute to clear my head.”
He leaves while I grip the railing and lean over. My life has become a waking nightmare.
Emily (#ulink_822e9ae7-a7ef-583e-972f-6ee8f35127ab)
IN THEORY, I’M WATCHING television even though I can’t make sense of anything on the screen. Oz is on the front porch and everyone else stares at me. The everyone else would include:
Oz’s mother, Izzy, the lone partially sane person in the state of Kentucky
Cyrus, a giant impersonating a human
Olivia, the once dead and now alive
They’re probably wondering if I’m going to spaz at any second. So here’s the thing: they may not be wrong.
Wrapped in a blue crocheted blanket, I sit in the middle of the couch. Olivia has staked a claim beside me. It’s hard not to picture her popping out of the casket. Because of that, my spine is curtain-rod straight and I remain perfectly still. Sort of like those small woodland creatures when they realize the big, bad carnivorous beast has spotted them. Doesn’t console me to know things don’t typically work out for the woodland creature.
So long, woodchuck. I hope you had a great life, squirrel. You didn’t really want that nut, did you, chipmunk?
Yes, I know, no one’s going to eat me. My eyes drift over to Cyrus. He quickly turns his head and pretends to be immersed in the movie. He might sauté me up with some onions and throw me on a sesame-seed bun.
Stop it. This train of thought...it’s because I’m exhausted and I’m scared and I’m desperate to talk to my parents and...
Moisture pools in my eyes and I wipe at it. I won’t cry. Not in front of them. They are the enemy. They are the ones that created this situation. With each flutter of my eyelids, the urge is to keep them closed, but I force them open. I don’t know these people. I don’t know them and it’s not safe to sleep.
“If you’re tired,” Olivia says as if she already knows the answer, “we have a spare bedroom. Two in fact.”
“I’m not tired,” I answer through the yawn. “But can I use the bathroom?”
“Of course,” says Olivia.
Cyrus and Izzy hop up, but Olivia forces them to reclaim their seats with one slice of her hand. She’s slow as she stands and a large helping of guilt plops into the bottom of my stomach.
“You can tell me where it is,” I say. She repeats the gesture to me and I also withdraw into silence.
I follow her down the hallway. We pass two bedrooms and the hallway turns. In front of us is a larger bedroom and to the right is the bathroom.
Olivia prevents me from entering the bathroom by placing her cold hand on my arm. My heart stutters as if shocked by electricity. She’s not dead. Nope, not dead. Very, very much alive.
“We’re going to my bedroom,” she says in a voice you don’t argue with. She flips on a light and I’m surprised by the pink-and-blue pastels on her comforter and curtains.
“I like your room.” I’m drawn to the door leading out of her room to the porch. I could bolt and possibly escape from this madness.
“Did you expect skulls and crossbones?” She opens a jewelry box on her dresser. “A gun arsenal and torture chamber?”
Well...yes. “No.”
“You’re a bad liar, Emily, and I’m going to need you to get better at it, but I have faith that will happen. You are, by blood, a McKinley.”
A wave of defiance tightens my muscles. “I’m a Jennings.”
“Thanks to a paper trail and a judge’s signature, but you are one of us. You always have been.” Olivia riffles through stacks of photos she took out of the jewelry box then offers one to me.
No. There’s no freaking way that picture is real. Dizziness overtakes my mind as I lose myself in a haze. I’m asleep and this is a dream.
“Take it,” she demands.
Can’t make me. I shake my head and step back.
“Olivia?” Cyrus calls from the living room. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Olivia raises her voice to answer while refusing to break eye contact with me. She lowers her tone again. “I promised Eli and your mother that I would take this to the grave. The way I see it, I already have one foot in, so what difference does it make.”
My gaze drifts to the picture trembling in her hand and I wince. The pink elephant in the chubby hands of the baby in the photo is more than familiar. He’s cherished and adored and has seen me through some of my scariest moments. His name is James and, at home, in Florida, he’s propped on my dresser looking a lot more worn and a lot less pink and lot more loved.
The baby is old enough to rip through the mess of presents in front of her. She has long brown hair and she wears the same pink dress that my mother drags out on my birthdays to show how I’ve grown over the years. I hate that the baby sports a huge smile as she beams reverently at the person who’s holding her—Olivia.
My lower lip quivers and tears burn my eyes. I’m too tired for this. I’m too tired and there’s no way this is true. It’s not. My mother would never lie to me. Never. “My mom left Snowflake when she found out she was pregnant with me.”
“Your mother walked out of this house, your home, with you in the dead of night right after your second birthday.”
This house? No way. “Your son turned us away. He left us. Both of us. Mom said not one of you wanted me.”
“Your entire life is a lie and I’m the only person willing to give you the truth,” she says. “And if you want the truth, you’re going to have to stay here in Kentucky, because God knows that your parents won’t tell you. Even if it’ll cost you your life.”
Olivia snatches my hand and shoves the picture into my palm, curling my fingers over it. I twist away from her grasp. “This picture doesn’t mean anything. Maybe we came back for a visit but we obviously didn’t stay.”
“It was no visit. You lived here once and your mother stole you from us.”
“Olivia?” Cyrus calls again.
She walks past me and this consuming anger causes me to lash out before she leaves me alone. “My mother told me that all of you are crazy. This photo is a fake and you’re a liar.”
Olivia smirks. “We both know that’s wrong, don’t we, Emily Star?”
The breath rushes from my body as if I’ve been socked in the stomach. “That’s not my name.”
“Yes,” she says simply. “It is.”
It is...rather it was.
Emily Star is the name on my birth certificate, but when my father adopted me, we changed it to Emily Catherine so that I shared my grandmother’s, Dad’s mom’s, name. “So you know what used to be my middle name. It doesn’t prove anything.”
“It does, and so does that picture.”
“Mom said that the people in Snowflake are the worst kind of evil.” Cruel, I know, and there’s a pang of hurt and guilt, but what she’s doing to me right now is nothing short of agony.
Olivia pauses. Grandmothers are supposed to be maternal. They’re supposed to bake cakes and pies and cookies and pat my hand and tell me not to worry. They aren’t supposed to use curse words or speak in code or try to break me on one of the worst days of my life.
As she studies me, I one hundred percent understand that she’s not the warm fuzzy type. But the way sadness weighs on her face, I discover she’s not immune to caustic words.
“I’m not evil,” she states.
My skin prickles. Well, she sure as hell isn’t nice.
“I’m not,” she repeats. Then she sighs. “Either guest bedroom is yours to use. The one on the left belonged to you. You used to lie in your crib and watch the sunrise with a smile on your face.”
I shut my eyes. She’s lying. Has to be. There’s no other explanation for this. The picture is fake. Her words are lies. This entire scenario is me having a psychotic break after she popped out of the casket.
Without saying a word, I stalk past her into the bathroom and lock her out.
Oz (#ulink_61e58e1c-fe42-5edc-8ea1-1d1a45b8e91b)
I ENTER THE living room and there’s one major player missing: Emily. “Should I be concerned?”
Olivia rests her head against the couch and closes her eyes. “She’s in the bathroom. The child has had enough to deal with and needs some time alone.”
Because when I want time alone, I think toilets. “She’s not a child.”
Emily’s far from it. That body she has—those curves, the way her hips move when she walks, the way I fantasized about worshipping that flat stomach if we had privacy and she wasn’t Eli’s daughter—that’s no child.
Olivia cracks open an eye, but before she can respond, Cyrus jumps in. “Oz is right. She’s not the two-year-old that used to follow you around in your tomato garden.”
“If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it,” Olivia answers. “Both of you.”
Mom offers Olivia a hand. “You need to rest. I’ll wake you when we hear from Eli.”
The strain of the past few hours weighs Olivia down as she accepts. Together, they leave the room. Emily can’t get out of here fast enough, in my opinion. Olivia will use the strength she needs to defeat the cancer in order to maintain appearances for Emily.
When the door to Olivia’s bedroom shuts, I appraise Cyrus as I shift the chess pieces in my head. The board in front of me is complicated and I don’t have many pieces to begin with. “What do you need me to do?”
“Entertain Emily.” Cyrus reaches behind the recliner and brings out his double-gauge shotgun. “Didn’t think I should keep it in sight with her ready to jump out of her skin.”
I chuckle. “Good call. How long has she been in the bathroom?”
“Long enough that someone she trusts should check to see if she slit her wrists.”
My head falls back. Screw me for asking. Cyrus focuses on the television, and keeps his gun in his lap. Suddenly the knife hanging on my hip develops an inferiority complex.
“Remember that she’s scared,” he says.
I flip Cyrus off as I head to check on Emily. Cyrus flips it back. The moment I have a cut on my back, I’m going to have to watch myself with the board members, especially being a prospect. But for now, Cyrus isn’t the president of the club to me—he’s the man who took care of me for the first few years of my life.
My mother’s voice is muffled on the other side of Olivia’s door. Not a good sign. Olivia has to be weaker than I thought to let my mother help her into bed. My neck tightens. Emily’s going to kill Olivia if she stays much longer.
I tap on the bathroom door and when there’s no response, I knock again. Still nothing. Damn, she probably has slit her wrists.
The voices from the other side of Olivia’s door go quiet. The last thing I want is Olivia barging out of her bedroom and taking over again. She needs sleep, not to be babysitting Emily. I brought this trouble into her home and I can handle it for a few more hours.
I try the knob and it doesn’t budge. Grabbing the skeleton key we store on top of the door frame in case Olivia passes out in the bathroom, I wiggle it around in the small hole until I hear the click of the lock giving. I’m slow opening the door, in case Emily is lost in her thoughts on the toilet.
Each push of the door is methodic and gradual. Empty floor. Closed toilet. Curtains blowing in the breeze and a wide-open window. My fingers curl until they form a fist. I’m going to wring Emily’s tiny, delicate, hot little neck.
Emily (#ulink_3069577b-7edf-5eb1-a3ed-c44f587f2eb3)
WITH MY KNEES pulled to my chest, I sit on a wooden bench that rests below a darkened window of the house. According to Olivia, the room belonged to me, which doesn’t make sense on multiple levels. The impulse is to peer into the room to see if the answers I’m searching for are in there, but I don’t. I keep my back to the house and my eyes locked on the approaching sunrise.
I’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours and my brain has disconnected from my emotions. I feel stretched and numb. Cold and hot. Wired and exhausted. I sort of welcome it. I’m officially too tired for fear.
Oz was right earlier. I definitely was sucked into a storm and I’m desperately trying to grab on to anything solid to prevent myself from plummeting into the vortex of the tornado.
There’s a moan in the wooden window frame a few feet down and out pops a jean-clad leg. It’s the same black boot that monopolized my space at the funeral home. Oz slides out of the house with more elegance than me. I ended up on my butt. He lands on both feet. Even with all that muscle, he’s graceful like a cat. Goody for him.
His eyes dart around and he does a double take when he spots me on the bench. He scans the yard and thick surrounding woods, then he strides over as if climbing out a bathroom window is normal. “And they say people from Kentucky are backward. We have a front door and one in the kitchen, or do you think you’re too good for either one?”
“Would they have let me out?”
“Onto the porch.”
“Sure they would have—with an armed guard.”
“Not armed guard—escort,” he corrects as he stands in front of me. “And if you had made a break for it, I would have had to tackle you and then we’d be in all sorts of trouble. Could you imagine me putting my hands on your body?”
He winks.
Winks.
Heat rushes up my neck and my earlobes burn.
“I...” Clear my throat so I can at least pretend that comment didn’t slip under my skin. “I have no idea what you’re suggesting.”
“Yeah, you do. Since you arrived at the funeral home, I’ve been looking at you and you’ve been looking at me. Too bad you didn’t go out the front door. Would have been fun, don’t you think? Me tackling you. Us rolling around. Tell me, Emily, are you the type of girl that doesn’t mind a good time?”
His strong body over mine. My hands messing through his hair. His hands touching my face. Holy hell, my nerve endings tingle.
The right side of his mouth tips up as if he can read my thoughts and his eyes wash over me like a lingering waterfall. That’s when it hits me, he’s playing a game with me. “You’re full of yourself.”
“Might be, but I’m not wrong, plus for thirty seconds you weren’t having a pity party. So what happened with your escape plans? Did your momma tell you that you can’t cross the street without holding her hand?”
I throw him a mock smirk, but oh how I wish there was a road to cross and that was my problem. Instead, there’s woods. Lots of woods plus lots of darkness. Woods and darkness terrify me. Bad things live in the woods. Evil things exist in the dark. The inside of that cabin didn’t feel any safer so I opted for the bench with the glow of the lights from the utility pole near the house.
For some, hell might be being buried alive in a coffin. For others, hell would be being covered to their heads in a tank full of spiders. For me, it’s this. Encircled and enshrouded by claustrophobic darkness and foreboding woods. Dead things lie in wait in that black void.
In that house, a woman is battling death and also promising to tear apart the foundation on which I stand. Inside isn’t an option. Neither is out. I’m here on this bench because I didn’t know where else to go.
Oz assesses me. The same way my parents used to for weeks after they found me in that hole at eight. “You suck at running away. I found you in less than ten seconds.”
“Are you going to continue to rub it in that I failed?”
“I was going to, but that question stole my thunder.” Oz eases beside me and I curl into a ball toward the corner. Even with that move, the heat from his thighs wiggles past my jean shorts and caresses my skin. I rub my hand along my cold arms. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I crave to crawl up next to him and live in that heat for rest of my life.
He sprawls the massive wingspan of his arms along the back of the bench then extends his long legs, kicking one booted foot on top of the other. His fingers “accidently” swipe across my bare shoulder and it causes a tickle in my bloodstream.
Oz commands awareness like no one I have ever met before. There’s no denying his presence. No denying that his body is close to perfect. No denying that since I laid eyes on him I’ve wondered what he looks like with his shirt off.
Completely impervious to how his nearness affects me, he stares straight ahead and watches the sunrise. “Ever seen one of these before?”
According to Olivia, yes, but I shake my head no. I’ve been up before dawn, but I’ve never sat and admired how the stars are chased away by the sun rising on the horizon.
“Me neither,” he says. “Mind if I watch it with you?”
“If I say no, will you leave?”
“No.” At least he’s honest. “But I’m trying to at least make you feel like you have a choice.”
“But I don’t.”
“But you don’t,” he repeats. “Just a few more hours, Emily, and you can go back to your life and I can go back to mine. We can both pretend we never met.”
That’s all I want. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“You make the people in my life sad and in the brief few hours I’ve known you, you keep racking up points in the heartache category. So, no, I’m not your biggest fan.”
I bite the inside of my lip and focus on my knees. It shouldn’t bother me what a punked-out moron thinks of me, but it does.
“Don’t look like that,” he pushes. “You could have killed me with some of the glares you’ve sent my way. Are you going to say you like me?”
He has been an ass, but he’s also saved me so instead of answering immediately, I look at him. Oz wears a black T-shirt with the word Conflict scrawled in some fancy script. His jeans are loose and he sports the same black studded belt from yesterday. His arms are chiseled like he works out often and he keeps a hand near the knife at his side. Oz shifts as if he’s uncomfortable.
“I don’t know you,” I finally answer.
Oz blinks like I said something profound, then returns his gaze to the east and appears to choose to ignore the past few exchanges. “You can go to sleep if you want. The window to that spare bedroom behind you is open. You can crawl in since you have an issue with doors.”
“Why were those guys at my motel?”
“The bed, Emily. Do you want it or not?”
Like Cyrus earlier, he’s not going to answer. The bed is tempting, but... “No, thank you. I’m going to wait for my parents and then I’ll go to sleep.”
“They’re safe,” Oz says, and I choose to believe him because the hollowness that happens inside me at the thought of any other option is too harsh to bear.
“You could be kidnapping me and trying to do that thing where I grow to love my captors. I’ve seen it on TV before.”
“You caught us. We knew you were going to walk out of the motel at three in the morning and we created this situation to freak you out into loving us. That’s how fucked up we are.”
“Why were you there?”
“Maybe I was using a room.”
I flat-out frown at the thought and I don’t understand why. My fingers tap my thigh and the picture in my hand moves. I seriously hate Oz and Olivia, and I shouldn’t hate Olivia, because she’s dying. “How far along is Olivia’s cancer?”
“Too far.” His voice is why-the-hell-did-you-bring-that-up clipped and I try to pretend I don’t exist.
The chatter of bullfrogs, crickets and the wind. It’s what’s between us. That and the fact I asked about Olivia’s health.
“I promise if you go to sleep, nothing bad will happen to you,” Oz offers.
That’s where he’s wrong. If I go to sleep, I can’t stop the worst from occurring. Staying awake is the only way I can chase the nightmares away. I am, like I was for twelve hours when I was eight, left to fend for myself. I shiver with the memory.
A light breeze dances across the yard and the picture Olivia gave me drops to the wooden porch. Oz leans forward faster than me, swipes it up, then pauses. After a second, he hands me the photo and I shove it into my pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” he asks.
“Olivia.”
He’s silent and he’s watching me and I despise the expression that tells me he sees things and knows things he shouldn’t. “Don’t tell Eli Olivia gave you that.”
“Why?”
“How far down this rabbit hole do you want to go?”
I don’t want to even be in the same state as the hole. “Can we just watch the sunrise?”
“I mean it,” he says. “You’ve already caused this family a world of hurt. If you tell Eli she gave you this, it’ll end badly for Olivia.”
Anger wells up inside me to the point I feel like a volcano. Olivia, Olivia, Olivia. I am so sick of him mentioning Olivia. “Well, I guess your precious Olivia is safe because besides having this picture I don’t know anything!”
“Good,” he snaps.
“Good,” I shout back.
“Great!”
“Can we watch the freaking sunrise?” I seethe.
“That we can do.”
A rumble of engines from the road and my heart kicks into high gear. Thank God, this is over. I jump to my feet and race to the front steps. Six motorcycles growl into the clearing. All the riders appear the same: big men wearing black leather Reign of Terror vests.
Four of them break from the pack and head to an overly large garage on the other side of the yard. The other two park along the edge of the driveway. With their backs to the light, their faces are blacked out by shadow.
My fingers twist and untwist together as I strain to hear another engine—a more familiar one, one belonging to a car, but as each bike shuts down, I experience a loneliness in the silence.
There’s movement near me and sound...but not the sound I long to hear. The clink of men swinging off their bikes. Oz’s boots thumping on the wood to be closer to me. The squeak of the door opening behind me. Even the coolness of the morning tries to steal my attention from the road, but I won’t look away. They’re coming for me. My parents are coming for me.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” Eli says at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m not.” A cloud moves and a ray of dull early-morning light strikes the road. No car. No hum of a smooth engine. No crackle of rocks under a tire. “How far behind are my mom and dad?”
Eli walks up the stairs and puts a firm hand on my arm. “They’re not coming, Emily.”
My words haunt me: You could be kidnapping me... Eli’s still talking. At least I believe he is, but all I hear is a low-pitched roar. They’re not coming. They’re not coming...
I spin, because if I do, then I’ll see something else. Hear something else. But I only see Oz. He lowers his head so that his hair hides his eyes. The roar is replaced by a high-pitched ringing and it grows louder and louder, drowning everything out. Almost everything. I can clearly hear the scream inside my head.
I spin again, but then think oddly how my feet didn’t move and how they are perfectly cemented to the ground and yet the world is twirling.
Twirling.
The last stars in the sky are twirling.
Heat creeps along my hairline while a cold clamminess claims my neck.
“Emily?” Eli’s voice breaks through the chaos. “Emily, are you okay?”
For a second, I’m weightless. Like if I was to stand on my tiptoes I could lift into the air and fly, but then a sharp tilt causes the wooden floor to rush toward my face.
The world goes dark.
Oz (#ulink_7629eb9c-e9d6-50f1-a6e7-5e60a8b40147)
WIND BLOWS IN from the north and a few pieces of Emily’s dark hair sweep across her face. One minute Emily’s a bright flame, then a gust snuffs out her light. Her body sways like a top at the tail end of a spin and I lunge forward.
Emily’s knees give out and her eyes roll back into her head. I catch her inches before she crashes onto the porch. She’s light as I swing her into my arms and her head circles onto my shoulder, reminding me of one of those rag dolls Violet used to play with when we were kids.
“Emily!” Eli’s on top of me, attempting to yank her out of my arms. “Open your eyes.”
Her eyelids flutter, but remain closed as her hand limply clutches my shirt. Eli rams his arms underneath mine and he makes Emily a rope in a tug-of-war. I should let her go. I should want to let her go, but then Emily goes and screws it up for me. “Oz.”
It was a damn whisper, but I heard my name on her lips and so did Eli. His eyes flash to mine and Cyrus’s words repeat in my mind. That girl trusts you. And screw us both for that.
“She’s exhausted,” I say. “Hasn’t slept at all tonight.”
Eli’s expression hardens as he glares at me. I’ve seen Eli throw a coma-inducing punch for less defiance and I readjust the sleeping girl in my arms. A reminder if he decks me now, he’ll be putting his daughter at risk.
Temporarily surrendering, Eli cups Emily’s face in his hands and angles her toward him. “Emily, please open your eyes.”
She does. It’s barely a crack and they’re completely glazed.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Eli affirms.
“I want my mom and dad,” she mumbles.
“You’ll see them tomorrow.” Eli pushes a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
She rejects Eli by curling into me. Her head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck and I loathe the wave of protectiveness that rumbles through my body. Emily’s fingers tighten their grip near my shoulders and the impulse is to shield her from the guys gawking at this intimate scene. Yeah, this is club business, but Emily never asked for any of this.
Cyrus opens the door and I move past Eli. He’s hot on my heels. So close, his breath hits the back of my neck. Mom steps out of the kitchen and is down the hallway before me. She waves for me to enter the spare bedroom.
It’s the bedroom no one ever uses. First it belonged to Eli’s brother and then he died. Most can get over that, but people will crash on the couch and hardwood floor before sleeping in the bedroom that Emily and her mother once claimed. The purple room with white bedding is cursed. No one wants anything to do with a traitor.
I lay Emily on the bed. Her arms fall over her head and her dark hair fans out on the pillow. Her eyes are shut and her breaths come out in a deep rhythmic pattern. I ease back as Eli spreads a blanket over Emily and removes the shoes from her feet, dropping each one to the floor.
Emily’s hand drifts to the edge of the bed and her fingers splay open. The picture Olivia gave her floats to the floor like a feather in the breeze. My heart pounds hard once. I go to retrieve it, but Mom snatches it with death written over her face. Her eyes meet mine and we stare at each other as if we’re looking down the business end of a rifle.
If Eli found that picture in Emily’s possession, he would have spiraled into dangerous quick.
“Where’d she get this?” Mom mouths.
I tilt my head toward Olivia’s bedroom and her eyes slam shut. As Eli straightens, Mom shoves the picture in her jeans pocket then spins on her heel and touches Eli’s arm to gain his attention. “Would you like me to stay with Emily?”
Eli draws a hand over his face and walks over to the window seat. He sags onto it and appears to age ten years.
Since Eli entered my life at eleven, he’s always been badass. All the stories I had been told before he returned to Snowflake made him larger than life. In reality, Eli is larger than life. Over six feet tall. Broad-shouldered. The Reign of Terror’s black leather cut strong on his back. I’ve seen him easily kick the shit out of any man stupid enough to stand in his way.
“Tell Cyrus I’ll update him soon, but I need to be in here,” Eli says. “Emily will need some things. Clothes, personal stuff. A burner phone. Can you handle that for me?”
“Of course,” Mom answers, and I don’t miss how she keeps a hand pressed over the pocket containing the picture. “Let’s go, Oz.”
I go to leave, but Eli stops me. “Tell me you didn’t fall asleep on lookout.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and point-blank meet his glare. Eli shakes his head in disgust. “We’ll deal with this in Church later. Cyrus says that Emily trusts you.”
If Eli believes it to be true and it works me back into his good graces then I’ll take it. “She hasn’t run away from me yet.” At least not far enough that I couldn’t catch her.
“We’ll be leaving here around three. Get some sleep. If she trusts you then I want you riding with us when we meet with her parents. You better wow me if you want to make prospect.”
I nod to him then glance at Emily as I leave. Amazing how someone so innocent and beautiful can wreak so much havoc.
Mom shuts the door behind us and leans into me like a rabid animal. “Did you know Emily had the picture? Did she bring it with her? Tell me that nod of your head did not mean that Olivia gave it to her.”
From the living room, Cyrus pokes his head around the corner and we stay silent until he resumes whatever he was doing. I keep my tone down when I answer Mom. “Olivia did give it to her. I told Emily not to tell Eli.”
Mom rams her fingers through her hair. “Eli will go ballistic if he finds out. You need to stay away from Emily.”
I chuckle. “I’m not stupid enough to hook up with Eli’s daughter.”
“Ew.” Her face crinkles. “Emily’s practically family to us.”
No, she’s not. She’s an outsider causing problems.
“But that’s not what I mean,” she says. “There’s a lot of old unmapped land mines surrounding her and I don’t want you to end up collateral damage.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Mom does that sad smile that she gave to me time and time again when I was younger after I came in bruised and bleeding from whatever trouble I had found. She touches my cheek. “That’s what I’m scared of. You know your father and I are here if you need us.”
“Yeah,” I answer.
Mom presses, “I mean it. If you need anything—”
A ring of a bell cuts her off and both of us turn our heads to Olivia’s room. We bought her that bell after her initial chemo treatment so she could call us in. She threw it at Cyrus and told him to shove the bell up his ass. She hates acting like a victim. “I hear the grumble of your voice, Oz. Get in here and give me answers.”
“She needs sleep.” Mom wavers on her feet and I despise the circles under her eyes. “But she won’t settle down until she finds out what’s going on with Emily.”
“I’ll take care of her.” I hold my hand out. “And I’ll get the picture back to her.”
Mom digs the photo out and gives it to me. “This isn’t the life I wanted for you. I had hoped you’d choose something different.”
Something within me shifts and my forehead furrows. What the hell? Mom collapses against the wall and scrubs her face with her hands. A pang of worry ricochets through me. There probably isn’t a person in this house who has slept in days. Because of that, I let her comment go. College Mom mentions, but walking away from Snowflake and the club—never. Exhaustion is causing everyone to talk nonsense.
I wrap an arm around my mother and pull her into me. She hugs me back and I kiss the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll sleep, as well.”
“Sure.” Whenever I can.
“Izzy?” Dad stands at the end of the hallway in the living room. He surveys both of us and I hide the picture from view. If I had a patch on my back, I’d be required to tell Eli what Olivia divulged to Emily. For once, I’m happy I’m not currently under that obligation.
“You ready to go home?” he asks Mom.
Mom sends me that sad smile again before seeking the shelter of my father’s body.
“You gonna man up tomorrow about falling asleep on the job?” my father asks as he hugs Mom.
“Yeah,” I answer, then jack my thumb in the opposite direction of him. “I’m going to sit with Olivia.”
He nods his approval and I leave my parents behind as I head into the room of the one person I can’t imagine living without.
Emily (#ulink_29ae8d14-a43c-50b8-b054-d7d7efc1fd0c)
I SUCK IN a large intake of air and roll to my side. On instinct, I reach for James, but then remember that he’s not in my bed anymore. I banished the pink elephant that I slept with for years to my dresser back in middle school. It was my way of breaking a bad habit, but for some reason, I still wake up searching.
My entire body except for my brain is zoned out. My muscles are warm and heavy and I must have swum too much with Dad then had a long run with Trisha... My eyes snap open... I’m not home and I’ve been separated from my mom and dad.
A puff of air to my face and there are two large dark eyes. Adrenaline shakes through me, my mouth gapes and a scream ravages my throat, but no sound escapes. I scramble back as the eyes inch closer. I push away. Kick at covers, but I become ensnarled and entangled. The eyes lunge forward and then they...lick?
Hot, sticky wetness across my face, on my cheeks, in my hair. Ugh. The smell of wet dog engulfs me. My hand grabs the muzzle of the beast in my bed and I nudge it away, but the drool monster keeps returning.
“Get down, Lars.” Eli rakes a hand over his short hair as he sits up on the long window seat. A pillow crease streaks across his cheek and he has the groggy appearance that accompanies just being woken. Eli wears the same white T-shirt as last night, the same pair of jeans and his leather vest hangs on the post of the bed.
I shake my head and rub my eyes. Sleeping Beauty must have been seriously disoriented after she woke up, but then she slept for years and me—I’ve obviously only slept an hour or so. “What time is it?”
“Too early to be awake,” Eli answers. “Go back to sleep, Emily. Your mom mentioned you don’t like the dark, woods or the unfamiliar so she said Olivia’s would make you uncomfortable. I’ll stay up if it’ll make you feel better.”
A pang of hurt shoots through me that she’d tell Eli, or anyone, my fear.
Another huff of warm air on my arm and the basset hound blinks at me before easing onto its hind legs to sit—while still on the bed. Nice to see it listened to Eli’s earlier command. Lars opens his mouth to allow his overly large pink tongue to spill out the side. He pants bad dog breath and looks at me like he’s smirking.
I detest dogs.
I wipe the slobber off my face then choke down the dry heave. Thick drool clings from finger to finger. Bad form to now deposit the slime anywhere else. Eli stands, pulls a white handkerchief out of his pocket and offers it to me. “Here.”
I accept the folded white square and take my time drying off my hand. According to the clock on the dresser it’s six in the morning and it’s too early to be attacked by drool. “When can I talk to Mom and Dad?”
“Soon,” Eli says. “They’ve moved locations. Once you get some sleep, I’ll take you to them.”
“Take me to them now.”
“You’ll see them in a few hours. Chill and go back to sleep.”
“Yay for your plans. Take me to them now.” I stare straight at Eli and he stares straight back at me. My biological father should scare the hell out of me with his glowering, but I’m too tired to be smart enough to worry. People obviously don’t talk back to him. My instincts must be right that he doesn’t have any other children. Or at least not ones he interacts with.
There’s a hard set to his jaw when he yanks his cell out of his back pocket and tosses it onto the bed. “They’re worried. I told them you had a rough night and were asleep. You’re so tired you passed out. You should be sleeping, not talking on the phone.”
I take his cell and scroll through the list of text messages already appearing on the screen. A grin attempts to pull at my lips. My mother is going absolutely ballistic. Not that I enjoy her panic, but it’s nice to see something familiar. The text conversations between my parents and Eli confirm it: I really wasn’t kidnapped.
I swing his phone back and forth. “Can I?”
“Contact them? It’d calm your mom down.” Eli relaxes back on the window seat and that stupid sloppy smile that I stupidly love crosses his face. “The past twenty-four hours have been so messed up that I haven’t had a chance to tell you how happy I am to see you. Because of Mom’s condition, I wasn’t sure when I was going to make it to Florida for a visit.”
My heart plummets and I focus on the texts even though I stopped reading. The expectant hope on Eli’s face cuts right through me. God, I’m an awful person and I don’t want to be an awful person. Eli’s a good guy and he has no idea how much I dread his annual visit to Florida.
When I was ten, I made a horrible mistake. One I continually pay for. A mistake that has brought heartache to my mother and a ton of continual hurt for me. I asked if I could see a picture of Eli because...because...I was curious.
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Katie McGarry
The long awaited all new series from the #1 bestselling author of Pushing the LimitsEmily likes her life the way it is…Doting parents, great friends, good school… But she’s curious about her biological father – the one who chose life on the road over being a parent.When a reluctant visit to him turns into an extended summer, one thing becomes clear: nothing is what it seems. Not her secret-keeping father and not Oz, the dangerous boy who can help her understand her family’s deepest secrets.When Emily’s father asks Oz to keep her safe, Oz knows it’s his chance to prove himself. What he doesn’t count on is Emily turning his world upside down.And Oz is everything Emily isn’t supposed to want… but sometimes the road you fear is the one that leads you home.Praise for Katie McGarry'The love story of the year' - Teen Now on Pushing the Limits'A real page-turner' - Mizz on Pushing the Limits'A romance with a difference' – Bliss on Pushing the Limits.
Top three awful moments of my life:
• Meeting my biological father at ten
• Breaking my arm in three spots at nine
• Falling into a hole and being trapped there overnight with a dead body at eight
Other than that, I love my life. While some of my friends are all, ‘Woe is me, no one understands my traumatised soul,’ I’m pretty happy. I like happy. I like simple. I like predictable and I hate surprises.
With that said, I’m not particularly thrilled when my father tries to hand me a piece of paper that causes my mother to choke up with tears and excuse herself from the kitchen.
Praise for Katie McGarry (#ulink_d506c804-035b-5d35-94b1-ef7b231a3518)
bestselling author of
PUSHING THE LIMITS
‘The love story of the year’ —Teen Now
‘A real page-turner’ —Mizz
‘A romance with a difference’ —Bliss
‘McGarry details the sexy highs, the devastating lows and the real work it takes to build true love.’
—Jennifer Echols
‘A riveting and emotional ride’
—Simone Elkeles
‘Highly recommend to fans of hard-hitting, edgy, contemporary and to anyone who loves a smouldering, sexy, consuming love story to boot!’
—Jess Hearts Books blog
‘McGarry is definitely a YA author to keep an eye out for.’
—ChooseYA blog
KATIE McGARRY
was a teenager during the age of grunge and boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a lover of music, happy endings and reality television and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan. She is also the author of Pushing the Limits, Dare You To, Crash Into You, Take Me On, Breaking the Rules and the novella Crossing the Line.
Katie would love to hear from her readers. Contact her via her website, katielmcgarry.com (http://katielmcgarry.com), follow her on Twitter@KatieMcGarry (http://www.twitter.com/katieMcGarry), or become a fan on Facebook and Goodreads.
Katie McGarry
www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#u802a1c90-57e8-5929-9fbc-9095c2d34b64)
Praise for Katie McGarry (#ufa37ab32-d73d-5f9b-8b41-3110c027e946)
About the Author (#u2854e0c7-7d55-599a-840f-582992354e5f)
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Emily (#u69551fcf-7d98-5104-a75b-c83f86d224f3)
Oz (#ufdaf4131-a6e0-595b-b32c-9607403cb688)
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Emily (#ulink_16bb2090-595c-5fac-bf9c-edfa9753d087)
TOP THREE AWFUL moments of my life:
Meeting my biological father at ten
Breaking my arm in three spots at nine
Falling into a hole and being trapped there overnight with a dead body at eight
Other than that, I love my life. While some of my friends are all, “Woe is me, no one understands my traumatized soul,” I’m pretty happy. I like happy. I like simple. I like predictable and I hate surprises.
With that said, I’m not particularly thrilled when my father tries to hand me a piece of paper that causes my mother to choke up and excuse herself from the kitchen.
Dad and I continue to stare at one another as we listen to Mom race up the stairs then close the door to their bedroom. Life is out of whack and it’s easy to tell. Dirty dishes are piled in the sink. A stack of unopened mail is tossed across the island. A pile of balled tissues creates a mountain on the wooden oval table. The yellow kitchen that seemed cheery this morning is darkened with emotional storm clouds.
The awkward silence between me and Dad has officially stretched into painful. I shift under the strain and my foot nudges my backpack on the floor.
“You should go after her,” I say to break the stillness and to ignore the fact I haven’t accepted what Dad is offering. Plus, Dad always knows how to pull Mom out of her drama pit. It’s one of the million things I love about him.
“I will.” His lips lift a little, a strong indication he’s planning to mess with me. “How do you want to handle this? Straightforward, gradual introduction, or head in the sand?”
I brighten. “Head in the sand works well for me.”
“Good try, but pick another option.”
Fine. “Gradual.”
“How does it feel to be a senior?”
Despite the impending knowledge that my life is about to suck, I smile. I’d walked into the kitchen after my last day of school expecting to gush to Mom about how Trisha and I were invited to Blake Harris’s party tonight.
What I didn’t expect? Dad home, Mom in tears and a note that possibly brings tidings from hell. “It feels awesome. It’ll feel even better if you put that piece of paper in the garbage disposal.”
“Please read it,” Dad presses. “It was hard for your mom to make the decision to let you see this and we should respect her wishes.”
My stomach aches as if I’d been elbowed. This debilitating reaction from my mother means one thing: contact from her childhood home in Kentucky.
Kentucky is a painful subject for her and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ease her suffering because, until Dad came into the picture and adopted me when I was five, Mom raised me on her own. That deserves some major respect.
Out of the corner of my eye I take in the collage of framed photos on the wall. The middle picture is my favorite. It’s an eight by ten of the day Mom and Dad married. Mom’s in a white wedding gown. Slender. Graceful. Her sleek blond hair falling around her shoulders as she beams down at me. Dad crouches beside me. His sun-kissed hair strikingly gold compared to his black tux.
He tucks a rose into my dark brown hair. I’m five and focused on him like he’s Superman. That’s because he is. My own personal superhero. He adopted me mere days before he married my mom.
Dad clears his throat and I snatch the paper from his hands with just the right amount of ticked off. I’ll wander down this dark tunnel of insanity for a few minutes...for him and my mom.
It’s an e-mail and it’s short and to the point and it’s from my biological father.
Jeff,
Please tell Emily.
Eli
Underneath the message are an obituary and a photo of a woman I’ve never met. Her name is Olivia McKinley and she’s Eli’s mother. A weighted sigh escapes my lips and I slouch into a seat at the table. Please tell Emily. Eli does his best to make an impression. It may not be a great impression, but he leaves one nonetheless.
I squish my lips to the side as I absorb Olivia’s obituary. It’s the first time I’ve seen an image of her. Eli’s talked about her on our rare occasional visits, but he never drew enough of a mental picture for me to visualize what she looked like.
Eli’s this biker my mom hooked up with once and he abandoned us the moment Mom said, “I missed my period.” While he gave Mom the slip, he also gave me my dark brown hair and my matching dark brown eyes and the ton of freckles over the bridge of my nose. But other than that he hasn’t given me much.
“So...” Total hesitation as I hunt for the correct words. “Eli’s mom died.”
“That’s right. Your mom wants us to attend the funeral.”
Um...I don’t do funerals or cemeteries. Mom and Dad are aware of this situation. My fingers tap against the table. There’s definitely a diplomatic way out of this. I need to find it and find it quick. “Why does she want to go? Not to be rude, but we don’t know this lady. We barely know Eli and...well...I thought Mom hated Kentucky.”
Dad rubs the back of his head. “I don’t know why. I forwarded the e-mail to your mom this morning. A few minutes later, she called me at work in tears. I came home and she’d already purchased the plane tickets. Your guess is as good as mine here, but there’s one thing I do know—I don’t like seeing your mom cry.”
Neither do I.
“What are your thoughts on this, Em?”
I shrug. There are no words for this. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. “I don’t get it.”
“I know.”
That’s it? He knows? “I was hoping for something a little more like ‘I’ll talk to your Mom and I’ll convince her to shelve the crazy for a few days.’ I mean, we are underestimating the value of sending a well-written note attached to a nice flower arrangement.”
Dad does that thing where he’s quiet while mulling over a response. It’s reason one million and one why I love him. Dad hardly ever loses his temper or yells. He thinks everything through.
“I don’t claim to understand most of this,” he says. “But this is important to your mom, and you and she are the two most important things to me. If she needs to attend this funeral then we’ll attend.”
“What if I don’t want to attend?”
Dad’s patient blue eyes search me and I consider ducking under the table before he notices how much the prospect bothers me. Dead people. He’s asking me to voluntarily enter a building where there are dead people. Inside, I’m screaming. Very loudly. Very manically.
“Your mom and I will be there and absolutely nothing will harm you. Besides, you and I have had this discussion. The best way to get over your fears is to face them.”
Sure, his words sound pretty, but there’s this serious anxiety suffocating me like a shroud. Hives form on my wrist and I scratch at the welts under the table while flashing a forced grin. “Are you suggesting a body isn’t going to come back to life and try to eat me?”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re safe from a Walking Dead episode.”
I release an unladylike snort and Dad laughs. His chuckles fade and I loathe the heavy silence that follows.
“I’m not only talking about your fear of dead things,” Dad continues. “I’m talking about the paperwork I found in the trash. I believe it mentioned visiting out-of-town universities with your school this summer.”
Dang it, I should have used the paper shredder.
“There’s more to life than Florida,” he insists.
“I love Florida.” I love it so much that I have plans that involve staying here in town after graduation. Specifically, Trisha and I have plans. We’ve spent the past two years dreaming of going to the local college and rooming together. We even have color-coordinated comforters picked out, because that’s how Trisha rolls.
Dad waves his hand at the room. “There’s more out there for you than these four walls.”
“I love these four walls.” I do. The kitchen, to the three of us, is the focal point of our existence. Mom’s created a homey room with fresh flowers in several vases scattered on the table, island and counter. She painted the walls yellow because she read an article that said it’s a welcoming color.
“Emily—”
“I love my life.” I flutter my eyelashes in an attempt to appear cute. “I’m happy, so stop trying to mess with it.”
Dad leans back in his chair and tosses a pen he’s been fiddling with onto the table. “Aren’t you even curious about what’s out there?”
“No. But I’m curious about what the deal is with Mom and this funeral.” I change the subject because I hate arguing with my father. I don’t possess a burning desire to leave home and explore every part of the universe like he did when he was my age. He doesn’t understand and I don’t know how to explain it. Because of that, we fight and it’s the only thing, besides Eli, we disagree about.
“I already told you I don’t know,” he answers, “but it’s our job to support her. You know as well as I do that demons haunt your mother’s past.”
It’s true. Mom avoids discussing her life before my birth. I assume it must be because it hurts to know she has family that threw her out because she chose to have me. “Do you think attending this funeral is her way of going home without going home?”
His eyes snap to mine and I know I hit the nail on the head. Nausea rolls through my intestines. This is one of those moments where doing the right thing makes me want to puke, but this is my mom. My mom. She’s crazy and she’s dramatic, but she has loved me since she saw two lines on the pregnancy test. I refuse to say no to a woman who raised me for the first four years completely by herself.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m in.”
“Thank you. And Emily...” A long, painful pause. “You need to view this as an opportunity. Maybe this will help you and your mother reconsider Eli’s offer for you to visit him for two weeks this summer.”
Oh, hell no. Three weeks ago, Eli contacted Dad with this massively awful idea. Seeing Eli when he wanders into town once a year is one thing, but visiting him—for two weeks straight—on his home turf? “Mom said no.”
“I think it would be healthy for you to see where your mother once lived and to understand your father’s history. I overheard you asking your mom questions the other day.”
All right, sue me. Eli’s offer made me curious. Actually, not true. My mother’s sharp shout of “no” when Dad broached the subject of the visit is what did it. And I’m not concerned with Eli or his family, but more over my mother.
Were Mom’s parents the superconservative people she’s described them as? How did she meet Eli? Was it at school or did they meet the night they conceived me? Was Mom a crazy teenager or was she a good girl until she decided to hook up one night with a biker?
I’ve asked, but Mom redirects the conversation. I haven’t found the courage yet to press for answers when she shuts me out.
“I see the curiosity in your eyes whenever Eli is mentioned,” Dad tells me.
I push away from the table and as I go to walk past him, he gently snags my fingers. “It’s okay to have questions. They’re your biological family. In fact, it’s extremely normal. I’ve seen it before with my patients.”
A tremor of anger runs through me. I’m not one of his hundreds of pediatric rug rats. “I am not curious.”
“Not at all?” he asks.
I swallow, attempting to sort through the thoughts. When I look at my father, I see the man that not only lowered himself onto one knee to ask my mother’s hand in marriage, but dropped to both knees to ask for my permission to marry her. I see the smile on his face and remember the answering joy inside me the day my adoption went through. I see the man who has not abandoned me once since he entered my life.
Being curious would mean that I don’t appreciate all Dad has done for me and I do appreciate him. I love him more than he could imagine.
“No,” I repeat. “I’m not curious at all.”
Oz (#ulink_447e7010-68f2-5bf7-904a-ac895e139e86)
IT’S THREE IN the morning and Mom and I continue to wait. The two of us deal with the heaviness of each passing second differently. She paces the tiny living room at the front of our double-wide while I polish my combat boots in my room. Regardless of what happens tonight, we have a wake to attend in the morning.
The scratching of the old scrub brush against my black boot is the lone sound that fills the darkened house. We each pretend that the other isn’t awake. Neither of us has turned on a lamp; instead we rely on the rays of the full moon to see. It’s easier this way. Neither of us want to discuss the meaning of Dad’s absence or his cell phone silence.
I sit on the edge of my twin mattress. If I stretched my leg my toe would hit the faux-wood-paneled wall. I’m tall like my dad and the room is compact and narrow. Large enough to hold my bed and an old stack of milk crates that I use as shelves.
Mom’s phone pings and my hands freeze. Through the crack in my door, I spot her black form as she grabs her cell. The screen glows to life and a bluish light illuminates Mom’s face. I quit breathing and strain to listen to her reaction or at least hear the roar of motorcycle engines.
Nothing. More silence. Adrenaline begins to pump into my veins. Dad should have been home by now. They all should have been home. Especially with Olivia’s wake in the morning.
Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, I set the boot on the floor and open my door. The squeak of the hinges screeches through the trailer. In two steps, I’m in the living room.
Mom continues to scroll through her phone. She’s a small thing, under five-four, and has long straight hair. It’s black. Just like mine and just like Dad’s. Mom and Dad are only thirty-seven. I’m seventeen. Needless to say, my mom was young when she had me. By the way she slumps her shoulders, she appears ten years older.
“Any word?” I ask.
“It’s Nina.” My best friend’s mom. “Wondering if we had heard anything.” Which implies neither Eli nor Cyrus have returned home.
From behind her, I place a hand on Mom’s shoulder and she covers my fingers with hers.
“I’ll be out there watching their backs soon.” Now that I’ve graduated from high school, I’ll finally be allowed to enter the family business.
A job with the security company and a patch-in to the club is all I’ve thought about since I was twelve. All I’ve craved since I turned sixteen and earned my motorcycle license. “They’re fine. Like I’ll be when I join them.”
Mom pats my hand, walks into the space that serves as our kitchen, and busies herself with a stack of mail.
I rest my shoulder against the wall near the window. The backs of my legs bump the only piece of furniture in the room besides the flat-screen—a sectional bought last year before Olivia became ill. The couch and TV are extravagances we never would have bought if we’d known we would be covering medical bills.
Trying not to be obvious, I glance beyond the lace curtains and assess the road leading to our trailer. I’m also worried, but it’s my job to alleviate Mom’s concern.
I force a tease into my voice. “I bet you can’t wait until Chevy graduates next year. Then there will be two more of us protecting the old men.”
Mom coughs out a laugh and takes a drink to control the choking. “I can’t begin to imagine the two of you riding in the pack when the image in my mind is of both of you as toddlers, covered in mud from head to toe.”
“Not hard to remember. That was last week’s front yard football game,” I joke.
She smiles. Long enough to chase away the gravity of tonight’s situation, but then reality catches up and her face falls. If humor won’t work, I’ll go for serious. “Chevy would like to GED out.”
“Nina would skin him alive. You both promised Olivia you’d finish high school.”
Because it once broke Olivia’s heart when Eli, her son, dropped out of high school and instead took a test to get his GED. I might not share blood with Eli’s parents, Olivia and Cyrus, but they gave my mom and dad a safe place to lie low years ago when their own parents went self-destructive. That means Olivia became the closest person I knew to a grandmother.
“No more talk of Chevy and GEDs.” Mom tsks. “It’s bad enough you won’t consider college.”
The muscles in my neck tighten and I ignore her jab. She’s still ticked I won’t engage in conversation about college. I know my future and it’s not four more years of books and rules. I want the club. As it is, membership isn’t a guarantee. I still have to prove myself before they’ll let me join.
Mom rubs her hands up and down her arms. She’s edgy when the club is out on a protection run, but this time, Mom’s dangling from a cliff and she’s not the only one. Lately the entire club has been acting like they’re preparing to jump without parachutes.
My dad belongs to a motorcycle club that formed a security business when I was eleven. Most of the employees of the security company are members of the Reign of Terror. Not all, but most. It works vice versa, as well. Not everyone who’s a member of the Terror here in Snowflake works for the business, but work is there for any member who needs it.
Their main business comes from escorting semi-loads of high-priced goods through highly pirated areas.
Imagine a couple thousand dollars of fine Kentucky bourbon in the back of a Mack truck and, at some point, the driver has to take a piss or stop for a meal. My dad and the rest of club, they make sure the driver can eat his Big Mac in peace and return to the parking lot to find his rig intact and the merchandise still safely inside.
What they do can be dangerous, but I’ll be proud to stand alongside my father and the only other people I consider family. Maybe Mom will sleep better at night when I’m out protecting Dad. “Try not to worry. You’re acting as if they’re the ones that could be caught doing something illegal.”
Mom’s eyes shoot straight to mine like my comment was serious. “You know better than that.”
I do. It’s what the club prides itself on. All that TV bull about how anyone who rides a bike is a felon—they don’t understand what the club stands for. The club is a brotherhood, a family. It means belonging to something bigger than yourself.
Still, the medical bills from Olivia’s illness aren’t going away and between me, Chevy, my parents, Eli, Cyrus and other guys from the club giving all we have, we still don’t have enough to make a dent in what we owe. “I hear that 1% club a couple of hours north of here makes bank.”
“Oz.”
As if keeping watch will help Dad return faster, I move the curtain to get a better view of the road that leads away from our house and into the woods. “Yeah?”
“This club is legit.”
“Okay.” Meaning that we aren’t a 1% club—that we don’t dabble in illegal.
“I’m serious. This club is legit.”
I drop the curtain. “What, you don’t want gangsta in the family?”
Mom slaps her hand on the counter. “I don’t want to hear you talk like this!”
My head snaps in her direction. Mom’s not a yeller. Even when she’s stressed, she maintains her cool. “I was messing with you.”
“This club is legit and it will stay legit. You are legit. Do you understand?”
“I got it. I’m clean. The club’s clean. We’re so jacked up on suds that we squeak when we walk. I know this, so would you care to explain why you’re freaking out?”
A motorcycle growls in the distance and it cuts off our conversation. Mom releases a long breath, as if she’s been given the news that a loved one survived surgery. “He’s home.”
She charges the front door and throws it open. The elation slips from her face and my stomach cramps. “What is it?”
“Someone’s riding double.”
More rumbles of engines join the lead one, multiple headlights flash onto the trailer, and not one of those bikes belong to Dad. Fuck. I rush past Mom and jump off the steps as she brightens the yard with a flip of the porch light. Eli swings off his bike. “Oz! Get over here!”
I’m there before he can finish his order and I shoulder my father’s weight to help him off the bike. He’s able to stand, but leans into me, and that scares me more than any monster that hid under my bed as a child.
“What happened?” Mom’s voice shakes and Eli says nothing. He supports Dad’s other side as Dad’s knees buckle.
“What happened!” she demands, and the fear in her voice vibrates against my insides. I’m wondering the same damn thing, but I’m more concerned with the blood dripping from my father’s head.
“Medical kit!” Eli bursts through the door and the two of us deposit Dad on the couch. Mom’s less than a step behind us and runs into the kitchen. Glass shatters when she tosses stuff aside in her search. Mom’s a nurse and I can’t remember a time she hasn’t been prepared.
More guys appear in the living room, each man wearing a black leather biker cut, the vest that labels them as a member of the Reign of Terror. Not one man would be the type to leave a brother behind.
“I’m fine, Izzy.” Dad scratches the skin above the three-inch-long cut on his forehead. “Just a scratch.”
“Scratch, my ass.” With kit in hand, Mom kneels in front of him and I crouch beside her, popping open her supply box as she pours antiseptic onto a rag. She glares at Eli. “Why didn’t you take him to the ER?”
Dad wraps his fingers around Mom’s wrist. Her gaze shifts to Dad’s and when Dad has her attention for longer than a second, he slowly swipes his thumb against her skin. “I told him to bring me home. We didn’t want it reported to the police.”
Mom blinks away the tears pooling in her eyes. I fall back on my ass, realizing that Dad’s not dying, but somehow cracked his head hard enough that Eli wouldn’t allow him to ride home.
“You promised you’d wear your helmet,” Mom whispers.
“I wasn’t on my bike,” he replies simply.
Mom pales out and I focus solely on Eli. He holds my stare as I state the obvious. “The run went bad.”
Jacking trucks for the cargo inside is a money-maker for hustlers and the security company is good at keeping hustlers on their toes. But sometimes the company comes up against an asshole who thinks he can be badass with violence.
“Someone tried to hit us during a break at a truck stop, but we were smarter.” Eli jerks his thumb in Dad’s direction. “But some of us aren’t as fast as others.”
“Go to hell,” Dad murmurs as Mom cleans the wound.
“You should have reported it,” Mom says. “This is the fifth hit in three weeks. There’s no way this is isolated bandits. The police need to look into this.”
A weighty silence settles over the room and Mom’s lips thin. The security company is as thick as the club. Business in both areas stays private. Everyone is on a need-to-know basis, me and Mom included...that is, until I patch in. I’ll possibly learn more when I’m initiated as a prospect and I’m counting down the days until I’m officially part of the larger whole.
“He okay?” Eli asks.
“You of all people should know how hardheaded he is,” Mom responds. Eli’s a few years younger than my parents, but the three of them have been a trio of trouble since elementary school. “I believe everyone has a wake to attend in the morning, so I suggest sleep.”
That’s as subtle as Mom will get before she’ll stick a pointed, steel-toed boot up their asses. Everyone says some sort of goodbye to Mom and Dad, but my parents are too lost in their own world to notice.
“Walk me out, Oz?” Eli inclines his head to the door and we head onto the front porch. The muggy night air is thick with moisture and a few bugs swarm the porch light.
Eli digs into the leather jacket that’s under his cut and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He cups his hand to his mouth as he lights one. “We need you out on the road.”
“They told me they’ll send my official diploma next week.” I was supposed to walk in graduation tomorrow, but Olivia’s wake is the priority. Not caps and gowns. “You tell me when to start and I’m ready to go.”
“Good.” He cracks a rare grin. “Heard that we might be adding a new prospect this weekend.”
The answering smile spreads on my face. Becoming a prospect is the initiation period before the club votes on my membership. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life.
Eli sucks in a long drag and the sleeve of his jacket hitches up, showing the trail of stars tattooed on his arm. “Keep an eye on your dad. He cracked the hell out of his head when he hit the pavement. Blacked out for a bit, but then shot to his feet. When his bike began swerving, I made him pull over and double with me.”
“He must have loved that,” I say.
“Practically had to put a gun to his head.” Eli breathes out smoke.
“Was it the Riot?” The Riot Motorcycle Club. They’re an illegal club north of here. I’ve heard some of the guys talk when they think no one else is listening about how our peace treaty with them is fracturing.
Eli flicks ashes then focuses on the burning end of the cigarette. “As I said, we need you on the road.”
Our club and the Riot have had an unsteady alliance from the start. We stay on our side of the state, they stay on theirs. The problem? A new client that the business has contracted with resides in the Riot’s territory.
“This stays between us,” says Eli. “This new client we signed is skittish and doesn’t want the PR related with possible truck jackings. We need this business and I need people I can trust with those loads. I need you in.”
“Got it.”
“Two of those truck jackings were bandits, but the other three...”
...were the Riot. The shit has to be thick if Eli’s talking to me so freely. “If you choose to start working with us, there won’t be much room for a learning curve. You’ll have to be vigilant at every turn. We haven’t had trouble with the Riot in years, but when we did, they had no problem making it personal.”
Meaning they don’t have a problem hurting people—like my dad. Meaning I have to play it smart with them and be okay with the danger, which I am. I’d much rather be on the road protecting my family than sitting at home with Mom.
“The moment you give me a cut, I’m in.” I throw out the question, not sure if Eli will answer. “You had his back, didn’t you? You pushed Dad to the ground.”
A hint of a smirk plays on his lips and he hides it with another draw. He blows out the smoke and flicks the cigarette onto the ground. “Be out here at six in the morning. I’ll pick you up in the truck and we’ll go get your Dad’s bike before the wake. I want him to sleep in.”
Hell, yeah. “You going to let me drive his bike home?”
“Fuck, no. I’m bringing you along to drive the truck back. No one touches a man’s bike and in desperate situations only another brother can. You know better than that.” Eli pats my shoulder and his expression grows serious. “See you tomorrow, and be dressed for the wake when I pick you up.”
Eli starts his bike and rocks kick up as he drives off. I watch until the red taillight fades into the darkness. Through the screen door, I spot my mother still caring for my father. She uses special care as she tapes gauze to his head.
Mom smooths the last strip of medical tape to his skin and when she goes to close the kit, Dad tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. They stare at each other, longer than most people can stand, then she lays her head on his lap. Dad bends over and kisses her temple.
They need a moment together and, having nothing but time, I sit on the top step and wonder if I’ll find someone who will understand and accept this life like my mother. Mom loves Dad so much that she’ll take on anything. His job, this life and even the club.
Emily (#ulink_12d01a5a-4c9c-535b-bb32-078eec7f2d66)
I’LL ADMIT IT. I’m freaked.
Freaked that the flight from Florida to Kentucky was nothing more than a turbulence-ridden nightmare. Freaked that the man beside me on the plane puked three times. Freaked that June in Kentucky means severe storms. Freaked because I’m sweating through my favorite black dress and it’s dry-clean only. Freaked because I’ve been in this poor excuse for a cab for over an hour, with no air-conditioning and a driver who refuses to speak. Or maybe he’s mute.
Or maybe he murdered the real cab driver, picked me and my parents up at the airport and is taking us to our final destination before he chops us into Kibbles ’n Bits. Maybe...but probably not. We entered the small town of Snowflake a few minutes ago and if this guy was a mass murderer bent on a little fun, he’d find somewhere more original than here.
“Did you say Richard’s Funeral Home?” the cab driver asks. Wow, the man talked.
“Yes,” Dad answers. We flew into Louisville in order to be relatively close to Snowflake. The rental-car company botched our reservation and paid for the taxi.
The cab driver eases into the left turn lane and stops at the red light. Blood pounds at my temples in the rhythm of the car’s blinker when I spot the funeral home. It’s no different than the ones at home in Florida, except this one is surrounded by oak trees instead of palms and is one stiff breeze away from being condemned.
“You’ll be okay.” Dad squeezes my hand and I wrap my fingers around his before he can withdraw. “Keep breathing and try not to overanalyze it.”
Easy for him to say. “Did you get a hold of Eli?”
“No, I’m still going straight to voicemail.” Dad probably has to force the patience into his voice. It’s the fiftieth time I’ve asked since we disembarked the plane. Eli must have powered off his phone. Dad attempted to contact him, but I don’t blame Eli for not answering. I’d be devastated if my mom died.
Dad offers me a reassuring smile. “Eli will be thrilled to see you.”
I release a sigh... Sure he will. “What do I say when he asks about Mom?”
Dad’s smile fades and he lets go of my hand to readjust the watch on his wrist. “Tell them that your mother is sorry for their loss, but that she isn’t feeling well. She’ll try to attend later if she’s feeling better.”
Mom morphed into an unnatural shade of blue when she spiraled into a panic attack the moment we left the airport. Dad decided, since the viewing ends at eight this evening, that he and I would pay our respects first. Then if, after a rest, Mom was able to walk and breathe at the same time, he would go with her again.
Mom protested, but Dad, with his smooth doctor way, won. So she’s holed up at the sole motel in this dump of a town and I’m heading to a funeral home. I tried to throw myself into a panic attack in order to get out of this hellish event, but evidently holding my breath on purpose doesn’t count.
The light changes, the driver makes the turn, and I press a hand to my stomach. Oh, God. Dad has way too much faith in me.
The cab driver pulls into the funeral home, but is stuck behind two cars. Neither car shows signs of moving as they chat to the people on the sidewalk. The driver taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a ticked-off thump. I totally understand the feeling.
“My daughter and I will get out here,” Dad announces.
The cab driver assesses a group of men standing in a semi-circle outside the entrance. “You sure?”
“It’s not a long walk,” Dad answers.
I open the door and the driver freaks. “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”
No. Dad maintains his superhero calm. “Yes.”
“Snowflake’s not exactly Disney World.” The driver waves his hand toward the men. If Dad won’t listen to me, maybe he’ll listen to our now talking driver.
I lean so I have a better look at the men standing around. They all have Eli’s style: redneck with a hint of grunge. Sort of like if Linkin Park fashioned their own clothing line inspired by L.L.Bean: jeans and T-shirts covered by flannel shirts. Some wear blue University of Kentucky baseball hats—just like Eli. A couple even have his...well, my dark brown hair.
What probably messes with the driver is that almost every man here sports over their T-shirts or flannels a black leather biker vest with the words Reign of Terror in white lettering. On the back of each vest is a large white half skull with red flames raining down. Fire blazes out of the eye sockets. I bet the guys who designed the emblem pat themselves on the back for the play on words.
“This is not a place for a young girl,” the driver exclaims.
He’s off on the young part. I just turned seventeen. And despite my previous hopes, Dad doesn’t share the cab driver’s, or my, assessment of the situation. “We’ll be fine. Right, Em?”
The driver rotates in his seat, reminding me of a possessed person in one of those horror movies. “Those are bikers.”
In his dark suit, deep blue tie and clean-cut blond hair, my father could be a model on the cover of a business magazine. He screams competence and authority and all that’s good in the world. So the next words cause the driver’s mouth to slacken. “My daughter is a relative.”
While the driver continues to gape in disbelief, I inwardly cringe. I’m related to them. More specifically, I’m most likely related to the men with the patch on the front of their vests stating Mother Chapter. Which, according to Eli, means the founding chapter of their club.
I’m a relative by blood and blood alone. We are not family in the ways that really matter. I may share genetic code with the people inside the building, but that’s where our relationship ends.
Dad and I climb out and the cab backs up, leaving us alone. Well, sort of alone. The side entrance of the funeral home opens and a woman with dark hair hurries out with a toddler on her hip. The baby’s hacking the type of deep coughs that cause chills to run down my spine.
Without missing a beat, Dad starts toward them and I follow. The woman sets the blonde girl with pigtails on the ground and the little thing is a combination of red face, tears and coughs. The woman rummages through her oversized purse, tossing receipts and pens and other crap onto the ground.
“Excuse me,” broaches Dad. “Can I help? I’m a pediatrician.”
The woman’s head jerks up and her eyes have a wild spark. “I can’t find my phone. I need my phone. I can’t get her to take the medicine. I can’t get her to take this.”
She shoves an inhaler into my father’s hand and he reads the prescription. “Asthma?”
The woman nods profusely. “Yes. We have that machine at home with the mask and that works, but this was for emergencies, and she won’t use it.”
Dad gestures to the child, who is now hacking out more air than she’s taking in. “May I?”
“Yes. Please. Help us.”
Dad kneels next to the toddler. With a few calm words and an expression that makes every toddler relax, he has the inhaler in the child’s mouth. It’s not working exactly like it should. I mean, the child is young and doesn’t suck in as much as she needs, but with Dad’s help, she’s inhaling some of the medicine and, more important, she’s no longer crying, but breathing.
The woman strokes the child’s hair as Dad continues to talk to both of them in his calm voice. He peers over his shoulder at me and my chest tightens. “Emily, I want to stay with them. Why don’t you go in, find Eli and pay your respects, and I’ll be in shortly to pay mine.”
I fidget with the purse in my hand, clasping and unclasping the magnetic strip that keeps it closed. Um...no? “I can wait.”
Dad inhales deeply and the disappointment is clear on his face. “Five minutes. That’s it. Find Eli, say hi, tell him we’re sorry for his loss and then we’ll return to the hotel, get your mother and go out to lunch.”
It’s dawning on me that Dad doesn’t want to be here any more than I do and that he’s ready to return to Mom. His words from yesterday as he was trying to explain why he was allowing us to take this hellish trip float in my head: it’s our job to support Mom.
Got it. This is the first time Mom has visited her childhood state in over seventeen years. If we check the “we attended” box then life can return to normal.
Dad excuses himself and walks over to me. “Sorry for snapping, Em. It’s been a rough morning. Go in and pay our respects, and I’ll be in shortly. And so you know, it’s okay if you want to stay longer and talk to Eli.”
Yeah, not going to happen. I pivot away from Dad, tug at the hem of my black dress to confirm nothing rides up and start for the entrance with my purse in hand. I whisper to myself, “No worries.” Even though I have a ton.
As I step closer to the entrance, I hear several conversations at once and someone always seems to be laughing.
“...nothing larger than a 10-gauge...”
“...take a Ford over that foreign crap any day...”
“You lost?”
Everyone stops talking and stares at me. Great. I meet the eyes of the guy that called me out. He’s part of the group, yet not. He doesn’t wear a leather vest like everyone else, but somehow he appears just as dangerous.
The guy leans against the corner of the brick building as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s around my age, has black hair, is definitely ripped and he has suck-me-in blue eyes that wander over my body like he’s seeing me with my clothes off.
I cross an arm over myself and his lips edge up in response. My mom’s warned me about bad boys and I trust that she understands the world here better than I do.
I appraise my black high heels. Nice, they’re scuffed already. “I’m looking for Eli McKinley.”
Smoke rushes out of the mouth of the older man standing beside the guy my age. I’d wager he’s in his sixties and he scares the hell out of me. Well...everyone here frightens me, but him more. While the style here is stepped-out-of-a-trailer-park, he maintains the cliché of 100% pure biker thanks to his black bandanna, black leather vest and gray beard with matching ponytail. I attempt to ignore that his patch states Mother Chapter and President.
He keeps eye contact while taking a drag off his cigarette. “Eli’s inside.”
“Thanks.”
They continue their conversation and I open the door then steal a glimpse over my shoulder. The older man angles his head and his mouth moves as he mumbles something to the guy my age. The guy nods and pushes off the wall. Not wanting to be caught spying, I slip inside and the moment the door shuts behind me, I freeze.
Let’s get one thing straight. I hate funeral homes. Hate. I hate the smell of them. I hate the look of them. I hate the thought of them. Hate. And what I hate more than funeral homes are dead things. Dead bugs. Dead dried-up worms on the sidewalk. Roadkill. And since that ill-fated stroll in the woods at the age of eight when I fell into a hole and spent the night with a corpse, I hate dead people’s bodies.
I force myself forward on the red velvet industrial carpeting of this outdated house of death and rethink this entire situation. Badly painted landscapes hang every few feet over the black-and-white peeling wallpaper. My muscles twitch as if a million spiders crawl over my skin. And the smell! I cup my hand over my nose to smell something other than tragically scented potpourri and wilting lilies.
Thankfully, there’s only one viewing room, which means only one dead person to avoid. The fine hairs on my neck prickle as if eyes are trained on me. I glance back and my heart stutters when I spot black hair and a dangerous grin. The guy who called me out hangs near the door and he’s watching me. His jeans ride a little low. Low enough that his boxers peek out and it’s hard to tear my eyes away, but I do.
Not eager for anyone to touch me, I tuck myself in tight as I duck through the crowded hallway. If anyone runs into me, I’ll recall being eight and enclosed and the feel of cold skin, and me spazzing out is not part of the plan.
“...playing at the bar tonight. Plan on taking the girl...”
“...hit that hard...”
“...and she said I don’t want that trash on my property and I said I ain’t trash, bitch...”
Trash bitch woman wears skintight jeans, a tank top that exposes her midriff and, holy mother of God, flip-flops. She steps back and nearly knocks into me. I sidestep her, but I collide with someone else.
Cold skin with black markings grazes my arm and my heart lodges in my throat. I flinch and suck in a sharp breath while twisting my feet. I stumble back, completely off-balance, and my arms flail in a poor attempt to stay upright.
A warm hand grips my elbow and halts me from ramming into anyone else. My head snaps up and I’m greeted by dark blue eyes. The guy who was watching me is now touching me. Remember to breathe. Yes, he’s pretty, but bad things come in gorgeous packages—at least that’s what Mom says.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I whisper and immediately return my attention to the guy I crashed into. He’s not dead. He’s very much alive and he’s taking a swig from a beer. Wait. A beer? My gaze switches from him to the bottle.
“Would you like one?” He motions to a cooler full of ice on the floor.
I shake my head. Major WTF.
Black hair guy releases me and motions with his chin to the left. “Eli’s in the viewing room.”
Viewing room. Right. I mumble a thank-you, but he doesn’t notice as he’s bumping fists and accepting a beer from the guy with the tattoos.
The viewing room is beyond crowded. Like the-fire-marshal-should-be-notified crowded, which means it will be difficult to find Eli. People laugh, shout and talk as if they’re attending a pep rally instead of a funeral.
I rise to my tiptoes and clutch my purse. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months, but Eli always looks the same: dark brown hair cut short, plugs in both ears, T-shirt, jeans and a smile that, for some insane reason, can make me smile.
My stomach sinks like the Titanic as I catch sight of him. Just no...why-does-it-have-to-be-so-difficult no. His back is to me, but I know it’s Eli. A tattoo of stars runs the length of his arm. Like most of the other men here, he wears the black leather vest. And of course, he stands next to the one spot I want nothing to do with—the casket.
Reminding myself that I’m here for Mom, I squeeze through the mob. Eli stares at the body. The body I’m trying desperately to avoid, but it’s kind of hard to so I focus on my biological father.
He doesn’t seem to be upset. He’s not crying or anything, but it’s not really Eli, either. His hands rest in his jeans pockets and his typical grin doesn’t grace his face. He appears...thoughtful.
Until he does something that makes me shiver. He touches her. The dead body. My grandmother. The one I’ve never met. Eli gently readjusts the blue scarf covering her hair, or where her hair would have been. Oh, God...cancer.
What’s odd—other than that he’s willingly touching a dead person—is that the casket is open. Completely open. Legs and all. Weird. Very weird. Now that I’m looking, I take a deep breath and permit myself to study the woman that brought me to the outskirts of nowhere.
My grandmother is dressed in blue jeans and a white silk sleeveless top. A sad rush of air escapes my lips. She’s young. A lot younger than I expected. Why this surprises me, I have no idea. Mom and Eli were young when they conceived me. Teenagers still in high school.
I hurt for Eli. I’ve never lost someone I was close to. He must have loved her and she’s dead. Gone. I’d die if I lost Grandma or Gramps or Mom or Dad. “I’m so sorry.”
His head whirls in my direction and my dark eyes stare back at me. “Emily?”
Yeah, I forgot. This visit is unexpected because he didn’t answer his phone. “Hi.”
He’ll say “how are you,” I’ll say “fine,” and we’ll be done with conversation for the year.
Eli flicks out his arm, pulls me closer to the casket and him, lifts me off the floor and hugs the air out of me. “How did you know? What about school? Does Meg know you’re here?”
Wow. A lot of questions in a short timespan. He kisses the side of my head and shakes me from side to side like a rag doll. My leg bumps into the side of the coffin and I swallow a dry heave. “Um. Dad, it’s over and duh.”
“What?” he asks, still hugging and shaking me.
I pat his shoulder and my nonverbal put-me-down works. The moment my feet hit the ground, his hands go to my shoulders as if the only way to confirm I’m here is by physical contact.
“You sent Dad the obituary, school’s done and I wouldn’t go anywhere without telling Mom.”
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says. His head jerks back and he squints. “Did you say obituary?”
“It means a lot to me, too,” says a woman’s voice to my side.
I scream. And scream again. And it doesn’t stop. I can’t make it stop. It’s one long, agonizing scream, and I’m tripping over myself to get away. It’s not just hysterics. It’s my mind ripping in two. Into pieces. Multiple pieces. It’s my worst nightmare.
The dead woman. She’s sitting up and blinking and the scream stops for a moment as my body forces in air and the next sound is a sob. I must have hit a wall, because I can’t go back any farther and I need to get back. I need to get away and run. Run as far as I can.
But I can’t move to the side, either. I’m trapped! Now it’s getting out of the coffin. One leg after another. It’s climbing out and moving in my direction. Hands out. Head swaying from side to side and it’s saying something, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want it to touch me.
“No!” It’s the first word I can articulate, but it’s hoarse and slurred through the sobs.
“It’s okay.” It’s Eli. He’s behind me and I realize I’m not against a wall. Eli’s arms have locked me against him. “She’s not dead, Emily. She’s not dead. Stay back, Mom.”
Two feet from me, it halts its advance. The arms slowly drop to its sides. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
I’m struggling, though I didn’t know it until now. A monster wouldn’t sound so nice and feminine. I press back against Eli, not trusting what I’m seeing. His arms hold me—a reassuring hug to confirm he’s on my side. It glances behind me to Eli.
“Emily,” says Eli, “this is your grandmother, Olivia. Mom, this is Emily.”
I suck up the snot in my nose, but I can’t end the tears. They’ll keep coming until I can understand that my mind is still intact. She smiles and it reminds me of Eli’s smile, but hers is a little hesitant. “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private.”
I clutch Eli’s hand and a blast of heat races along my body. She stares at me. I stare at her and as I attempt to respond, dizziness disorients me, and warmth rushes from my toes to my head. My mouth opens and the pathetic breakfast I ate on the plane lands squarely on Olivia’s shoes.
Oz (#ulink_08486dd0-46eb-5670-8ebf-04c71f38def0)
“EMILY FREAKING OUT—that was some funny shit.” Chevy bites into the mammoth ham sandwich he created from the meat tray Mom prepared for the party. Except for me and Chevy, the kitchen area of the funeral home is empty. We sit at the table while everyone else attempts to decipher what the hell is going on.
Only a handful of us know why Eli’s posted guards outside and inside every entrance and is allowing no access in or out. The funeral home is on disaster-area shutdown and if it wasn’t for Cyrus telling me to follow the long-lost daughter, I wouldn’t have had a clue that Emily has returned to Snowflake.
Eli’s real secretive about Emily and this surprise visit must be his worst nightmare, especially with the shit going down with the Riot. The next few hours ought to be interesting.
“Ahhh!” Two young kids race through the kitchen with their hands raised in the air. “Dead person. Dead person.”
Chevy laughs, then chokes on the sandwich, coughing into his elbow. Now that’s some funny shit.
While I should be concerned he’s choking to death, I’m more worried about the dark shadows under his eyes. The kid was up early running routes with his coach before the wake. Football and motorcycles are the boy’s life. Chevy’s an all-American boy with his dark brown hair, brown eyes and love of apple pie and football. That is, if Yankee Doodle went to town riding on a Harley.
I slap his back much harder than needed and he nearly spits out the sandwich. Chevy drinks from a longneck he swiped from a cooler. “Guess Emily thought Olivia was dead.”
“You think?”
Sneakers scuffle against the linoleum floor and Chevy and I nod our heads in greeting to the fourteen-year-old standing red-faced flustered near the table. Brandon’s a tall kid, fire-red hair like his older sister and as lanky as they come. More feet and height than he is muscle and he gets uncomfortable around people. We don’t care how he acts because he’s part of our non-blood family.
He blinks a lot then rubs his eyes.
“Contacts, Stone?” I ask. Good guess since those big, black, thick-rimmed glasses are MIA.
Chevy and I, along with another good friend of ours, Razor, nicknamed Brandon “Stone” when he turned fourteen last month. Some dickhead teenager who’s my age jumped Brandon as a birthday gift. Even though he was beat to hell, Brandon never shed a tear. That kid, he’s solid stone. The guy who gave Stone an ass-whipping—he cried after justice was served.
Stone shoves his hands into his pockets and blinks hard twice. “Eli bought them for me last week. What do you think?”
Chevy scans him as if he’s honestly mulling over an answer. Chevy and I, we dedicate every second with this kid to building him up. “I think Oz and I are going to have to give you the birds and bees talk sooner rather than later. Here’s the condensed version—cap it before you tap it.”
The kid’s neck flushes pink and he scratches his chin twice in that fucked up way of his when he’s nervous, but grins. Stone’s dad was a member of the club and worked for the business. He died in a motorcycle accident and since then the club takes care of Stone, his mother and his older sister, Violet, even though Violet is determined to extricate the club from her family’s life.
“You look good,” I confirm. Stone’s smile grows as he focuses on the ground. The kid is awkward as hell, but he’s one of ours. The club will always have his back. “You’re going to hang with us this summer, right? We need you on our team.”
His eyes widen. “You’re going to let me play football? On your team?”
The way Chevy eyeballs me asks the same question. Football on Sundays is the way we like it—blood-and-guts rough.
“You’re fourteen,” I answer both of them. “You’re a man now, and, yeah, I want you on my team.”
Chevy nods his understanding. He gets that I have the urge to protect and help people younger than me.
“Cool.” Stone goes to readjust the glasses that always slid down his nose and his hand twitches when he discovers them missing. “Who’s the girl that freaked out?”
Chevy and I share a glance. Family rule: no one outside a select few can discuss Emily. We don’t bring her up and no one else is allowed to know she exists. Because Olivia practically raised me for the first few years of my life, I’m part of the McKinley inner circle and know more than most when it comes to personal family business. But Stone is searching to feel like family and with Violet in his ear telling him we aren’t, I make an executive decision. “She’s someone who means something to Eli.”
Stone trembles as he realizes I told him something serious. “That’s Emily?”
“Never said that, but regardless of what you think, keep it to yourself.”
“Olivia and Eli don’t appreciate people discussing her,” Chevy warns. “Even in meaningless conversation.”
Chevy and Emily are cousins. The Emily situation is one of the sole reasons I’m glad I’m not blood-related to the McKinleys. Emily’s mother is a traitor and because of how Emily constantly pushes Eli away, I consider her a traitor, too.
“Is she staying?” Stone asks.
Truth? Stone hit on a question that neither Chevy nor I will dare to answer. Stone’s a part of us through the club, but only the McKinleys are allowed info on Emily. Though I’m not genetically a member, I’m an honorary McKinley so I’m more informed than most, but in the end, I’m still in the dark. Emily is this family’s dirty little secret.
“Where’s your sister?” Chevy asks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but unfortunately, he does. The two of us got wasted last night and picked up two girls in an attempt to extract Violet from his brain. We both got laid and a hangover, but it didn’t help his broken heart.
“She’s...uh...well, Violet said...that she wants to go to Louisville today and she wants me to go with her and since it’s such a long drive she had stuff she needed to do at the house—”
“Louisville’s over an hour away,” Chevy presses. “Why does she need to go there?”
Stone spirals into uncomfortable muscle spasms.
“Tell her to stay out of Louisville.” Chevy’s tone is demanding now. “There’s something going down between the Riot and the Reign of Terror and we don’t need trouble.”
The Riot’s based in Louisville and it’s not where any of us should be. We aren’t the type to run from a fight, but with the club’s focus on Olivia, our resources are split. We don’t need anyone associated with the Terror to take stupid chances.
“Tell her to go to Lexington,” Chevy continues. “Or if she’s so damned bent on going to Louisville, tell her to wait until I can go with her.”
Because Violet can’t remove her head from her ass, her younger brother is now dealing with the guilt of her selfish decisions. I tighten my fist, trying to squeeze away the sharp surge of let down and pissed off.
Growing up, Violet, Chevy, Razor and I were sibling-close and now...she treats us like dirt. Even on a day that’s precious to Olivia. I passed up walking in graduation because the funeral home conceded and let us have a party. They said if we were going to do it, it was now or never.
Stone’s still stuttering out whatever pathetic crap Violet forced him to memorize and Chevy goes in for the deflection. “Hey, Stone.”
Stone squints at Chevy. In a smooth motion, Chevy waves his open palms in the air, claps them together and in a twitch of his fingers produces a daisy. My eyes automatically flash to the now empty vase on the table.
Chevy’s been doing sleight of hand shit since we were kids. “Give this to your sister and tell her we missed her.”
Meaning Chevy misses her. Stone takes the flower and his eyes glow. “That’s cool. Will you teach me?”
I wink at Stone. “Girls don’t go for guys who do magic. If a guy relies on sad shit like that it means he’s got no game.”
Chevy snorts. “Tell that to the girl who let me in her pants last night. Stick with me, Stone, and the world will be ours to dominate and control.”
“No, Mom.” Eli busts into the kitchen with Olivia hot on his heels. His stride is wider than normal, indicating he’s upset or pissed. I’m going with a combination of both. “I’m calling Jeff after she calms down to find out what’s going on. Then and only then will I bring her over to see you and Dad. Not everyone in the damn place.”
Chevy gets up, reaches around Eli and dumps his trash. “Where’s Emily?”
“In the bathroom with the funeral director.” Olivia has a hop to her step that makes me smile. The past week has been rough on her. So rough she wasn’t sure she could last the whole party. But now there’s color in her cheeks.
“You know Meg will make her leave. Meg thought I was dead. This was a pity offering. Let’s take her up on it. Get Emily a drink, give her a second to collect herself then bring her out to meet her family.” She motions to us. “Don’t you want to meet Emily?”
The girl’s my kind of gorgeous, no question: sexy, beautiful dark hair and eyes like a doe’s. Gotta admit, her curves turned me on and that dress she wore sealed the deal. It clung to her in all the right ways, but what was smoking was the way she wore it. Mysterious. Classy. Never seen anyone from Emily’s world walk up to the Reign of Terror as if they didn’t have a single fear.
But Emily is bad news. She’s been a nonstop thorn in this family’s side and has continually caused the people I love to bleed. Her being here will rupture already vulnerable arteries.
“No.” Chevy, as always, preaches the truth. “I don’t want to meet her.”
Olivia points at Chevy. “For that answer, you’re tilling my garden and spreading compost to get ready for tomato planting.”
“Hell,” Chevy mutters.
“Hi, Olivia,” Stone says quietly. “I’m really enjoying your wake.”
Olivia touches her fingers to her lips. Twenty bucks she didn’t notice him, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have spoken so openly. She reaches out and pushes Stone’s overgrown hair away from his eyes. “There’s something different about you. What is it?”
Stone peeks at Eli, who stands behind Olivia beaming like a proud papa.
“Contacts, ma’am.”
“Well, I love them, and don’t ma’am me. You know better than that. Why don’t you go find Cyrus for me? I need to talk to him after I get done grilling Eli. And Stone, remember, what’s said in my house, stays in my house.”
He beelines it out of the kitchen into the thick crowd in the hallway. Once Stone’s gone on the hunt for Olivia’s husband, she returns to hammering her son. There’s no question of kicking us out—Olivia has always talked openly in front of me and Chevy because she considers us her flesh and blood, too. “She’s my granddaughter. I want the chance to meet her. Talk with her. Get to know her. Meg will never allow that if she knows I’m alive.”
“As I said, once she calms down, I’ll bring her to the house. I don’t like the idea of her being here.” He drops his voice. “It’s too wide-open. Too many eyes.”
“A few minutes here won’t hurt,” pleads Olivia. “A half hour tops. If you leave, you’ll have to tell her father. He’ll tell Meg I’m alive and then I’ll lose my chance.”
“You’re telling me what you want and I’m telling you what I can give you.” Eli rummages through the two-liters, continually picking up the Sprites only to come up empty each time. “Damn leeches drank everything dry.”
He goes to pull his wallet out of his back pocket and his face turns an unusual shade of crimson. “Chevy.”
My best friend tosses Eli’s wallet back.
“Do it again and I’ll nail you to the wall, got it?” threatens Eli.
“It’s compulsive.” Never met a guy that can pick any pocket clean like Chevy. “Besides, I always give it back.”
Eli checks his wallet and when he’s certain everything’s inside he yanks out a couple dollars. “Oz, there’s a vending machine across the street. Go get Emily a Sprite. After that, help Cyrus keep this place contained. If they aren’t associated with the Reign of Terror, throw their asses out. With Emily here and the shit going on with the Riot, I want this placed locked down.”
“Dammit, Eli!” This gains everyone’s attention. A lull falls over the once boisterous conversations in the hallway. Olivia hasn’t raised her voice like that in months.
She continues in a whisper. “She’s my granddaughter. My granddaughter.”
Olivia thumps her fist against her chest each time she says granddaughter. Both Chevy and I shoot to our feet, but it’s Eli that catches her before she sways too far.
My heart beats wildly and my throat constricts. I don’t understand what the hell is happening inside me, but I know what’s happening inside Olivia. She’s dying and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.
Eli hugs his mother. “We’ll go in after we get you something to eat.”
I move because it hurts too bad to stay still. “I’ll get her the Sprite.” Though I don’t know why. It’s Emily’s fault that Olivia is upset. I wish Emily had remained the illegitimate daughter that disappeared and never returned.
Emily (#ulink_eaeafbe7-ef2b-50c1-af04-d0329b5966d7)
THE OFFICE OF a funeral director resembles those of normal people: file cabinets, a desk, a rolly chair, paperwork, a computer, pictures of kids and families. No jars of blood, no dead people or dead people parts. Small consolation.
I’m ticked. Extremely ticked. Like a-tick-interrupted-from-a-meal ticked.
She’s alive. My freaking non-grandmother is still alive, and she scared the hell out of me.
Completely spent, I sit in the chair, hold my phone and wait impatiently for it to vibrate. I left Mom a message, and someone went to find Dad. I want to go home.
My legs have the strength of mashed potatoes. I’m cold and clammy, and my stomach churns like I vomited. That’s because I did, in the viewing room, and I discovered that yellow bile does not blend well with red velvet industrial carpeting. My crowning achievement in overreaction.
Through the large window facing the hallway, I can see the crowd hasn’t dispersed. Instead, the mass of bodies has increased since my moment of glory. Almost everyone gawks at me—laughing. My mom said Eli’s family was psychotic, but this...this is...
The door squeaks open and the guy who caught me and kept me from falling to the floor enters the room with a can of Sprite. He’s rocked out in those loose jeans, a studded black belt and a black T-shirt. “Olivia says it’s not officially a party until somebody pukes.”
“Glad I added to the fun.”
He perches on the edge of the folding chair across from me and offers the Sprite. “Eli told me to get you this.”
I keep my hands planted in my lap. Nothing today has gone right and I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m done puking.
“It’s Sprite, not crack,” he says.
“Thank you.” I accept the soda and set it on the desk. “Are you my cousin?”
He doesn’t resemble me or Eli with his blue eyes and grown-out black hair. The type of hair that’s not overly long, but long enough that girls would be drawn to him because it’s the correct length for seductive rebellion. The ends lick the collar of his shirt and hide his ears. He has the type of hair Blake Harris was suspended from school over. But that’s not where my eyes linger. What captivates me is the way the sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his muscles. He’s ripped in a very awesome way.
“No blood relation,” he answers.
Good, because he has that alternative-music-band hotness and thinking someone I’m related to is sexy could send me into another meltdown.
“Will you do all of us a favor?” he asks.
I shrug, not exactly in the mood for conversation.
“Play nice with Olivia, then leave.”
“Excuse me? Play nice? With her? She freaked me out.”
He leans back in the chair and sprawls his legs out in a way that makes him appear larger than life and leaves me feeling claustrophobic. “Look, I know you’re going all prodigal daughter, but this ain’t the time or place. This is Olivia’s party and you’re ruining it.”
“Prodigal what?”
“Daughter. Bible. The long-lost son returning home.”
I stare at him, not sure what to say.
He gives a short laugh. “I heard that about your mom. Gave up God and family.”
No one speaks badly about my mom. “I heard you’re all crazy. And guess what? It’s true.”
“Why? Because Olivia’s enjoying her life?”
“Because she plays make-believe in a coffin and all of you are okay with it.”
“Better than screaming like a two-year-old and puking our guts out.”
I was wrong—he’s not hot. He’s evil. Very, very evil. “It’s sick. This whole thing is sick. You people are absolutely insane!”
The guy stands. “You need to leave. You want to see Eli? Wait for him to spend all his money so he can visit you this summer. This party is for Olivia and the people who care for her. You don’t belong here.”
The door opens and Eli and Olivia walk in. Eli had been smiling, but one flickering glance between me and Sprite guy and Eli’s mouth firms into a hard line. “Is there a problem, Oz?”
His crazy name suits this insane day. Oz flashes an easygoing grin and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to slap him. “Nope.”
Eli surveys me and his jaw relaxes. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassed—yes. Mortified—definitely. Okay—not at all. “Yeah.”
“I need to speak to my granddaughter.” Olivia pats Oz’s arm.
He envelops her in a bear of a hug, looks at me over her shoulder and mouths “leave.” He walks out and I’ve never been so happy to see someone go in my life. Hot or otherwise.
Olivia eases into the chair across from me, pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her jeans and lights one up. “I have cancer and the doctors aren’t hopeful.”
I steal a peek at Eli, who rests his back against the wall. He’s watching me, and I suddenly feel like a fish in a glass bowl. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Olivia says. “I’ve fought a good fight and lived a great life. God calls us all home at some point.” She blows out the smoke and I swallow the cough that tickles my throat.
“Funerals are expensive,” she states. It’s a pause and an uncomfortable one. She props her elbow on the desk, and I’m strangely fascinated by the way she holds her forearm up and dangles the cigarette from her bent hand.
“Okay,” I prompt, hoping this will continue the conversation.
She nails Eli’s smile and I notice her dark eyes—my eyes. Olivia is pretty and doesn’t seem old enough to have a granddaughter my age. A part of me wonders if I’ll resemble her when I grow older.
“And if I’m going to waste that much money on a party, I prefer to be part of the action.”
“So you planned your own funeral and attended it.” Weird. Very, very weird.
“Yes. Sorry about earlier. Bad timing. I thought I’d test-drive the bed in a box. See what these bones could be spending eternity in. It’s either that or the furnace.”
I shift in my chair. That’s not weird. It’s nuts.
“Eli fucked up the e-mail to your family. Put in the obituary instead of the party announcement. I wrote the two at the same time. Figured I’d be the best person to write what I want people to read after I bite.” Olivia takes another drag off her cigarette and flicks the ashes into a coffee mug.
“Muck.” I’ve heard people say fuck before. Guys say it at school constantly, but...
Her forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“You should use muck instead. You’re a...grandmother...” and the words fall off because they sound stupid.
She cackles. Like a witch. Head thrown back and everything. I shrink farther into the chair and will my phone to ring or my dad to show. Why is it taking so long for him to find me?
“Muck. I’ll remember it. Back to the conversation. I don’t regret what Eli sent.” She sucks in one more draw before dropping the cigarette into the mug. It sizzles in the liquid. “I’m meeting you.”
Simultaneous buzzing. My phone vibrates against the palm of my hand. Eli yanks his phone out of his back pocket. Too bad he didn’t answer it last night. He could have saved us from this terrible torment.
We both accept the calls. “Hi, Mom.”
“Are you okay, baby?” She sounds close to hysterics. I regret leaving the message while sobbing like a lunatic.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just freaked.” Nothing a lifetime of therapy won’t fix.
Mom rattles on and I tune her out while listening for key words that indicate I should speak. I’m more interested in Eli’s conversation.
“I know.” Eli rubs his forehead. “Jeff...” It’s my dad. “Hear me out.”
From the silence on Eli’s end, it’s obvious Dad’s in no mood to listen, and I wonder why he’s not in here talking to Eli face-to-face. Mom pauses. “Em?”
Crap, caught not listening. “I’m here.”
“I said you need to leave. Right now. Walk out the door, do you understand?”
A twinge of panic strangles my heart when I look out the office’s window. Two men guard the door. These guys weren’t present before. At least I don’t think they were. They aren’t laughing or carrying on like everyone else in the hallway. Their backs are to us and their spines are arrow-straight. But what causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end is how they turn their heads to observe the crowd as if they’re expecting something...or someone.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask Mom.
“Outside,” she answers. “He’s outside and he can’t get in. Eli won’t stop you, honey. He’s capable of a lot of things, but he’ll let you go. Do it now, Emily. Leave.”
Eli runs a hand over his face as he continues his conversation with Dad. “That’s not necessary. There’s no reason to change those plans. Emily is fine. A little shaken up, but she doesn’t need to go home.”
He opens the door and snaps his fingers at the two huge men. Both wear the same black vest as Eli. “Emily’s dad is at the front entrance. I told someone to get him in here. I won’t ask nicely again.”
Eli closes the door then returns to talking to Dad. “They’re going to let you in. Give me your word that she can visit with my mother. Not here, though. Somewhere...quieter.”
“No.” Olivia’s eyes widen and she touches Eli’s arm. “You promised.”
Eli gives his head a small shake. Olivia pivots in my direction. “Tell Meg to let you stay.” Her voice rises with each syllable. “Tell her you want to meet your family. Tell her you want to spend time with me. With your father!”
“Tell her?” My forehead furrows. I don’t tell my mom what to do. It’s Mom.
“Tell me what?” Mom asks.
“Olivia wants me to tell you that I should stay.”
“No.” Mom grows suddenly firm. “Leave now.”
“Thanks for the reminder!” Eli smacks his hand on the wall. A corkboard tacked up beside him crashes to the floor. I jump with the impact and draw myself in, wishing I could disappear.
I don’t know these people and they don’t know me and my dad’s outside and not inside and these people could have tempers and they could hurt me and...
“I’m aware I have no rights to my daughter,” Eli snaps. “I’m the one who signed the damn papers!”
“Baby,” Mom says in my ear. “Say goodbye to Eli and leave. The cab is waiting.”
“Okay.” I focus on my shoes. I never want to wear them again. “I’ll see you soon.”
Even though Mom’s still talking, I end the call and drop the phone to my lap. Eli, on the other hand...
“No, Jeff. Let her stay... No. No.” He opens his mouth to speak again and then lowers the phone to look at the screen. “Fuck!”
I flinch with the anger shaking out of his body and Eli swears again under his breath when he notices. “Dammit, I mean...I’m sorry, Emily.”
“It’s okay.” I comb my fingers through my hair and pretend to be interested in the strands. Mom said Dad’s outside and I’m going to ignore any reason for why he can’t make it in. It’s not because I’m trapped here. It’s not because these people are trying to force something I don’t want.
This is okay and I’m going to be okay. Deep breaths in. Long breaths out.
“Call her back,” Olivia says to me. “Call Meg back and tell her you’re staying.”
My hands tremble as I pick up my purse and slip my phone into the pocket. “She told me to leave.”
“Do you always do what you’re told?”
I cling tighter to the handles on my bag. My mom told me to come home. Home. A place that is safe and familiar and nothing like this insanity. This place is scary and confusing and... “She’s my mom.”
“Don’t, Mom,” Eli mumbles under his breath.
“And you’re seventeen,” Olivia points out. “Old enough to make this decision.”
“Barely seventeen,” I whisper.
“Leave her alone,” Eli says. “It’s me you’re upset with.”
Olivia wheels around. “Not you. Your daughter is caving to that woman and I’m tired of Meg telling us what we can and cannot do with our flesh and blood!” She rounds on me. “McKinley blood runs in your veins. Take a stand and tell them you’re staying.”
My wrist begins to itch and I scratch, not caring that it will make the welts bigger. Hives, my Achilles’ heel. The physical manifestation of the chaos inside me. I slowly stand, but not in the way she desires. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”
“Eli!” It’s a plea, and it causes guilt to ripple within me. I glance out the window and catch Oz watching me from the hall with his thumbs hitched in his pockets. He lowers his head and shakes it.
“She’s a good kid,” Eli says in defeat.
“What does that mean?” Olivia yells.
Eli pushes off the wall and settles his hands on Olivia’s shoulders like he did with me earlier. “It means she’s a good kid. She’s a good kid with good friends and she makes good grades at a good school and lives in a good neighborhood in a good house in an even better community. She’s a good kid with a great life and every now and then I get to be a part of it. Think about what Meg’s given her. Think about what we really have the right to demand.”
Olivia crosses her arms. “You mean she’s locked up in a safe padded world and she does everything everyone tells her.”
“Yes.” Eli nods. “And she’s happy.”
My would-be grandmother studies me and for some reason, she appears to pity me. “And that is sad.”
Oz (#ulink_bd501c9a-15a3-5d29-93c0-e07f019dce0c)
HOOK AND PIGPEN guard the door to the office, and it’s a good thing, too. Otherwise I probably would have bolted in and shaken the hell out of Emily.
My teeth grind as I witness the drama unfolding through the window. Olivia, the strongest woman I know, is close to tears. She’s been the focus of my life since I was a child, and I’ve never seen her this way. Not when she discusses the son she lost around the time of my birth. Not when she told me I wouldn’t be living with her anymore when I was eight. Not when she hurts year after year as she marks another passing of Emily’s birthday with no contact from her or Meg. Not when she found out she has greater odds of being hit by lightning than surviving the cancer.
Tears. Olivia’s eyes are glassy and she lifts her chin like she doesn’t give a damn, but there’s only a fragile veil of pride hiding her devastation.
Emily stands in the middle of the room with her purse in her hands, looking completely lost as Olivia cups her face. Fuck Emily for hurting Olivia. Fuck Emily for returning and ruining this day.
The door to the office opens and Eli walks out. Hook and Pigpen grant Eli their undivided attention and Eli points at me. “I need you in on this, Oz.”
I slide closer and the four of us create a tight circle. Eli talks so only we can hear. “Pigpen, clear this hall. Hook, tell her father we’re taking Emily out the back. I want a wall of leather cuts giving her shade, do you got me?”
They mumble their agreement and Pigpen rounds to face the crowd. Like a lot of the brothers in the club, he’s ex-military. The voice of the six-two, massive former Army Ranger rumbles against the walls. “If you ain’t a brother, clear out!”
The volume of conversation in the hall rises along with the sound of shuffling feet. Everyone associated with us comprehends that a demand is a demand, not a request. Hang-arounds, people not associated with the club, are permitted to party with us, but are only allowed on our terms. If they don’t like it, they can get the hell out.
I shift to help Pigpen with the herding, but Eli catches my arm. “Walk with me.”
Eli’s on the move in the restricted hallway of the funeral home and I keep step by his side. We turn the corner and he imitates a Navy SEAL on a mission when his eyes roam the area. He’s performing a run-through to confirm the area is clear. “What the fuck was Meg thinking letting Emily come here?”
His hand slams on a swinging door that’s marked “No Entrance” and I keep my mouth shut. That question wasn’t for me. We enter a barren hallway and I stay near the exit as Eli checks a room at the end. “Fifteen years since they’ve been in this town and now with the Riot breathing down our throats Meg allows Emily to show.”
Eli kicks an empty cardboard box and it bounces against the wall. He breathes hard and I meld into the equivalent of paint. I’ve known Eli since I was eleven. He’s the biggest badass I’ve met and he doesn’t easily lose his shit. It’s best to let him ride this out.
“I e-mailed Jeff.” Eli stares at the wall. “I e-mailed him in the vain hope he’d let Emily come, but I didn’t think he would. I knew Meg would say no, but I had hoped and then he did call and I didn’t answer. I had turned off my cell, forgot I had and now...”
His hands go to his hips and his head falls back. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
“Name it.” This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since I was sixteen.
“I need you on Emily. Follow her until she gets on the plane. Stay close enough to make sure she’s out of trouble, but far enough away that no one figures out that you’re tailing them. If you do this for me, you’ll have a cut on your back the moment you walk into the clubhouse and you’ll be our newest prospect.”
“Not a problem.” I’ll follow Emily through hell in order to make prospect. “Do you mind telling me what I’m watching for?”
Eli works his jaw. “The Riot.”
Never thought of Eli as paranoid. My mind races for why the Riot would give a rip about Emily. “The Riot would never step into Snowflake, so how would they know that she’s here?” And why would they care?
“The Riot’s pissed we’re doing security business in Louisville. Even more pissed we won’t give them a cut of our profits because we’re running through their area. Remember what I said to you last night? The Riot can make a business issue personal fast.”
“Yeah, but you think they’ll go after Emily?”
“There’s a scar forming on your father’s head that tells me the Riot is ready for a war, and there are over two hundred people in this building. I can’t risk the chance there’s someone loyal to them here gathering info on us. I wasn’t worried until I saw Emily. We’re strong together as a club. We protect our own, but she’s not one of us and I won’t have them go personal with her. The Riot don’t think straight when they’re mad. They act first and never ask questions later. She’s my daughter and I don’t want her caught up in my shit.”
I nod. This is the guy Eli is—loyal to those he loves. But it’s lost on me why he has this sudden commitment to Emily. He visits her once a year. From what I understand, he never tried for custody, but I’m not going to question my path into the club. He wants me to watch Emily, so I’ll watch Emily. She officially has a stalker.
“Meg will be able to spot a Terror member,” he continues, “so you’ll be driving my truck. If anyone can own the role of teenager out for a joyride who doesn’t give a shit, it’s you.”
From Eli, that’s a high compliment. “Emily will know me.”
“Emily won’t be looking for you, but Meg will be searching for the club.” He digs into his pockets and tosses the keys to his truck to me. “Tail them until she boards the plane. I need to know that my problems with the Riot don’t follow my daughter.”
“Consider it done.” I open the exit door and Eli stops me from walking out into the summer sun.
“Anyone who messes with Emily messes with me,” he adds.
Which means anyone stupid enough to cross paths with her is suicidal. “I got her back.”
Eli smiles like we’ve been chatting about the weather. “You’re a good man, Oz.” And he disappears back inside the funeral home.
* * *
In pleated khaki pants, Emily’s adoptive father, Jeff, paces outside the sidewalk of his motel room talking on his cell. He sports a pair of Aviator sunglasses and holds himself like he’s God. Heard he’s a doctor so he probably thinks he is. I’ve been ordered to maintain my distance, otherwise I would have offered the three of them a ride into Louisville hours ago.
My cell buzzes. Eli’s hourly check-in. What’s going on?
Same thing as the past ten hours. Nothing.
I followed Emily and Jeff here after they left the funeral home. Three hours ago the rental-car company showed and dropped off an SUV. Emily and her parents piled into the rental and I rapped my head against the headrest of the truck when the engine of the SUV wouldn’t turn over.
Since then, Jeff’s bought takeout and talked on his phone. No sign of Emily or her mother. Both have stayed safely inside the motel room.
Buzzing.
I don’t like them staying here overnight. We’re hearing some chatter that the Riot are riding closer than normal, but we don’t have visuals. Don’t like the feel of the situation. Keep vigilant.
Like stalking a girl who hurt Olivia is my definition of a wet dream. Will do.
I toss my cell onto the bench seat and press the balls of my hands to my eyes. Last night’s lack of sleep is catching up. First the private party at the lake with a twelve-pack, Chevy and two blondes more than willing to be on the back of a bike, then the hours waiting for Dad and then the adrenaline rush of all that followed.
I got an hour’s worth of sleep, maybe less, before Eli picked me up to retrieve Dad’s bike. I stretch my legs in the small space against the floorboard and roll my neck. Eli checked flights after it was clear their rental wasn’t moving and confirmed that it would be impossible for them to reach Louisville and still board a flight out tonight.
It’s killing Eli to do nothing, but they haven’t asked for help and they aren’t answering his “benign” texts asking if Emily’s okay and if they arrived in Louisville without issue. Any further contact by him would tip them off that they’re being tailed and Eli’s adamant this remains on the down low.
Jeff ends a call and looks up at the sky. Night’s falling. The lights on the motel overhang flicker on. He glances around the mostly abandoned parking lot, but dismisses me and the truck. I’m in the corner, near the Dumpster, and in the shadows.
Taking the key card out of his pocket, he enters the motel room. Another buzz and I wish Eli’s cell would run out of power.
You gonna be able to stay awake on this?
Do I want Eli to think I can handle the club?
Yes.
Don’t fail me.
Won’t happen.
I wait for Eli’s next text, but the silence confirms that he has faith. Should’ve asked for some coffee or a shot of adrenaline, but there’s no asking for help here. I do this or I don’t, and I won’t let Eli down.
I rest my head on the seat and stare at Emily’s motel room. If there’s one thing that’s been confirmed today, it’s that she’s more trouble than she’s worth.
Emily (#ulink_4313354c-a0a4-5c92-8d0d-b182a6d37b0f)
IT’S AS IF I’m living the opening segment of an apocalyptic thriller. Young family’s rental car breaks down in parking lot and they’re forced to stay the night in dilapidated motel. Soon, the local townspeople morph into skin-eating demons and the family fights to survive until sunrise.
Maybe our situation isn’t that dire, but it’s close. The past few hours have been the worst sleep of my life. With no rental and no Louisville cab company willing to spare a driver to take us back into the city, we’re stuck here. To make matters worse, Snowflake is limited in overnight accommodations and, short of pitching a tent, this is where we ended up.
The stain on the sheets of the bed I lie in gives me the bugs-walking-on-the-back-of-my-neck creeps and, speaking of bugs, I’m sure there are a hundred million of them nesting in the innards of the mattress. Something continuously moves in the corner of the room, but disappears each time I click on the light.
It doesn’t help that Mom and Dad have been sharing a whispered intense conversation all night. Yes, they had a lot to discuss after the funeral home debacle, but a call from the room phone around eleven caused a new round of conversations. Most of it taking place in the bathroom.
For hours, I stared at the light streaming from the crack under the bathroom door. Occasionally their voices would rise, but they were still too muffled for me to understand. Even when I tiptoed to the door to listen.
I’m impatient for daylight yet the minutes drag into days. It’s 3:03 a.m. and I’ve been parched since two. The thought of interrupting Mom and Dad in the bathroom for a drink of water doesn’t thrill me, so I roll out of bed. In the darkness, I shimmy out of my pj pants and into a pair of shorts. There’s a vending machine a few doors down and a bottle of cold water is calling my name.
Oz (#ulink_38698898-ee93-50f9-8db9-6195703d6bb7)
THE SLAMMING OF a car door jerks me awake. My heart hammers with the realization—I fell asleep. I scrub a hand over my face to wake myself, then grab the phone. It’s after three and there are two missed messages. Eli’s going to kill me and I deserve his wrath. I messed this up big time.
Message one: What’s going on?
Message two: You better be awake and taking a piss or you better be dead.
My fingers hover over the cell as my attention is drawn to movement from the right. On the opposite side of the parking lot are two guys who stand near the front of a blacked-out SUV. Cigarettes burn in their hands and I don’t like how they’re watching Emily’s room.
I scan the rest of the area and my stomach drops. Dark chestnut hair. Tanned, toned legs. Damn me to hell, Emily’s walking toward the vending machines. One of the guys drops his cigarette to the ground and smashes it with his foot.
His mouth moves as he talks to the guy next to him and in the barely dim light surrounding him, he slips off a cut. I don’t catch the entire patch, but I see enough. With a surge of adrenaline, I start the truck and then my fingers fly over the letters.
The Riot are here.
Emily (#ulink_0146dd70-ee85-5419-bfac-d5bc414c6037)
GOOSE BUMPS RISE on my arms when I open the door and the early-morning Kentucky air drifts over my skin. It’s the first time I’ve stayed at this type of motel—the type with no interior corridors and only exterior doors.
I flip the security latch to prevent being locked out and follow the hum of vending machines. The lights of the overhang burn bright enough for me see where I’m heading, but are dull enough that I’m again reminded of walking into a horror flick.
The night surrounding the motel parking lot is dark. Very dark. My dad once told me that it gets darker before the dawn. I shiver. He must be right. I’ve never seen anything so black that it’s completely void of light.
I turn the corner and pause. My back itches like I’m being watched. The sensation crawls along the fine hairs of my neck and my heart pumps hard. In a slow movement, I peer over my shoulder. Nothing but darkness. Nothing but small bugs swarming near the overhead light that leaves a green tint to the world. Nothing. Nothing but my overactive imagination.
One foot angles in favor of the room, but the rest of me pushes forward. Five seconds to get a drink and then back to the room. Maybe ten. With my stomach in my throat, I brave the enclave, slip the fifty cents into the coin slot and then attempt to shove the dollar into the machine. With a whine, it spits the money back out. With a second whine, the machine cranks the bill out again. “Come on!”
My skin shrinks against my bones. Saran Wrap tight, my flesh feels like it needs to be shed. There’s something wrong out here. Something evil. With shaky hands I try one last time and the machine inhales the dollar.
A push of a button. A racket that could wake the dead. My hand swipes up the water. A flash of black to my right and I suck in a breath to scream.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Taller than me. And he blocks my way.
I stumble back, tripping over myself. The water thumps to the concrete and a hand whips out and grabs my wrist. Air leaves my lungs in a hiss when my body slams into the cinder-block wall.
My mouth opens again and a hot hand presses against my lips. A sob racks me and blue eyes lower to mine. “It’s me, Emily. It’s Oz. Right now I need you to be quiet. Do you hear me? Quiet.”
He’s whispering while he muffles my scream. Quiet is not what I need. My eyes dart around. We’re wedged in a small space between the vending machine and the wall. His body is pressed tightly to mine, so much so that it’s hard to draw in air. Cobwebs touch the top of Oz’s head. A spider the size of my fist swings precariously above us, its legs twisting as it spins its web.
A sound leaves my throat as a tear cascades down my face.
“Quiet,” Oz demands again. “Please, Emily. Be still.”
I blink at the please. His blue eyes soften and my senses go on alert. Almost like my energy is reaching out to find the real threat—a threat my instincts inform me is worse than what’s in front of me.
Oz slowly withdraws his hand from my mouth and the flood of cold air on my face causes me to tremble. He continues to lower his hand to his hip and wraps his fingers around the hilt of a blade stuck inside a leather sheath.
There’s activity beyond us. A slow tapping of a boot against the sidewalk. A scrape comparable to sandpaper against the concrete wall. Then a shadow. Large. Looming. The head of the dark shadow hits near my feet.
“The water bottle.” My lips move.
Oz tilts his head as if he sees the shift in my mood. “I know,” he mouths. “Shh.”
Chaos reigns inside my mind. Oz can kill me or Oz can save me or Oz can do one now and then another later.
The footsteps begin again, echoing closer to our hiding spot. Fear gains in strength, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me. Oz weaves an arm around my back and circles us so that I’m wedged into the corner and he’s positioned near the threat.
Heat builds between us and my pulse beats wildly at my pressure points. He continues to gently guide me into the extremely small crevice behind the machine. My foot tangles with a cord and I trip to the right. My hand snaps out and I grab on to Oz’s belt loop as both of his hands land on my hips.
We’re crushed against each other. Warmth rolls off his body and onto mine. He must feel it—my fear, the blood drumming throughout my veins. My eyesight nearly shakes with it.
Oz does a strange thing. He smiles. It’s a crazy smile, but beautiful. My body tingles when he swipes his thumb under my shirt and across the sensitive skin of my waist.
He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. Only one guy has been this near me before. Body against body. Thighs against thighs. Warm breath brushing the back of my ear. We didn’t go far that night. We didn’t go far at all—not emotionally, not physically...just not. And standing here pressed between a wall and Oz, my entire body becomes aware.
“If he finds us,” he breathes into my ear, “you run, Emily. You run and keep running until you lock yourself in the room. Then you call Eli.”
Oz pulls back and our noses almost touch. I strain to listen. No footsteps. No sound beyond my own frantic breaths. Then a thump to the concrete. Like a bottle dropping. My stomach sinks along with it. And there’s a rolling of plastic...getting closer...closer. So close that it’s next to us.
My eyes flash to Oz’s. I’m about to explode out of my skin yet he’s calm, steady, solid. He meets my gaze, never once looking elsewhere. The bottle continues to roll away...away...to the point I believe that the sound I hear is only in my mind. An echo of my fears.
No longer able to handle Oz’s intense stare, I lower my head and my body sags. Oz eases a hand to the nape of my neck, encouraging me to rest my head on his shoulder. I do, then inhale the calming scent of burned wood. It conjures images of bonfires on the beach. S’mores on the back patio with my father. Nights by the fireplace as a child.
Oz’s hand is hot on my skin and my muscles melt under his strong caress. An eternity passes. Stars are born then die. He relaxes his grip on me and my fingers curl into his belt loops when he tries to maneuver away.
“Did you hear that?” he asks.
The rolling? It’s still in my head and so are the footsteps, but I shake my head no.
“It’s my cell,” he says under his breath, and sure enough I hear a vibration. “I need to answer.”
I release him and he slips his phone out of his back pocket. “I nine-one-one’d Eli and he’s on his way. I need to get you within walls. Stay here and don’t move.”
Oz steps back and I shiver with the cold infiltrating where he had been. My eyes widen. His knife is in his hand. I never saw him free the blade and I never felt him move to do so.
Oz peers around the corner. One way. Then the next. The fear is so encompassing that it almost shifts into hysterics.
“Stay put,” he commands. I’m normally not a take-orders-from-a-guy type of girl, but I’m all for following directions since my feet are frozen to the ground.
Oz disappears and a small part of me internally cries. Alone has never felt so...alone.
An electric buzz of the vending machine. The gentle tap of water leaking from a pipe above. Not knowing if the footsteps drifting away are what I should be terrified of.
Because it’s overwhelming, I count. Throwing in the Mississippi in between like Mom taught me. I count slower when I hit fifty, then even slower when I hit two hundred. I start again at zero, pretending that his absence during the first three hundred seconds doesn’t matter.
Oz appears in front of me again and my knees give out at the sight. He extends his hand. “Those two guys are still here, but they walked around the corner. I can slip you back in your room, but we need to be quiet.”
“Who are they?” I ask.
Oz’s shoulders stiffen and his eyes bore into mine. “People neither one of us want to mess with. Let’s go.”
Oz (#ulink_47e2c8a3-c81d-5611-a1fd-278c10eb386a)
EMILY’S CHEST RISES and falls at an alarming rate and I pray she doesn’t faint.
She’s smaller than me and she’s curvy as hell. She wears a pair of hip-hugging jean shorts and a tight blue tank that covers enough of her top, but rides short and highlights her flat stomach. I’ve never been so damned captivated by a belly button in my life. Hate to admit it, but with that long chestnut hair and those big dark eyes, Emily is hot.
She’s also in a ton of trouble and if she doesn’t trust me soon and take my hand, she’s going to turn her problems into my problems and that will be dangerous for us both.
“If I was the enemy, Emily, I would have already slit your throat and thrown your body into the trunk of a car.”
“You’re not helping,” she whispers.
“But it’s the truth. Now, let’s go.”
She sucks in her bottom lip and I wiggle my fingers, signaling for her to follow. It’s like convincing an injured animal to eat from my hand. I get why she doesn’t trust me. If I were in her shoes, I’d be weighing my options. One of them being jacking the knife in my hand and slicing my way out of this situation.
Emily extends her hand—moment by moment. Centimeter by centimeter. At any point, I could have grabbed her and hauled her out, but something tells me that she’s never faced any level of danger. To expect her to be braver than most is unfair, especially when she’s impressed me with how well she’s handled tonight.
The moment her smooth fingers touch mine, I link our hands together and we’re on the move. As I tighten my grip on her, I secure my knife in my other hand. Eli and Dad have taught me stuff over the years. All of it without Mom’s knowledge or permission. It involves the whereabouts of arteries, kidneys and liver, and each conversation and demonstration involved a blade.
We round the corner and I halt, hiding her from view. A burly guy with fists the size of concrete blocks stands outside the door to Emily’s room. I push Emily back into the walkway and silently curse. “Tell me you locked the door behind you.”
Her face pales out and I have my answer. She shoves at me, but she’s such a tiny thing that it’s nothing more than the beats of a butterfly’s wings. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t bother replying. We go in the opposite direction of her room. Actually, I go and pull her behind me. She yanks at my hand and tries to dig her feet into the ground, but I’m bigger and I’m stronger and I’m getting her the hell out of here.
I peer around the other side of the building and when I spot nothing, I head for the truck, thanking God I had the forethought to drive it to this side before chasing after her. I drag Emily forward and open the passenger-side door. “Get in.”
At the sight of the truck’s interior, Emily tries to create space between us as she jerks at my hold on her wrist. “I’m not going with you.”
Screw this. I lean into Emily and she stumbles until her back smacks the inside of the door.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you have the biggest illegal motorcycle club in Kentucky literally on your doorstep. We don’t have time to argue. Get in the truck now!”
Her frantic movements stop and I don’t care for the deer-caught-in-headlights thing she’s melded into. With a ragged breath, her eyes shoot to the small tunnel of a hallway we emerged from and I can read her mind.
My arm snaps out and I clutch the edge of the door, blocking her path. “Eli’s on his way and he will protect your parents, but I can’t protect you and them at the same time. You know as well as I do, you can’t stop anything that’s happening. By standing here fucking with me, you are placing them in danger. Not me. Get in the truck, Emily, and let me get help.”
“They’re my parents,” she pleads.
“And you’re stopping me from getting them help. Get in the truck so I can make some calls.”
She swallows and in seconds she’s in the passenger side of the truck. I shut her door, race around, slide in and start the engine. With my cell out and the number dialed, I place the phone to my ear and slowly ease out of the parking lot.
One ring and Cyrus answers, “Eli’s coming in fast and dangerous, son. The text you sent better mean that death’s on Emily’s doorstep.”
Close enough. “The Riot’s at her motel. Emily’s with me. Tell me where to go.”
“You bring her home.”
I check the rearview mirror as I floor the gas and pray I don’t see headlights.
Emily (#ulink_9bc63aee-33d2-59e9-bac4-a65f62e4e519)
WE’VE DRIVEN IN silence and, mile after black mile, I keep wondering if I’m in a dream. I’ve lost all sense of direction as we’ve ridden through a maze of back roads and a few minutes ago we ended up on blacktop so narrow I consider it more of a path than a road. There was a crudely made street sign at the turn and it read Thunder Road. Frightening how the name describes the storm I’ve been sucked into.
The truck gently jostles back and forth and dips with the occasional pothole. From the limited range of the headlights, I can tell that the sides of the road are thick with brush and trees. Every now and then a low-hanging limb smacks the cab of the truck. There’s no moon. There’s no light. There’s only darkness.
My teeth chatter and Oz turns his head to look at me. “Are you cold?”
I don’t know. Am I? Oz flicks a few switches, points the vents toward me and heat begins to dance along my skin. Even with the added warmth, my teeth chatter again and I run my hands along my arms. The cold...it’s not in a place that a heater can reach. It’s past my skin, past my muscles and into my bones.
“Maybe we should go back for my parents.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he responds.
“Are they okay?”
His phone has rung a couple of times. Oz answers it, listens, then mumbles some sort of an “okay” and drops his cell back into the cup holder. Surely, he’s heard something. We’ve been driving for too long. Forever. But according to the clock, forty minutes.
“We’re almost there,” Oz says as an answer.
“I asked about my parents,” I snap.
His forever-roaming eyes check the rearview mirror again. “They’re safe. At least they were the last time the club checked in.”
I close my eyes as the tension escapes from my neck. “Why couldn’t you say that?”
“Because I don’t know how long that will remain true and I’m not about false hope.” Before the shock of his words can set in, he continues, “The club’s with them, but the next couple of hours are critical. Your job is to lay low and not contact anyone. Do you understand?”
No. I don’t understand any of this. I draw my knees to my chest in an effort to fight the freezing temperatures in my veins. “Where are we going?”
Oz switches the hand on the wheel and leans against his door. “Olivia’s.”
Olivia’s. My head hits the back of the seat. “Oh.” Oh.
“I spend a lot of time there. Sometimes more than at my own home,” he says, and before I can respond he continues, “And here we are.”
My breath is stolen from my body as I take in the sight. It’s an overgrown log cabin with every window lit up like a Thomas Kinkade painting. Running along the wraparound front porch are rosebushes tangled with vines of honeysuckle. It’s beautiful, picture-perfect and surely not the place where bikers live.
“Shocked?” There’s a bite in Oz’s voice and it causes me to stare at him. He parks the truck off to the side of the house and shuts off the engine. “Considering what most people think of us, shocked is the most common reaction.”
Because they are bikers and this...this place is gorgeous. Oz swings out of the truck and I’m surprised when he meets me at my side, opens the door and then offers me his hand. “It’s a jump.”
He’s right. I didn’t notice it on the way up, but now facing the prospect of down, I have a respect for the two feet. He has a strong hand. It’s a bit rough, but not sandpaper. It’s a hand that leads, not a hand that follows, and I really shouldn’t be thinking too much about this anymore.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod then jump. Once on the ground, Oz pulls on my fingers, encouraging me to move forward. I barely trust him so I slip out of his grasp and he doesn’t fight the distance I crave. “The next time someone calls, can I talk to my parents?”
Oz’s forehead wrinkles and suddenly the big, scary guy doesn’t appear so big and scary as his eyes soften. “Let’s go inside. We’ll know more then.”
“What if you’re lying to me?” I ask, because I’d prefer that to my parents being in danger. “What if this was some sort of elaborate scheme to get me to talk to Olivia? I mean, you guys kept my father from me today.” Well, yesterday.
“That was a misunderstanding.”
“What if this is a—” air quotes “—misunderstanding?”
“Not that you’d know, but I don’t jack off to shoving hot girls into spider-infested crevices between vending machines, so how about you cut me some slack?”
I blink. Several times. Did he just call me...? And did he just say...? Heat flushes my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and shock. The door on the porch squeaks open and a figure made of solid muscle stalks onto the porch. “Oz.”
The porch light flips on and it’s the man with the long gray beard and ponytail who stood beside Oz outside the funeral home. He’s dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and an open red flannel with the sleeves rolled up. Seeing him, I empathize with Jack swaddling the stolen goose in his arms as he faces down the very ticked-off giant.
His gaze lands on us and I don’t miss how it lingers on me. I inch closer to Oz and my side brushes against his. I don’t know why, but my instincts scream that Oz means safety. He presses a hand to the small of my back and it’s as if an invisible force field forms around us.
Oz doesn’t push me ahead. Instead, he skims one finger along my spine. I shiver and this time it isn’t from the cold.
“That’s Cyrus,” Oz says so only I can hear. “He’s Eli’s dad. Your grandfather.”
My heart aches. The pain comes sharp and fast and it hits so hard that I know it will leave a scar. “I didn’t know I had one.”
Eli mentioned Olivia before, but he never discussed his father and I never cared enough to ask or imagine one existed. Maybe Eli did mention him and I blocked it out.
Oz inclines his head to the house. I walk forward and Oz is kind enough to match his pace to my slow stride.
“You’re being nice to me,” I say. “Thank you for that.”
“Did you think I was an asshole?”
Um...yeah. “Well...”
“Your first instinct was right.”
“Why are you being nice to me then?” I ask as we reach the stairs.
Oz pauses on the bottom step and glances at the bear of a man towering by the front door. “Because nobody deserves to be thrown into the middle of a tornado.”
The screen door opens again and the woman I had abandoned hours before shuffles onto the front porch. Her head is covered by a blue scarf and she wears a pair of jeans and a form-fitting black T-shirt. Olivia touches Cyrus’s arm and smiles down at me. “Welcome home, Emily.”
Oz (#ulink_d01358c9-2029-524f-9d92-b0e12ed9f9ea)
I ENTER THE living room and rub my knuckles against the stubble forming on my jaw. Every single baby picture of Emily has disappeared. That’s left a lot of noticeable dust-outlined bare spots.
Olivia fusses over Emily in that demanding way of hers, telling her that she must be hungry and thirsty. Emily scratches a spot on her arm and my eyes narrow at the red welt developing on her wrist. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.
Mom appears in the doorway from the kitchen and she rests a hand over her heart when she sees me. One of her men home. One more to go. From what I understood on the phone, Eli, Dad and a bunch of other members tore off on their bikes for the motel. Because of Olivia’s cancer, Mom often stays with Olivia when Mom’s off work.
“Don’t stand there like a statue, child. Tell me what you need,” says Olivia.
Emily rubs harder at her wrist and her eyes shoot to mine as if she’s asking me to answer for her. Guess I am an asshole because I don’t swoop in for the rescue.
“Can I talk to my mom and dad?” she asks.
Olivia immediately glances to Cyrus and he clears his throat. “Soon.”
“Are they okay?”
“Yes,” Cyrus answers.
Emily’s eyes dart around, trying to take in the people surrounding her and the bright, open room. Lincoln log walls. Wooden floors. Flat-screen television. Overstuffed couch. A recliner for Cyrus. Surround-sound system. Most of the furniture and electronics are gifts from Eli. His attempt to buy his way out of guilt.
“Why...” Emily’s whole body shudders like an epileptic fit and she brushes her fingers over her arms as if to warm her skin. She’s acting so damn cold that even I’m starting to believe it’s winter. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” says Cyrus.
“Seems to be a lot of those.” Emily throws a death glare in my direction. Damn, she’s got fire. That’s shocking considering I pegged her to be a mouse of a girl who did everything exactly as her mother told her.
“And we apologize for that,” Cyrus continues. “We’re having some business issues and our negotiations have hit a snag.”
Emily tosses her arms out to her sides. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”
That’s the only explanation Cyrus will offer. Emily’s inquiring about club business and Emily’s not part of the club. By the scowl on her face, she’s pissed. Being shut out doesn’t sit well with most girls. Women like Mom and Olivia are a rarity.
Olivia straightens her scarf as she starts to shake. Last week, Olivia was so sick she was in bed with an IV. While I love that Emily’s brought a hop to her step, Olivia’s wasting energy to put on a show for her long-lost granddaughter.
“Emily’s in shock,” I say. “She’s cold and she mentioned she hasn’t slept yet.”
Dirty look number two. If Emily keeps this up, she might be elevated from good-girl status to bad.
“I’m fine,” Emily mutters, but what she doesn’t realize is that I didn’t say it to humiliate her. I said it to force Olivia off her feet and my plan works.
Like she’s herding a timid sheep, Olivia corners Emily until she practically falls back on the couch and Olivia relaxes beside her. Mom’s in front of Emily with a mug of something steaming and uses a soft tone as she introduces herself.
Cyrus inclines his head to the porch and as I move to walk out, Emily’s head snaps up. “Where are you going?”
All eyes land on me. Cyrus strokes the length of his beard as his eyes flicker between me and Emily.
“Front porch,” I answer.
Emily scoots to the edge of the couch like she’s going to stand and my mom and Olivia flutter their hands to keep her seated.
“Oz isn’t going anywhere,” Cyrus says. “I need to follow up with him on a few things and then he’ll be back in.”
“Oz?” asks Emily.
Cyrus motions with his head for me to confirm it and I do. “I won’t be long.”
Emily reclines back against the couch and cups the mug in her hands, but doesn’t drink. Odds are she thinks it’s poison.
Cyrus and I step onto the porch and, off in the east, dark blue creates a line against the black of night. Dawn’s coming and I have no idea what this day is going to bring.
“You were supposed to become a prospect last night,” says Cyrus.
I lean my shoulder against one of the log columns supporting the roof of the porch and cross my arms over my chest. Cyrus eases up beside me, resting a hip on the railing.
“I know.” Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life, but Emily’s visit messed everything up.
“It’ll happen,” Cyrus says. “But Eli’s priority is his daughter.”
I nod, because there’s nothing else to say.
“Eli called you, Oz. Multiple times. You texted as he was heading to hunt you down.”
My gut twists. I fell asleep on my debut assignment. I didn’t even get to wear a cut and I blew my chance. Anger and frustration tenses my muscles and I fight the urge to slam my fist against something. Anything. This is my life. My family. I may have lost it all because I fell asleep. “What do I do?”
Cyrus stares straight at me with those emotionless gray eyes. “Man up and accept the repercussions. Any other option isn’t acceptable.”
The club doesn’t tolerate excuses. The brotherhood is built on family and trust. Lying my way out of a situation would be the same as showing myself the door.
“Tell ’em the truth. That’s all you can do.” Cyrus pats my shoulder. “Besides, you saved his daughter and my granddaughter. That holds some weight.”
His words sound good, but none of them erase the fear that I might have sabotaged the most important goal in my life. A sickening nausea envelops me and it’s similar to the devastation of being told that Olivia has cancer.
Cyrus pushes off the railing. “You did good tonight.”
“You never mentioned why the Riot would be going after Emily. Or how they’d even know who she is.”
Frogs croak in the nearby pond. I wait for an answer and Cyrus smirks. “You’re right. I didn’t. When was the last time you had decent sleep?”
I shrug. I fell asleep for a half hour. A half hour that could cost me my future. “I’m good.”
“Glad to hear it. The way Emily looks at you, moves in your direction—that girl trusts you.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“She trusts you more than anyone else on this property. I know you’re tired, but I’d like you to stay. It’ll make the next couple of hours easier on her and I know Eli will appreciate that.”
While I feel sorry for the girl, she’s a bomb on countdown. “She’s bad news.”
Cyrus’s boots clomp against the porch as he heads for the door. “Then she’ll fit in, won’t she?”
The sky in the west continues to get lighter and the stars above dim like a candle flame down to the quick. Only a few more hours of Emily, then Eli will fix whatever the hell is going on with the Riot, she’ll return to her spoon-fed life and I’ll beg Eli for another shot. I shove a hand through my hair to shake away the need for sleep. Just a few more hours.
“You coming?” Cyrus asks.
“I’ll be in in a sec. I need a minute to clear my head.”
He leaves while I grip the railing and lean over. My life has become a waking nightmare.
Emily (#ulink_822e9ae7-a7ef-583e-972f-6ee8f35127ab)
IN THEORY, I’M WATCHING television even though I can’t make sense of anything on the screen. Oz is on the front porch and everyone else stares at me. The everyone else would include:
Oz’s mother, Izzy, the lone partially sane person in the state of Kentucky
Cyrus, a giant impersonating a human
Olivia, the once dead and now alive
They’re probably wondering if I’m going to spaz at any second. So here’s the thing: they may not be wrong.
Wrapped in a blue crocheted blanket, I sit in the middle of the couch. Olivia has staked a claim beside me. It’s hard not to picture her popping out of the casket. Because of that, my spine is curtain-rod straight and I remain perfectly still. Sort of like those small woodland creatures when they realize the big, bad carnivorous beast has spotted them. Doesn’t console me to know things don’t typically work out for the woodland creature.
So long, woodchuck. I hope you had a great life, squirrel. You didn’t really want that nut, did you, chipmunk?
Yes, I know, no one’s going to eat me. My eyes drift over to Cyrus. He quickly turns his head and pretends to be immersed in the movie. He might sauté me up with some onions and throw me on a sesame-seed bun.
Stop it. This train of thought...it’s because I’m exhausted and I’m scared and I’m desperate to talk to my parents and...
Moisture pools in my eyes and I wipe at it. I won’t cry. Not in front of them. They are the enemy. They are the ones that created this situation. With each flutter of my eyelids, the urge is to keep them closed, but I force them open. I don’t know these people. I don’t know them and it’s not safe to sleep.
“If you’re tired,” Olivia says as if she already knows the answer, “we have a spare bedroom. Two in fact.”
“I’m not tired,” I answer through the yawn. “But can I use the bathroom?”
“Of course,” says Olivia.
Cyrus and Izzy hop up, but Olivia forces them to reclaim their seats with one slice of her hand. She’s slow as she stands and a large helping of guilt plops into the bottom of my stomach.
“You can tell me where it is,” I say. She repeats the gesture to me and I also withdraw into silence.
I follow her down the hallway. We pass two bedrooms and the hallway turns. In front of us is a larger bedroom and to the right is the bathroom.
Olivia prevents me from entering the bathroom by placing her cold hand on my arm. My heart stutters as if shocked by electricity. She’s not dead. Nope, not dead. Very, very much alive.
“We’re going to my bedroom,” she says in a voice you don’t argue with. She flips on a light and I’m surprised by the pink-and-blue pastels on her comforter and curtains.
“I like your room.” I’m drawn to the door leading out of her room to the porch. I could bolt and possibly escape from this madness.
“Did you expect skulls and crossbones?” She opens a jewelry box on her dresser. “A gun arsenal and torture chamber?”
Well...yes. “No.”
“You’re a bad liar, Emily, and I’m going to need you to get better at it, but I have faith that will happen. You are, by blood, a McKinley.”
A wave of defiance tightens my muscles. “I’m a Jennings.”
“Thanks to a paper trail and a judge’s signature, but you are one of us. You always have been.” Olivia riffles through stacks of photos she took out of the jewelry box then offers one to me.
No. There’s no freaking way that picture is real. Dizziness overtakes my mind as I lose myself in a haze. I’m asleep and this is a dream.
“Take it,” she demands.
Can’t make me. I shake my head and step back.
“Olivia?” Cyrus calls from the living room. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Olivia raises her voice to answer while refusing to break eye contact with me. She lowers her tone again. “I promised Eli and your mother that I would take this to the grave. The way I see it, I already have one foot in, so what difference does it make.”
My gaze drifts to the picture trembling in her hand and I wince. The pink elephant in the chubby hands of the baby in the photo is more than familiar. He’s cherished and adored and has seen me through some of my scariest moments. His name is James and, at home, in Florida, he’s propped on my dresser looking a lot more worn and a lot less pink and lot more loved.
The baby is old enough to rip through the mess of presents in front of her. She has long brown hair and she wears the same pink dress that my mother drags out on my birthdays to show how I’ve grown over the years. I hate that the baby sports a huge smile as she beams reverently at the person who’s holding her—Olivia.
My lower lip quivers and tears burn my eyes. I’m too tired for this. I’m too tired and there’s no way this is true. It’s not. My mother would never lie to me. Never. “My mom left Snowflake when she found out she was pregnant with me.”
“Your mother walked out of this house, your home, with you in the dead of night right after your second birthday.”
This house? No way. “Your son turned us away. He left us. Both of us. Mom said not one of you wanted me.”
“Your entire life is a lie and I’m the only person willing to give you the truth,” she says. “And if you want the truth, you’re going to have to stay here in Kentucky, because God knows that your parents won’t tell you. Even if it’ll cost you your life.”
Olivia snatches my hand and shoves the picture into my palm, curling my fingers over it. I twist away from her grasp. “This picture doesn’t mean anything. Maybe we came back for a visit but we obviously didn’t stay.”
“It was no visit. You lived here once and your mother stole you from us.”
“Olivia?” Cyrus calls again.
She walks past me and this consuming anger causes me to lash out before she leaves me alone. “My mother told me that all of you are crazy. This photo is a fake and you’re a liar.”
Olivia smirks. “We both know that’s wrong, don’t we, Emily Star?”
The breath rushes from my body as if I’ve been socked in the stomach. “That’s not my name.”
“Yes,” she says simply. “It is.”
It is...rather it was.
Emily Star is the name on my birth certificate, but when my father adopted me, we changed it to Emily Catherine so that I shared my grandmother’s, Dad’s mom’s, name. “So you know what used to be my middle name. It doesn’t prove anything.”
“It does, and so does that picture.”
“Mom said that the people in Snowflake are the worst kind of evil.” Cruel, I know, and there’s a pang of hurt and guilt, but what she’s doing to me right now is nothing short of agony.
Olivia pauses. Grandmothers are supposed to be maternal. They’re supposed to bake cakes and pies and cookies and pat my hand and tell me not to worry. They aren’t supposed to use curse words or speak in code or try to break me on one of the worst days of my life.
As she studies me, I one hundred percent understand that she’s not the warm fuzzy type. But the way sadness weighs on her face, I discover she’s not immune to caustic words.
“I’m not evil,” she states.
My skin prickles. Well, she sure as hell isn’t nice.
“I’m not,” she repeats. Then she sighs. “Either guest bedroom is yours to use. The one on the left belonged to you. You used to lie in your crib and watch the sunrise with a smile on your face.”
I shut my eyes. She’s lying. Has to be. There’s no other explanation for this. The picture is fake. Her words are lies. This entire scenario is me having a psychotic break after she popped out of the casket.
Without saying a word, I stalk past her into the bathroom and lock her out.
Oz (#ulink_61e58e1c-fe42-5edc-8ea1-1d1a45b8e91b)
I ENTER THE living room and there’s one major player missing: Emily. “Should I be concerned?”
Olivia rests her head against the couch and closes her eyes. “She’s in the bathroom. The child has had enough to deal with and needs some time alone.”
Because when I want time alone, I think toilets. “She’s not a child.”
Emily’s far from it. That body she has—those curves, the way her hips move when she walks, the way I fantasized about worshipping that flat stomach if we had privacy and she wasn’t Eli’s daughter—that’s no child.
Olivia cracks open an eye, but before she can respond, Cyrus jumps in. “Oz is right. She’s not the two-year-old that used to follow you around in your tomato garden.”
“If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it,” Olivia answers. “Both of you.”
Mom offers Olivia a hand. “You need to rest. I’ll wake you when we hear from Eli.”
The strain of the past few hours weighs Olivia down as she accepts. Together, they leave the room. Emily can’t get out of here fast enough, in my opinion. Olivia will use the strength she needs to defeat the cancer in order to maintain appearances for Emily.
When the door to Olivia’s bedroom shuts, I appraise Cyrus as I shift the chess pieces in my head. The board in front of me is complicated and I don’t have many pieces to begin with. “What do you need me to do?”
“Entertain Emily.” Cyrus reaches behind the recliner and brings out his double-gauge shotgun. “Didn’t think I should keep it in sight with her ready to jump out of her skin.”
I chuckle. “Good call. How long has she been in the bathroom?”
“Long enough that someone she trusts should check to see if she slit her wrists.”
My head falls back. Screw me for asking. Cyrus focuses on the television, and keeps his gun in his lap. Suddenly the knife hanging on my hip develops an inferiority complex.
“Remember that she’s scared,” he says.
I flip Cyrus off as I head to check on Emily. Cyrus flips it back. The moment I have a cut on my back, I’m going to have to watch myself with the board members, especially being a prospect. But for now, Cyrus isn’t the president of the club to me—he’s the man who took care of me for the first few years of my life.
My mother’s voice is muffled on the other side of Olivia’s door. Not a good sign. Olivia has to be weaker than I thought to let my mother help her into bed. My neck tightens. Emily’s going to kill Olivia if she stays much longer.
I tap on the bathroom door and when there’s no response, I knock again. Still nothing. Damn, she probably has slit her wrists.
The voices from the other side of Olivia’s door go quiet. The last thing I want is Olivia barging out of her bedroom and taking over again. She needs sleep, not to be babysitting Emily. I brought this trouble into her home and I can handle it for a few more hours.
I try the knob and it doesn’t budge. Grabbing the skeleton key we store on top of the door frame in case Olivia passes out in the bathroom, I wiggle it around in the small hole until I hear the click of the lock giving. I’m slow opening the door, in case Emily is lost in her thoughts on the toilet.
Each push of the door is methodic and gradual. Empty floor. Closed toilet. Curtains blowing in the breeze and a wide-open window. My fingers curl until they form a fist. I’m going to wring Emily’s tiny, delicate, hot little neck.
Emily (#ulink_3069577b-7edf-5eb1-a3ed-c44f587f2eb3)
WITH MY KNEES pulled to my chest, I sit on a wooden bench that rests below a darkened window of the house. According to Olivia, the room belonged to me, which doesn’t make sense on multiple levels. The impulse is to peer into the room to see if the answers I’m searching for are in there, but I don’t. I keep my back to the house and my eyes locked on the approaching sunrise.
I’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours and my brain has disconnected from my emotions. I feel stretched and numb. Cold and hot. Wired and exhausted. I sort of welcome it. I’m officially too tired for fear.
Oz was right earlier. I definitely was sucked into a storm and I’m desperately trying to grab on to anything solid to prevent myself from plummeting into the vortex of the tornado.
There’s a moan in the wooden window frame a few feet down and out pops a jean-clad leg. It’s the same black boot that monopolized my space at the funeral home. Oz slides out of the house with more elegance than me. I ended up on my butt. He lands on both feet. Even with all that muscle, he’s graceful like a cat. Goody for him.
His eyes dart around and he does a double take when he spots me on the bench. He scans the yard and thick surrounding woods, then he strides over as if climbing out a bathroom window is normal. “And they say people from Kentucky are backward. We have a front door and one in the kitchen, or do you think you’re too good for either one?”
“Would they have let me out?”
“Onto the porch.”
“Sure they would have—with an armed guard.”
“Not armed guard—escort,” he corrects as he stands in front of me. “And if you had made a break for it, I would have had to tackle you and then we’d be in all sorts of trouble. Could you imagine me putting my hands on your body?”
He winks.
Winks.
Heat rushes up my neck and my earlobes burn.
“I...” Clear my throat so I can at least pretend that comment didn’t slip under my skin. “I have no idea what you’re suggesting.”
“Yeah, you do. Since you arrived at the funeral home, I’ve been looking at you and you’ve been looking at me. Too bad you didn’t go out the front door. Would have been fun, don’t you think? Me tackling you. Us rolling around. Tell me, Emily, are you the type of girl that doesn’t mind a good time?”
His strong body over mine. My hands messing through his hair. His hands touching my face. Holy hell, my nerve endings tingle.
The right side of his mouth tips up as if he can read my thoughts and his eyes wash over me like a lingering waterfall. That’s when it hits me, he’s playing a game with me. “You’re full of yourself.”
“Might be, but I’m not wrong, plus for thirty seconds you weren’t having a pity party. So what happened with your escape plans? Did your momma tell you that you can’t cross the street without holding her hand?”
I throw him a mock smirk, but oh how I wish there was a road to cross and that was my problem. Instead, there’s woods. Lots of woods plus lots of darkness. Woods and darkness terrify me. Bad things live in the woods. Evil things exist in the dark. The inside of that cabin didn’t feel any safer so I opted for the bench with the glow of the lights from the utility pole near the house.
For some, hell might be being buried alive in a coffin. For others, hell would be being covered to their heads in a tank full of spiders. For me, it’s this. Encircled and enshrouded by claustrophobic darkness and foreboding woods. Dead things lie in wait in that black void.
In that house, a woman is battling death and also promising to tear apart the foundation on which I stand. Inside isn’t an option. Neither is out. I’m here on this bench because I didn’t know where else to go.
Oz assesses me. The same way my parents used to for weeks after they found me in that hole at eight. “You suck at running away. I found you in less than ten seconds.”
“Are you going to continue to rub it in that I failed?”
“I was going to, but that question stole my thunder.” Oz eases beside me and I curl into a ball toward the corner. Even with that move, the heat from his thighs wiggles past my jean shorts and caresses my skin. I rub my hand along my cold arms. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I crave to crawl up next to him and live in that heat for rest of my life.
He sprawls the massive wingspan of his arms along the back of the bench then extends his long legs, kicking one booted foot on top of the other. His fingers “accidently” swipe across my bare shoulder and it causes a tickle in my bloodstream.
Oz commands awareness like no one I have ever met before. There’s no denying his presence. No denying that his body is close to perfect. No denying that since I laid eyes on him I’ve wondered what he looks like with his shirt off.
Completely impervious to how his nearness affects me, he stares straight ahead and watches the sunrise. “Ever seen one of these before?”
According to Olivia, yes, but I shake my head no. I’ve been up before dawn, but I’ve never sat and admired how the stars are chased away by the sun rising on the horizon.
“Me neither,” he says. “Mind if I watch it with you?”
“If I say no, will you leave?”
“No.” At least he’s honest. “But I’m trying to at least make you feel like you have a choice.”
“But I don’t.”
“But you don’t,” he repeats. “Just a few more hours, Emily, and you can go back to your life and I can go back to mine. We can both pretend we never met.”
That’s all I want. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“You make the people in my life sad and in the brief few hours I’ve known you, you keep racking up points in the heartache category. So, no, I’m not your biggest fan.”
I bite the inside of my lip and focus on my knees. It shouldn’t bother me what a punked-out moron thinks of me, but it does.
“Don’t look like that,” he pushes. “You could have killed me with some of the glares you’ve sent my way. Are you going to say you like me?”
He has been an ass, but he’s also saved me so instead of answering immediately, I look at him. Oz wears a black T-shirt with the word Conflict scrawled in some fancy script. His jeans are loose and he sports the same black studded belt from yesterday. His arms are chiseled like he works out often and he keeps a hand near the knife at his side. Oz shifts as if he’s uncomfortable.
“I don’t know you,” I finally answer.
Oz blinks like I said something profound, then returns his gaze to the east and appears to choose to ignore the past few exchanges. “You can go to sleep if you want. The window to that spare bedroom behind you is open. You can crawl in since you have an issue with doors.”
“Why were those guys at my motel?”
“The bed, Emily. Do you want it or not?”
Like Cyrus earlier, he’s not going to answer. The bed is tempting, but... “No, thank you. I’m going to wait for my parents and then I’ll go to sleep.”
“They’re safe,” Oz says, and I choose to believe him because the hollowness that happens inside me at the thought of any other option is too harsh to bear.
“You could be kidnapping me and trying to do that thing where I grow to love my captors. I’ve seen it on TV before.”
“You caught us. We knew you were going to walk out of the motel at three in the morning and we created this situation to freak you out into loving us. That’s how fucked up we are.”
“Why were you there?”
“Maybe I was using a room.”
I flat-out frown at the thought and I don’t understand why. My fingers tap my thigh and the picture in my hand moves. I seriously hate Oz and Olivia, and I shouldn’t hate Olivia, because she’s dying. “How far along is Olivia’s cancer?”
“Too far.” His voice is why-the-hell-did-you-bring-that-up clipped and I try to pretend I don’t exist.
The chatter of bullfrogs, crickets and the wind. It’s what’s between us. That and the fact I asked about Olivia’s health.
“I promise if you go to sleep, nothing bad will happen to you,” Oz offers.
That’s where he’s wrong. If I go to sleep, I can’t stop the worst from occurring. Staying awake is the only way I can chase the nightmares away. I am, like I was for twelve hours when I was eight, left to fend for myself. I shiver with the memory.
A light breeze dances across the yard and the picture Olivia gave me drops to the wooden porch. Oz leans forward faster than me, swipes it up, then pauses. After a second, he hands me the photo and I shove it into my pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” he asks.
“Olivia.”
He’s silent and he’s watching me and I despise the expression that tells me he sees things and knows things he shouldn’t. “Don’t tell Eli Olivia gave you that.”
“Why?”
“How far down this rabbit hole do you want to go?”
I don’t want to even be in the same state as the hole. “Can we just watch the sunrise?”
“I mean it,” he says. “You’ve already caused this family a world of hurt. If you tell Eli she gave you this, it’ll end badly for Olivia.”
Anger wells up inside me to the point I feel like a volcano. Olivia, Olivia, Olivia. I am so sick of him mentioning Olivia. “Well, I guess your precious Olivia is safe because besides having this picture I don’t know anything!”
“Good,” he snaps.
“Good,” I shout back.
“Great!”
“Can we watch the freaking sunrise?” I seethe.
“That we can do.”
A rumble of engines from the road and my heart kicks into high gear. Thank God, this is over. I jump to my feet and race to the front steps. Six motorcycles growl into the clearing. All the riders appear the same: big men wearing black leather Reign of Terror vests.
Four of them break from the pack and head to an overly large garage on the other side of the yard. The other two park along the edge of the driveway. With their backs to the light, their faces are blacked out by shadow.
My fingers twist and untwist together as I strain to hear another engine—a more familiar one, one belonging to a car, but as each bike shuts down, I experience a loneliness in the silence.
There’s movement near me and sound...but not the sound I long to hear. The clink of men swinging off their bikes. Oz’s boots thumping on the wood to be closer to me. The squeak of the door opening behind me. Even the coolness of the morning tries to steal my attention from the road, but I won’t look away. They’re coming for me. My parents are coming for me.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” Eli says at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m not.” A cloud moves and a ray of dull early-morning light strikes the road. No car. No hum of a smooth engine. No crackle of rocks under a tire. “How far behind are my mom and dad?”
Eli walks up the stairs and puts a firm hand on my arm. “They’re not coming, Emily.”
My words haunt me: You could be kidnapping me... Eli’s still talking. At least I believe he is, but all I hear is a low-pitched roar. They’re not coming. They’re not coming...
I spin, because if I do, then I’ll see something else. Hear something else. But I only see Oz. He lowers his head so that his hair hides his eyes. The roar is replaced by a high-pitched ringing and it grows louder and louder, drowning everything out. Almost everything. I can clearly hear the scream inside my head.
I spin again, but then think oddly how my feet didn’t move and how they are perfectly cemented to the ground and yet the world is twirling.
Twirling.
The last stars in the sky are twirling.
Heat creeps along my hairline while a cold clamminess claims my neck.
“Emily?” Eli’s voice breaks through the chaos. “Emily, are you okay?”
For a second, I’m weightless. Like if I was to stand on my tiptoes I could lift into the air and fly, but then a sharp tilt causes the wooden floor to rush toward my face.
The world goes dark.
Oz (#ulink_7629eb9c-e9d6-50f1-a6e7-5e60a8b40147)
WIND BLOWS IN from the north and a few pieces of Emily’s dark hair sweep across her face. One minute Emily’s a bright flame, then a gust snuffs out her light. Her body sways like a top at the tail end of a spin and I lunge forward.
Emily’s knees give out and her eyes roll back into her head. I catch her inches before she crashes onto the porch. She’s light as I swing her into my arms and her head circles onto my shoulder, reminding me of one of those rag dolls Violet used to play with when we were kids.
“Emily!” Eli’s on top of me, attempting to yank her out of my arms. “Open your eyes.”
Her eyelids flutter, but remain closed as her hand limply clutches my shirt. Eli rams his arms underneath mine and he makes Emily a rope in a tug-of-war. I should let her go. I should want to let her go, but then Emily goes and screws it up for me. “Oz.”
It was a damn whisper, but I heard my name on her lips and so did Eli. His eyes flash to mine and Cyrus’s words repeat in my mind. That girl trusts you. And screw us both for that.
“She’s exhausted,” I say. “Hasn’t slept at all tonight.”
Eli’s expression hardens as he glares at me. I’ve seen Eli throw a coma-inducing punch for less defiance and I readjust the sleeping girl in my arms. A reminder if he decks me now, he’ll be putting his daughter at risk.
Temporarily surrendering, Eli cups Emily’s face in his hands and angles her toward him. “Emily, please open your eyes.”
She does. It’s barely a crack and they’re completely glazed.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Eli affirms.
“I want my mom and dad,” she mumbles.
“You’ll see them tomorrow.” Eli pushes a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
She rejects Eli by curling into me. Her head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck and I loathe the wave of protectiveness that rumbles through my body. Emily’s fingers tighten their grip near my shoulders and the impulse is to shield her from the guys gawking at this intimate scene. Yeah, this is club business, but Emily never asked for any of this.
Cyrus opens the door and I move past Eli. He’s hot on my heels. So close, his breath hits the back of my neck. Mom steps out of the kitchen and is down the hallway before me. She waves for me to enter the spare bedroom.
It’s the bedroom no one ever uses. First it belonged to Eli’s brother and then he died. Most can get over that, but people will crash on the couch and hardwood floor before sleeping in the bedroom that Emily and her mother once claimed. The purple room with white bedding is cursed. No one wants anything to do with a traitor.
I lay Emily on the bed. Her arms fall over her head and her dark hair fans out on the pillow. Her eyes are shut and her breaths come out in a deep rhythmic pattern. I ease back as Eli spreads a blanket over Emily and removes the shoes from her feet, dropping each one to the floor.
Emily’s hand drifts to the edge of the bed and her fingers splay open. The picture Olivia gave her floats to the floor like a feather in the breeze. My heart pounds hard once. I go to retrieve it, but Mom snatches it with death written over her face. Her eyes meet mine and we stare at each other as if we’re looking down the business end of a rifle.
If Eli found that picture in Emily’s possession, he would have spiraled into dangerous quick.
“Where’d she get this?” Mom mouths.
I tilt my head toward Olivia’s bedroom and her eyes slam shut. As Eli straightens, Mom shoves the picture in her jeans pocket then spins on her heel and touches Eli’s arm to gain his attention. “Would you like me to stay with Emily?”
Eli draws a hand over his face and walks over to the window seat. He sags onto it and appears to age ten years.
Since Eli entered my life at eleven, he’s always been badass. All the stories I had been told before he returned to Snowflake made him larger than life. In reality, Eli is larger than life. Over six feet tall. Broad-shouldered. The Reign of Terror’s black leather cut strong on his back. I’ve seen him easily kick the shit out of any man stupid enough to stand in his way.
“Tell Cyrus I’ll update him soon, but I need to be in here,” Eli says. “Emily will need some things. Clothes, personal stuff. A burner phone. Can you handle that for me?”
“Of course,” Mom answers, and I don’t miss how she keeps a hand pressed over the pocket containing the picture. “Let’s go, Oz.”
I go to leave, but Eli stops me. “Tell me you didn’t fall asleep on lookout.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and point-blank meet his glare. Eli shakes his head in disgust. “We’ll deal with this in Church later. Cyrus says that Emily trusts you.”
If Eli believes it to be true and it works me back into his good graces then I’ll take it. “She hasn’t run away from me yet.” At least not far enough that I couldn’t catch her.
“We’ll be leaving here around three. Get some sleep. If she trusts you then I want you riding with us when we meet with her parents. You better wow me if you want to make prospect.”
I nod to him then glance at Emily as I leave. Amazing how someone so innocent and beautiful can wreak so much havoc.
Mom shuts the door behind us and leans into me like a rabid animal. “Did you know Emily had the picture? Did she bring it with her? Tell me that nod of your head did not mean that Olivia gave it to her.”
From the living room, Cyrus pokes his head around the corner and we stay silent until he resumes whatever he was doing. I keep my tone down when I answer Mom. “Olivia did give it to her. I told Emily not to tell Eli.”
Mom rams her fingers through her hair. “Eli will go ballistic if he finds out. You need to stay away from Emily.”
I chuckle. “I’m not stupid enough to hook up with Eli’s daughter.”
“Ew.” Her face crinkles. “Emily’s practically family to us.”
No, she’s not. She’s an outsider causing problems.
“But that’s not what I mean,” she says. “There’s a lot of old unmapped land mines surrounding her and I don’t want you to end up collateral damage.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Mom does that sad smile that she gave to me time and time again when I was younger after I came in bruised and bleeding from whatever trouble I had found. She touches my cheek. “That’s what I’m scared of. You know your father and I are here if you need us.”
“Yeah,” I answer.
Mom presses, “I mean it. If you need anything—”
A ring of a bell cuts her off and both of us turn our heads to Olivia’s room. We bought her that bell after her initial chemo treatment so she could call us in. She threw it at Cyrus and told him to shove the bell up his ass. She hates acting like a victim. “I hear the grumble of your voice, Oz. Get in here and give me answers.”
“She needs sleep.” Mom wavers on her feet and I despise the circles under her eyes. “But she won’t settle down until she finds out what’s going on with Emily.”
“I’ll take care of her.” I hold my hand out. “And I’ll get the picture back to her.”
Mom digs the photo out and gives it to me. “This isn’t the life I wanted for you. I had hoped you’d choose something different.”
Something within me shifts and my forehead furrows. What the hell? Mom collapses against the wall and scrubs her face with her hands. A pang of worry ricochets through me. There probably isn’t a person in this house who has slept in days. Because of that, I let her comment go. College Mom mentions, but walking away from Snowflake and the club—never. Exhaustion is causing everyone to talk nonsense.
I wrap an arm around my mother and pull her into me. She hugs me back and I kiss the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”
“Promise me you’ll sleep, as well.”
“Sure.” Whenever I can.
“Izzy?” Dad stands at the end of the hallway in the living room. He surveys both of us and I hide the picture from view. If I had a patch on my back, I’d be required to tell Eli what Olivia divulged to Emily. For once, I’m happy I’m not currently under that obligation.
“You ready to go home?” he asks Mom.
Mom sends me that sad smile again before seeking the shelter of my father’s body.
“You gonna man up tomorrow about falling asleep on the job?” my father asks as he hugs Mom.
“Yeah,” I answer, then jack my thumb in the opposite direction of him. “I’m going to sit with Olivia.”
He nods his approval and I leave my parents behind as I head into the room of the one person I can’t imagine living without.
Emily (#ulink_29ae8d14-a43c-50b8-b054-d7d7efc1fd0c)
I SUCK IN a large intake of air and roll to my side. On instinct, I reach for James, but then remember that he’s not in my bed anymore. I banished the pink elephant that I slept with for years to my dresser back in middle school. It was my way of breaking a bad habit, but for some reason, I still wake up searching.
My entire body except for my brain is zoned out. My muscles are warm and heavy and I must have swum too much with Dad then had a long run with Trisha... My eyes snap open... I’m not home and I’ve been separated from my mom and dad.
A puff of air to my face and there are two large dark eyes. Adrenaline shakes through me, my mouth gapes and a scream ravages my throat, but no sound escapes. I scramble back as the eyes inch closer. I push away. Kick at covers, but I become ensnarled and entangled. The eyes lunge forward and then they...lick?
Hot, sticky wetness across my face, on my cheeks, in my hair. Ugh. The smell of wet dog engulfs me. My hand grabs the muzzle of the beast in my bed and I nudge it away, but the drool monster keeps returning.
“Get down, Lars.” Eli rakes a hand over his short hair as he sits up on the long window seat. A pillow crease streaks across his cheek and he has the groggy appearance that accompanies just being woken. Eli wears the same white T-shirt as last night, the same pair of jeans and his leather vest hangs on the post of the bed.
I shake my head and rub my eyes. Sleeping Beauty must have been seriously disoriented after she woke up, but then she slept for years and me—I’ve obviously only slept an hour or so. “What time is it?”
“Too early to be awake,” Eli answers. “Go back to sleep, Emily. Your mom mentioned you don’t like the dark, woods or the unfamiliar so she said Olivia’s would make you uncomfortable. I’ll stay up if it’ll make you feel better.”
A pang of hurt shoots through me that she’d tell Eli, or anyone, my fear.
Another huff of warm air on my arm and the basset hound blinks at me before easing onto its hind legs to sit—while still on the bed. Nice to see it listened to Eli’s earlier command. Lars opens his mouth to allow his overly large pink tongue to spill out the side. He pants bad dog breath and looks at me like he’s smirking.
I detest dogs.
I wipe the slobber off my face then choke down the dry heave. Thick drool clings from finger to finger. Bad form to now deposit the slime anywhere else. Eli stands, pulls a white handkerchief out of his pocket and offers it to me. “Here.”
I accept the folded white square and take my time drying off my hand. According to the clock on the dresser it’s six in the morning and it’s too early to be attacked by drool. “When can I talk to Mom and Dad?”
“Soon,” Eli says. “They’ve moved locations. Once you get some sleep, I’ll take you to them.”
“Take me to them now.”
“You’ll see them in a few hours. Chill and go back to sleep.”
“Yay for your plans. Take me to them now.” I stare straight at Eli and he stares straight back at me. My biological father should scare the hell out of me with his glowering, but I’m too tired to be smart enough to worry. People obviously don’t talk back to him. My instincts must be right that he doesn’t have any other children. Or at least not ones he interacts with.
There’s a hard set to his jaw when he yanks his cell out of his back pocket and tosses it onto the bed. “They’re worried. I told them you had a rough night and were asleep. You’re so tired you passed out. You should be sleeping, not talking on the phone.”
I take his cell and scroll through the list of text messages already appearing on the screen. A grin attempts to pull at my lips. My mother is going absolutely ballistic. Not that I enjoy her panic, but it’s nice to see something familiar. The text conversations between my parents and Eli confirm it: I really wasn’t kidnapped.
I swing his phone back and forth. “Can I?”
“Contact them? It’d calm your mom down.” Eli relaxes back on the window seat and that stupid sloppy smile that I stupidly love crosses his face. “The past twenty-four hours have been so messed up that I haven’t had a chance to tell you how happy I am to see you. Because of Mom’s condition, I wasn’t sure when I was going to make it to Florida for a visit.”
My heart plummets and I focus on the texts even though I stopped reading. The expectant hope on Eli’s face cuts right through me. God, I’m an awful person and I don’t want to be an awful person. Eli’s a good guy and he has no idea how much I dread his annual visit to Florida.
When I was ten, I made a horrible mistake. One I continually pay for. A mistake that has brought heartache to my mother and a ton of continual hurt for me. I asked if I could see a picture of Eli because...because...I was curious.
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Кэти Макгэрри
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Детская проза
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The long awaited all new series from the #1 bestselling author of Pushing the LimitsEmily likes her life the way it is…Doting parents, great friends, good school… But she’s curious about her biological father – the one who chose life on the road over being a parent.When a reluctant visit to him turns into an extended summer, one thing becomes clear: nothing is what it seems. Not her secret-keeping father and not Oz, the dangerous boy who can help her understand her family’s deepest secrets.When Emily’s father asks Oz to keep her safe, Oz knows it’s his chance to prove himself. What he doesn’t count on is Emily turning his world upside down.And Oz is everything Emily isn’t supposed to want… but sometimes the road you fear is the one that leads you home.Praise for Katie McGarry′The love story of the year′ – Teen Now on Pushing the Limits′A real page-turner′ – Mizz on Pushing the Limits′A romance with a difference′ – Bliss on Pushing the Limits.