Long Way Home

But the pictures are no longer an issue, and neither is the guy. Razor’s to thank for that and the only thing he asked of me in return was to stop drinking around people who weren’t the Terror. I decided to stop drinking, period. The drinking didn’t help anyhow. Didn’t make me forget like TV and movies said it would. It only made my crazy emotions crazier, made the sadness sadder, made me fall into dark places when I already couldn’t see daylight.

I roll my neck and try to focus. Try to make out any sounds outside the bathroom door, but it’s been hard. My mind keeps wandering. Goes to random places, but then returns to the way my heart slammed in my chest as I ran for the gun, the way my stomach sank when I heard the bang, the bullet that missed, and then my thoughts wander off in weird directions like to this past summer and how I’d give almost anything to push rewind and get a second chance.

A second chance—will I have one going forward? Will Chevy?

Focus!

I suck in a deep breath and try to listen, but I hear nothing. How long have I been in here? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Did they take Chevy out of the house? Are they hurting him? My eyes burn and I quickly stand, not wanting to let visions of him bruised and bleeding enter my mind.

I stare at the door and will it to open. Will Chevy to be standing on the other side, offering me his hand and telling me that we’re safe and that we can leave. But nothing happens. No noise. No turning of the knob. Nothing.

My entire body quakes. He’s been gone too long, and I need to find him. I need to know if he’s okay, but what if he’s not okay? What if I open the door and there’s another gun pointing at me?

I shake my head. What if there is? If I’m going to die, I’m going to die. At this point, it could be a relief compared to thinking of how this is all going to end.

The three steps to the door are the longest of my life, and when I turn the knob, I quit breathing. The hallway right outside the bathroom is empty. I step out, I turn my head and Chevy’s down the hallway, leaning his back against the corner of the kitchen, and he swings his head in my direction.

I blink. Something’s wrong. This whole situation is wrong, but his expression...

“Kenneth’s talking with Chevy on some club business.” A woman appears to my left. She’s older, in her sixties maybe, but she has blond hair, blue eyes, jeans, a purple sweater, pearls in her ears and a gold cross around her neck.

My hand goes to my father’s cross. It should be buried beneath my shirt, pressed against my skin, but Fiend stole it along with my bracelets, Dad’s watch and my other necklaces.

“Sweetheart, do you hear me?” she asks.

I died. I died and I’m in some sort of hell.

“Kenneth is Skull,” she continues. “My husband. I’m Jenna. We’re both sorry about how you were treated. I’m sure Kenneth explained it was a misunderstanding.”

Sure it was. “Then let us leave.”

“Chevy and Kenneth are calling Eli now. We’ll figure out how to get you home safely without entanglements.”

She means police. If what she says is true, I’m not sure why she thinks we won’t call the police the moment we’re free, or why Eli wouldn’t call the police if he hasn’t already. We were kidnapped. Me and Chevy. Two people who haven’t blood-pact-pinkie-sworn to be part of an MC.

“Why don’t you come in here and give Chevy and Kenneth the time to work out details?” She waves her hand toward a bedroom diagonal from the bathroom and farther away from Chevy. “I have something to drink ready for you. Tea. It’s warm and can help calm your nerves. There’s also something to eat in there if you’d like.”

As if I could eat, but I swallow in an effort to ease my dry mouth. I follow her, and once I reach the doorway, I jerk back. The man with the scar stands in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t freak,” he says. “If you remember correctly, I’m the one that kept that bullet from going into your body. And as a public service announcement, I’m not into seventeen-year-old girls nor am I going to hurt one in front of my mother.”

The scar across his face—that’s from Eli. I’ve heard about this my entire life. Eli fell in love with this man’s sister, Meg. Meg left with Eli, had a baby with Eli, and when she refused to return to her family, this man tried to force Meg to come home and Eli came to her rescue. The bad part of the rescue is that Eli became so violent, he almost killed this man and Eli went to prison for attempted murder.

Scarred Guy’s mother sits on the bed and crosses her ankles. “See? Justin confirmed you’re safe.”

They aren’t using road names. They’re trying to make me feel like they’re normal, like I’m safe. I glance down the hallway at Chevy again and he looks as lost and bewildered as me.

Chevy cocks his head to the kitchen, then gestures with his chin for me to remain where I am. He returns his attention to whoever is speaking to him. He’s okay and he doesn’t want me to be a part of what they’re talking about. If he’s okay, maybe I am, too, for the moment.

I rest my shoulder against the door frame of the room.

Jenna and her son share a look because—shocker—the kidnap victim isn’t cooperating.

“I’m ready to go home,” I say.

Jenna mashes her lips together. “I’ll tell Kenneth.”

She leaves, goes down the hallway to the kitchen, and then I hear the door to the outside open and close. Funny how I didn’t hear her make a peep to Kenneth.

Scarred Guy Justin still stands in the corner, still has his arms crossed over his chest, still watches me. Chevy wants me to stay here and I don’t.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Justin says. “We weren’t after Chevy. It was you we wanted to talk to, but our guy got out of control. He thought he had you alone, he was ordered to convince you to come talk to me or Dad. Fiend didn’t know Chevy was going to be there when they pulled up, and when that kid started swinging, our guy lost his mind.”

“Well, gee, I guess that makes everything okay.”

His lips edge up but then fall back down. “Fiend will be punished, so there’s no need for you and Chevy to go all crazy and cause legal problems for us later.”

“I feel so much better,” I say drily. “Besides, you’re full of crap. Chevy’s the one with the possible power play, I’m nobody.”

“We’ve been watching you for a while,” he continues. “You’re the one that brought Emily to us this past summer.”

I readjust as the need to shed my skin overwhelms me. I did bring Eli’s daughter to Louisville, but in our defense, neither of us knew at the time that her grandparents were Riot royalty. She thought she was meeting her long-lost normal grandparents, at a time when she really needed some normal and some answers in her life.

“You lost your dad, and I’m sorry. Frat was a good man.”

Anger wells up in me from the tip of my toes and then explodes out of my mouth. “You know nothing about my father.”

“Untrue. Your father was the one reason why the Riot and Terror never went Apocalypse Now. He had a steady head. Smart as hell. If he was still around, none of what happened this summer surrounding Emily would have happened. He would have figured out a way for Eli to see her, for us to see her, and she wouldn’t have been caught between us, trying to figure out who’s good and who’s bad.”

Easy. If I had to pick, they’re both bad, but the Terror are annoying-little-brother bad and the Riot are serial-killer bad. No-brainer.

“Your father wanted peace more than anything else. Did you know he was on his way to meet me when he died? Once every three months, he met with me and he listened to our list of grievances with the Terror and he’d tried to explain how we somehow had done the Terror wrong.”

I straighten away from the door frame. “Are you saying you killed him?”

Justin’s face screws up. “Fuck no. I respected the hell out of Frat, regardless of whose colors he had on his back. He wanted peace. Our club wants peace. His death was an accident. Trust me, we looked into it just as much as your club did. We weren’t sure if your side was trying to take him out because he was the one person who was able to see both sides and tried to keep us all from killing each other.”

I roll my eyes and Justin catches it. “You don’t believe me?”

“No. I may not know much, but your club is the one always pushing on the Terror to pay for riding through your territory and your club is always the one hurting Terror members.” I hold out my arms in a “hello.”

“There are rules, ways things are done, and the Terror think they’re above it.”

Maybe they do, maybe they don’t, but regardless... “Your politics have nothing to do with me.”

“It does.”

He’s delusional. “It doesn’t.”