Long Way Home
Page 59
An edginess sets into my muscles. “You think they were after Violet?”
“She was alone with them and she’s not talking about what they said. I don’t know how to protect her, you or my club when she keeps quiet. She’s close to you again, and I need you to use that. Get her to talk, and once she does talk, promise me you’ll tell me what she says.
“This isn’t football,” he continues. “This is the lives of men you consider family, friends and brothers. You want me to leave football alone, I will, but don’t let your feelings and loyalties for Violet cost me any more people I love.”
“You’re talking like she’s working against you, against the club,” I say in a low voice, and there’s a dangerous curling in my gut.
“The Riot went from beating the hell out of you, pulling a gun and taking a shot to letting you go within thirty minutes. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t have made some sort of deal to get you and her out?”
Can’t lie. After I heard that gunshot, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t have done. Cyrus reads my expression and nods his understanding. “Difference between you and Violet is that you trust us and she doesn’t. When dogs are chained and mistreated, they’ll bite any hand, even the one meant to save and feed them. Violet’s no exception.”
I had heaven last night with Violet, and in a matter of minutes, my mind’s a mess again.
“Promise me you’ll find out what’s going on,” Cyrus presses. “Promise you’ll tell me. Think about how many people are depending on you doing the right thing.”
Like Eli, Oz, Razor, Pigpen, Man O’ War, their wives and girlfriends and children. It all sucks, but I love these people as much as Cyrus. Violet does, too. Our endgame is the same, even if Violet doesn’t understand that now. “I’ll get her to talk. I’ll let you know what’s going on.”
The front door shuts, and my spine straightens as if I was jolted with electricity. I’m out of the chair and into the living room and Violet is leaning against the front door. She looks at me, I look at her and her expression is blank, giving absolutely nothing away.
“Eli dropped us off,” she says. “Brandon’s waiting in the truck and he doesn’t want to be late for school.”
“I was talking to Cyrus. Do you want a donut?”
Violet looks me over from head to toe. She heard. She knows I’m betraying her. “No, I’m good.” Her lips lift as she jacks her thumb over her shoulder. “You ready?”
My gut twists at the smile. Maybe she didn’t hear, but then again, maybe she did. Either way, we won’t be able to talk about it until later tonight. After school, after the lineup, after all the other people fade away. Question is, can I lose her in that amount of time?
“Yeah, I’m ready to roll.”
Violet
I WIPE MY COLD, clammy hands against my jeans and drop into the nearest chair in the conference room the detective pointed me toward. Mom, Cyrus and Eli pulled me and Chevy out of school early and brought us to the police station in Louisville. It’s Thursday and we’re here to identify the men who kidnapped us.
No sweat, right? Nothing bad will happen from fingering the bastards who kidnapped and tortured us. Of course I should believe what the Riot are telling the Terror. The Riot are one million percent behind us prosecuting, in theory, ex-members of their club.
Yep, easy peasey lemon squeezy.
Doesn’t help I found another note this morning in my leather jacket.
Heard after the lineup you’ll be heading home. You know what to do once you get there. We don’t believe it should take you long.
Whoever is watching me is on the inside of the club as Eli isn’t overly talking to people about me heading home and that means I’m doubly screwed. There’s no trusting the club. There’s no way to ignore the Riot. There’s no way to survive this situation intact.
Tonight, I’ll go home, wait for Mom to fall asleep and then I’ll search through Dad’s computer and dig through old files to find account numbers that will secure my family’s safety and Eli’s place in hell. God, I want to vomit.
Chevy enters the room and sits beside me in one of the chairs against the wall. He’s cool and calm and collected as always. In this moment, I find his demeanor infuriating as I feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust into a ball of fire.
“You okay?” he asks low enough so only I can hear.
“Peachy,” I answer, and his body shakes with his short chuckle.
I don’t know how to handle or what to think of Chevy. I overheard the tail end of his conversation with Cyrus. Some words I could understand, others I couldn’t, but from what I gathered, Chevy plans on getting me to talk and then selling me out.
I should be mad. I should be furious, but I can’t find the strength for so much anger. He’s lying to me. I’m lying to him. I figure that makes us even.
The police station isn’t really as crazy as I thought it would be. It’s rather calm. Lots of random people and police officers at desks in half-walled cubicles. I assumed it would be like TV and there’d be people handcuffed to chairs and yelling obscenities. Maybe that happens in another part of the building.
Everyone’s been nice. Offering us something to drink, explaining what will happen when the lineup starts, telling me that I look like I’m about to pass out and it’s okay to sit. You know, nice.
“She was alone with them and she’s not talking about what they said. I don’t know how to protect her, you or my club when she keeps quiet. She’s close to you again, and I need you to use that. Get her to talk, and once she does talk, promise me you’ll tell me what she says.
“This isn’t football,” he continues. “This is the lives of men you consider family, friends and brothers. You want me to leave football alone, I will, but don’t let your feelings and loyalties for Violet cost me any more people I love.”
“You’re talking like she’s working against you, against the club,” I say in a low voice, and there’s a dangerous curling in my gut.
“The Riot went from beating the hell out of you, pulling a gun and taking a shot to letting you go within thirty minutes. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t have made some sort of deal to get you and her out?”
Can’t lie. After I heard that gunshot, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t have done. Cyrus reads my expression and nods his understanding. “Difference between you and Violet is that you trust us and she doesn’t. When dogs are chained and mistreated, they’ll bite any hand, even the one meant to save and feed them. Violet’s no exception.”
I had heaven last night with Violet, and in a matter of minutes, my mind’s a mess again.
“Promise me you’ll find out what’s going on,” Cyrus presses. “Promise you’ll tell me. Think about how many people are depending on you doing the right thing.”
Like Eli, Oz, Razor, Pigpen, Man O’ War, their wives and girlfriends and children. It all sucks, but I love these people as much as Cyrus. Violet does, too. Our endgame is the same, even if Violet doesn’t understand that now. “I’ll get her to talk. I’ll let you know what’s going on.”
The front door shuts, and my spine straightens as if I was jolted with electricity. I’m out of the chair and into the living room and Violet is leaning against the front door. She looks at me, I look at her and her expression is blank, giving absolutely nothing away.
“Eli dropped us off,” she says. “Brandon’s waiting in the truck and he doesn’t want to be late for school.”
“I was talking to Cyrus. Do you want a donut?”
Violet looks me over from head to toe. She heard. She knows I’m betraying her. “No, I’m good.” Her lips lift as she jacks her thumb over her shoulder. “You ready?”
My gut twists at the smile. Maybe she didn’t hear, but then again, maybe she did. Either way, we won’t be able to talk about it until later tonight. After school, after the lineup, after all the other people fade away. Question is, can I lose her in that amount of time?
“Yeah, I’m ready to roll.”
Violet
I WIPE MY COLD, clammy hands against my jeans and drop into the nearest chair in the conference room the detective pointed me toward. Mom, Cyrus and Eli pulled me and Chevy out of school early and brought us to the police station in Louisville. It’s Thursday and we’re here to identify the men who kidnapped us.
No sweat, right? Nothing bad will happen from fingering the bastards who kidnapped and tortured us. Of course I should believe what the Riot are telling the Terror. The Riot are one million percent behind us prosecuting, in theory, ex-members of their club.
Yep, easy peasey lemon squeezy.
Doesn’t help I found another note this morning in my leather jacket.
Heard after the lineup you’ll be heading home. You know what to do once you get there. We don’t believe it should take you long.
Whoever is watching me is on the inside of the club as Eli isn’t overly talking to people about me heading home and that means I’m doubly screwed. There’s no trusting the club. There’s no way to ignore the Riot. There’s no way to survive this situation intact.
Tonight, I’ll go home, wait for Mom to fall asleep and then I’ll search through Dad’s computer and dig through old files to find account numbers that will secure my family’s safety and Eli’s place in hell. God, I want to vomit.
Chevy enters the room and sits beside me in one of the chairs against the wall. He’s cool and calm and collected as always. In this moment, I find his demeanor infuriating as I feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust into a ball of fire.
“You okay?” he asks low enough so only I can hear.
“Peachy,” I answer, and his body shakes with his short chuckle.
I don’t know how to handle or what to think of Chevy. I overheard the tail end of his conversation with Cyrus. Some words I could understand, others I couldn’t, but from what I gathered, Chevy plans on getting me to talk and then selling me out.
I should be mad. I should be furious, but I can’t find the strength for so much anger. He’s lying to me. I’m lying to him. I figure that makes us even.
The police station isn’t really as crazy as I thought it would be. It’s rather calm. Lots of random people and police officers at desks in half-walled cubicles. I assumed it would be like TV and there’d be people handcuffed to chairs and yelling obscenities. Maybe that happens in another part of the building.
Everyone’s been nice. Offering us something to drink, explaining what will happen when the lineup starts, telling me that I look like I’m about to pass out and it’s okay to sit. You know, nice.
