Nowhere but Here

  “Stay here?” We were seconds from kissing again and now he thinks he can tell me what to do?

  He moves away from the bar, toward the door and when I follow, he freezes me with a hard glare. “I said, stay there.”

  “You almost kissed me and so now you’re going to behave like an ass?”

  “I didn’t hear you telling me to stop, and if you’re going to call me a name, get it right. I’m an asshole.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “My apologies. I forgot that you want me to own my opinions. You’re right. You are an asshole.”

  Oz

  FUCKIN’ A, I’M an asshole. I’m also a moron for almost letting that spiral out of control.

  The windows of the clubhouse are blacked out so I stand by the door keeping an eye on the security monitor by the bar. The gun feels heavy on my back, but if trouble’s arrived I won’t necessarily have to pull it. There’s so much tension and anger built up in me, I’m practically shaking. A part of me wishes for the Riot to show so I can throw a punch in someone’s face.

  But it’s not the Riot. It’s Chevy and when he gets close enough, I open the door.

  I expect his easygoing grin and smart-ass greeting; instead he stalks in like a tiger that lost his dinner in a bloody battle. “We need to go.”

  I eyeball Emily then zero in on him. “Can’t. I’m babysitting.”

  “Did you say babysitting?” Irritation leaks into her tone.

  I ignore Emily and so does Chevy. “Olivia called. Violet and Stone are broke down on Applewood Pass. They have a flat and the spare is busted. I sent out a SOS to the club, but everyone is on that ride with Eli.”

  Not everyone. Eli held a few guys back to watch the perimeter of the property. I massage the knots out of the back of my neck. Violet’s dad was a member of this club and he died not too long ago. Violet, Stone and their mother are our responsibility now.

  “I have my own problems,” I mutter.

  Chevy glances over at Emily. She immediately looks away. “I see that, but I need the truck and I can’t be alone with Violet. I’ll be damned if we fail her on this and she has one more excuse to bitch about the club.”

  Technically, Applewood Pass is on Cyrus’s property and Emily and I do need a chaperon and a distraction. I dig the keys Eli gave me last night out of my pocket. “Let’s go fix some tires.”

  Emily

  STOP ME IF you’ve heard it before: one girl and two bikers ride together in the cab of a truck... Yeah, I know. I haven’t heard the joke myself, but I sure feel like the punch line.

  Oz opens the passenger-side door and does a sweeping motion indicating for me to enter. The guy who just showed hops into the passenger side and flings the door shut. The truck is old...like God created it on the eighth day then decided he made a mistake and went with us using horses for a few thousand years.

  Rust lines the bottom edge of the frame. The pleather material of the bench seat is ripped and wires hang out in various spots in the dashboard. The scent of stale cigarettes drifts out of the interior. It’s what I rode in the other day with Eli, but without him this has a more foreboding atmosphere.

  I climb in and the guy near the passenger door rolls down the window. The second I’m across the seat, Oz is in and I attempt to make myself smaller. It’s nearly impossible when I’m squished between two huge guys. Oz starts the truck and heads down the road.

  “Hey,” says the overly huge, brown-haired biker Ken doll. “I’m Chevy.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Not really. “I’m Emily.”

  He rests his elbow on the open window and grasps the roof of the truck. “I know. I’m your cousin.”

  That draws my attention. “We’re related?”

  “By blood,” he admits, sharing my enthusiasm for this family reunion. “Our fathers were brothers.”

  He doesn’t even attempt to allow me space as he settles in his seat. I’m the equivalent of a thin slice of moldy unwanted cheese between these two massive guys.

  Chevy spreads his knees and I scoot over only to end up with my thigh touching Oz’s. I jerk back and crash into Chevy. He tosses me an are-you-impaired glare and the sigh that leaves my mouth is painful.

  Oz peeks in my direction and my stupid body tingles. I’ve been kissed by three guys. Two of whom I at least liked and they liked me back. Both of those kisses were also comparable to licking live fish out of the ocean.

  Never once did my heart race for them. Never once did my mouth dry out. Never once did my universe explode into fireworks like it did when Oz kissed me. I lower my head and rub my temples to keep from groaning in frustration. I don’t even like Oz and for some stupid reason I dream of crawling onto his lap, wrapping myself around him and kissing him until our lips fall off.

  The truck rocks on the worn-out road and when Oz accelerates, the potholes become unforgiving as my body is flung from one side to the other. First knocking into Chevy then back into Oz. This is freaking horrible.

  My fingers fumble at the seam of the seat, but not a seat belt in sight. Neither guy wears one and I feel completely naked not strapped in. Oz hits sixty-five and with both windows rolled down, wind whips through the truck, causing my hair to sting my face. I gather the locks at the nape of my neck and my body flies into the air again as the truck pounds into a hole.

  “Will you slow down?!” I slam back into the seat, reach for the console to steady myself and the result is a fistful of wires. With a turn, I slide to the left. My body completely flush with Oz’s. This is worse than the Himalayan at the county fair.

  “Can you try to sit still?” Oz asks.

  “Can you try to drive like a normal person or at least tell me where the seat belts are at?”

  Oz smiles and I notice my cousin sporting a smirk, as well. I hate both of them.

  “There they are,” says Chevy. “Stop the truck.”

  Oz

  CHEVY’S OUT THE passenger-side door before I stop the truck and jogs ahead. Around the curve of the road, practically hidden by the deep green of the trees, is a flash of red hair and the back end of a blue 1972 Chevelle.

  Dammit. I’d love to smash Chevy’s head into the side of the truck for leaving me alone with Emily, but I can’t. Not when I understand why he’s a mess. I cut the engine and angle to face her. “This is club stuff so stay here.” We’re deep on Cyrus’s property and she’ll always be in sight.

  Emily focuses on the dashboard and I feel like a dick. I almost kissed her and now I’m treating her like shit. She deserves better, but I don’t have time to make this right. “I mean it. I need you to stay in here.”

  Still nothing.

  “Fuck it.”

  I exit the truck and Violet and Chevy are already going at it like they had during the last few weeks of their doomed relationship.

  “I said I got this!” Violet grabs hold of the jack in Chevy’s hands. His knuckles fade into white as he clenches the tool.

  Violet’s seventeen, the same age as Chevy. She’s all red hair, blue eyes, faded jeans, blue button-down, a few inches shorter than him and pissed off at the world. Specifically the club.

  I nod my chin at the kid standing awkwardly off to the side. Odds are this is the first time Violet or Stone have seen the club since someone leaked to the Riot about Emily. He’s the paranoid type that wonders in his jacked-up head if we would blame him when he didn’t do anything wrong. Because I don’t want him pissing his pants, I smile when I say, “What’s going on, Stone?”

  The kid lights up, but shoves his hands in his jeans when his older sister imitates a wall and slides in between us with her hand still on the jack.

  “His name’s not Stone.” Pure venom spills out with the glare she throws me. “It’s Brandon and, as I said, we don’t need your help.”

  “I have to disagree with you o
n that,” I say. “Seeing that it’s me, Chevy and Razor who are your family and families help each other.”

  “Is she related to me, too?” asks a familiar voice.

  I lower my head before I glance over my shoulder. Damn it to hell. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

  Emily flutters her eyelashes. “Since when did I volunteer to be your lapdog?”

  Violet laughs and releases the jack. “I like you. What’s your name and why are we not hanging out?”

  Emily’s eyes dart to mine and she shuffles back. That’s right, Emily. There’s a reason I told you to stay in the truck and if I’m going to keep you from being abducted by the Riot, you need to start listening.

  “This is Emily,” I say. Violet and Stone won’t rat that she’s with us. At least the old Violet wouldn’t. “She’s staying with Eli for a few weeks.”

  That shuts Violet up and it also causes her face to go white. “Oh, shit.”

  Oh, shit is right. Since the term “club stuff” didn’t mean squat to Emily, I try another approach. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes? This is a family issue.”

  Emily pivots on her heel and returns to the truck. I should announce everything as a family issue and she’ll run back to Florida on foot.

  When Emily slams the door to the truck, Violet loses her crap. “Why on earth would you tell Brandon about Emily being in town? He can’t handle secrets. I had a tough time getting him to go to sleep last night because he was scared he was going to spill about Emily being at the funeral home and now he has to be worried about spilling that she’s staying with Eli. Call me crazy, but I’m assuming that’s a secret, too.”

  Stone begins rocking back and forth. This day keeps getting better.

  “Hey, man,” offers Chevy to Stone. “Don’t obsess over it. You just don’t bring up Emily. It’s nothing to worry over.”

  “That’s it!” yells Violet and taps her finger repeatedly to her head. “He can’t stop thinking about it. You boys with your stupid concept of making things better, and you only make things worse! He doesn’t need you. I don’t need you. You are nothing to us.”

  A muscle in my jaw ticks. “Once upon a time we were tighter than blood family.”

  “Once upon a time the two of you cared for me more than the club.” Her eyes land on Chevy and he rolls his neck to keep his anger in check.

  I’ve seen Violet like this a lot since her dad died. I don’t pretend to fathom her grief, but I’m not dealing with irrational. “What’s going on with the car?”

  “Tire blew,” Stone answers despite Violet’s disgusted grunt. “And it was the spare. I was explaining to Violet that we need to get one of them fixed.”

  I lift the blown tire off the ground. “Stone, grab the other tire and throw it in the back of the truck.”

  “No! We’re fine without them.” Violet seizes her brother’s arm. He pushes past her and does what he needs to do: accepts our help.

  “Get in the truck, Violet,” I say with forced patience. “We’ll fix the flats at the clubhouse and then get them back on the car for you.”

  Violet leans into me. “I really hate you.”

  I offer the tire to Chevy and he stays solid, glowering at Violet before shouldering the tire and heading for the truck. When Stone and Chevy are out of hearing range, I step into her space, uncaring that she’s praying for my death. “You might not want our help, but your mom and your brother do. And if you can’t behave like a sane person around Chevy, then fake it with silence. The truck, Violet. Now.”

  “You’re an asshole, Oz.”

  I shrug. “Not the first girl who’s called me that today.”

  “It should upset you that you’re being called that.” Violet tenses like she’s willing to take a swing. In response, I cross my arms over my chest and plant my feet. History has taught me that she owns a mean right hook. “It should make you wonder what it is about yourself that people can’t stand.”

  “Truth doesn’t bother me.”

  “Normal people would be bothered that everyone thinks they’re crazy and an asshole and an outlaw, but you’re more than happy to live in your sick world of whatever you say goes.”

  “It’s a family, and it’s your family.”

  “We are not related!” A wildness strikes her eyes as tears line the edges. “I don’t want to be a part of your family because your family kills!”

  To keep from reminding her that her father died when a pickup hit him while he was driving without a helmet, I breathe deeply. “Our family is the type that fixes tires and offers help. Come or don’t come, but I’m taking your brother with me. He looks like he needs a damn meal.”

  “I’m not one of you anymore.” Her voice cracks. “I’m no longer fourteen and I’m not a follower like all of you. I don’t listen to you and ask how high when you say jump.”

  I turn my back to her and go for the truck. “Razor is the oldest of us. He’s the leader.”

  “You’re wrong,” she calls out. “It was you we followed, but I stopped and Brandon’s going to stop and soon it’ll all stop.”

  “You don’t make any sense.”

  “I do. You know I do.”

  She doesn’t and I continue walking so I won’t chew her out for breaking the heart of my best friend and for making her mother and brother feel guilty for welcoming the club’s help. I chased snakes out of the barn with her when we were seven. At eight, with Chevy’s help and a baseball bat, we scared away the monsters under her bed.

  Me, her, Chevy and Razor—we were tight.

  Were is a son-of-a-bitch word.

  Chevy watches us from the front of the truck and Stone stands in the bed with his hands resting on the roof of the cab.

  A twig snaps behind me and footsteps pad against the dirt. I swing into the driver’s side and Emily has the good sense to stay silent as Chevy opens the passenger side. He offers his hand to Violet to assist her up the two-foot lift.

  Instead of accepting, she grasps the console and hauls herself up with a struggle. Chevy waits, but the stone set of his face tells me we’ll be throwing a few beers back soon in the interest of forgetting Violet’s name.

  Once she’s in, Chevy closes the door and joins Stone in the bed of the truck. Two taps on the roof and I rev the engine.

  With a fourteen-year-old in the back, I move along at thirty and the truck gently jostles from side to side. This time, Emily’s not crashing into me, but I’d prefer her soft body pressing against mine instead of the awkward, heavy silence.

  The trees create a green canopy and we’re surrounded by dark shade. In the rearview mirror, my best friend stares out into nothingness.

  “You could be nicer to him.” I typically would never toss around our business in front of a stranger, but Emily will be leaving in a few weeks and she won’t follow the conversation. This might be the only time Violet and I will be alone together.

  “I could,” Violet says as she stares into the same void Chevy does. “But where would that get any of us?”

  The club is a blessing and Violet treats it as a curse. This family, this brotherhood, it’s not the enemy. The enemy is the outside forces attempting to shake us up or take us down.

  Those forces are people like Violet or people like Emily who watch a few TV shows and think we’re thugs. It’s law enforcement who believe anyone with a biker cut runs guns, drugs or women. Or worse, what threaten us are diseases like the one that ravages the woman I consider a grandmother. Diseases like cancer.

  A burning in my throat causes me to shove those thoughts away.

  The overhead canopy gives way and sunlight streams into the truck when I ease onto the long driveway that leads to the clubhouse then farther down to my home. I’m not sure who nicknamed it Thunder Road or why, but the name stuck. Violet lifts her hands into a ra
y of light bouncing off the side mirror. Something her dad used to do.

  Losing someone you love, it’d be similar to losing your home. I blink. My home is everything. I suck in a breath to apologize to Violet when she speaks again.

  “Run as fast as you can, Emily.” Violet eyes me in a way that suggests she knows more than she should. “From what I’ve heard, some members of your club are okay with homicide.”

  Emily stiffens beside me and my fingers flex on the steering wheel. I should have let Violet rot in the summer sun. She’s lying, but Emily isn’t aware of that. “You know that’s not true.”

  Violet’s been hanging with those full-of-themselves snob kids at school who think the Terror is the devil’s playground. Can’t stop haters from hating, but it hurts like hell when one of our own begins to spew the lies.

  She rolls her eyes and when she pops her mouth open again, I cut her off. “How secure are you in your new friendships at school? What happens when they turn on you? Do you think we’ll protect you while keeping Stone safe? Are your new friends going to stick around forever or are they going to decide that once in the MC always in the MC?”

  Emily’s head snaps in my direction because there’s no mistaking the warning in my tone. The truth is, I’ll protect Violet until the end, no matter how she disrespects me or Chevy or the club, but I have to hold some leverage over her to prevent her from saying anything to Emily that will cost me the chance to be a prospect.

  Violet closes her mouth and we turn into Olivia’s. Today proved one thing: girls are nothing but trouble.

  Emily

  NOT SURE WHAT to do with myself when everyone else seems relaxed, I sit in the shade on the front porch swing while Oz, Chevy and Stone patch the tires. Lars lies on his side at my feet and does that fast, hot dog pant. His sticky breath hits my ankle. I’m beginning to think he’s been paid in doggie treats to annoy me.

  The afternoon sun is blistering enough that perspiration forms in every crevice imaginable, and there’s a heaviness in the air that causes my lungs to have to work harder to draw in a breath. It’s humidity. We have it in Florida, but here the air is strangling.