Long Way Home

  The blood drains from my face and my bad knee starts to give. Chevy uses his strength to hold me up. “Violet?”

  I love him. I never stopped and it’s hard to describe when it began because he’s always been a part of my life. Loving him was easy. It’s life that’s hard.

  I swallow to calm the nerves. “I want you to kiss me...now.”

  His eyebrows rise. “We’re in a police station.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to kiss me?”

  “Mr. McKinley?” comes a questioning voice from behind, but Chevy keeps those dark orbs right on me.

  “I will be there when I show. Interrupt me again and I’m walking out of this building and your damn case can crumble.” Chevy says it in such a calm yet commanding tone, and he does it all while letting his fingers slide up and down the small of my back.

  The caress is familiar, it’s intoxicating and it takes me back to the first time he kissed me in the field between my home and Cyrus’s. Chevy kicks the door to the small room shut.

  “There’s a window,” he says. “People will see.”

  Though I should... “I don’t care.”

  My blood is buzzing, the cells in my body waking after a long hibernation.

  Chevy tilts my head up as he lowers his and I suddenly find it hard to breathe. But then he smiles. The endearing one. The dimpled one. That one that has haunted me in my dreams since we’ve been apart.

  “I have never been able to understand you.” His lips whisper against mine and it’s like a tease and a promise of what’s to come.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Never.” Chevy kisses me and my entire body hums. Hums. A sweet song, a vibration in melody. His lips are warm and his push and pulls gentle, yet a winding begins in my belly.

  My hands wander along his back, along his neck, and when I tangle my fingers into his hair—fireworks.

  Chevy’s moving, his feet guiding me back. I follow along in the dance and he uses his arms to brace my body when we hit the wall. The edges of my mouth tilt up as we continue to kiss. I’ve missed all of this. The way Chevy’s hands wander all of me as his lips devour mine, the way he presses his body into mine as if we share one skin, the way there’s an air of reverence in how some touches are so strong and then other caresses so soft that I could cry with the tenderness.

  The familiar heat in my bloodstream grows hotter and our kiss borders on out of control. We know each other, feel each other, and we know all of the buttons to push. His hands on my face, my fingers curling along his back. If I shift left and he shifts right, we’ll be arrested for very indecent things.

  Arrested. Police officers. There’s a window.

  My palm to his chest, a push and Chevy sucks in a deep breath as he backs away. Like always, after a kiss, he keeps my hand. My heart melts.

  His eyes are on fire, full of light, full of happiness. If only he could always look this way. “We’re not done.”

  I’m not sure if he’s referring to kissing or to our relationship or to the messed-up conversation we were having about me being scared and what I’m hiding.

  A knock on the door, then Chevy pulls me close for a hug and a short kiss on the lips. He looks down into my eyes again and I’d give anything if we could stay locked in this room forever.

  “I’ve got you,” he says.

  I wish he did.

  “I love you.” Because I do love him. I’ve always loved him. Even when sometimes that love bordered on hate, I loved him. I love him and it needed to be said.

  The sun rises by his expression alone. “I love you.”

  Another knock, Chevy lets me go, and when he walks out, he’s greeted by Eli muttering, “About fucking time.”

  I fall back against the wall, wrap my arms around my stomach in an effort to fight off the cold that being alone again after such warmth has created. There’s got to be another way to survive the Riot. There has to be another way that keeps my family alive and me with Chevy.

  CHEVY

  ROLLER COASTER.

  The lows have been damn low and the highs—Violet told me she loved me. Honest to God pinched myself in the hall to confirm it wasn’t a dream. But the high is now evened out with the anger vibrating beneath my skin.

  I just saw the men who hurt Violet. Just confirmed they were the ones responsible for taking us and making her bleed. I’m in a small room with a one-way mirror. Nothing to see on the other side anymore. I’ve done my job, and if Violet is up for it, she’ll be in here to point out the same assholes.

  It’s tough to trust the system to do their job and grant Violet the justice she deserves. Even harder to not find a way past the glass and the police officers to pound the hell out of each and every guy who caused her to be scared. But this is how we’re playing the game. “How long will they be in prison?”

  “We’re going for as long as we can get.” Detective Jake Barlow is the one who answers and it’s the first time I’ve heard him speak. He was one of the people present during the interview at the hospital, was there when Violet and I were shown pictures, but someone else always talked. He stayed in the background, hovering and listening.

  He’s a commanding man, even in silence, but I understand why he’s stayed quiet. While he’s been investigating the Riot, he was never 100 percent convinced the Terror were legit. He pushed Razor on a situation regarding Razor’s mom, possibly hoping to rattle Razor into telling him something that would nail our club or the Riot. What he never expected was Razor staying true to the club.

  Since the kidnapping, the Terror have shifted away from radio silence with Jake Barlow. We need him and he needs us. A mutually beneficial relationship. This guy, he’s the chief of the tribe when it comes to knowledge of the Riot and that’s what I need—knowledge.

  “I’m fine with these bastards dying in prison,” Detective Barlow continues.

  Amen.

  “Can we talk?” I say. “Just me and you.”

  He assesses me. Head to toe. The way I do to guys when I walk into Mom’s bar and I’m trying to figure out who could cause problems.

  The two other people in the room look to him as to what to do, but he watches me. “Your grandfather and uncle are set that they or a lawyer be around anytime I talk with you or Violet.”

  Yeah. They are. “I need to talk with you.”

  From the greedy set of his eyes, he’s dying to talk alone with me. This kidnapping is a big break for him with the Riot and Eli has mentioned the detective wants more than what Violet and I are giving. Jake Barlow disagrees with the DA and he wanted us to go for prosecution for everyone involved. He wants Skull and his son’s head on a silver platter.

  “He’s a minor,” the woman in the pencil suit says.

  The detective nods. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a conversation. People talk all the time. No reason he and I can’t exchange words.”

  “But it does mean you may not be able to legally use whatever he says.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” He motions with his chin to the door and the two other people leave. Once the door is closed tight behind them, he moves the conversation forward. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Detective Jake Barlow, but you can call me Jake.”

  Lowering himself to my level by the use of a first name. It’s meant to disarm me, make me comfortable, make me easy to read.

  I hitch my thumbs in my pockets and lean against the mirrored wall across from him. Won’t make the mistake of underestimating him. The badge doesn’t mean this man isn’t a master of the con. Just means he cons people for the overall good. Reading people, sleight of hand, smoke and mirrors. Heading gang task forces means working people and working people well.

  “I heard you know things about my father.”

  “From who?”

&nb
sp; No reason to lie. “Skull.”

  Jake nods like he understands everything I didn’t say. “Your grandfather aware you know things?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch. That surprised him. “What’s he think about these things I hypothetically know?”

  I shrug. “Believes they’re bull.”

  “And what do you believe?”

  My eyes snap to his and I’m trying to read him as hard as he’s trying to read me.

  “I’m in here talking to you,” I say.

  Jake loosens his tie. First time I’ve seen him do something like this. I’ve rattled him and that rattles me.

  “Did Violet tell you what the Riot talked about with her when she was alone?” he asks.

  My spine straightens. “I wasn’t talking about Violet.”

  “No, you weren’t, but I am. Has she told you?”

  Loaded question. Answering means either I’m aware the Riot did talk to her or that I also believe they said something to her.

  “Want to talk like men, let’s talk like men,” he says. “Skull shouldn’t have known that I know, which means I got people who shouldn’t be talking—talking. I’m not going to lie. You just gave me a ton to work with and possibly saved my ass and my case. You don’t owe me this answer, but whether you believe it or not, I’m fighting for you two kids and I’m fighting hard. I’ve been doing this a long time and I know when people are hiding something from me and I also know when they’re scared. That girl you just kissed, she’s hiding something and she’s scared.”

  I’m aware and I respect the hell out of him for being able to read someone he doesn’t know. “Is it true? About my father?”

  “I can’t talk to you about this. The details you’re asking for are part of a working case.”

  My body flinches with the impact of his nonanswer. Anyone else would think he’s not telling me a thing, but he just confirmed there’s something to be told. My father, on some level, was involved in the Riot. “How bad?”

  Jake shakes his head and remains tight-lipped. I’m asking him to give me something, but he’s loyal to his job. For the first time, I appreciate Violet’s frustration with me and the club.

  I push off the wall to leave and Jake calls out my name. I glance over my shoulder and he rolls his neck. “We had Violet’s car towed to the station after we found it. Took a ton of pictures, processed everything in an effort to help find you two. Our mechanic got the car started, but it didn’t sound good. We released the car to her mom and I know the club has guys who can work on it, but there’s this mechanic here in Louisville. He’s good. One of the best I’ve met. I think you should take the car there, meet him...talk to him. He might lead you to answers.”

  Answers. “What’s his name?”

  “Isaiah Walker. He works at a custom shop, Pro Performance, during the day. A couple of nights a week, he does side jobs at a run-down garage in the south end of town called Tom’s. Do yourself a favor and don’t tell him I sent you.”

  I nod in the hopes he understands how much I appreciate this break. I go to turn the knob, but before I open the door, I say, “She hasn’t told me what happened when she was alone.”

  It’s not much, but he’ll read into it exactly what he wants to know.

  “Thank you,” he says, and I walk away.

  Violet

  “IF YOU NEED anything else, call me or Cyrus.” Eli extends his hand to the three people who were with me while I picked out Fiend and his band of hairy friends.

  The detectives said the overgrown hairballs couldn’t see me. They said the men would have no idea it was me tattletaling, but the way Fiend stared straight ahead, straight at me, the way a cold sludge seeped into my veins, I don’t believe them.

  We’re in the lobby area and my jacket is on and I’m ready to go. Chevy’s arm is around my shoulders. His touch is welcome and comes close to creating a safe cocoon, but there are too many problems for me to feel completely at ease.

  Mom is by my side, Eli and Cyrus on the other side of her and I’m quiet again. Don’t mean to be, but everything feels so heavy that staying upright is exhausting.

  Each person takes Eli’s offered hand and they fake smiles except for Detective Jake Barlow. He stays serious as he shakes Eli’s hand and then his eyes meet mine. He lets go of Eli and offers me a manila envelope.

  “We found this in Fiend’s possessions. I thought you’d like to have it back.”

  Nervousness descends on me. It’s expected that I open it and begrudgingly I do. I peel back the lip, and when I peer inside, time freezes. It’s a silver chain and attached to it is my soul. My eyes burn, my throat swells and I press the envelope to my chest. This is the closest I’ll ever come to hugging my dad again.

  It’s his cross. The one he wore since before my birth. It’s mine again. He’s not home, but his cross is and I’ll take this win.

  Chevy brushes his fingers along my arm and Mom cranes her neck like that could cause her to have X-ray vision. “What is it?”

  “Dad’s cross,” I whisper.

  I step away from Chevy, needing room to return the cross to around my neck, and as I open the envelope again, I pause. Inside the envelope is handwriting and the first written words inform me that this is from Detective Jake Barlow.

  Look at me and blink twice if you’re in a situation you can’t trust the Terror with and you’re scared. I can protect you from the Riot, from the Terror. I can help you. If you blink twice, excuse yourself and go to the women’s bathroom.

  The entire world goes into slow motion and each inhale and exhale of air feels like it takes years. Two million thoughts, but I can’t process a single one. A life-and-death split-second decision. I lift my gaze, meet the detective’s and each blink rattles my frame like the pounding of a bass drum.

  Bam.

  Bam.

  Detective Jake Barlow has blue eyes, like the twin flames of a blowtorch, and those eyes are zeroed in on me. He rips his stare from me and extends his hand to Eli again. “Hate to do this, but I’ve got another meeting. If anything comes up, any questions, you know how to get ahold of me.”

  Eli shakes his hand, thanks him again, and Detective Jake Barlow walks away as if he didn’t just rattle my snow globe of a world.

  I snap back to reality, gather Dad’s cross and then notice another familiar piece. “It’s also Dad’s watch.”

  Mom audibly inhales and the guilt of losing something that meant so much to her skips along my veins. I reach in, pull it out and barely have time to offer it to her before she snatches it out of my hands. It was fast and brutal and I deserved it. Besides, I’m not going to wallow in sadness or guilt. I have Dad’s cross.

  I crumple the envelope until it’s unrecognizable and toss it in the nearest trash can. My fingers shake as I try to clasp the cross on, but I fail and it snags in my hair.

  A warm hand brushes my hair to the side and strong, calloused fingers take the clasp from me. A glance over my shoulder and Chevy’s focused on my necklace. A snap, the chain becomes heavy on my neck and I close my eyes when the cross lands on my chest.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  With his hands on my shoulders, Chevy merely kisses the back of my head.

  “Looks good on you again, kid,” Eli says. Cyrus nods in agreement and Mom’s eyes fill with tears. I consider reaching out and taking her hand, but Mom steps away from me as if she could read my mind and the idea of us touching, once again, repulses her.

  “You guys want dinner?” Eli asks. “Name it and it’s yours.”

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I blurt.

  It came out so fast and loud that Eli attempts to hide a smile. “Okay.”

  I walk away, no one follows and I weave through the half cubicles, then turn t
he corner. A uniformed police officer stands in front of the women’s bathroom, and the moment she sees me, she steps to the side.

  At the far end of the three stalls, Detective Jake Barlow leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “We don’t have much time, so let’s cut to the chase. I will protect you. From the Riot, from the Terror, from the kid in third grade who pushed you around on the playground, but the only way I can do that is if you tell me everything that is going on. I’m going to be honest, you’re a minor and I should probably have your mother in here.”

  “I’m eighteen.”

  He tilts his head. “That’s not what Eli said.”

  “I turned eighteen the day I came home from the Riot.” I don’t blame anyone for forgetting. We’ve all been too busy cauterizing the bleeding while waltzing through a minefield.

  “That changes things.”

  “Can you protect my family? My mom? My brother? Because the Riot threatened them.”

  “You’ve got my word. Now tell me the problem.”

  “When I was alone with Justin from the Riot, he told me that it was me they wanted to talk to and that Chevy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “It’s what I thought.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re the wild card. Everyone else is too loyal to crack. What does the Riot want?”

  My lungs can’t draw in air. “Eli.”

  “How?”

  “My dad was the accountant for the club and the business. The Riot want me to find account numbers. I don’t know what they’re going to do with them, but they said they’re going to make Eli look bad with them. Bad enough he’ll be sent to prison.”

  “Why haven’t you told Eli? Anyone in the Terror? Why me?”

  “Because the Riot have left me notes in my room at Cyrus’s cabin—in the heart of Terror territory. There is someone who slips in and out of Cyrus’s home, past prospects, past an entire clubhouse full of men, past Eli. There’s a traitor and what if I tell Eli and he trusts the wrong person? I won’t risk my family.”