Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1) (14 page)

Oz

NEVER BEEN THE
guy to develop a nervous habit, but I’m so damned twisted inside that I’m reconsidering. Violet taps her fingers when she’s wound. Chevy rubs his hands together. Razor will take out that big blade of his and flip it around, making everyone around him jumpy and ready to call the police. Me? I go quiet. Still. And observe my surroundings.

I lean against the wall of the clubhouse and my muscles are stiff from staying frozen for so long. This building used to be a three-car garage, but as the club grew, the cars received an eviction notice and a bar now runs along the wall. When it rains, they’ll lift the garage doors and park the bikes inside, but on dry days the place belongs to the pool table, mismatched couches, bar stools, tables, chairs and the bras tacked to the walls.

It’s nine in the evening. Our caravan traveled home from Lanesville four hours ago. Olivia escorted Emily inside, Eli went into Church with the other board members and I returned home to get some sleep.

Eli texted me forty minutes ago to get my ass to the clubhouse. I rolled out of bed and hightailed it on my bike. Now I wait with my feet cemented to the concrete floor, hands shoved in my pocket and my eyes peeled on the clock on the wall over the bar.

Each passing second curls the coil inside me tighter and tighter and tighter.

Tick...tick...tick...

Razor and Chevy sit at the bar nursing the longnecks they bought twenty minutes ago. They could be here for the cheap beer since not a damn person at the bar cares they’re underage. Hell, they could be here to watch the Reds game with the other members of the club. But the brief glances they send me and the fact that neither of them has said a word to each other or anyone else informs me they’re here for support.

I messed up at the motel and tonight I’ll learn my fate with the club.

The door to the back opens and Razor’s dad, Hook, scans the room. He’s the sergeant-at-arms and there’s no doubt he’s searching for me. His eyes fall on his son, but they don’t linger. Hook would be the reason why his son had the longest prospect period in the history of the club. He refused to let Razor’s membership go up for a vote with the club until by-laws demanded it had to be done. Not sure why he did what he did, but Hook’s actions didn’t help his already messed-up relationship with his son.

With one flick of a finger, Hook indicates for me to jump and, being in the position I’m in, I walk forward in a silent acceptance of how high. I barely catch the door before it shuts. Straight would lead me to the kitchen, but I hike up the stairs.

The second floor holds a dormitory-type room with cots for any club member to crash, whether he belongs to this chapter or another. Farther down the hall are a few individual rooms for our more important guests or for couples who prefer privacy instead of doing their thing in public. Where I’m headed is the door on the right: Church.

Church, for the club, is a reverent room. It doesn’t contain pictures of dead saints or candles in red glasses, and there’s no cross nailed to an altar. What is hammered into the wall is a huge black banner with a skull in the dead center, fire dripping from the sky and flames blazing out of the eyes. The white words
Reign of Terror
race across the top.

I follow Hook in and let the door close behind me. This isn’t my debut visit in Church and hopefully it won’t be the last, but to each man in here, this should be my first time. No one comes in here without permission. Chevy and I snuck in here a few times as kids. Cyrus caught us the last time at eight and he wore the skin of our asses out for it. I learned my lesson, though. Respect the rules. Respect the club.

Church is set up like any conference room with a long table and chairs, but the men in here are more serious than any CEO. Each member would die for their brothers or this club. That’s what membership requires.

It’s hard not to look in Dad’s direction. He’s the business manager and has been a member since he was eighteen. Dad taught me from an early age that I’m my own man when it pertains to the club. I’m his son, but these are his brothers. I must earn their and his respect.

I fasten my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans and hang next to the wall while everyone sits. Cyrus claims the seat at the head of the table. He’s the motherfucking chief of the tribe. Eli and I are the only ones left standing.

Eli curls his fingers around the back of his chair and focuses on the mahogany wood in front of him. His knuckles are red and swollen. Two of them have been sliced open and are scabbed over with dried blood. He’s been in a brawl recently. Not a bruise on his face so that means he was the one doing the hitting.

“You’re not a member, Oz,” he says. “You’re a guest in this room and guest alone, and guest in this context does not mean welcomed or privileged.”

I nod to Eli, because I haven’t been granted permission to speak. Because of Eli’s past and the club’s bylaws, he can’t be a board member. While I don’t know the details, I do know that when Eli returned home after a long stint of being away, the club had a special meeting, a vote was taken and they allowed an exception to the rules in his case.

While Eli may never be an official board member, he is part owner of the security company, and, besides Cyrus, the most respected man in our club. As Cyrus explained once, while Eli will never vote, he’s part of the board as a consultant and when he talks, people listen.

My eyes sweep the room. The five other men eyeball me like we’ve never met. Eli’s words become a gathering storm in my mind and my gut twists. I’m a guest here. Not welcomed—no privileges.

In this club, a member can’t hurt another member. You throw a punch on a brother then you’re out. But I didn’t make prospect last night, so there’s nothing stopping any of them from nailing me. If Eli swung at me now, Dad wouldn’t stop it. The patch is thicker than blood.

“Want to tell me what happened at my daughter’s motel last night?”

Best way to handle this? Short and to the point. “I fell asleep.”

Eli’s nostrils flare. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to Emily if you hadn’t woken up?”

The imagined possibilities cause a coldness to creep along my bloodstream. “No.”

Eli lifts his gaze and meets my father’s stare. “Walk me through this, Oz. I need to know exactly what happened.”

I work hard to school my expression though everything’s unraveling inside me as I explain—from waking, seeing the guys from the Riot, driving to the other side of the building and then pulling Emily into the crevice by the vending machine. All of it.

When I finish, Eli rocks the chair back on its legs and continues to glare at Dad—not at me. Never at me. In the seven years I’ve known him, Eli’s never ignored me.

I risk speaking out of turn. “What’s going on?”

“We drove north for a while last night and found a member of the Riot.” Cyrus strokes the length of his beard. “We chatted and after some persuasion he told us that the Riot had heard a rumor that Eli had a daughter and they came to check it out.”

“We have a rat,” says Eli.

“Until last night, Emily’s pictures were all over Olivia’s house,” says Dad. “She’s not the highly guarded secret you think she is.”

“Baby pictures,” Eli argues. “Nothing over the age of two. Hell, there were Reign of Terror members who’ve been patched in for over ten years who had no idea who Emily was yesterday.”

“Why Emily?” I ask.

Eli assesses me. Boots to jeans to T-shirt until he reaches my eyes. “Why your dad the other night? Why does the Riot do anything? They’re looking for a way to break us and they don’t have a problem using my daughter to do it.”

“You said that they were there to confirm the rumor,” I say. “Olivia already wore herself out over the brief time Emily spent here. Wouldn’t it be better if we send Emily home?”

Eli’s head ticks to the side and before I can register the exact threat, he plows into me. My back slams into the wall and a frame falls to the floor and shatters. Glass flies across the tile. Large chunks and small shards hit our feet.

I raise my hands to push him back, but the click of a safety causes the entire room to fade. The only movement is my heart beating and the cold steel of a gun sliding against my forehead. “Do you think this is a game? That I can take pieces off the board and the Riot will believe they’re no longer in play?”

A numbness eases into my brain and I keep my sights locked on him. If he’s going to pull that trigger, he’ll have to kill me while staring straight into my eyes. “No.”

“The Riot is after Emily.” Eli twists my shirt tighter in his grip. “They’re pissed because we won’t give them a cut of our profits since we’re riding through their territory. They’ve been taking it out on us on the road and because someone told them about Emily, they decided to make this personal.

“My daughter’s life is in danger. I’ve had to rip her from her home and I’m going to have to work like hell to keep the integrity of this club and my business intact while keeping Emily alive. I asked for one thing from you and you put my daughter’s life in danger. On your fucking life, will that happen again?”

I overpronounce each word. “On my fucking life, I will never fail you or this club again.”

“Do you know what I’ll do to you if you put Emily’s life in danger again?”

Eli swings the gun away, the bang reverberates through the room, then the muzzle of the gun is back in my face. A loud ringing in my head disorients me. My survival instincts scream to fight, but Eli’s not through with me and I’m not done standing.

Not a guy in the room moves from their seat. The ringing gives way to silence and then Eli’s voice comes out clear and calm. “You know what Cyrus told me?”

“What?”

“That Emily trusts you.”

The safety clicks back on, Eli flips the gun away from my head and he offers me the grip. For the first time, I glance in Dad’s direction and he subtly nods. I raise my palm up and Eli plants the gun in my hand. “It’s yours. Keep it with you at all times. Do you understand?”

Not at all.

Eli reclaims his seat at the table, the tension from his body gone. “We have several runs over the next few weeks that are back-to-back and long-distance. The majority of the club will be working them, including me. I want you by Emily’s side twenty-four-fucking-seven. If she has to pee, I want you outside the door listening to the toilet flush. If she’s asleep, you better be stalking the outside of her window. You got it?”

Jesus Christ. I check the lock on the safety. I’ve shot guns multiple times in my life, but I sure as hell haven’t carried one. Age of open carry in Kentucky is eighteen and with the job I’d be taking with the security business, I knew I’d be packing, but somehow, this gun feels heavier and hotter than anything I’ve handled in my life.

“What are you expecting to go down while you’re gone?” I ask.

“Hopefully nothing, but I won’t run the risk of them going for another grab at her.”

My eyes snap to his. “Is that what it was? A grab?”

Eli flexes his jaw as if he’s grinding his teeth. “Are you going to be able to do what I’m asking? Can you protect Emily?”

Every man fixes his eyes on me and the weight of their expectations smashes onto my shoulders. Eli’s trusting me with his daughter, just like each man here will be trusting me with his life when I join the security business. I glance down at the gun. This is going to be my life.

“Listen to me,” Eli says. “We’re a legit club. We manage things aboveboard. You know this. No illegal shit is done within our community. With that said, you have the right to pull the trigger when someone is threatening bodily harm and I’m asking you, do you have the balls to do what needs to be done when the time comes?”

This is it. This is what should have happened last night. This is the start of them testing me. “Fuck yeah.”

Eli tosses me the holster and I tuck in the gun.

“Congratulations,” says Eli. “That gun is your graduation present from all of us. When we’re in public you’ll have to keep it on your hip as you’re not old enough to conceal.”

The guys start to clap and I can’t help but smile. A couple of them call out their congratulations or a well-done. Eli lets the moment ride. When the room goes silent again, Eli looks me over. “You were supposed to become a prospect last night.”

“I heard.”

“If you join the club, I need to know you’re going to be firm and do what needs to be done. I got a second chance once. Consider this yours. We’re considering this your probationary period for a job with the security company. We’ll vote on your position when this stuff with Emily calms down. Prospect is going to be a wait-and-see.”

The muscles in my shoulders relax. I’ve bought myself time. It’s not the best-case scenario, but it’s not the worst. Keep Emily safe and alive and I’ll have a job. As for prospect, at least I’ve been granted a fighting chance.

I head for the door and when I open it, Cyrus calls out, “For your information, I consider anyone hitting on my granddaughter bodily harm. Shoot any son of a bitch who’s stupid enough to think of touching her.”

My grip on the knob tightens. My entire future hangs in the balance and Emily and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other for twenty-four hours.

Damn.

Emily

FRESH OUT OF
the shower and in a pair of black shorts that are way shorter than anything Mom would have ever allowed me to wear, I do a sweep of the room again. It has to be around here somewhere. Nothing else from the past twenty-four hours has been a dream so there’s no way that picture Olivia gave me was a figment of my imagination.

I drop to my hands and knees and peer underneath the darkness of the bed. Guess I could have lost it outside. Two knocks and I jump to my feet. “Yes?”

“Hey.” Eli opens the door and I lace my hands behind my back. Nope, I’m not keeping secrets.

“I know it’s late,” he says. “But Izzy put some sandwiches together for dinner. You should come out and hang with us. I promise nobody bites.”

Ha. I bet they do, but they probably already ate the two orphan kids who left a path of bread crumbs. “I was hoping to use your phone again so I could video chat with Mom.”

Eli refused to let me take my cell from my parents, insisting that I not have anything that was “traceable.” Talk about being overly dramatic.

His eyebrows furrow together. “I thought you talked to her before your shower.”

“I talked with Mom and Dad on the phone, but I’d like to see her.” And I need to speak with my mom...without Dad, because maybe he’s wrong. Maybe she
will
tell me the truth. “You said I could talk to them as much as I wanted.”

“I did.” He did.

He said it when Mom and I were locked in a hug outside of the warehouse with no signs of letting go. Mom’s shoulders started to shake and my own eyes began to water and I sent a pleading glance to my dad because I was seriously backsliding on my decision to stay. Eli stepped in and said that I could call Mom and Dad whenever I wanted. Any time. Any day.

“Plus, I need to call Trisha. Her dad’s a state trooper. If she informs him I’ve become a missing person then I’m not responsible for what happens after that.”

I’m kidding, yet I’m not. Even though I did agree to stay here, I still feel rather kidnapped.

Eli pulls his phone out and hands it to me. “You need to eat and your mom would be pissed if I let you starve. Plus, it’d mean a lot to Olivia if you ate with us.”

“Okay.” I rub my thumb over the back of his cell.

“Izzy’s going to buy you a burner phone tomorrow so I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until then to call your friend. Then we’ll go shopping when I get back from this trip. Clothes. Everything. Just like our yearly visit in Florida, but bigger.” He smiles and I force myself to return the gesture, but I spot in the mirror how fake it looks so I quit and, instead, nudge the floor with my toe.

“That sounds great.”

“It will be.” Eli stands there as if conversation between us should be easy. “Do the clothes Izzy got you fit?”

I twist, hoping he’ll catch on that the clothes are tighter and shorter than what I own because it would be rude for me to point it out. “What do you think?”

“They’ll work.” So much for hoping. “On calling your friends, I’d appreciate it if you make a list of who you need to talk to and keep that list small. Also, be careful what you tell them. Don’t say anything about the Riot. Maybe tell them you’re visiting out-of-state colleges for a few weeks or something.”

Shouldn’t be hard. Only Trisha knows I’m adopted so no one will even begin to think I’m being sequestered by my crazy biological paternal family. “I’ll only call Trisha and she’ll tell everyone else I’m gone for a bit. I was supposed to go on vacation with her next week.”

Eli stares at me. I stare at him.

“I’m costing you your summer,” he says.

I shrug, but yeah, he is.

We continue to stare at each other and it’s like Eli’s searching for something else to say. We’ve already gone through the Spanish Inquisition in the truck earlier so we’re good on conversation for at least a year.

“I’m sorry I won’t be here the entire time. I’ll check in, though, and make sure you’re okay. These deliveries are important and after what’s happened with you and the Riot, I don’t feel right letting anyone else be point on it.”

“It’s okay.” It is. This is his job. I’m not really a fixture in his life so he doesn’t owe me an explanation.

“When I get back, I can teach you how to drive.”

“Dad will teach me when I go home.”

The lines deepen on Eli’s face and I hate the guilt that rushes over me.

“But shopping will be fun,” I add.

Eli does his own fake grin and then excuses himself, shutting the door behind him.

I ease onto the window seat, swipe my fingers over the phone and after a beep, my mother accepts the call. She’s grainy on the small screen. Her image freezes twice before it clears. The internet reception in this area stinks, but I can’t imagine it’s much better in their hotel in Louisville. Mom and Dad will be flying home tomorrow.

“Hi, Mom,” I say.

Mom’s eyes are red and puffy. Leaving her was hard. Her leaving me might have been harder. “Hi, Emily. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Is Dad around?”

“No, he’s in the business center checking on some stuff for work, but I can go get him if you want.” Her tablet shakes as she rises and I stop her from going forward.

“No. Don’t. I was hoping we could talk...just me and you for a few minutes.”

She settles back down. The bedframe behind her is mahogany. Twenty bucks they’re staying at the best hotel in Louisville, which would be a switch from the hellhole we were in last night. Mom twirls her blond hair around her fingers. “What’s wrong?”

Olivia told me that my life is a lie. That I lived here, in this house, with her, and that you stole me from her—which I don’t even understand what that means. Plus, Dad sort of confirmed this by not confirming it and informed me that even if I asked, you’d lie.

“Eli’s family seems nice.” Or crazy, but nice might award me more answers. “I’m supposed to be eating dinner with them and I was wondering if you could tell me anything about them. I just feel...” Terrified. Confused. Alone. “Out of place.”

Mom does that thing where her lips flinch up because she wants to pretend it’s okay, but it’s not. We left the land of okay without passports hours ago. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you with much.”

I lower my head and scratch above my eyebrow, searching for the courage to confront her. Unfortunately, arguing with my mother has never been my strong suit. “You were really upset when you thought Olivia was dead. Did you know her?”

Mom blinks as her expression falls. “Has Olivia said something to you?”

The door to the room opens and Olivia steps in with a plate of food. My stomach plummets. She does not need to be here for this.

“Emily,” Mom presses. “What did Olivia tell you?”

I attempt to hide the wince, but it’s hard to do while staying focused on my mother and ignoring Olivia. The intensity of Olivia’s gaze creates red-hot heat on the back of my neck. I lock down my muscles to prohibit the fidget.

I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, but truth is, Olivia never instructed me not to ask...she merely explained that no one but her would tell me the truth.

Normal people would leave during a private conversation. Olivia’s obviously not normal. She lays the plate on the nightstand, sits on the bed then turns her body toward me and cocks her head as if giving me permission to continue. She’s evil and she’s bold.

“Well...Olivia told me you two had met before.” Not a lie and Olivia smirks as if she approves of how I handled that.

Mom’s shoulders sag. “Yes, we had.”

“You never mentioned that.”

“I didn’t see how it mattered. When I left Kentucky, I never thought either one of us would return. I was young and I was stupid and I made an impulsive decision with Eli that in the end gave me the greatest gift I have ever been given, but there was nothing but heartache in Kentucky for me so we left. Olivia was kind to me when a lot of people weren’t. That’s why it hit me so hard when I thought she was dead.”

“Did she want me?” The words come out fast and sharp. “Was she willing to help us?”

Mom’s face scrunches like she tasted something nasty. “Where’s this coming from?”

The sheets on the bed rustle and my focus darts to Olivia. When my gaze switches back to Mom her eyes are narrowed on me. “Who’s there with you?”

“Um...”

“It’s me, Meg,” Olivia raises her voice so Mom can hear her, then walks over to the window seat and settles beside me. The skin on my neck itches as she moves into my space so she can be caught by the camera. “I brought food for Emily. You look well.”

Mom’s lips thin into a line. “You look very alive.”

Olivia does that cackle laugh. “That I am. You liked me better dead, didn’t you?”

My eyesight flickers between the two of them. Mom must have been trying to be cordial when she said that Olivia was nice because the death glares between them now suggests absolute hate.

Maybe they did meet and that encounter didn’t go well and Mom had a right to run as far from Snowflake as possible. Why bring up a conversation with me that would go like this: oh, and Emily, beyond the issue of your father not wanting either of us, I met your grandmother and she’s psychotic, so good luck with those genetics.

“Emily’s only there long enough for Eli to fix this mess,” says Mom. “Then
her father
will be there to bring her home and we can put all of this behind us.”

Mom smiles, but it’s not sweet. It’s possibly the nastiest look I’ve seen her give anyone. The smile fades as she turns her gaze back to me. “Besides the fact Eli’s family turned us away, the other reason I kept you from them was because of the situation we’re in now. I promise you, when you get home, you will never have to see Eli again.”

Olivia straightens beside me. “You promised Eli a visit once a year.”

“You
both
promised trouble would never end up at her doorstep. I was naive to believe you could make that happen. I was naive to believe that your group was a club and not a gang. That you played by the rules.”

“The club is legit. You know that,” snaps Olivia. “Don’t blame this on our way of life.”

That sets Mom into a tailspin and she’s off the bed, her tablet bouncing in her hand, and we get dizzying views of the hotel in Louisville. Olivia leans back so that her head is behind mine.

“Your mother always had a flare for the dramatic,” she tells me.

I say nothing in response because she’s correct.

“Eli promised your mom that if you stayed, the truth would stay buried,” Olivia whispers to me. “You’re calling her to see if she’ll tell you what you’re starting to realize is true, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would she do that when lying to you has worked so well?” Olivia pushes a stray hair of mine behind my ear. “You loved for me to brush your hair, but you don’t remember that, do you? Your dinner is on the nightstand. Of course, you’re more than welcome to join us in the kitchen if you’d like company.”

She leaves as easily as she waltzed in. The scene before me is blurred and then my father appears on the screen. “Calm down, Meg. Let me handle this. What’s going on, Emily?”

I draw my hair over my shoulder and twine my fingers into the strands. My father grew up in a gated community with parents who tried to shelter him. He craved to see the world. They demanded he stay home. He had courage, defied them and left. If he had never done that, he would have never met Mom, and he would have never adopted me.

How many times has he told me that story? A hundred times? A million? First as my own personalized fairy tale as he tucked me into bed at night. When I became scared of the dark at eight, it was the fable to show me what would be won if I found courage, then he recounted it several times over the past two years to inspire me to fly.

Well, I’m somewhere new and I’m flapping these new wings like crazy, and you’re right, Mom’s not going to spill.
“Everything’s fine, Dad, but I don’t think Olivia and Mom like each other very much.”