Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1) (6 page)

Emily

IT’S AS IF
I’m living the opening segment of an apocalyptic thriller. Young family’s rental car breaks down in parking lot and they’re forced to stay the night in dilapidated motel. Soon, the local townspeople morph into skin-eating demons and the family fights to survive until sunrise.

Maybe our situation isn’t that dire, but it’s close. The past few hours have been the worst sleep of my life. With no rental and no Louisville cab company willing to spare a driver to take us back into the city, we’re stuck here. To make matters worse, Snowflake is limited in overnight accommodations and, short of pitching a tent, this is where we ended up.

The stain on the sheets of the bed I lie in gives me the bugs-walking-on-the-back-of-my-neck creeps and, speaking of bugs, I’m sure there are a hundred million of them nesting in the innards of the mattress. Something continuously moves in the corner of the room, but disappears each time I click on the light.

It doesn’t help that Mom and Dad have been sharing a whispered intense conversation all night. Yes, they had a lot to discuss after the funeral home debacle, but a call from the room phone around eleven caused a new round of conversations. Most of it taking place in the bathroom.

For hours, I stared at the light streaming from the crack under the bathroom door. Occasionally their voices would rise, but they were still too muffled for me to understand. Even when I tiptoed to the door to listen.

I’m impatient for daylight yet the minutes drag into days. It’s 3:03 a.m. and I’ve been parched since two. The thought of interrupting Mom and Dad in the bathroom for a drink of water doesn’t thrill me, so I roll out of bed. In the darkness, I shimmy out of my pj pants and into a pair of shorts. There’s a vending machine a few doors down and a bottle of cold water is calling my name.

Oz

THE SLAMMING OF
a car door jerks me awake. My heart hammers with the realization—I fell asleep. I scrub a hand over my face to wake myself, then grab the phone. It’s after three and there are two missed messages. Eli’s going to kill me and I deserve his wrath. I messed this up big time.

Message one:
What’s going on?

Message two:
You better be awake and taking a piss or you better be dead.

My fingers hover over the cell as my attention is drawn to movement from the right. On the opposite side of the parking lot are two guys who stand near the front of a blacked-out SUV. Cigarettes burn in their hands and I don’t like how they’re watching Emily’s room.

I scan the rest of the area and my stomach drops. Dark chestnut hair. Tanned, toned legs. Damn me to hell, Emily’s walking toward the vending machines. One of the guys drops his cigarette to the ground and smashes it with his foot.

His mouth moves as he talks to the guy next to him and in the barely dim light surrounding him, he slips off a cut. I don’t catch the entire patch, but I see enough. With a surge of adrenaline, I start the truck and then my fingers fly over the letters.

The Riot are here.

Emily

GOOSE BUMPS RISE
on my arms when I open the door and the early-morning Kentucky air drifts over my skin. It’s the first time I’ve stayed at this type of motel—the type with no interior corridors and only exterior doors.

I flip the security latch to prevent being locked out and follow the hum of vending machines. The lights of the overhang burn bright enough for me see where I’m heading, but are dull enough that I’m again reminded of walking into a horror flick.

The night surrounding the motel parking lot is dark. Very dark. My dad once told me that it gets darker before the dawn. I shiver. He must be right. I’ve never seen anything so black that it’s completely void of light.

I turn the corner and pause. My back itches like I’m being watched. The sensation crawls along the fine hairs of my neck and my heart pumps hard. In a slow movement, I peer over my shoulder. Nothing but darkness. Nothing but small bugs swarming near the overhead light that leaves a green tint to the world. Nothing. Nothing but my overactive imagination.

One foot angles in favor of the room, but the rest of me pushes forward. Five seconds to get a drink and then back to the room. Maybe ten. With my stomach in my throat, I brave the enclave, slip the fifty cents into the coin slot and then attempt to shove the dollar into the machine. With a whine, it spits the money back out. With a second whine, the machine cranks the bill out again. “Come on!”

My skin shrinks against my bones. Saran Wrap tight, my flesh feels like it needs to be shed. There’s something wrong out here. Something evil. With shaky hands I try one last time and the machine inhales the dollar.

A push of a button. A racket that could wake the dead. My hand swipes up the water. A flash of black to my right and I suck in a breath to scream.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Taller than me. And he blocks my way.

I stumble back, tripping over myself. The water thumps to the concrete and a hand whips out and grabs my wrist. Air leaves my lungs in a hiss when my body slams into the cinder-block wall.

My mouth opens again and a hot hand presses against my lips. A sob racks me and blue eyes lower to mine. “It’s me, Emily. It’s Oz. Right now I need you to be quiet. Do you hear me? Quiet.”

He’s whispering while he muffles my scream. Quiet is not what I need. My eyes dart around. We’re wedged in a small space between the vending machine and the wall. His body is pressed tightly to mine, so much so that it’s hard to draw in air. Cobwebs touch the top of Oz’s head. A spider the size of my fist swings precariously above us, its legs twisting as it spins its web.

A sound leaves my throat as a tear cascades down my face.

“Quiet,” Oz demands again. “Please, Emily. Be still.”

I blink at the
please
. His blue eyes soften and my senses go on alert. Almost like my energy is reaching out to find the real threat—a threat my instincts inform me is worse than what’s in front of me.

Oz slowly withdraws his hand from my mouth and the flood of cold air on my face causes me to tremble. He continues to lower his hand to his hip and wraps his fingers around the hilt of a blade stuck inside a leather sheath.

There’s activity beyond us. A slow tapping of a boot against the sidewalk. A scrape comparable to sandpaper against the concrete wall. Then a shadow. Large. Looming. The head of the dark shadow hits near my feet.

“The water bottle.” My lips move.

Oz tilts his head as if he sees the shift in my mood. “I know,” he mouths. “Shh.”

Chaos reigns inside my mind. Oz can kill me or Oz can save me or Oz can do one now and then another later.

The footsteps begin again, echoing closer to our hiding spot. Fear gains in strength, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over me. Oz weaves an arm around my back and circles us so that I’m wedged into the corner and he’s positioned near the threat.

Heat builds between us and my pulse beats wildly at my pressure points. He continues to gently guide me into the extremely small crevice behind the machine. My foot tangles with a cord and I trip to the right. My hand snaps out and I grab on to Oz’s belt loop as both of his hands land on my hips.

We’re crushed against each other. Warmth rolls off his body and onto mine. He must feel it—my fear, the blood drumming throughout my veins. My eyesight nearly shakes with it.

Oz does a strange thing. He smiles. It’s a crazy smile, but beautiful. My body tingles when he swipes his thumb under my shirt and across the sensitive skin of my waist.

He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. Only one guy has been
this
near me before. Body against body. Thighs against thighs. Warm breath brushing the back of my ear. We didn’t go far that night. We didn’t go far at all—not emotionally, not physically...just not. And standing here pressed between a wall and Oz, my entire body becomes aware.

“If he finds us,” he breathes into my ear, “you run, Emily. You run and keep running until you lock yourself in the room. Then you call Eli.”

Oz pulls back and our noses almost touch. I strain to listen. No footsteps. No sound beyond my own frantic breaths. Then a thump to the concrete. Like a bottle dropping. My stomach sinks along with it. And there’s a rolling of plastic...getting closer...closer. So close that it’s next to us.

My eyes flash to Oz’s. I’m about to explode out of my skin yet he’s calm, steady, solid. He meets my gaze, never once looking elsewhere. The bottle continues to roll away...away...to the point I believe that the sound I hear is only in my mind. An echo of my fears.

No longer able to handle Oz’s intense stare, I lower my head and my body sags. Oz eases a hand to the nape of my neck, encouraging me to rest my head on his shoulder. I do, then inhale the calming scent of burned wood. It conjures images of bonfires on the beach. S’mores on the back patio with my father. Nights by the fireplace as a child.

Oz’s hand is hot on my skin and my muscles melt under his strong caress. An eternity passes. Stars are born then die. He relaxes his grip on me and my fingers curl into his belt loops when he tries to maneuver away.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

The rolling? It’s still in my head and so are the footsteps, but I shake my head no.

“It’s my cell,” he says under his breath, and sure enough I hear a vibration. “I need to answer.”

I release him and he slips his phone out of his back pocket. “I nine-one-one’d Eli and he’s on his way. I need to get you within walls. Stay here and don’t move.”

Oz steps back and I shiver with the cold infiltrating where he had been. My eyes widen. His knife is in his hand. I never saw him free the blade and I never felt him move to do so.

Oz peers around the corner. One way. Then the next. The fear is so encompassing that it almost shifts into hysterics.

“Stay put,” he commands. I’m normally not a take-orders-from-a-guy type of girl, but I’m all for following directions since my feet are frozen to the ground.

Oz disappears and a small part of me internally cries. Alone has never felt so...alone.

An electric buzz of the vending machine. The gentle tap of water leaking from a pipe above. Not knowing if the footsteps drifting away are what I should be terrified of.

Because it’s overwhelming, I count. Throwing in the Mississippi in between like Mom taught me. I count slower when I hit fifty, then even slower when I hit two hundred. I start again at zero, pretending that his absence during the first three hundred seconds doesn’t matter.

Oz appears in front of me again and my knees give out at the sight. He extends his hand. “Those two guys are still here, but they walked around the corner. I can slip you back in your room, but we need to be quiet.”

“Who are they?” I ask.

Oz’s shoulders stiffen and his eyes bore into mine. “People neither one of us want to mess with. Let’s go.”

Oz

EMILY’S CHEST RISES
and falls at an alarming rate and I pray she doesn’t faint.

She’s smaller than me and she’s curvy as hell. She wears a pair of hip-hugging jean shorts and a tight blue tank that covers enough of her top, but rides short and highlights her flat stomach. I’ve never been so damned captivated by a belly button in my life. Hate to admit it, but with that long chestnut hair and those big dark eyes, Emily is hot.

She’s also in a ton of trouble and if she doesn’t trust me soon and take my hand, she’s going to turn her problems into my problems and that will be dangerous for us both.

“If I was the enemy, Emily, I would have already slit your throat and thrown your body into the trunk of a car.”

“You’re not helping,” she whispers.

“But it’s the truth. Now, let’s go.”

She sucks in her bottom lip and I wiggle my fingers, signaling for her to follow. It’s like convincing an injured animal to eat from my hand. I get why she doesn’t trust me. If I were in her shoes, I’d be weighing my options. One of them being jacking the knife in my hand and slicing my way out of this situation.

Emily extends her hand—moment by moment. Centimeter by centimeter. At any point, I could have grabbed her and hauled her out, but something tells me that she’s never faced any level of danger. To expect her to be braver than most is unfair, especially when she’s impressed me with how well she’s handled tonight.

The moment her smooth fingers touch mine, I link our hands together and we’re on the move. As I tighten my grip on her, I secure my knife in my other hand. Eli and Dad have taught me stuff over the years. All of it without Mom’s knowledge or permission. It involves the whereabouts of arteries, kidneys and liver, and each conversation and demonstration involved a blade.

We round the corner and I halt, hiding her from view. A burly guy with fists the size of concrete blocks stands outside the door to Emily’s room. I push Emily back into the walkway and silently curse. “Tell me you locked the door behind you.”

Her face pales out and I have my answer. She shoves at me, but she’s such a tiny thing that it’s nothing more than the beats of a butterfly’s wings. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t bother replying. We go in the opposite direction of her room. Actually, I go and pull her behind me. She yanks at my hand and tries to dig her feet into the ground, but I’m bigger and I’m stronger and I’m getting her the hell out of here.

I peer around the other side of the building and when I spot nothing, I head for the truck, thanking God I had the forethought to drive it to this side before chasing after her. I drag Emily forward and open the passenger-side door. “Get in.”

At the sight of the truck’s interior, Emily tries to create space between us as she jerks at my hold on her wrist. “I’m not going with you.”

Screw this. I lean into Emily and she stumbles until her back smacks the inside of the door.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you have the biggest illegal motorcycle club in Kentucky literally on your doorstep. We don’t have time to argue. Get in the truck now!”

Her frantic movements stop and I don’t care for the deer-caught-in-headlights thing she’s melded into. With a ragged breath, her eyes shoot to the small tunnel of a hallway we emerged from and I can read her mind.

My arm snaps out and I clutch the edge of the door, blocking her path. “Eli’s on his way and he will protect your parents, but I can’t protect you and them at the same time. You know as well as I do, you can’t stop anything that’s happening. By standing here fucking with me,
you
are placing them in danger. Not me. Get in the truck, Emily, and let me get help.”

“They’re my parents,” she pleads.

“And you’re stopping me from getting them help. Get in the truck so I can make some calls.”

She swallows and in seconds she’s in the passenger side of the truck. I shut her door, race around, slide in and start the engine. With my cell out and the number dialed, I place the phone to my ear and slowly ease out of the parking lot.

One ring and Cyrus answers, “Eli’s coming in fast and dangerous, son. The text you sent better mean that death’s on Emily’s doorstep.”

Close enough. “The Riot’s at her motel. Emily’s with me. Tell me where to go.”

“You bring her home.”

I check the rearview mirror as I floor the gas and pray I don’t see headlights.