Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1) (7 page)

Emily

WE’VE DRIVEN IN
silence and, mile after black mile, I keep wondering if I’m in a dream. I’ve lost all sense of direction as we’ve ridden through a maze of back roads and a few minutes ago we ended up on blacktop so narrow I consider it more of a path than a road. There was a crudely made street sign at the turn and it read Thunder Road. Frightening how the name describes the storm I’ve been sucked into.

The truck gently jostles back and forth and dips with the occasional pothole. From the limited range of the headlights, I can tell that the sides of the road are thick with brush and trees. Every now and then a low-hanging limb smacks the cab of the truck. There’s no moon. There’s no light. There’s only darkness.

My teeth chatter and Oz turns his head to look at me. “Are you cold?”

I don’t know. Am I? Oz flicks a few switches, points the vents toward me and heat begins to dance along my skin. Even with the added warmth, my teeth chatter again and I run my hands along my arms. The cold...it’s not in a place that a heater can reach. It’s past my skin, past my muscles and into my bones.

“Maybe we should go back for my parents.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he responds.

“Are they okay?”

His phone has rung a couple of times. Oz answers it, listens, then mumbles some sort of an “okay” and drops his cell back into the cup holder. Surely, he’s heard something. We’ve been driving for too long. Forever. But according to the clock, forty minutes.

“We’re almost there,” Oz says as an answer.

“I asked about my parents,” I snap.

His forever-roaming eyes check the rearview mirror again. “They’re safe. At least they were the last time the club checked in.”

I close my eyes as the tension escapes from my neck. “Why couldn’t you say that?”

“Because I don’t know how long that will remain true and I’m not about false hope.” Before the shock of his words can set in, he continues, “The club’s with them, but the next couple of hours are critical. Your job is to lay low and not contact anyone. Do you understand?”

No. I don’t understand any of this. I draw my knees to my chest in an effort to fight the freezing temperatures in my veins. “Where are we going?”

Oz switches the hand on the wheel and leans against his door. “Olivia’s.”

Olivia’s. My head hits the back of the seat. “Oh.” Oh.

“I spend a lot of time there. Sometimes more than at my own home,” he says, and before I can respond he continues, “And here we are.”

My breath is stolen from my body as I take in the sight. It’s an overgrown log cabin with every window lit up like a Thomas Kinkade painting. Running along the wraparound front porch are rosebushes tangled with vines of honeysuckle. It’s beautiful, picture-perfect and surely not the place where bikers live.

“Shocked?” There’s a bite in Oz’s voice and it causes me to stare at him. He parks the truck off to the side of the house and shuts off the engine. “Considering what most people think of us, shocked is the most common reaction.”

Because they are bikers and this...this place is gorgeous. Oz swings out of the truck and I’m surprised when he meets me at my side, opens the door and then offers me his hand. “It’s a jump.”

He’s right. I didn’t notice it on the way up, but now facing the prospect of down, I have a respect for the two feet. He has a strong hand. It’s a bit rough, but not sandpaper. It’s a hand that leads, not a hand that follows, and I really shouldn’t be thinking too much about this anymore.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod then jump. Once on the ground, Oz pulls on my fingers, encouraging me to move forward. I barely trust him so I slip out of his grasp and he doesn’t fight the distance I crave. “The next time someone calls, can I talk to my parents?”

Oz’s forehead wrinkles and suddenly the big, scary guy doesn’t appear so big and scary as his eyes soften. “Let’s go inside. We’ll know more then.”

“What if you’re lying to me?” I ask, because I’d prefer that to my parents being in danger. “What if this was some sort of elaborate scheme to get me to talk to Olivia? I mean, you guys kept my father from me today.” Well, yesterday.

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“What if this is a—” air quotes “—misunderstanding?”

“Not that you’d know, but I don’t jack off to shoving hot girls into spider-infested crevices between vending machines, so how about you cut me some slack?”

I blink. Several times. Did he just call me...? And did he just say...? Heat flushes my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and shock. The door on the porch squeaks open and a figure made of solid muscle stalks onto the porch. “Oz.”

The porch light flips on and it’s the man with the long gray beard and ponytail who stood beside Oz outside the funeral home. He’s dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and an open red flannel with the sleeves rolled up. Seeing him, I empathize with Jack swaddling the stolen goose in his arms as he faces down the very ticked-off giant.

His gaze lands on us and I don’t miss how it lingers on me. I inch closer to Oz and my side brushes against his. I don’t know why, but my instincts scream that Oz means safety. He presses a hand to the small of my back and it’s as if an invisible force field forms around us.

Oz doesn’t push me ahead. Instead, he skims one finger along my spine. I shiver and this time it isn’t from the cold.

“That’s Cyrus,” Oz says so only I can hear. “He’s Eli’s dad. Your grandfather.”

My heart aches. The pain comes sharp and fast and it hits so hard that I know it will leave a scar. “I didn’t know I had one.”

Eli mentioned Olivia before, but he never discussed his father and I never cared enough to ask or imagine one existed. Maybe Eli did mention him and I blocked it out.

Oz inclines his head to the house. I walk forward and Oz is kind enough to match his pace to my slow stride.

“You’re being nice to me,” I say. “Thank you for that.”

“Did you think I was an asshole?”

Um...yeah. “Well...”

“Your first instinct was right.”

“Why are you being nice to me then?” I ask as we reach the stairs.

Oz pauses on the bottom step and glances at the bear of a man towering by the front door. “Because nobody deserves to be thrown into the middle of a tornado.”

The screen door opens again and the woman I had abandoned hours before shuffles onto the front porch. Her head is covered by a blue scarf and she wears a pair of jeans and a form-fitting black T-shirt. Olivia touches Cyrus’s arm and smiles down at me. “Welcome home, Emily.”

Oz

I ENTER THE
living room and rub my knuckles against the stubble forming on my jaw. Every single baby picture of Emily has disappeared. That’s left a lot of noticeable dust-outlined bare spots.

Olivia fusses over Emily in that demanding way of hers, telling her that she must be hungry and thirsty. Emily scratches a spot on her arm and my eyes narrow at the red welt developing on her wrist. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.

Mom appears in the doorway from the kitchen and she rests a hand over her heart when she sees me. One of her men home. One more to go. From what I understood on the phone, Eli, Dad and a bunch of other members tore off on their bikes for the motel. Because of Olivia’s cancer, Mom often stays with Olivia when Mom’s off work.

“Don’t stand there like a statue, child. Tell me what you need,” says Olivia.

Emily rubs harder at her wrist and her eyes shoot to mine as if she’s asking me to answer for her. Guess I am an asshole because I don’t swoop in for the rescue.

“Can I talk to my mom and dad?” she asks.

Olivia immediately glances to Cyrus and he clears his throat. “Soon.”

“Are they okay?”

“Yes,” Cyrus answers.

Emily’s eyes dart around, trying to take in the people surrounding her and the bright, open room. Lincoln log walls. Wooden floors. Flat-screen television. Overstuffed couch. A recliner for Cyrus. Surround-sound system. Most of the furniture and electronics are gifts from Eli. His attempt to buy his way out of guilt.

“Why...” Emily’s whole body shudders like an epileptic fit and she brushes her fingers over her arms as if to warm her skin. She’s acting so damn cold that even I’m starting to believe it’s winter. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” says Cyrus.

“Seems to be a lot of those.” Emily throws a death glare in my direction. Damn, she’s got fire. That’s shocking considering I pegged her to be a mouse of a girl who did everything exactly as her mother told her.

“And we apologize for that,” Cyrus continues. “We’re having some business issues and our negotiations have hit a snag.”

Emily tosses her arms out to her sides. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”

That’s the only explanation Cyrus will offer. Emily’s inquiring about club business and Emily’s not part of the club. By the scowl on her face, she’s pissed. Being shut out doesn’t sit well with most girls. Women like Mom and Olivia are a rarity.

Olivia straightens her scarf as she starts to shake. Last week, Olivia was so sick she was in bed with an IV. While I love that Emily’s brought a hop to her step, Olivia’s wasting energy to put on a show for her long-lost granddaughter.

“Emily’s in shock,” I say. “She’s cold and she mentioned she hasn’t slept yet.”

Dirty look number two. If Emily keeps this up, she might be elevated from good-girl status to bad.

“I’m fine,” Emily mutters, but what she doesn’t realize is that I didn’t say it to humiliate her. I said it to force Olivia off her feet and my plan works.

Like she’s herding a timid sheep, Olivia corners Emily until she practically falls back on the couch and Olivia relaxes beside her. Mom’s in front of Emily with a mug of something steaming and uses a soft tone as she introduces herself.

Cyrus inclines his head to the porch and as I move to walk out, Emily’s head snaps up. “Where are you going?”

All eyes land on me. Cyrus strokes the length of his beard as his eyes flicker between me and Emily.

“Front porch,” I answer.

Emily scoots to the edge of the couch like she’s going to stand and my mom and Olivia flutter their hands to keep her seated.

“Oz isn’t going anywhere,” Cyrus says. “I need to follow up with him on a few things and then he’ll be back in.”

“Oz?” asks Emily.

Cyrus motions with his head for me to confirm it and I do. “I won’t be long.”

Emily reclines back against the couch and cups the mug in her hands, but doesn’t drink. Odds are she thinks it’s poison.

Cyrus and I step onto the porch and, off in the east, dark blue creates a line against the black of night. Dawn’s coming and I have no idea what this day is going to bring.

“You were supposed to become a prospect last night,” says Cyrus.

I lean my shoulder against one of the log columns supporting the roof of the porch and cross my arms over my chest. Cyrus eases up beside me, resting a hip on the railing.

“I know.” Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life, but Emily’s visit messed everything up.

“It’ll happen,” Cyrus says. “But Eli’s priority is his daughter.”

I nod, because there’s nothing else to say.

“Eli called you, Oz. Multiple times. You texted as he was heading to hunt you down.”

My gut twists. I fell asleep on my debut assignment. I didn’t even get to wear a cut and I blew my chance. Anger and frustration tenses my muscles and I fight the urge to slam my fist against something. Anything. This is my life. My family. I may have lost it all because I fell asleep. “What do I do?”

Cyrus stares straight at me with those emotionless gray eyes. “Man up and accept the repercussions. Any other option isn’t acceptable.”

The club doesn’t tolerate excuses. The brotherhood is built on family and trust. Lying my way out of a situation would be the same as showing myself the door.

“Tell ’em the truth. That’s all you can do.” Cyrus pats my shoulder. “Besides, you saved his daughter and my granddaughter. That holds some weight.”

His words sound good, but none of them erase the fear that I might have sabotaged the most important goal in my life. A sickening nausea envelops me and it’s similar to the devastation of being told that Olivia has cancer.

Cyrus pushes off the railing. “You did good tonight.”

“You never mentioned why the Riot would be going after Emily. Or how they’d even know who she is.”

Frogs croak in the nearby pond. I wait for an answer and Cyrus smirks. “You’re right. I didn’t. When was the last time you had decent sleep?”

I shrug. I fell asleep for a half hour. A half hour that could cost me my future. “I’m good.”

“Glad to hear it. The way Emily looks at you, moves in your direction—that girl trusts you.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She trusts you more than anyone else on this property. I know you’re tired, but I’d like you to stay. It’ll make the next couple of hours easier on her and I know Eli will appreciate that.”

While I feel sorry for the girl, she’s a bomb on countdown. “She’s bad news.”

Cyrus’s boots clomp against the porch as he heads for the door. “Then she’ll fit in, won’t she?”

The sky in the west continues to get lighter and the stars above dim like a candle flame down to the quick. Only a few more hours of Emily, then Eli will fix whatever the hell is going on with the Riot, she’ll return to her spoon-fed life and I’ll beg Eli for another shot. I shove a hand through my hair to shake away the need for sleep. Just a few more hours.

“You coming?” Cyrus asks.

“I’ll be in in a sec. I need a minute to clear my head.”

He leaves while I grip the railing and lean over. My life has become a waking nightmare.

Emily

IN THEORY, I’M WATCHING
television even though I can’t make sense of anything on the screen. Oz is on the front porch and everyone else stares at me. The everyone else would include:

Oz’s mother, Izzy, the lone partially sane person in the state of Kentucky

Cyrus, a giant impersonating a human

Olivia, the once dead and now alive

They’re probably wondering if I’m going to spaz at any second. So here’s the thing: they may not be wrong.

Wrapped in a blue crocheted blanket, I sit in the middle of the couch. Olivia has staked a claim beside me. It’s hard not to picture her popping out of the casket. Because of that, my spine is curtain-rod straight and I remain perfectly still. Sort of like those small woodland creatures when they realize the big, bad carnivorous beast has spotted them. Doesn’t console me to know things don’t typically work out for the woodland creature.

So long, woodchuck. I hope you had a great life, squirrel. You didn’t really want that nut, did you, chipmunk?

Yes, I know, no one’s going to eat me. My eyes drift over to Cyrus. He quickly turns his head and pretends to be immersed in the movie. He might sauté me up with some onions and throw me on a sesame-seed bun.

Stop it. This train of thought...it’s because I’m exhausted and I’m scared and I’m desperate to talk to my parents and...

Moisture pools in my eyes and I wipe at it. I won’t cry. Not in front of them. They are the enemy. They are the ones that created this situation. With each flutter of my eyelids, the urge is to keep them closed, but I force them open. I don’t know these people. I don’t know them and it’s not safe to sleep.

“If you’re tired,” Olivia says as if she already knows the answer, “we have a spare bedroom. Two in fact.”

“I’m not tired,” I answer through the yawn. “But can I use the bathroom?”

“Of course,” says Olivia.

Cyrus and Izzy hop up, but Olivia forces them to reclaim their seats with one slice of her hand. She’s slow as she stands and a large helping of guilt plops into the bottom of my stomach.

“You can tell me where it is,” I say. She repeats the gesture to me and I also withdraw into silence.

I follow her down the hallway. We pass two bedrooms and the hallway turns. In front of us is a larger bedroom and to the right is the bathroom.

Olivia prevents me from entering the bathroom by placing her cold hand on my arm. My heart stutters as if shocked by electricity. She’s not dead. Nope, not dead. Very, very much alive.

“We’re going to my bedroom,” she says in a voice you don’t argue with. She flips on a light and I’m surprised by the pink-and-blue pastels on her comforter and curtains.

“I like your room.” I’m drawn to the door leading out of her room to the porch. I could bolt and possibly escape from this madness.

“Did you expect skulls and crossbones?” She opens a jewelry box on her dresser. “A gun arsenal and torture chamber?”

Well...yes. “No.”

“You’re a bad liar, Emily, and I’m going to need you to get better at it, but I have faith that will happen. You are, by blood, a McKinley.”

A wave of defiance tightens my muscles. “I’m a Jennings.”

“Thanks to a paper trail and a judge’s signature, but you are one of us. You always have been.” Olivia riffles through stacks of photos she took out of the jewelry box then offers one to me.

No. There’s no freaking way that picture is real. Dizziness overtakes my mind as I lose myself in a haze. I’m asleep and this is a dream.

“Take it,” she demands.

Can’t make me. I shake my head and step back.

“Olivia?” Cyrus calls from the living room. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Olivia raises her voice to answer while refusing to break eye contact with me. She lowers her tone again. “I promised Eli and your mother that I would take this to the grave. The way I see it, I already have one foot in, so what difference does it make.”

My gaze drifts to the picture trembling in her hand and I wince. The pink elephant in the chubby hands of the baby in the photo is more than familiar. He’s cherished and adored and has seen me through some of my scariest moments. His name is James and, at home, in Florida, he’s propped on my dresser looking a lot more worn and a lot less pink and lot more loved.

The baby is old enough to rip through the mess of presents in front of her. She has long brown hair and she wears the same pink dress that my mother drags out on my birthdays to show how I’ve grown over the years. I hate that the baby sports a huge smile as she beams reverently at the person who’s holding her—Olivia.

My lower lip quivers and tears burn my eyes. I’m too tired for this. I’m too tired and there’s no way this is true. It’s not. My mother would never lie to me. Never. “My mom left Snowflake when she found out she was pregnant with me.”

“Your mother walked out of this house, your home, with you in the dead of night right after your second birthday.”

This house? No way. “Your son turned us away. He left us. Both of us. Mom said not one of you wanted me.”

“Your entire life is a lie and I’m the only person willing to give you the truth,” she says. “And if you want the truth, you’re going to have to stay here in Kentucky, because God knows that your parents won’t tell you. Even if it’ll cost you your life.”

Olivia snatches my hand and shoves the picture into my palm, curling my fingers over it. I twist away from her grasp. “This picture doesn’t mean anything. Maybe we came back for a visit but we obviously didn’t stay.”

“It was no visit. You lived here once and your mother stole you from us.”

“Olivia?” Cyrus calls again.

She walks past me and this consuming anger causes me to lash out before she leaves me alone. “My mother told me that all of you are crazy. This photo is a fake and you’re a liar.”

Olivia smirks. “We both know that’s wrong, don’t we, Emily Star?”

The breath rushes from my body as if I’ve been socked in the stomach. “That’s not my name.”

“Yes,” she says simply. “It is.”

It is...rather it was.

Emily Star is the name on my birth certificate, but when my father adopted me, we changed it to Emily Catherine so that I shared my grandmother’s, Dad’s mom’s, name. “So you know what used to be my middle name. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“It does, and so does that picture.”

“Mom said that the people in Snowflake are the worst kind of evil.” Cruel, I know, and there’s a pang of hurt and guilt, but what she’s doing to me right now is nothing short of agony.

Olivia pauses. Grandmothers are supposed to be maternal. They’re supposed to bake cakes and pies and cookies and pat my hand and tell me not to worry. They aren’t supposed to use curse words or speak in code or try to break me on one of the worst days of my life.

As she studies me, I one hundred percent understand that she’s not the warm fuzzy type. But the way sadness weighs on her face, I discover she’s not immune to caustic words.

“I’m not evil,” she states.

My skin prickles. Well, she sure as hell isn’t nice.

“I’m not,” she repeats. Then she sighs. “Either guest bedroom is yours to use. The one on the left belonged to you. You used to lie in your crib and watch the sunrise with a smile on your face.”

I shut my eyes. She’s lying. Has to be. There’s no other explanation for this. The picture is fake. Her words are lies. This entire scenario is me having a psychotic break after she popped out of the casket.

Without saying a word, I stalk past her into the bathroom and lock her out.