Long Way Home

He doesn’t find me funny this time and I’m okay with that. He is sick. He is perverted and someone should tell him because maybe he doesn’t know.

“If you did your spying correctly,” I say, “you’d also know that Eli and I can’t share air for longer than twenty seconds without screaming at each other. He did the birthday thing so we wouldn’t get into another public screaming match.”

It’s true, but that day we didn’t fight and this will be a testament of how close Justin’s men actually get to me.

“Eli is responsible for my father’s death. If you and Eli didn’t have this stupid feud going on, then my dad would still be alive because he wouldn’t have been driving to Louisville to see you.” I expect a twinge of satisfaction at saying the words I’ve believed for so long, but instead strands of guilt wrap around my heart.

I don’t blame Eli anymore. I don’t blame anyone anymore. Dad died. It was terrible and it was awful, but it just happened. He’s dead and I’m still alive. I breathe out with the floating feeling of release.

“Do you blame us?” Skull asks.

Not really. Not anymore, but I have a hunch a man like this doesn’t understand letting things go. “Yes, but I blame Eli more.”

And I treated him badly for it. I treated the club badly for it. What’s worse is that I broke Chevy’s heart. That, I regret. I lower my head but then lift it back up. What I don’t regret is standing up for myself. Don’t regret becoming my own person. I don’t regret at all who I am.

I am my father’s daughter and I will end this war between the Riot and the Terror here and now. “Explain to me again what you’re doing and I will give you the account numbers. By doing this, you agree to a lifetime of peace with the Terror, you stop watching me and my family and you will no longer hurt people I love. Do you understand?”

Skull’s studying me and I’m studying him right back. He expects me to flinch under his scrutiny, but he’s fucking with the wrong girl.

“I could have Justin pin you down and I could just take the numbers.”

My fear. “You could try, but you’d be screwed considering they’re in my head.” A lie.

Skull relaxes back in his chair and gives a laugh that causes me to want to run screaming to the nearest hot shower and scrub my skin off with steel wool. “I agree to your terms because I like you.”

At least somebody does.

“We’re going to use the account numbers to frame Eli. Put money where it doesn’t belong. Take money away from people who will be pissed it’s missing. We will destroy his reputation with his clients, his friends, his club and his family. He will go to jail, and once in there, he will belong to me.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. Eli survived prison once before, but he has a lot of scars due to his stay that he doesn’t discuss. I thread my fingers through my hair and comb the tangles as I sort through as quickly as possible whether I have everything the detective needs, but there’s this sense of urgency that’s causing me to inch to the edge of the chair.

I’ve been in here for too long and my luck and their patience are about to run thin. Abruptly, I stand and it startles both men. With my hand in the pocket of my jeans, I take two steps back until my other hand hits the doorknob. “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to give you the account numbers and then I’m going to leave. You aren’t going to follow. You are not going to follow me anymore.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Skull picks up a pen. “Give me the account numbers.”

I turn the knob, and when it gives, I yank the piece of paper containing the numbers out of my back pocket and toss it onto the desk. “I not only memorized the account numbers, but I also wrote them down.”

The door is open, I’m slipping past, Justin is on his feet, Skull is opening the paper, my heart is pounding in my chest, in my ears, a pulse that’s dominating and shaking my entire frame. I’m running down the hallway, but the emergency exit is blocked with boxes and I skid to a stop so I can escape through the store. Then there’s a hand on my wrist and Justin glares down at me. “You’re not leaving yet.”

CHEVY

THE DETECTIVE IS waiting for an answer on where the Riot is positioned, Razor and Oz are blowing up my phone, but the only thing I hear is what the detective said to me moments before... Trust her.

Trust Violet.

It’s what she wants. Violet wants me to trust her choices, her decisions, to back her up when no one else will. She is smart, she is capable, but how can she not understand this overwhelming need I have to protect her, to keep her safe, to keep her locked away in a bubble...to keep her confined in what she’d only see as a prison.

I slide my fingers across the cell, but this time put it to my ear. Oz answers halfway through the first ring. “Tell me you want us to move on this.”

“You’re not moving. She didn’t even want you in this. I brought you in. Violet trusts the police, so we need to trust the police. I need you to get off the phone with me and text me every single Riot you see, what they’re wearing and their location. That is how we’re going to help Violet.”

I hang up and toss my cell to the detective. It begins blowing up again, and after a few beats, he reads the texts aloud on his radio. Exact positions, what the Riot are wearing and people are answering back that they’re moving to avoid detection.