Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(34)

Razor guides my elbow and changes places with me so I can maneuver around a table to avoid Dust and possibly duck through to the stairs. In front of Dust, Razor stops, slouches and shoves his hands into his front pockets. Nothing about the way Razor’s eyes bore into Dust’s suggests he’s casual.

“Don’t want problems,” Dust says, “but you know the rules. She’s not allowed in Church.”

I’m still going, and when the next person in line tries to block my path, Oz becomes the human shield.

Chairs crack and bar stools squeak as guys rise to their feet. Their job is to make sure the rules aren’t broken. Doesn’t matter if I’m dropped to the ground and shattered as long as the rules stay intact.

“Any of you touch her, talk to her or attempt to stop her and I’ll kick your fucking ass,” Razor says like he’s ordering off a dollar menu at a fast-food restaurant. Like it’s not a big deal he just risked himself for me. “She’s had way too many people manhandling her for any of us to give her shit.”

The air in the room is heavy with tension with each continued step of my good leg and drag of the bad. I reach the door of the stairway and I glance back. Football plays on the TV over the bar, fallen leaves scratch and scatter on the concrete outside, but otherwise it’s silent.

No one is happy. I’ve gone rogue in their eyes, but not one man has the balls to stop me. I should be happy, but I’m not. I shouldn’t have had to be kidnapped to finally earn some respect.

Another scan of the room and my stomach churns. That’s not respect in their eyes. It’s empty pity—even Oz and Razor.

I’m the girl who was kidnapped, the girl Chevy had to give himself up for to protect. I heard the men from the club whispering as they stood outside my hospital room door. Funny how when you don’t talk, people think you can no longer hear.

Screw them all.

The staircase is longer and steeper than I remember, but I make it, and when I reach the second floor, I breathe in and out several times to catch my breath and stare at the locked door. My hand falls to my chest and the comfort I’m searching for—my father’s cross—it isn’t there. Just like my bracelets aren’t. Just like I’ve lost any sense of safety and security. The Riot stole all that from me because of the Terror.

There’s protocol for them to open that door and I don’t know what it is. It’s more than a knock. More than a series of knocks.

But I want in this room and I won’t be ignored.





CHEVY

CAN I HANDLE THAT? I’ve been hurting Mom for years and Violet for months over making the club happy. Am I all in with the club? I don’t know, but can I handle keeping my mouth shut so I can learn what’s going on with the Riot? Hell... “Yes.”

Eli does a sweep of the table and each man nods in agreement with whatever he’s asking.

“Then we’re trusting you,” Eli says. “Giving you a chance to be your own man during this. If it wasn’t for the fact I promised Mom before she died that we wouldn’t patch you in until you turned eighteen, you’d be walking out of this room with a cut on your back.”

“We’re proud of you.” My grandfather’s voice is rough. “For protecting Stone, for protecting Violet, for standing strong when other men would crumble.”

One by one, like dominoes on the downfall, the men gathered around hit their fists against the table. It’s a show of support, a show of brotherhood, and my chest feels tight. Too many emotions flood me and I have to lean back in my chair to keep myself under control.

This moment right here—it’s what Mom doesn’t understand. Doesn’t get that I’ve watched this type of solidarity my entire life and all I’ve craved is to be a part of it. To be more than Cyrus’s grandson, Eli’s nephew, James’s ghost in living flesh. More than just being a blood destiny. I’ve wanted to belong because of who I am, because I’m wanted...and now it’s happening.

I suck in a breath and can’t seem to find words to respond to their support, so instead I nod. It’s short, but it happened and Eli nods back.

“Don’t make us regret this decision,” Eli says. “We’re treating you like one of our own, so we expect you to act like it even though the cut isn’t on your back yet. What we talk about here, stays here.”

“Understood.” Noted and written in stone.

“The Riot voluntarily talked with the police and let us in when they did it.” Eli didn’t even bother with a pause. Just went balls to the wall. “They’re sticking with their story, claiming that the kidnapping was on Fiend, and they even went a step further.”

“How’s that?” I lean forward, arms on the table.

Eli mirrors my position. “Skull said after they dropped you two off and went home to clean house, he found out Fiend hadn’t misunderstood anything. Fiend was upset our clubs have been trying for peace since Emily’s visit and that he and a few other disgruntled members went after you to start a war between us.”

My blood runs cold. This past summer, Eli’s daughter—Skull’s granddaughter—visited Kentucky for the first time since her mother left the state running like she was on fire in order to keep her and Emily safe from our clubs. Emily’s mom didn’t trust the Riot and was scared the Terror couldn’t protect her and Emily. When Emily came to town because Eli’s mom, Olivia, was dying, it caused a pot of anger that had been simmering between our clubs for years to boil over. “You think it’s true?”