Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(41)

Halfway across the porch, I wince. Sore armpits.

“This guy on the team, after he broke his leg, taped small pillows to his crutches,” Chevy says. “Tomorrow, I’ll try to find something that will work.”

Because that’s the Chevy I fell for—the sweet guy who thinks of crutches and pillows. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Chevy takes my crutches as I begin to hop down the stairs and the two prospects who had been frozen like gargoyles at the bottom of the steps spring to life. The taller one speaks. “Eli said the party’s gotten rowdy. He saw you asleep, Violet, and didn’t think you’d be coming down.”

“We’re not going to the party,” Chevy answers. “Violet’s heading with me to pick up Mom. I already texted Pigpen and Dust and they’re heading with us.”

“She’s doing what?” Eli emerges from the darkness as if he were a mirage that took physical form and his expression proves he has a direct linkup to the demons that prance inside him.

“It’s not a big deal,” I say. “I’d like to go for a ride. Clear my head.” Not be around so many guys from the Terror.

“You should ask your mom and she’s inside asleep. So’s your brother.”

From this distance, I bet I could use the crutch to knock the hell out of his balls.

“Jesus, you’re a wet blanket.” Pigpen walks up from behind Eli and grins like he just escaped from prison. “Why are you giving the girl hell for wanting to go to an army bar at midnight? It’s not like she told you she was going to kick puppies.”

Pigpen winks at me. “You ready to roll? Or should I say hop?”

My glare informs him where he can shove hop. He waggles his eyebrows in response.

“It’s just to pick up Mom,” Chevy says. “I’ll take her home, then I’ll bring Violet back. I’ve done it a hundred times.”

My chest aches. Normal. He’s describing normal. A normal from before Dad died, but a normal nonetheless. It’s what everyone wants, but I’m not sure if I’ll feel normal again. At least not where it counts—deep on the inside where I can’t even fake it or lie to myself.

“I don’t know,” Eli says.

“It’s a good way to figure out if they’re still after or tracking them,” Pigpen says in a low voice. In a way that indicates he didn’t want me to hear, but I’m too close to the situation for him to excuse himself. “Not many cars on the road. Won’t take much to know if we see the same car repeatedly.”

Eli shakes his head. “Violet stays here.”

“For how long?” I snap. “A week? A month? Until I graduate? Or maybe you’re going to homeschool me now. Will you let me go if I marry a club guy or will I be here until I die?”

The blank look Eli gives me tells me he doesn’t know.

“Chevy was kidnapped, too, yet you’re letting him leave.”

“That’s different—”

“How? Because he’s a guy? Because he’s strong and I’m weak?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” Eli roars.

“It doesn’t matter!” I yell back. “I was still kidnapped. They still hurt me, and if they want to hurt me again, there is not a damn thing you can do about it! Nothing is stopping them from coming here. Nothing is standing between me and the Riot. Nothing! They’ve already proved that once, and if they want me, they’ll take me again!”

This is it. This is my life. A constant watching over my shoulder for the bad guys. Eli wants me to tuck my tail between my legs, hobble back up the steps and stay safely inside the bubble he’s trying to create, but he’s not offering a solution to my problem. Just an illusion.

Eli leans toward me and smacks a hand to his chest. “I’m between you and them now.”

Without breaking eye contact, I sarcastically shrug one shoulder up and then down. “You would have said you were between me and them before.”

Pure anger pours from his eyes as he points at the cabin. “Inside the house. Now.”

I could hop over to the truck, climb in, and Chevy won’t take me because he’s a club boy. And even if by some miracle he did start the truck, Pigpen and Dust would stand around it like human cement pillars. The good god almighty Eli has spoken. So let it be written. So let it be done.

Blood rushes to my cheeks as what’s left of my pride is in shambles, yet I lift my chin in a silent “Fuck you.” I hold out my open fingers and Chevy silently hands me my crutches.

“Do not fool yourself into thinking you’re better than the Riot,” I say. “I might not be shivering in a basement and I might not be bleeding where you can see it, but I’m still a prisoner.”

I need to get home, find those account numbers, protect my family and then get the hell out of this town.

I turn, and because I can’t catch a break, I hop up the stairs with absolutely no grace. Thanks to the Riot and the Terror, I can’t even make a proper dramatic exit. I hobble into the cabin and slam the door behind me.





CHEVY

Violet: I can’t sleep.

Me: You were asleep.

Violet: I know, but the buzzing is back.

Me: Did it go away?

A long pause.