Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(52)

“Me, too,” she replies. “I hope they all do. What they did wasn’t okay.”

No, it wasn’t.

“Were you really kidnapped?” The question comes from a few rows over and all the chatter stops.

Don’t know why, but I search Addison for an ally. I can tell, though, she’s just as curious. Regardless of Breanna’s parents’ efforts, Addison’s best friend is entwined with the Terror. Razor loves Breanna. I don’t see signs of him letting her go as long as she wants him, so that means, in Addison’s eyes, her best friend is in danger.

I can’t argue with that logic.

“There was an Amber Alert and it said she’d been taken,” someone else says. “So of course she was kidnapped.”

“Was it people you knew who took you?” I know that voice. It’s a girl I’m perfectly fine with being one of the people who burns in hell. Her name is Jana and she was over-the-top nice when I first tried to break free from the Terror. It turns out she’s one of those who wants people to worship her as she kicks everyone else down.

Jana got mad at me when I told her to back off when she informed her, in theory, best friend she was fat. Never understood why girls wouldn’t stand up for themselves. But I did take a stand and I ended up tossed from her inner circle.

Boo flipping hoo.

“Mom says people in motorcycle clubs all know each other and treat each other badly,” continues Jana. “I bet you knew the people who kidnapped you and you’ll be mixing it up with them in a few weeks.”

Mixing it up. The way her cold eyes slide up and down my body suggests mixing it up means me on my knees performing certain acts. I don’t know why my face heats with shame, but it does. Like somehow this is all my fault and I deserved it. Yet I keep my head held high. “My life is none of your fucking business.”

Jana flinches. “I was trying to be nice. Excuse me for asking questions. And to think I was nice to you last year when you wanted to make new friends. I told everyone not to believe you. That you would always be biker trash.”

“You’re such a bitch,” Addison says like she’s bored, and I’m shocked by the unexpected backup.

A guy in the back mumbles, “Burn,” and a few other people nervously laugh.

Jana turns her little serpent head in Addison’s direction. “All I did was express concern for Violet and she yelled at me. I didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the bitch. Not me.”

The look of disgust on Addison’s face is humorous—at least for me. “Nothing works up there, does it? Like your mind—it’s a ghost town. Somebody else asked her about being kidnapped. You decided to get nosy, then get nasty. You’re still mad because Violet made you look like a fool last year at lunch. Let it go, Jana. With the way your mind ticks, you’re going to be made to feel like a fool a lot in life.”

“All right.” Our teacher walks back in. “I don’t see enough books open or groups formed or actual work being done.”

“You just dug your grave,” Jana whispers to Addison.

Addison cracks a smile that’s so bitter it’s sweet. “What are you going to do? Talk badly about me? Go ahead. You spouting off words you don’t even understand is the least of my problems.”

The distant look in Addison’s eyes—I’ve seen that before in Dust’s eyes. An old soul. A soul that’s seen too much, done too much.

Addison opens her book, the sleeve of her cheer warm-up hitches up and the world freezes. There are bruises on her wrist. Those are the type of bruises I had on my arm from when Fiend manhandled me. My stomach roils, and I have to breathe in to keep from getting dizzy.

People form into groups, and when Addison begins to work by herself, it hits me. Breanna, the person Addison always partnered with, is gone.

Her world is tilted. My world is tilted...and it’s a terrible feeling. Like being caught in a landslide and no matter how you grasp at the mud around you nothing can keep you grounded.

I want to feel safe. Maybe Addison does, too. High school is a war zone. The people who surround you are your best form of defense. “Want to partner up?”

Addison raises her head, and as casually as I can, without being overly obvious, I pull back my long sleeve and expose my own fading bruises. Recognition darkens Addison’s face and she yanks down her own sleeve in such a slow way I’m not sure she’s aware she’s doing it.

She finally meets my gaze. “Sure.”

I go to try to turn my desk, but Addison moves hers instead. People with two fully functioning legs can do such things faster. She slides her book for me to share with her, then places her hand over the page to stop me from reading. “This doesn’t mean I like the Terror. I’m really pissed at them. If they weren’t around, maybe Breanna would still be here.”

Yeah—“I get it. I’m pretty mad at them, too. I have been for a while.”

A few beats of her digesting my answer and then she asks, “Where are you sitting at lunch today?”

I used to sit at a table that contained Jana. I sat as far from her as possible, but we still shared the large round plastic space. “Not sure.”

“Want to sit with me?”

Definitely. “Okay.”

The ends of Addison’s lips lift, she removes her hand from the book and reads the first question aloud.