Long Way Home (Thunder Road #3)(97)

That humming that saturated my brain after the kidnapping returns and it’s hard as hell to not throw my fist into the wall to try to control it. Me: Police have it under control.

“You sure you know what you’re doing? You have a guy that was almost made and there are Riot leaving the area.”

The detective’s on the radio asking for updates, telling people to watch, telling people to move around. I stand and kick the recycling box into the hallway. Papers fly everywhere. These people have no idea what they’re doing.

Razor: What if they don’t have it under control? I agree, she’s been in there too long. Maybe we pull rank. Maybe we should end this bullshit now.

“What are they seeing?” the detective snaps. “Tell me who exactly is watching my men.”

“Tell me who’s taking care of Violet?” I shout back.

He doesn’t bat an eye as he says, “I am and Violet agreed to let me be the person in charge of this. If you can’t trust me, fine, but trust her. She agreed to all this and was dead set that you follow the plan. I’m down a man, you saved his ass and now I need help making sure everyone else stays in place. Tell me who else is watching that street.”

Oz: I agree with Razor. We should move in on this.

My gut twists and I rub the back of my neck as I try to grab hold of my emotions. The humming grows louder and the only thought is that I want Violet safe. I want her safe and back in my arms.

“Chevy,” the detective says. “Tell me who else is watching the street.”

My cell buzzes again and a decision of which way I’m going on this has to be made.





Violet

MY ENTIRE BODY buzzes with nervous anticipation. Skull just brought up Eli and that’s what I need—him to admit out loud what he’s going to do with the account numbers. “I have the account numbers. Some are for the security business. Some belong to the club.”

Skull’s lips twist into what I believe is a grin. “Excellent. Hand them over and I’ll make sure that the Riot and the Terror live out the rest of their lives in peace.”

But I don’t reach into my back pocket. Those numbers are my only leverage. “What are you going to do with them?”

“We told you. With those numbers we’re going to take care of Eli.”

“Not sure if you remember correctly, but when everything was explained to me, someone you know had just tried to shoot me in the head. Details of anything after that are fuzzy.” No, they aren’t. They are so crystal clear I can smell the mold in the basement, taste the fear on my tongue and shiver with the coldness of the air.

“Are you having a change of heart?” Justin takes out a pocketknife and makes a show of flipping it open. It’s not a long blade, but from the glint I can tell it’s sharp. He begins to clean his nails with the tip. The man’s crazy. Utterly and completely crazy. But he’s sending a message. A very loud and possibly violent message.

“I heard you had a heartwarming moment with Eli yesterday morning,” Justin continues. “Involved pancakes and singing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

I grow light-headed. I’m tired of being watched, tired of being put under a microscope by these men. And I thought the Terror were controlling. “You need to find a new hobby. Watching a teenage girl is a bit sick and perverted. Maybe you should stare at fish like your dad.”

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.