Long Way Home (Thunder Road, #3)(13)

“Yeah.”

I crouch, then lean my back against the wall beside her, letting my hand brush the exposed skin of her arm. As a gesture of comfort, to reaffirm I’m here and she’s safe. Violet’s cold to the touch, and she trembles. She’s in shock. Why the hell wouldn’t she be? I rap the back of my head against the concrete wall. Fuck the Riot. Fuck them for all of this. “You okay?”

She inches closer to me and our legs touch. So do our arms. I move my head in her direction so I can inhale her scent. Violet smells like honey. It’s a perfume her father bought her for her fourteenth birthday and continued to buy for her every year after that. Until this year.

I purchased it for her the other day, but I wasn’t sure if I would have the guts to give it to her. We’ve been like two rabid dogs trapped in a cage. I was afraid she’d throw it back in my face and wasn’t sure I could stomach more rejection.

The perfume sits on my dresser stuffed in a birthday bag. Somehow, in this moment, my lack of courage seems pathetic.

“Violet?” I’m slow asking because I’m not sure I can control my reaction if she gives an undesired answer. I’m already walking a tightrope, and I’m not the kind, at least when it comes to her, who can keep my balance. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Fear she’s lying whirls inside me. “You were screaming and then you stopped. I need to know if they hurt you.” I need to know if I’ll be able to sleep again.

Silence on her end. Each quiet second that passes causes my body temperature to rise with the growing rage.

“Violet,” I urge, barely able to keep the anger from leaking out in my voice.

“The guy in the backseat backhanded me,” she says in a small voice, as if that confession is something she should be ashamed of.

I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill every single one. “How bad?”

“Are you okay?” She attempts to drag the conversation in another direction because she knows me. Knows I’m on the verge of losing my mind.

“Violet.”

“He hit me and we’ve been kidnapped,” she snaps. “Isn’t that bad enough?”

No. They hurt her. No part of me is okay with that.

“Are you okay?” she asks again. “They hit you. I saw it.”

And I hit them back. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Violet’s entire body quakes in a small fit and the stream of air being pushed through her lips as she tries to control herself is audible. She’s killing me, and she needs to know she’s not alone. Not physically. Not mentally. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. The club’s maybe, but not yours. This is what the Terror is, Chevy. This is why I walked away.”

This is the Riot’s fault, not the Terror’s, but I’m not in the mood to argue. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better at the car.”

“You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”

She’s referring to protecting Stone. Violet shakes again, and I edge closer to her, wishing I could comfort her more. “I promise I’ll protect you now. I won’t let them touch you again.”

“I know you’ll try.”

I can do more than try. I lean forward, fish for the lock pick I’d stuck in my leather belt and begin the task of freeing myself from the cuffs. Can’t remember the first time I picked a lock. Cyrus said I was breaking out of baby gates and jimmying safety latches before I was two.

“Can you do it?” she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her. She’s probably frightened someone’s listening. Won’t lie, I’m itchy wondering the same. The rest of this dark room seems empty, but I won’t feel good until it’s fully explored.

“Give me a few.” I work at the handcuffs. There’s something about how my mind ticks and how my fingers move with the puzzle. The way I can hear the metal shifting. The gentle vibrations a lock gives right as it’s about to pop.

And it does pop and a much-needed adrenaline rush floods my veins. I slip off the cuffs, careful when setting them down not to create noise, then gently move my fingers until I find Violet. I make contact with her knee first, and she flinches as if that caused her pain.

Damn bastards. I skim up her leg, up her side, her arm, then to her face.

Material is wrapped around her head. I lift it off her eyes, then press on her shoulder for her to angle forward. She does, and with steady hands, I pick the lock, then set her handcuffs on the floor.

Violet’s hand catches mine and she squeezes. I thread our fingers together, lower my head and nuzzle her hair until I find her ear. Memories of doing this hundreds of times flash in my mind, but each of those times was a moment to be cherished. This—this is comfort, but it’s also survival.

“Stay here,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m going to move around the room, make sure we’re alone. See if I can feel a way to get out.”

Violet reaches up, her fingers caressing my cheek, and a pleasing shiver runs through me when her lips brush against my ear as she speaks. We haven’t been this close in months. Not even in the last few weeks of our relationship. “Let me help.”

“I want to make sure we’re alone. I need you to stay still and silent. Two of us moving around won’t help.”