Long Way Home (Thunder Road, #3)(8)

Most of the members of the Terror work for the security company. Other members, they work “normal” jobs within the community, but Mom’s right. Members and family members of the Terror, we stand out and we are our own world.

As long as I stay underage, I’ve been able to walk the line, and when my birthday hits, I don’t know what I’m going to choose.

“Chevy,” Cyrus calls near the entrance. “We need to talk.”

Damned knot in the tug-of-war rope and I’m starting to feel frayed. Mom doesn’t blink as she waits for me to say something. To tell Cyrus he can wait. To tell her what she wants to hear. But as much as I love her, I’m also drawn to the club. She’s right, I do want both.

“I’ll be back to pick you up later,” I say.

Mom throws the towel she had expertly throttled into the sink behind her, walks to the other side of the bar, and the strobe light casts a red haze around her. If I didn’t know her better, I’d buy the flirty smile and the way she giggles in happiness as she leans on the bar to take a drink order. But that’s not her real smile and that’s not her real laugh. It’s part of her job, part of her act, because that’s what working here requires—performing.

With a kick to a bar stool, I head for the exit. Cyrus walks out into the night and I follow. Once outside, Cyrus turns to me and his warm breath creates a cloud in the cool night. “We’ve had some trouble tonight with the Riot.”

The Riot would be a motorcycle club north of us in Louisville. They’re pissed at the Terror for myriad reasons, the main one being we’re a legit club and they deal in illegal. They’re also angry at one of our main members, Eli. They feel he stole their daughter and granddaughter from them. Eli didn’t steal a thing. Can’t call someone’s free will in walking away from crazy a crime.

Life sucks for the Riot and I’m fine with that. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s safe, but we’ve had word that they’ve ridden past the boundary lines we set with them a few months back. It’s all rumor and no one on our side has confirmed it. Could be someone’s overactive imagination, but I’ll feel better knowing you’re off the road.”

I’m under eighteen, still a kid to him. Cyrus used to act this way with my two best friends, Oz and Razor, but both are eighteen and full members of the club now. The babysitting twists my gut, but then again, I’m not ready for the decision eighteen will bring. “How about Violet?”

“I’m on my way now to look for her. She’s also not answering her cell.”

Yeah. A lot of that going around. “If she took Stone to the game, she would have headed straight home. I’ll check on her on my way to Mom’s if you want.”

This gives me the excuse I need to see Violet. Because I won’t be able to sleep without knowing she’s okay. So I can thank her for what she did for me with the note. To gauge whether or not Violet is waving the white flag.

Cyrus lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’d appreciate that. I need to head back to the clubhouse to take care of some business. I’m serious about what I said, though. Me and a lot of guys would love to hear about the game.”

I know they would and I’d enjoy being with them, but Mom’s already sore that I walked out on her to talk to Cyrus. “I’m beat. After I check on Violet, I’m crashing.”

Cyrus gives me a fast pat and a hug. We both mount our bikes and start our engines with a growl. My grandfather takes the lead and I follow him as long as I can before taking the path that leads away from him and toward where Violet lives.





Violet

DAD’S CROSS DANGLES over the engine of his Chevelle while my other necklaces stay tucked inside my shirt. I’ll admit, I don’t have a clue what I’m looking for and using the flashlight app from my cell has done nothing to help. Maybe if I stare at the inner workings of the car long enough a magic fairy will pop out and tell me to smack this, turn that, jump in a circle three times naked and then the engine will wondrously rev to life.

I’d perform the act if that would make Dad’s car run again. Who am I kidding? I’d do it if it would make anything in my life work again.

Behind me, Brandon paces and the rocks crunch under his footsteps. We’re two miles from home and off to the side of a quiet country road. Thank God there’s a full moon as my brother can be terrified of dark places. Dad used to tell Brandon that a full moon is nature’s night-light. I’m banking on Brandon remembering that tidbit of fatherly wisdom because, unless steam rising from my engine means my car is about to evolve into some next generation of superpower vehicle, we’re stuck.

“We should call the club,” Brandon says. “They’d come. They’d help fix your car.”

With strings made out of spiderwebs. The Reign of Terror would suck us in and then suck us dry. It’s how they work. You don’t get something for nothing with them. “If you remember, Eli and Pigpen tore off from the football game because they had business to take care of, meaning we wouldn’t be high on the priority list. Besides, Mom’s on her way.”

She’s put out, but she’s on her way. Mom will take her time to prove how annoyed she is with my “careless behavior” of driving at night without the protection of a man. That’s how Mom thinks. Girls, to her, are the weaker and fairer sex waiting for a man to save them, and Mom is constantly annoyed that I don’t play up my femininity.