Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1)(75)

Eli: We’ve run into trouble with the Riot over the past two weeks. Bad tonight. Keep vigilant. We’ve heard reports of the Riot 30 miles out. Too far south for them. I don’t like it.

This latest trouble with the Riot is news to me and the entire text causes me to pause.

A roar of motorcycles and the gun on my back radiates heat. The guys near the clubhouse spread out and it hits me that they aren’t visiting for shits and giggles. They’re here because we’re on the verge of nuclear warfare.

They’re here because Emily—the girl who has lit up my life like a fireworks show—is in danger.

And I’ve gotten lazy. Been so focused on getting to know her and on my problems with Olivia that I’ve lost sight of what could lay in wait for Emily in the shadows.

Me: No one will get past me to Emily

EMILY’S LIGHT FLIPS off. I pour out the rest of my beer on the ground, rise to my feet and then settle down on what’s been my bed night after night for the past few weeks: the bench outside of Emily’s window. Except tonight, I won’t be sleeping.

Eli: I’m counting on that

Emily

I JERK AWAKE and my heart pounds hard. At the end of the bed, Lars picks up his head and groggily assesses me as if I’m the one out of place. Stupid dog. “I didn’t invite you on the bed.”

He huffs and lays his snout on my ankles.

“There was a noise,” I say as if the dog could explain what ripped me out of a deep sleep.

The curtains near the window billow out in the strong wind and the fine hairs on my neck stand on end. I sit up and listen. The wind through the trees makes a noise similar to waves crashing along the beach and it’s an ominous sound.

It’s three in the morning. The witching hour. At least that’s what a friend of mine called it at a fifth grade slumber party. This is the time that the evil spirits of the world frolic and play. Should have thought of that weeks ago. Then maybe I would have stayed in the motel room and I’d be home in Florida.

Another powerful gust and a heavy vase on the dresser pitches over and rolls. Almost every window in this house is open and stuff is probably falling everywhere and banging to the floor.

I yank my feet out from underneath Lars’s head and slip onto the floor. The breeze is a blessing because of the heat, but a curse if I want to sleep. I ease across the floor to the window seat and set my fingers on the window to push it down.

Large clouds fly across the dark sky at unnatural speeds. As I go to close the window, a black form demands my attention and a rush of panic instantly paralyzes me. The shadow sitting on the bench outside the window inclines its head in my direction and I exhale in relief. It’s Oz. He looks me over and I wonder how much he can see.

My hair’s in a messy knot. Because I was hot, I stripped to my tank top and my boy shorts. Oz turns away from me, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. My eyes are drawn to the way the muscles in his arm flex with the movement and my mouth goes dry.

My lips part because I feel like I should say something. Maybe ask why he’s there or if he’s slept. To start some sort of conversation to return us to the easiness the two of us had shared before he caught me at the tree with my mother’s initials.

A bulge on his back along the edge of his jeans stops me from speaking. It’s shaped like a holster and a holster usually contains a... Oz glances over his shoulder at me again. I shut the window and the curtains collapse over the glass.

Adrenaline shoots through my veins. He has a gun. Oz has a gun. No, I was mistaken. It’s something else. Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I...just don’t know. Dad said I’m not in danger. I’m not. He wouldn’t lie to me. Everyone else might, but he wouldn’t.

It’s like ants are crawling on my skin and I can’t remain still. I pull on a pair of shorts and head for the bathroom. A cold washcloth should help with the heat and to clear my head.

Not a fan of the dark, I’m slow tiptoeing down the hallway. I move around the corner and a clink from Olivia’s room causes me to pause at the bathroom. A dull light floods her room, she lifts her head off the pillow, and our eyes meet.

A sudden drop of my stomach disorients me. The typical scarf that covers her head is missing. Exposed is the dark hair shaved close to her scalp and a crescent-shaped scar near her ear.

“Are you okay, Emily?” she asks, and the question sounds sincere. Reminding me of how my mom spoke when I used to drag James the Elephant with me into her room when I was younger and had a nightmare.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Just hot. I was going to get a washcloth. Do you need anything?”

“Come here.” Olivia waves me in. Not what I was hoping for, but I go in regardless. I stand at the foot of the bed and twist my fingers behind my back, feeling like a pauper in front of royalty—which is strange, but maybe not. Everyone treats her as if she’s the queen.

Olivia pats the empty space next to her. “Turn on the window unit and sleep in here.”

“I’m fine. Really. I’ll go get—”

“Emily,” she cuts me off. “Unit on, get in the bed, I won’t eat you, but I will tear you a new ass if you don’t do what I say.”

I have never met anyone so rude or demanding in my life. Wait, I’ve hung out with Oz. I press a button on the window unit. Air blasts from the machine, and then I sit on the empty side of the bed. One leg on. One leg off. “You’re not used to people telling you no, are you?”