Long Way Home

by Katie McGarry

  Sit, girl.

  Now stay.

  Speak.

  No, thank you.

  “Is it my fault you were kidnapped, Vi?”

  My head jerks in Brandon’s direction. His cheeks are flushed red and his blue eyes are watery. In the background, there’s a growl of motorcycles as I slip my legs off the swing. Pain spikes through my knee, but I ignore it and grab my brother’s hands. Brandon is worth speaking to. “No.”

  “I’m scared it is.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Then whose fault is it? It has to be somebody’s fault.”

  The crazy coiled within me unravels and I lean toward my brother. The Terror. They’re to blame.

  “Stone,” Oz calls. “Come play with us.”

  Brandon lights up. He loves playing football with the guys. Makes him feel accepted, normal and loved. All things I try to make him feel, but somehow fail at providing.

  Then it’s like someone blew out the sole candle in the room. He doesn’t want to leave me. To be honest, I don’t really want him to leave me either, but I don’t want him moping around over what happened. I need to be strong for him.

  “Go on.” I give a smile I hope appears real. “Go play. I’ll watch from here.”

  Brandon bounds down the stairs and jogs across the yard to where Oz and Razor are waiting for him. Oz tosses him the ball and the two go off for the open field. Razor, on the other hand, hangs back and he’s watching me. My forehead furrows.

  Razor and I are close. Not like me and Chevy, and not like siblings who hate each other like me and Oz. We’re friends. Used to be great friends, but life became complicated after Dad died and Razor fell into the realm of messy.

  He’s watching me, like he’s waiting—because he knows me—for a reaction? I scan the yard searching for what I’m missing and then my head tilts. Cyrus, Eli, Pigpen and other guys from the board are heading into the clubhouse and Chevy’s with them.

  The guys from the board have been MIA. Now they return and Chevy’s with them? Hell, no. They are not leaving me out of this.

  Ignoring my crutches, I hop down the stairs on one foot and then half walk, half limp for the clubhouse. They’ve been gone about our kidnapping and there’s no way they’re going to talk to Chevy without me. Like him surviving, his life, is worth more.

  Razor strolls up beside me. Strolls, because I’m angry-hobbling and my full throttle is his stroll. He assesses me head to toe as he keeps pace. “Where’re you going?”

  A glare. That’s all I’ve got for him and it causes him to chuckle. Razor’s taller than me, but not by much. He’s blond hair, blue eyes, most girls’ daydream in real-life form, but he’s just as dangerous as he is pretty. “They aren’t going to let you into Church.”

  Nope. They won’t. Odds are I won’t even make it to the stairs. They have guys whose job is to hang out in the clubhouse and appear like they’re cool and calm and just hanging out, but they’re there to make sure no one reaches the boardroom. Even if I do make it, the door will be locked, but I’ll be damned before I allow myself to be shunned.

  “Ah, hell.” It’s Oz, and he’s muttering it from behind me. Seconds later he’s on my other side. “What’s she doing?”

  Razor shrugs. “Ask her.”

  “They aren’t going to let you into Church,” Oz says. Seriously, when they’re indoctrinated into the club and receive a cut, do they reprogram their minds to speak alike, too?

  “I told her that,” Razor responds.

  “Then why is she still heading in that direction?”

  Razor loses the humor and his eyes grow so cold I shiver. “You going to tell her no?”

  Oz’s lips thin out as he continues to walk beside me. We enter the clubhouse and we catch the other members’ attention immediately. A few look pleased, like my voluntarily limping in here is the long-awaited prodigal-daughter-returning-home moment they’ve all claimed they have been waiting for since Dad died, but they are sadly mistaken.

  “How are we playing this, Razor?” Oz asks.

  “We say pretty please when we reach the door?”

  I snort, because I can’t remember the last time Razor used the words pretty or please. I’m sure that, until this moment, the combination has never been used by him before.

  “Hitting brothers is out of the question,” Oz says.

  Razors laughs. It’s brief, it’s dark and it caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. “You worry too much about rules.”

  “You don’t worry enough.”

  We’re halfway through and the conversation that had been taking place in the clubhouse has died. Near the pool table, two guys straighten from the shots they were lining up.

  Dust places his pool stick on the table. He’s a good guy. Two years older than me, but he’s one of those guys who you know is an old soul the moment you meet him. Seen too much, and from what Dad had mentioned, Dust had done too much to solve his seeing too much.

  Dust’s dad owned a car parts place a county over and Dust used to help my dad with installation. But when I see Dust, I’m back at the funeral home. Tears streamed down my face and I couldn’t make them stop. He handed me tissues. Only man to do that. It was a simple gesture and one I’ll always remember.

  “Hey, Violet,” Dust says. “Your mom’s in the kitchen.”

  Nothing from me, Razor or Oz. We just keep going and he slides into our path.

  “Your mom said you shouldn’t be on your leg. Why don’t you sit and I’ll find her for you, or if there’s someone else you want, I’ll try to get them.”

  Try.

  Yep, for me it’s always a try.

  Razor guides my elbow and changes places with me so I can maneuver around a table to avoid Dust and possibly duck through to the stairs. In front of Dust, Razor stops, slouches and shoves his hands into his front pockets. Nothing about the way Razor’s eyes bore into Dust’s suggests he’s casual.

  “Don’t want problems,” Dust says, “but you know the rules. She’s not allowed in Church.”

  I’m still going, and when the next person in line tries to block my path, Oz becomes the human shield.

  Chairs crack and bar stools squeak as guys rise to their feet. Their job is to make sure the rules aren’t broken. Doesn’t matter if I’m dropped to the ground and shattered as long as the rules stay intact.

  “Any of you touch her, talk to her or attempt to stop her and I’ll kick your fucking ass,” Razor says like he’s ordering off a dollar menu at a fast-food restaurant. Like it’s not a big deal he just risked himself for me. “She’s had way too many people manhandling her for any of us to give her shit.”

  The air in the room is heavy with tension with each continued step of my good leg and drag of the bad. I reach the door of the stairway and I glance back. Football plays on the TV over the bar, fallen leaves scratch and scatter on the concrete outside, but otherwise it’s silent.

  No one is happy. I’ve gone rogue in their eyes, but not one man has the balls to stop me. I should be happy, but I’m not. I shouldn’t have had to be kidnapped to finally earn some respect.

  Another scan of the room and my stomach churns. That’s not respect in their eyes. It’s empty pity—even Oz and Razor.

  I’m the girl who was kidnapped, the girl Chevy had to give himself up for to protect. I heard the men from the club whispering as they stood outside my hospital room door. Funny how when you don’t talk, people think you can no longer hear.

  Screw them all.

  The staircase is longer and steeper than I remember, but I make it, and when I reach the second floor, I breathe in and out several times to catch my breath and stare at the locked door. My hand falls to my chest and the comfort I’m searching for—my father’s cross—it isn’t there. Just like my bracelets aren’t. J
ust like I’ve lost any sense of safety and security. The Riot stole all that from me because of the Terror.

  There’s protocol for them to open that door and I don’t know what it is. It’s more than a knock. More than a series of knocks.

  But I want in this room and I won’t be ignored.

  CHEVY

  CAN I HANDLE THAT? I’ve been hurting Mom for years and Violet for months over making the club happy. Am I all in with the club? I don’t know, but can I handle keeping my mouth shut so I can learn what’s going on with the Riot? Hell... “Yes.”

  Eli does a sweep of the table and each man nods in agreement with whatever he’s asking.

  “Then we’re trusting you,” Eli says. “Giving you a chance to be your own man during this. If it wasn’t for the fact I promised Mom before she died that we wouldn’t patch you in until you turned eighteen, you’d be walking out of this room with a cut on your back.”

  “We’re proud of you.” My grandfather’s voice is rough. “For protecting Stone, for protecting Violet, for standing strong when other men would crumble.”

  One by one, like dominoes on the downfall, the men gathered around hit their fists against the table. It’s a show of support, a show of brotherhood, and my chest feels tight. Too many emotions flood me and I have to lean back in my chair to keep myself under control.

  This moment right here—it’s what Mom doesn’t understand. Doesn’t get that I’ve watched this type of solidarity my entire life and all I’ve craved is to be a part of it. To be more than Cyrus’s grandson, Eli’s nephew, James’s ghost in living flesh. More than just being a blood destiny. I’ve wanted to belong because of who I am, because I’m wanted...and now it’s happening.

  I suck in a breath and can’t seem to find words to respond to their support, so instead I nod. It’s short, but it happened and Eli nods back.

  “Don’t make us regret this decision,” Eli says. “We’re treating you like one of our own, so we expect you to act like it even though the cut isn’t on your back yet. What we talk about here, stays here.”

  “Understood.” Noted and written in stone.

  “The Riot voluntarily talked with the police and let us in when they did it.” Eli didn’t even bother with a pause. Just went balls to the wall. “They’re sticking with their story, claiming that the kidnapping was on Fiend, and they even went a step further.”

  “How’s that?” I lean forward, arms on the table.

  Eli mirrors my position. “Skull said after they dropped you two off and went home to clean house, he found out Fiend hadn’t misunderstood anything. Fiend was upset our clubs have been trying for peace since Emily’s visit and that he and a few other disgruntled members went after you to start a war between us.”

  My blood runs cold. This past summer, Eli’s daughter—Skull’s granddaughter—visited Kentucky for the first time since her mother left the state running like she was on fire in order to keep her and Emily safe from our clubs. Emily’s mom didn’t trust the Riot and was scared the Terror couldn’t protect her and Emily. When Emily came to town because Eli’s mom, Olivia, was dying, it caused a pot of anger that had been simmering between our clubs for years to boil over. “You think it’s true?”

  Eli gives a sloppy shrug. “Who knows, but I’ve been dealing with Skull since Meg told me she was pregnant with Emily. Bastard hates me. Have to say the emotion goes both ways. All the shit we’ve been through over the years, he never voluntarily walked into a police station and he’s never talked club business with us or the law.

  “The police feel Skull should have called them when he found you and Violet and they find it suspicious he had his son drop the two of you off on the dirt road.”

  “You don’t?” I ask.

  “Not thrilled with it,” Eli responds, “but at the same time, police aren’t the Riot’s knee-jerk reaction and they did get you home quick after they found you.”

  All a blur, but the moment Skull found us we were up the steps, Violet in the bathroom, and the phone call to Eli happened shortly after.

  “The police said they could try to charge Skull and his son, but they said the charges could be tough to make stick. They’re leaving that up to us.” Eli settles his dark eyes straight on me. “And we’re leaving that up to you.”

  I hear everything Eli’s saying and not saying. They’ll support me if I want to lock up Skull and his son, but it also sounds like we’re on the verge of harmony with a club that’s caused us problems since my birth. Arresting them could kill that fragile peace.

  “Can I think about it?” I ask.

  “Yeah. The decision will need to be made, but you have time.”

  “What about Fiend and the others with him?” The temperature in the room drops thirty degrees and it’s all thanks to me. That son of a bitch needs to never see daylight again due to a cell or because he’s dead. Either option works for me and I’m fine being the one responsible for the punishment.

  “He shot at Violet,” I remind them. “Point-blank shot at her. Would have killed her if Skull and his son hadn’t come in when they did. Plus the fucking asshole hit her. Multiple times. He made her bleed.” He needs to bleed.

  The air in the room is so charged that electricity is practically crackling around us. Each man has that determined yet faraway expression on their face. Each of us imagining how to skewer the bastard and make him cry.

  Eli drums his fingers against the table. “Fiend and the guys working with him are gone. Skull seems to have no idea where they’re at, but he says he’s looking. We told Skull if he values this peace, that if his club finds them before we or the police do, he’s to turn them over to the police. We will get justice for you and Violet. Those men will go to prison.”

  My body pulsates. The people who hurt Violet are free and that’s not acceptable. “We’ve got to find them.”

  “We will,” Cyrus says. “We’re looking, the police are looking and in theory the Riot are, as well. Got to be honest, though, we have to find them before the Riot does. What they did makes them traitors and traitors don’t survive in the Riot.”

  “Whatever you or the police need, I’ll do it.” Anything to make Violet safe again.

  Affirmations around the table. A promise from each man to see this through, to do anything to help me nail the bastards who did the unthinkable.

  “I’ve got a question.” Pigpen flicks a paper clip he’d been messing with in my direction. “Did Skull mention what it was he wanted to talk to you about?”

  All eyes on me and the high I’d been feeling from being a part of something bigger than myself plummets. I’d been able to avoid this at the hospital because of Mom being around, but there’s no dodging it now. But to be honest, it shouldn’t be evaded. What Skull told me is heavy, and if these men are truly my brothers, bringing it up won’t change a thing.

  My grandfather’s watching me. Expectant. Waiting. Patient in his own way. He’s been a father to me. Doing all the crap dads are supposed to do. Taught me how to hook a worm so it won’t fall off, unhook a fish, how to gut it open and fry it. Taught me how to respect a girl, open doors, treat her right. Taught me to give my all and then how to dig deeper when I don’t think there’s anything left.

  Another thing Cyrus taught me: to spill it instead of being a coward. “Skull told me my dad was a traitor. That he worked for the Riot while being patched in to the Terror. He said the detective in Louisville recently figured it out and it wouldn’t be long until he told you.”

  An inferno. Cyrus’s face is cool, but his eyes are a raging fire. “My son was no traitor.”

  Don’t know how to respond, so I keep going, searching the table for support from someone, and instead I’m met with relatives of the grim reaper. “Skull said he wanted to talk to me before you guys found out. Out of respect for my father. He said James was a friend
of his, a good man...” And there’s nothing else to say.

  “Do you believe him?” Cold. Deadly. Not a voice Cyrus has used with me before.

  “No.” But it bothers me Skull brought it up. Bothers me he said there’s a woman out there who has proof. Bothers me my father isn’t buried in Snowflake. Lots of things bothering me and none of them are wise to mention.

  I just survived a kidnapping. Not feeling suicidal at the moment.

  Multiple cell phones chime and I jerk as if brought out of a trance. Eli pulls his cell out of his pocket, then whips his head when someone bangs on the door. Not just banging, kicking the hell out of it. The door shakes within the frame.

  Man O’ War shoots to his feet and Eli shows Cyrus his phone.

  The banging continues, with such force I check to see if the hinges are holding. Even though no one at the table is freaking out and there weren’t gunshots from downstairs, adrenaline pours into my veins.

  “Open the door,” Cyrus says and angles his chair so he can get a view of the door.

  Man O’ War pulls the door open and Violet barrels in. A flash of red and she catches herself on the wall as she stumbles. I’m out of my chair so fast it rocks, but I become locked in place. Violet possesses a superpower and it paralyzes everyone in this room, including me.

  Wrath.

  She wears it like no one else I know.

  “Are you serious?” she spits. “You bring Chevy up to talk and not me?”

  “Women aren’t allowed in Church,” Cyrus says. “And you know better than to be interrupting us. You were raised better than this.”

  Violet pushes off the wall and hobbles toward Cyrus. “You mean women aren’t allowed unless they’re here to clean, right? Or is this the one place you do that yourself? Know what? Don’t answer. Chevy was kidnapped and so was I. Anything you have to say to him, you say to me. I have just as much, if not more, at stake here as Chevy.”