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“That you’ll leave here for a few minutes. Eat. Rest. Talk with your dad.”
Panic cramps my stomach at the idea of leaving Eli. “I don’t know.”
Oz’s arms create a protective shelter. “I want you to trust me to watch Eli while you take a break. Trust me to chase your monsters away.”
His words cause my chest to ache while at the same time healing a few of the wounds inside me. “I trust you. I more than trust you. I love you.”
I raise my head and Oz tilts his so that we’re staring at each other. He caresses my cheek as his blue eyes soften. “You were supposed to wait to say that until we had a nice, peaceful calm moment.”
“Well,” I say with a sheepish grin, “if the Terror is my family, I’m not sure those moments exist.”
Oz chuckles and lightly kisses my lips.
“All right,” I say. “Explain it to me.”
“Your mother is the daughter of the Riot Motorcycle Club...”
Oz
I SIT IN the small windowless room that has gray walls. Hook is on one side of me. Pigpen on the other. Razor’s hanging tight near the wall. The room’s so compact that our knees touch if we shift. It’s the room the doctors used to inform the family of how Eli’s surgery went. A few days ago, we learned Eli survived. Today, I’m learning my fate.
The door opens. Cyrus and Dad stride in and Dad motions toward Razor. “Give us a few minutes.”
Razor offers me a fast pat-hug and leaves. This is the first time since the morning after my patch-in party that I’ve been this close to Dad. I extend my legs and cross my arms over my chest, feeling uncomfortable. The last words Mom said to me were an apology I never saw coming.
Cyrus drops into a chair and Dad leans against the closed door. “They’re going to let Eli go home tomorrow.”
Which means Emily will be returning to Florida. Her dad’s been calm. Very patient. I see why Emily worships him, but that laissez-faire attitude he had in regards to the club, which we appreciated even as it boggled our minds, has disappeared.
Last night, Emily and I stole a few moments alone in this room and between kisses, she told me her dad has rescinded his belief that the club is a group of grown men playing dress-up. While I’m glad he understands the gravity of Emily’s situation, it’s made his interactions with any of us frigid at best. Not a great way to start a long-distance relationship with his daughter.
“How did the meeting go with the Riot?” I ask. Cyrus and a hand-picked contingency sat down for peace talks last night. Each man in the room was in the thick of it.
“Business negotiations with them have tanked,” says Cyrus. “They want us to ask for permission to ride on their roads and they want a percentage of our profits for the businesses we run security for in their area.”
Nothing new on that front. “How’d you guys respond?”
Pigpen flashes that supermodel grin. “We told them to shove it.”
I offer him my fist. He bumps it. Pigpen is one of those men that we stand solid for. He fought in Afghanistan. Served several terms in the Army as a Ranger. He won’t ask anyone for permission to exercise his God-given rights.
“What did they say about Emily?” I ask.
“They’ve agreed to leave Emily alone,” Cyrus answers.
Bent forward, I rub my palms together. It’s like there’s a layer of razor blades between my skin and bones that won’t allow Emily’s safety to be treated so casually. “That’s it? They shoot Eli, but don’t kill him, and all of a sudden they decide to play fair? I’m not buying they suddenly grew a conscience.”
Cyrus and Dad share a long look and Cyrus continues, “In the end, we don’t know, but I reminded them that Emily lives in a different world. One that contains restraining orders and prison time for breaking those orders. Most of their guys have records and a gang task force watching their every move. Emily’s a thorn in their side, but she’s not a child anymore. She’s an adult and they aren’t going to force a relationship with someone who doesn’t want it. It’s not in their best interest.”
“We’ll keep a close eye on her,” Dad says. “We’ve already contacted the head of the Florida chapter and they agreed to stay on the situation and let us know if the Riot run through.”
“The best thing Emily can do,” adds Hook, “is go home.”
I let his words sink in. It’s what’s best for Emily and it’s what’s breaking my heart. “All right.”
There’s a long
stretch of silence and when I glance up, they’re staring at me like I’ve laid my head down on the guillotine. “What?”
