Long Way Home
Page 67

“Stone called and told me you weren’t okay.”
“He what?” She clutches her hair and pulls as if physical pain can wipe away the devastation on her face. “Never mind. You need to get out of here.”
My neck tightens and I roll it. She’s trying to shut down emotionally and push me away again, but that’s not going to happen. “Your mom isn’t going to care I’m here.”
Violet winces as she stands and places too much pressure on her bad leg. As I go to help her, she throws her hands out for me to halt. “Go, Chevy. You need to go.”
“Let me help you.”
When she steps forward, she slips and I spring toward her. My hand grabbing her arm, and as I look down to make sure she’s steady, I spot files. Lots of files. Private documents that have the name of either the club or the security company and the papers within those files are strewn about. My blood runs cold and then I stop breathing when I spot her phone—the camera app on.
A muscle in my jaw jerks and Violet is the one now grasping. “It’s not what you think.”
I tower over her. The anger pumping through me so strong it’s hard not to shake the hell out of her. I left her alone with the Riot. I left her alone and they let us leave. “Did you make a deal with the Riot for our release?”
“I was going through the files to search for pictures. Just pictures.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“It’s just pictures, Chevy. Calm down and I’ll show you.”
It’s not just pictures. She wasn’t just looking for pictures. Violet made a deal. She found a way to set us free and she’s willing to betray the club to do so.
I release Violet, then run a hand over my face. Cyrus—damn. Cyrus needs to know. So does Eli. Both of them will be crushed. Screw that—I’m crushed. “Why couldn’t you trust us? Why couldn’t you trust me?”
Because this is a betrayal. A betrayal they’ll never forgive. A betrayal I’m not sure I can forgive.
“Chevy!” she shouts. “Look at me! See me!”
I swear aloud, then do what she asks. Head to toe. Once, twice and on the third time my mind goes numb as if I was hit in the head. Violet holds two fingers pressed against her thigh. The sign we created as children that we need to pay attention. Our sign that something is wrong. Signs we made up while we played, but continued to use because the adults in our lives are often complicated. My vision blurs, then returns with a clarity that’s deadly.
She’s in trouble. Violet’s in trouble and she’s not safe.
My pulse beats in my ears and my eyes flicker about the room, searching for the threat.
“Chevy,” she whispers. “Dad mentioned once he kept pictures of us in the front of his file folders because it would remind him why he worked so hard. I thought of that tonight on the ride home and I wanted to see those pictures. Wanted to remind myself why he worked hard.” Violet extends the pictures in her hands to me. “I found them.”
She continues to hold them out, encouraging me forward, and each step I take toward her is an echo in my mind. Violet’s not safe. Not safe. For how long? Since the basement? Before the basement?
“What’s going on in here?” Eli walks into the office, and while he’s playing it cool with his slow stride, his glare’s so sharp it could cut glass.
Violet lowers her arm, then rolls her neck. “Why does everyone think they can waltz into my home at any time of night like they live here? There’s this thing called privacy. You both need to learn about it.”
“Your brother called me.” Eli points at the hallway, then back into the room. “And so you know, the moment you crossed the threshold of this office, you entered my world.”
“This is my house,” she spits.
“But those files on the floor are my property.” Death. It’s there in his expression and I instinctually step toward Violet to be in the line of fire to protect her.
“Really? Your property?” Violet tosses the photos in her hand in his direction and they fall around him like confetti. “Didn’t see you in a single one and he called you his brother.”
Violet turns her back to him and that’s when I see it. Her intake of air, the rapid blink of her eyes as moisture fills the bottom rims and the slight shaking of her hands—fear. Same fear as the basement. Same fear seconds before she charged a man holding a gun point-blank on me. Same fear that has lived inside me since the moment we were taken on the side of the road.
The world zones out, then back in. She’s still in that basement. There may not be concrete walls, but she’s still struggling to adjust her eyesight to the darkness, still struggling to find light. Whatever the Riot said to her has kept her trapped and has her terrified for her life.
Like in the back of the car, I hook one of my fingers with hers. She glances at me, her forehead furrows and she mouths, Help me.
The ache hits so low I have to work to keep from flinching. Can’t remember the last time Violet asked for help. From the club, from her friends, from me.
I rip my stare away and it lands on Eli. He’s looking down at the photos and it’s a kick in the gut to see the pain of his expression. Each and every photo on the floor is of Frat, Violet, her mother and her brother. Each and every photo a smiling family. Each and every photo a moment that will never happen again.
“Go on upstairs, Violet,” I say in a low voice. “Get some sleep.”