Nowhere But Here
Page 55

The trees create a green canopy and we’re surrounded by dark shade. In the rearview mirror, my best friend stares out into nothingness.
“You could be nicer to him.” I typically would never toss around our business in front of a stranger, but Emily will be leaving in a few weeks and she won’t follow the conversation. This might be the only time Violet and I will be alone together.
“I could,” Violet says as she stares into the same void Chevy does. “But where would that get any of us?”
The club is a blessing and Violet treats it as a curse. This family, this brotherhood, it’s not the enemy. The enemy is the outside forces attempting to shake us up or take us down.
Those forces are people like Violet or people like Emily who watch a few TV shows and think we’re thugs. It’s law enforcement who believe anyone with a biker cut runs guns, drugs or women. Or worse, what threaten us are diseases like the one that ravages the woman I consider a grandmother. Diseases like cancer.
A burning in my throat causes me to shove those thoughts away.
The overhead canopy gives way and sunlight streams into the truck when I ease onto the long driveway that leads to the clubhouse then farther down to my home. I’m not sure who nicknamed it Thunder Road or why, but the name stuck. Violet lifts her hands into a ray of light bouncing off the side mirror. Something her dad used to do.
Losing someone you love, it’d be similar to losing your home. I blink. My home is everything. I suck in a breath to apologize to Violet when she speaks again.
“Run as fast as you can, Emily.” Violet eyes me in a way that suggests she knows more than she should. “From what I’ve heard, some members of your club are okay with homicide.”
Emily stiffens beside me and my fingers flex on the steering wheel. I should have let Violet rot in the summer sun. She’s lying, but Emily isn’t aware of that. “You know that’s not true.”
Violet’s been hanging with those full-of-themselves snob kids at school who think the Terror is the devil’s playground. Can’t stop haters from hating, but it hurts like hell when one of our own begins to spew the lies.
She rolls her eyes and when she pops her mouth open again, I cut her off. “How secure are you in your new friendships at school? What happens when they turn on you? Do you think we’ll protect you while keeping Stone safe? Are your new friends going to stick around forever or are they going to decide that once in the MC always in the MC?”
Emily’s head snaps in my direction because there’s no mistaking the warning in my tone. The truth is, I’ll protect Violet until the end, no matter how she disrespects me or Chevy or the club, but I have to hold some leverage over her to prevent her from saying anything to Emily that will cost me the chance to be a prospect.
Violet closes her mouth and we turn into Olivia’s. Today proved one thing: girls are nothing but trouble.
Emily
NOT SURE WHAT to do with myself when everyone else seems relaxed, I sit in the shade on the front porch swing while Oz, Chevy and Stone patch the tires. Lars lies on his side at my feet and does that fast, hot dog pant. His sticky breath hits my ankle. I’m beginning to think he’s been paid in doggie treats to annoy me.
The afternoon sun is blistering enough that perspiration forms in every crevice imaginable, and there’s a heaviness in the air that causes my lungs to have to work harder to draw in a breath. It’s humidity. We have it in Florida, but here the air is strangling.
Violet slips out of the house with two frosty glasses of lemonade, wearing a stern expression. She and Oz obviously have some issues, but the fact that they hate each other doesn’t mean anything to me in terms of a possible friendship.
Violet hands me a glass, sits next to me on the swing and tips her cup toward me. “To staying cool.”
I clink her glass and appreciate the slices of lemon floating among the ice cubes. Wow, I didn’t know that people drank lemonade like this. I let the cool liquid run down my throat.
Olivia’s house doesn’t have air-conditioning and the temperatures are easily climbing near the one hundred mark. Inside is dark, but the outside has a breeze. The clubhouse has central air, but I’m not too interested in hanging out in there again...ever.
“You’re wearing my skirt,” Violet says.
“It’s short,” I say. “But thank you. This was an unexpected visit and I didn’t exactly come prepared.”
“It is short, but I only wear it on special occasions.” She waggles her eyebrows, giving me the impression that the kisses she receives from guys don’t remind her of dead fish.
Oz is crouched in front of the jacked-up car and he looks up at me. His shirt is wet from the heat and stretched tight across his chest. A sheen of sweat glistens against his skin and the sight is way prettier than I really think it should be. The boy is definitely ripped.
“Don’t let the pretty muscles fool you,” she says, catching me ogling. “Oz is married to the club and we both know that once you’re married anything else becomes the dirty mistress.”
Well, to be honest, I never thought much of being married or of being a mistress, but what she says sounds logical.
“Plus, you’d be another number in a long line of girls with him.” Violet studies me as if she can tell my virginity status like carnival roadies can guess weight and age. “I have a feeling you aren’t the hook-up type.”
I’m not and I also prefer for my sex life, or lack thereof, to remain private. “Doesn’t matter. I’m only visiting.”