Part 23 (1/2)

”Then I suggest you don't get caught.” Violet crosses her arms over her chest. ”I'll take her home now if you want, and that will prove what I've always known-that the women involved in this club are puppets.”

Rebecca straightens and lifts her chin. ”Your father raised you better than to disrespect your family.”

Violet and Rebecca enter a staring contest that feels more like a duel with pistols. Violet severs eye contact first. ”Either take her or don't. I did this for him, not for any of you.”

Rebecca cups a hand to the back of her neck and surveys me. ”You aren't what I thought he would have picked, and in case you're wondering, that's a good thing...for him maybe, but not for you. Let's go. You need to be quiet and do exactly what I say as I say it, do you understand?”

I take another step back as a cold sensation floods my limbs. ”Maybe I should go home.”

”I agree,” says Rebecca, ”you should, but you won't. Your name was the first off his lips when I was convinced he was going to die. Women don't walk away from that type of commitment easily. I'll guarantee your safety if that's what you're worried about. I'm married to a board member, so I wield some influence. We need to get moving as we're both wasting time.”

My hand drops to my stomach. ”Did you say you thought he was going to die?”

Rebecca stretches her arm toward me and wiggles her fingers, encouraging me to lay my palm over hers. ”Let's go see him.”

RAZOR.

”YOU MOVE LIKE an old man.” Chevy sits on the dresser and shuffles cards. He cuts the deck, then fans them in his hand as if that s.h.i.+t is easy to do. ”You act like you were shot or something. Then you let your bike slide out from underneath you-that's sad.”

”f.u.c.k you.” The entire right side of my body is bruised from the fall on the bike. I'm sore, but I'm living. The doctor the club brought in told them I'd get tired fast, but I'm on my feet and haven't collapsed yet.

”How was school?” I dig, and Chevy raises an eyebrow. In eighteen years, I've never asked that question. In fact, I rarely ask anything. My cell busted in the fall and I haven't been able to contact Breanna. I'm not curious about school as much as I need to hear Breanna's okay.

”Good,” he answers. ”Boring.”

I glare at him and the end of his lips tilt up. ”I'm a.s.suming you're referring to a girl with black hair, real smart, and has a habit of glancing in your direction from across the room. Same girl you can't take your eyes off whenever she's around.”

Yeah. That would be the one.

The humor flees from his face. ”It was one thing when you were infatuated with her, but she's been watching you as much as you've been watching her. I know you don't want to hear this, but I don't see options for how this game you're playing ends well.”

”Why?”

”Because she's not from our world. Breanna's not the girl looking for a quick ride. She's the girl who wants flowers before the sit-down dinner. She belongs to the family that has probably printed up just-say-no-to-the-Terror pamphlets.”

She's a good girl, I'm all that's bad and Chevy's convinced I'm capable of destroying anything good. ”Oz and Emily are working.”

”They're different,” he states. They are. Oz is bada.s.s, but he's never been feared like me, and Emily is a good girl, but she's Reign of Terror blood.

”And if you want to know, I've seen Kyle Hewitt talking to Breanna in hallways and stairwells. She might be looking at you, but it's him she's being seen with in public.”

A dangerous anger curls within me. ”She was what?” Breanna's kept that tidbit private.

”Go do your thing.” Chevy's eyes flicker to the bathroom, halting the conversation. I'm taking my first shower since the accident and Rebecca's bent on someone being near in case I pa.s.s out.

I crack my neck to the side. Breanna and I, we need to talk. ”Where's my new phone?”

”Shower, then food, then phone.”

Showering had been the priority, but calling Breanna stole first place. Knowing that I'm seven degrees of angry, Chevy wouldn't give me the phone even if I whipped out my knife, and to be honest, a shower might make me feel human again. ”I don't need a babysitter.”

Chevy wields the cards so they fall like rain from one hand to the other. ”Cyrus says you do. He's going to be real p.i.s.sed if you pull that I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up bull in the shower and I wasn't here to play hero and catch you.”

This treating me like an invalid c.r.a.p got old the moment I woke. ”If you go anywhere near that shower while I'm in it, I'll slice you open.”

”Taking your blade in with you to shower? That's creepy, man.”

”I will if you don't leave.”

”You're a cranky son of a b.i.t.c.h.” But Chevy smiles. ”I'm glad you're alive.”

Me, too. I nod at his words. When he nods back, I have to look away before emotion gets the best of me. ”Get out of here so I can shower.”

He hops down. ”Hungry?”

Stomach felt like a garbage dump last night, so I didn't eat. Rebecca said it was the result of the painkiller the guys gave me. I rub my eyes. Guess I'm allergic to anything that brings me peace. ”I should eat.”

”What do you want?” He's dead serious on feeding me.

He'll think me weak if I ask for soup. I'm standing and I'm walking, but Rebecca said it could take days for me to reach one hundred percent. ”Whatever, as long as it's hot.”

”I'll be back, and I'm serious, no pa.s.sing out-if you fall in that shower and bleed all over the d.a.m.n place, I'll kick your a.s.s.”

I flip him off. He flips it back. I love the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

”Hey.” I stop Chevy before he leaves. ”Did you hear anyone talk about the Riot?”

”No, why?”

I shrug, but the conversation between Eli and Cyrus repeats in my mind. Problem is, I don't know if it was real or if my head was off its rocker. Chevy points at the shower, and when I don't say anything, he leaves. I pull off my s.h.i.+rt, kick off my jeans and enter the tiny bathroom.

Breanna I'M COLD. I'M HOT. I'm on the verge of fainting.

What I really am is flush against a wall in an industrial kitchen. Beyond the fact that I can't begin to comprehend why a motorcycle club needs an industrial kitchen, I'm questioning my decision-making skills and sanity.

Even if I wanted to bolt out the exit, Rebecca has pinned me to the wall with an arm she threw out like a mom slamming the brakes. She's peeking out a serving window, and men's laughter roars from the adjoining room. It sounds happy, but there's a sharpness to the chuckles and I tremble.

As if she felt the vibration, Rebecca offers what I'm a.s.suming is a rea.s.suring smile. ”When I say go, we're heading up the stairs. Me first, and when I make sure the area is clear, I'll get you to Razor.”

Razor. He was shot. He's the reason I'm risking my life, because if I had chickened out, there's no question I would have regretted it. What if he's critical? What if he's dying? What if he dies? There's a sinking inside me that causes me to be dizzy.

Rebecca scans the other room again, grabs my hand, then drags me up the stairs. She doesn't want me to get caught and what will happen to me if I do? This must be a sacred place to them. It has to be if they use terms like lockdown.

We reach the second floor and Rebecca slows and I don't like the change in pace. She holds tighter to my hand and nausea disorients me as we creep along the narrow corridor. There are multiple doors and each of them is closed.

”What happens if they discover me?” I whisper.

”Let's not find out.”

A door behind us opens. Men's voices carry out. Rebecca whips her head to the sound, jumps in front of me as if her outstretched arms could protect me, then demands, ”Go in the door on the right-now! Don't leave until I come for you.”