Nowhere But Here (Thunder Road #1) (18 page)

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.”

“That’s not a bad thing—not being the hook-up type,” she says, ignoring me. “And neither is being the girl who likes the hook-up. What makes any of it wrong is when you pretend to be something you’re not. That’s when the heartache starts.”

Violet drinks from her lemonade like she didn’t just say something profound. None of my friends have ever said anything so blatant in regards to sex. Usually if they do, it’s associated with gossip. Until now, hooking up has never been used as a proverb for how to live life.

I immediately love, hate and envy Violet. Bet the guys she’s kissed didn’t fumble around her body like they were putting together a Lego set without instructions. “You know Oz and Chevy?” Back to safe conversations.

“We were raised together. I used to think it was a conspiracy. That maybe the old ladies scheduled their ovulation dates to create the quintessential quintet. I have a feeling they were disappointed that I was a girl.”

Okay, several things going on there. “Old ladies?”

Violet grins and the hardness fades. In its place is a very soft, very teenage girl. Her blue eyes laugh before she does and what I enjoy about the laugh is it’s not so much at me as with me.

“Telling off Oz
and
you don’t know what an old lady is? Please never leave Snowflake. Stay here and be the only sane person besides me. Even better idea, take me with you. Florida has more sane people, right?”

I laugh, loudly. So loud that all three guys glance over at us.

“Ignore them.” She waves them off like they’re flies. “Did you know that we were supposed to be best friends?”

I force a swallow so I don’t choke.

“Our moms were close. Hung out a lot...and I can see from the look on your face that I might as well be speaking Chinese.”

I clear my throat and try to figure out the exact expression that gave me away. Whatever it was, I need to master it if I’m going to decipher this puzzle. “My mom doesn’t talk about Kentucky. It’s a sore spot for her.”

“Figures. I’m going to erase Snowflake from my memory after I leave this rat-infested doorway to hell.”

“Do you know much about my mom?” And me?

The breeze lifts part of her red hair. “Nope. I hope you don’t take offense at this, but no one talks about either of you. It’s a taboo subject.”

“Oh.” We both drink from our lemonade and I search for something to ease the awkward silence. “You didn’t say what old ladies were.”

“Wives or serious girlfriends of club members. It’s this special designation that means you belong to a guy and no one can mess with you without serious consequences.”

“Belong?” I don’t care for the sound of that.

“Some other clubs call the women their property.”

“Property?” I’ve turned into a parrot.

“The Terror don’t take it that far. Oz’s mom, Izzy? If she ever heard Oz’s dad calling her property, she’d tear his privates off and hand his balls to him. It’s still a boys’ club, though. Don’t fool yourself into thinking anything different.”

She slides her thumb against the condensation of the glass creating a path. My chest aches for her. Being the sole girl surrounded by a boys’ club. It must be lonely. “Who’s part of the quintet?”

“It was supposed to be you, me, Chevy, Oz and Razor. Razor was born first and the rest of us popped out within a year. Have you met Razor yet?”

I think the answer is yes, but I shake my head no.

“Good. If you see him, run in the other direction. The wires in that boy’s head are messed up beyond repair.” She pauses then angles herself toward me. “Look, I don’t know how long you’re here for and I know you don’t know me very well, but I’m around if you want to talk or text or anything. This place is crazy and it’s not for everyone. God knows it’s not for me.”

Her forehead furrows and, in that moment, I like Violet. She’s real and she’s honest and there aren’t many people in life who are that way. I yank out the burner phone Eli bought me and hand it to her. After a quick sultry pout pic of herself, Violet types in her number.

“It’s not easy to fit into Snowflake to begin with,” she continues, adding another picture then another number. “It’s harder when you have the title of Reign of Terror offspring to struggle out from underneath.”

Her blue eyes meet mine and when she offers me the phone my heart folds in on itself. I can’t imagine growing up around this house, next to a clubhouse full of bras, with a matriarch who’s okay with jumping out of coffins. I’ve always been grateful for the life I’ve had, understanding that any choice at any time could have made my life completely different from what I know now, but the weight of that knowledge just got heavier.

I rest my hand over Violet’s. “I puked when Olivia rose like a zombie out of a casket.”

She flashes this brilliant smile. “Oh, Lord, lying in a casket. That sounds like something she would do. So do you know how long you’re here?”

For as long as I want. “No.”

“If you want out, let me know. There’s some awesome field parties. Like real parties, not the crazy-ass things that go on around here.”

“Okay.” At home, I’ve attended a few parties. Nothing raging with heavy drugs or the ones that cops bust. The type where the parents stay upstairs while we watch a movie or play games. Then when it gets late, the lights will turn down and the couples will find dark corners to make out. That would be where I had my first kiss.

Oz lifts the hem of his shirt, exposing his cut abs, and swipes his brow with the material. Oh my with chocolate on top. That was just beautiful.

“A word of advice.” Violet disturbs my gawking and embarrassment rages through me.

“Sure.”

“Chevy, Oz and Razor...they’re trouble. Pretty to look at, but trouble. Getting mixed up with them will hurt you in the end. They’re club boys until their dying breath. Nothing good comes out of it for anyone else. Trust me.”

Rocks crackle under a car tire and, from the passenger side, Olivia examines us as if surprised. I quickly ask, “Do you know what Honeysuckle Ridge is?”

Violet’s head moves so quickly that her hair flies through the air. “Who told you about that?”

She’s spitting daggers at me and I lose my voice. Izzy parks the car near the guys.

Violet leans into me and whispers rapidly, “Honeysuckle Ridge is club business. Very private club business. I’m not even supposed to know. Do not bring it up to anyone else. Do you understand? I like you, Emily, because you’re the first glimpse I’ve had in my entire life that people can leave Snowflake, cut ties with the club and have a normal life. Don’t let them suck you in. Get out of Snowflake as fast as you can.”

When Olivia reaches the porch Violet stops talking. Olivia waves. The two of us act like marionettes as we wave back. Olivia then extends a plastic grocery bag in Violet’s direction. “Nice to see you, Violet. Take this in for me.”

“I’m not staying,” says Violet. “As soon as the car is fixed, we’re leaving.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take this bag in for me.” Olivia’s glare chills me even though it’s aimed at Violet. A few seconds pass before Violet snatches the bag and props the door open for Olivia.

“Are you coming?” Olivia asks me.

“In a few.”

With Izzy right behind them, they walk in and I try to ingest the crazy pile of information. Dad told me I’m safe. That the reason that everyone overreacts is because they buy into what the club wants them to believe, but how can the concern and fear in Violet’s eyes be part of a pretend game?

“You okay?” Oz’s boots stomp against the porch stairs as he climbs them. He rests a shoulder against one of the huge logs supporting the roof and wipes his forearm across his brow.

Oz is dirty. Grease streaks across his cheek. Dust causes his arms to be browner than normal. He’s in need of a shower—desperately.

Oz wet.

A warm sensation flutters through my chest. I am officially the most impaired person in the world because I melt into a puddle of goo around this guy.

“I’m fine,” I answer. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

My lips squish to the side.
I dunno. Maybe because we almost kissed and then tore each other’s heads off and you seem perfectly fine behaving as if none of it happened.
Which I guess is for the best, but it’s unsettling how Oz can move on so easily from something so life-altering.

Violet’s words about heartache and Oz replay in my mind. I sigh. I’m already a number on his still-growing list.

“You look freaked out,” Oz says. “It’s why I came over.”

My legs flex and the swing creaks as it rocks. It’s a soothing motion that’s welcome in the chaos. “Have you ever seen this ‘other’ motorcycle club?”

Oz’s eyebrow rises with the question and my hand gesture. “Did you air quote an illegal club?”

I shrug because I did.

Oz scans the yard and it’s surprisingly empty. No Chevy. No Stone. To my shock, he defies unspoken personal space barriers and crouches in front of me. He’s so freaking massive that even with me on the swing, he’s only an inch or so below my eye level.

He grabs the swing by the seat and it grinds to a halt. Oz’s fingers brush along the skin of my thigh. My heart stutters. Stupid heart. Stupid short skirt. Stupid deep blue eyes and wild charcoal hair. Stupid, stupid, stupid me for licking my suddenly dry lips.

Oz follows the action. The way my tongue snuck out and because he’s staring so intently, I nervously suck in my bottom lip. He watches that too and those eyes grow dark. Breathing would be good and would possibly ease the burning in my lungs.

Oz drags his gaze to mine. “Our club doesn’t kill people.”

I blink. Kill people? “What?”

“You asked about the illegal club and I saw the look on your face in the truck and then when you were talking to Violet. We aren’t what you think.”

“Okay.”

“Not okay. I need you to know that what Violet said in the truck was a lie. We’re legit. What you see around you, what you will see once Eli returns and allows this place to go back to normal...it’s a family. We take care of each other. Depend on each other. There isn’t a situation we face alone, a need that isn’t met.”

His words sink past my skin, past my muscles and settles into a hollow area in my soul and I shift. I love my parents. More than most people would admit. And Dad’s parents are amazing, but there’s a part of me that wonders what it would be like to belong to something...more.

My lips twitch up, but the attempted grin feels empty. “Next you’ll tell me you gather around a piano and sing Christmas carols.”

Oz chuckles. “Won’t lie, after a few shots, I’ve heard some of the guys sing a few tunes.”

“Not lyrics to an old Guns N’ Roses song. Christmas songs. ‘Rudolph.’ ‘White Christmas.’ ‘We Three Kings.’”

“Hey, you haven’t heard ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ until you’ve heard us, sweetheart.”

“Liar.”

“Cross my heart.” And he does the accompanying motion.

“Tell me what Honeysuckle Ridge is.”

Oz’s entire face brightens with his smile. It’s a gorgeous one. Dazzling even. “Good try, but not good enough. Already told you, I have no idea.”

“Now you’re a liar.”

One slow, sexy-as-hell shoulder shrug. “What are you going to do about it?”

Is he flirting with me?

The screen door screeches open and Oz casually stands as if it’s normal to be crouched in front of someone he barely knows. Violet and Oz eyeball each other as she walks out and he walks in.

When the door shuts again she clicks her tongue at me. “You are destined to be the type that learns the hard way, aren’t you?”