CHEVY
MY BRAIN’S FOGGED. Like I was plowed on the football field by a two-hundred-pound linebacker. Like I slammed my head on the ground and I wasn’t wearing a helmet. The world’s fuzzy and I’m having a hard time registering Skull’s words, but he’s talking and I’m trying to listen.
I’m sitting at the table now. Skull’s sitting, too. He’s been ex
plaining that my father didn’t get along with Cyrus—the man who’s raised me as one of his own. That my father, James, joined the Terror because he didn’t feel like there was another option and he later regretted it.
Cyrus told me Dad often felt trapped by Snowflake, so he would go to Louisville and stay for long periods, but he never mentioned Dad being at odds with him, with the Terror.
Skull has a different version. That Dad had a place in Louisville, that he had a steady girlfriend in Louisville, that he hung out and worked with the Riot and they trusted him because he gave the Riot information on the Terror.
My lungs hurt like I’m drowning. If what he’s saying is true? My father was a traitor.
No. My father was no traitor. This asshole is messing with me. “My father was loyal to the Terror.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Skull has the nerve to look at me like he’s sorry to be breaking the news.
“There’s holes in your story. Dad didn’t do steady with women. Even I know that.” From the club and from my mom. A rare moment of information verified on both fronts.
“He didn’t, but the woman he had in Louisville he cared for. Called her a friend, let her live with him after she had run away from home. I can give you her name if you want. Meet her. She’ll confirm everything I’m telling you. In fact, I hope you do. There’s things about her you need to know. Things, as a man who values family, that I think you need to know.”
Probably because he paid her to tell me what he wants me to believe. “You’re full of shit.”
“If I were in your shoes, I’d think the same thing, but it doesn’t change the truth. That Louisville detective figured it out recently. Won’t be long until he’s going to try to use that information against the Terror...and against you.”
I slouch in the seat. “The Terror’s legit and anything my father did or didn’t do doesn’t affect me.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Way I look at it, how well do you know your club? What is it that the Terror are hiding that the son of the president traded sides? Other question to ask yourself is how the other members of Terror are going to treat you once they find out your old man was a traitor. Are they going to be wondering how far off the tree that apple falls?”
Footsteps down the hallway and the man with the scar emerges. Violet limps in behind him. I stand so quickly that the legs of the chair bounce against the floor. She glances over at me and the lost expression on her face is worse than any punch.
Nausea twists my gut. She was alone with him and I fell for it. Skull waved his right hand in order for me to lose focus on his left. “You okay?”
She nods.
“Did he hurt you?”
Violet shakes her head and it bothers me she’s gone mute.
I set my sights on Skull and make it perfectly clear we’re done talking. “Call Eli now, get us home or I swear to God I’ll make each of you bleed before you get a chance to put a bullet in my brain.”
Skull laughs like I told a joke, but stands, pulls his cell out of his pocket and slides it to me. “Once you get ahold of Eli and tell him you’re okay, give the phone to me and I’ll tell him where to pick the two of you up.”
Violet
I’M BLINDFOLDED AGAIN and I’m handcuffed. The car is different, but my placement in the backseat isn’t. This time it was Chevy who placed the cuff on my wrist, then folded the bandana over my eyes. He did both with such care, touching me like I was on the verge of shattering, looking at me with such tender eyes that I wanted to weep.
The blindfold was a “request” from Skull, but the one wrist handcuffed was Chevy’s idea. He didn’t trust them to blindfold us and keep us together. I still don’t trust that they’re taking us to Eli, that they’re taking us home.
Before Chevy did either, he whispered, “Do you trust me?”
Of course I did. Trusted him to be the first boy to hold my hand. Trusted him to be the first boy I kissed. Trusted him to be the first for so many things. Did I trust him with my life? I held out my wrist, then stepped closer so I could allow him to blindfold me.
More than the car is different. The backseat doesn’t smell of rotten food. The material of the seats isn’t torn. The engine doesn’t roar. This ride is quiet. No radio. No one talking. The engine barely a purr.
This time Chevy sits with me in the backseat. Our legs are pressed tight together and he hooked one of his fingers with mine. He continuously slides his finger up and down in a reassuring caress. Not too fast, not too slow. It’s like a heartbeat.
A promise.