I can’t do it. I can’t be responsible for hurting Eli. I can’t be responsible for anyone’s death, because regardless of what Justin said, they are out to destroy more than Eli’s reputation, but if I don’t hand over the numbers, then what will happen to my family?
“You okay, Violet?”
I lift my eyes and Chevy stands at the end of the table, concerned dark eyes boring into me. Chevy knows me too well. Sometimes better than I know myself. Once again, I dig deep for the lie, but I can’t bring myself to try to deceive him. He would see through it and then start asking questions I’m not able to answer.
Justin threatened my family. He threatened me. The Riot have already proved they can do what they want. They kidnapped me. They kidnapped Chevy. I could have easily died in that basement. There’s nothing stopping them from hurting us again, and if I tell Eli, will whoever slipped that note into the cabin find out and tell the Riot I’m breaking the deal?
No matter which way I go, I’m choosing wrong.
Two paths. Both lead to my emotional, if not physical, demise.
“Eli,” Chevy says in a low voice. “You seem to be upsetting my girl. Don’t you think Violet’s been dealt enough shit?”
A flutter in my chest at being called his girl, but then those butterflies disappear. I promised myself months ago I wouldn’t come between Chevy and the club. I can’t be an old lady, but I also can’t be the girl who makes a boy choose between her and his family.
Eli makes a show of scanning the diner and says so the entire place can hear, “Anyone else want to butt into this conversation?”
Pigpen and Dust chuckle, but the rest of the patrons take an intense interest in their food or menu. Chevy motions for Eli to move and he does to allow Chevy to sit. Not sure if this is good for me or if he’ll side with Eli on matters dealing with my safety.
“With the people who kidnapped me in jail, why can’t I go home?” I ask. I know why I’m not safe. I should be begging to stay at Cyrus’s cabin, to be living in the clubhouse, but someone left me a note there. They found a way to slip past the wall Eli believes is impenetrable.
Eli drums his fingers against the table and watches each tap against the wood. He’s contemplating the fact I want to go home and he’s aware there’s no reason to keep me under lock and key. At least no reason that won’t piss me off. I have him cornered, and men like him don’t react well when their back is against the wall. Dad taught me that.
“Men like me, we like to feel like we’re in control. That we have a way out with our pride intact or we end up coming out of the corner swinging, even if that’s not the right solution, even if it’s with words instead of fists. It’s instinct—at least for me—something born within me I don’t know how to kill. Men like me, we need our pride. Take pity on us and try to let us keep it.”
We were fishing at midnight at the pond. It was a humid summer night. Frogs croaked. Crickets sang. Millions of stars shone down from above. I was fourteen and thought Dad had hung every last gas-burning light in the night sky. “How?”
“You offer them a way out. One that makes a man feel like he’s able to walk away with his head held slightly high. If he doesn’t take that offer, Vi, he’s a moron and then I say fuck ’em.”
Dad assumed that trait was reserved for men, and he was epically wrong. I often come out swinging when I’m pinned in a corner, but for now, I want home more than I want my pride. “If you let me go home, if you drop the guys tailing me, I’ll have breakfast with you every Saturday.”
Eli’s eyes meet mine, and I don’t look away. I’m promising him I’ll try with him and that’s the biggest peace offering in over a year.
“Home maybe, but the guys tailing you—I don’t know about letting those go.”
And what if one of those guys is the one who left the note in my jacket? My body actually twitches as I have to physically squelch the need to raise my voice. “The guys who took me are in jail, right? And the Riot are pinkie-swearing to be Boy Scouts, correct?”
There are some reactions that are so cold I could freeze to death. That would be the glare Eli’s giving me.
“I need normal.” The truest words on the planet. “I need my life to go on.”
The hard set of Eli’s jaw tells me he’s not going to give.
“We both need it,” Chevy says, and there’s something silently exchanged between Chevy and Eli. Whatever it is works. Eli lays his hand flat against the table.
“You can go home after the police lineup. There’s no way a judge will grant them bail with both of you fingering them. I can stomach you going home with them rotting in a cell. I’ll agree to no tails, but I’ll have guys checking on your house. That’s nonnegotiable. You were taken on the way to your house. No one else from the Terror would normally be going that direction and that doesn’t sit right with me. Makes me feel like they were targeting you.”
If I could hide under the table, I would, but I do my best to school my expression, my body language, to conceal what happened between me and the Riot.
“Why would they be targeting Violet?” Nina asks.
“To use me against Chevy,” I say as a deflection.
“And me,” Eli adds. “Frat’s death hit me hard. They know this. They know I would have taken it upon myself to care for his family.”
I sink lower. My dad and Eli were friends. My world is a mess.
“You gave me your word, Violet. Every Saturday—it’s you and me, kid.”