“Did you meet with the Riot?” I ask, and all heads turn in Cyrus’s direction. I don’t have the right to ask that question as I’m not patched in and everyone will back Cyrus up if he doesn’t answer.
“We met with the police. We meant what we said. We are going full letter of the law on this. In fact, the police want to meet with you and Violet tomorrow night. They want to show you pictures. Have you confirm the people they’re looking for.”
“I’m in.” I’m assuming Violet will be, too. “What else is going on?”
Cyrus shares a long glance with Eli, and when Eli looks over at me, he tugs on his earlobe. “Chevy, you aren’t patched in yet.”
Anger kicks me hard in the chest. “Are you kidding me? I risked my life and this is how I’m treated?”
“How do you want to be treated?” Eli asks like he can’t see I’m thirty seconds from flipping the table.
“With respect.”
“Then you’re saying you want to be part of this club? That when we hand you a cut you’d accept without hesitation, because we know how your mom feels about us and we know how you feel about her. We also know that Violet broke up with you over us. It’s a shit thing for us to ask, but when push comes to shove, are you able to handle being a part of this club when the two women you love the most are going to hate you for it?
“Because when you become a member, you understand what’s said in this room, stays in this room. That anything pertaining to the club stays club business. Even when doing so causes problems for you in other areas of your life. Can you handle that?”
Violet
THANKS TO CHEVY and me being kidnapped, Cyrus’s log cabin and the clubhouse across the yard are crawling with Reign of Terror members. They flow in and out of both buildings like the busy worker bees that they are. There are men who belong to this chapter, and men who belong to other chapters. Most of them took turns watching over my hospital room, the hallway leading to my hospital room and every entrance to the hospital. I should feel gratitude, but I can’t help the twinge of malice.
If it weren’t for this MC, I never would have been kidnapped.
Brandon sits in the chair in front of me on Cyrus’s porch and he’s gone into excruciating detail about Jurassic World. It’s not the first time he’s seen it. In fact, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it with him, but he saw it with Oz and Razor while I was in the hospital and Brandon needs to feel like I didn’t miss anything while I was gone.
He wants a pet raptor. Yes, he understands they aren’t real, but Brandon likes to live in pretend worlds sometimes and more often than not I indulge him in stepping a toe into his fantasy realms, if only because reality is too exhausting.
I used to tell him no on the pet raptor, as if such a thing could really happen. But after this past week, I wonder if science could get on the ball, create one, and if so, how much rabies shots for it would cost. That is if genetically engineered, fictional raptors can get rabies. I bet I wouldn’t have been kidnapped if my pet raptor was riding shotgun.
The front door squeaks open and Mom and Oz’s mom, Rebecca, step out onto the porch. They’re laughing and they hold trays full of meat and cheeses for sandwiches. They glance over at me and their giggles fade. Rebecca still smiles, but Mom’s grin falters. Just a fraction, but enough that I caught it.
“Are you hungry, Violet?” Mom asks.
I shake my head no, and she frowns completely.
“Let us know when you are hungry, and we’ll bring you some food and something to drink,” Rebecca says.
“I’ll get it for her,” Brandon says. My heart squeezes, then drops. He hasn’t let me out of his sight since I was brought to Eli’s this morning from the hospital. “I’ll take care of her.”
Rebecca winks good-naturedly at him. “And you’ll do a good job, too.”
She goes down the stairs and Mom follows her because Mom likes to follow. Brandon resumes his description of the raptor cage.
I stopped talking after my conversation with Justin. Don’t know why. Didn’t plan on it. In fact, I wasn’t aware I was staying quiet until the second day of my stay at the hospital. They brought in a shrink who diagnosed me with Acute Stress Disorder. I guess it’s like PTSD, but they can’t diagnose PTSD unless I’ve had these types of symptoms for a long time.
Pigpen got excited because he made me grin when he told me he thought PTSD stood for Probably There’s Something wrong but Dunno what.
Amen to that.
I talked to Chevy. At least I think I did. I haven’t really had a chance to see him since the first night at the hospital, at least not without an audience. I did talk to the shrink, though, and it caught him off guard that I was willing to mumble a few words to him and not much to anyone else. After not talking, it’s weird to start again.
Maybe pride’s in the way. People want me to talk and now that silence is present it feels like a loss to open my mouth and do what everyone desires.
Won’t lie—I don’t like losing. Never have. Not that this is some sort of a game or competition, but doing what the club wishes, what my mother wishes...at least this is something I can control.
Speaking.
Sounds like something a dog should do. Speak, girl. Sit. Now shake. Roll over so I can rub your belly. Do you like that? How about if I scratch behind the ears? Go fetch, girl.
I’m giving you attention now, but you’re not as smart as me and won’t notice when I leave you to go do something real important and you’re too weak to be a real companion. Now stay here while I go. Don’t move and be right here with your tongue hanging out and tail wagging when I get back.