Eli chuckles bitterly. “Where would you start? Somewhere between learning the ABCs and 123s you inform your kid that her dad’s a felon and that her maternal grandparents would be, too, if the police got their shit together? Meg ran for her life. She ran to save Emily’s life. Shit, Oz, what Meg did that night saved our club from annihilation because if she had stayed, every single one of us would have laid down his life for her and Emily and that’s the game the Riot was playing. But by turning me into the police, Meg branded herself a villain. A snitch. She’s no snitch. She’s a hero.”
I hear him, but... “You gave up custody of Emily.”
“Meg begged me to give Emily up. Pointed out that the Riot wasn’t above kidnapping. I told Olivia and Cyrus to back off and to give Meg room to feel safe, but what I didn’t expect was her marrying Jeff and I sure as shit didn’t expect him to show at my prison with papers to terminate my rights. He could offer my two girls the world and all I could offer was a whole lot of hurt.
“Maybe Meg and I didn’t do it right. Maybe we made every wrong decision, but when I was released from prison and Jeff offered me the opportunity to see Emily at least once a year with the condition that I lie about the past, I jumped on it. Good, bad, ugly, call the decisions whatever you want, but it’s worth any price to see my daughter and to see her happy.”
Eli quickly glances away and I pretend that there wasn’t wetness in his eyes. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He cracks open his door. “Because I’m trusting you’ll keep your word and the moment Emily touches down in Florida you’ll tell her the whole truth.”
He’s out of the truck and a roar fills my ears. Those words felt too final. I’m out after him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Eli knocks on Violet’s window and she rolls it down. Her eyes are red and puffy and she opens her mouth, but Eli holds up his hand. “Get out of here. Don’t make me say it again.”
Violet turns over the engine, and the two of us watch as she pulls a U-turn. As she passes us, I press three fingers to my leg, and pray that Violet remembers the signal she created when we were kids. She meets my eyes then drives away.
When she’s gone, Eli starts down the street again and I keep stride. “That’s your grand plan? Walk up the steps, ring the doorbell and then they’re going to hand over Emily?”
Eli steps in front of me and his entire tense demeanor tells me to shut up and listen. “You are going to do exactly as I say when I say it and you’re going to do exactly what I ask without questioning me. Do you got that?”
“Yes.”
“I brought you with me because Emily trusts you and I cannot have a repeat of last night. She’ll follow you before she’ll follow me and I need her to follow you out. Can you handle this?”
I can more than handle this. “Yes.”
He wraps his hand around my neck and stares into my eyes. “You’re a good man, Oz.”
Before I can respond, he’s crossing the yard, up the steps and ringing the doorbell. I follow, looking around for the two guys that disappeared, searching for the threat that has to be near. The door opens and my back twinges as if I have a rifle trained on my heart.
The guy that answers is a massive man. Gray hair. Clean-shaven and wears a Riot cut on his back. For the first time, my own cut feels like a second skin. He runs his eyes over me then studies Eli. “I thought we had this straightened out last week.”
I school my expression to hide the surprise that they’ve talked. Eli shrugs. “We did, but Emily’s headstrong like her mother.”
The large man releases a “Humph.”
“Consider this a bonus to our negotiations. You spent time with Emily and now I need to collect my daughter. She has a flight to catch this afternoon and airport security is a bitch.”
The man grunts out a laugh and extends his arm in a motion for us to enter. Eli glances at me from over his shoulder and then drops his gaze to the gun hanging on his hip. He then casually rests his hand near his piece. He’s telling me to be prepared.
We enter and a heaviness surrounds me as I play out the number of ways I can grab my gun before somebody else has time to point one at me and pull the trigger. My mouth runs dry. This is real life. Real life. Not a game. Not a show that can be turned off or rewound.
We walk through a dining room as we follow the man who let us in, and it’s not long before we gain two tails—men from the Riot bringing up the rear. The smell of bacon hovers in the air as we pass through the kitchen. Each step I take, I’m more aware of my skin, my blood, my bones.
A cold sweat breaks out along my neck. We enter a back living room and all the nerves quickly dissolve into a wave of protectiveness.
Emily raises her head and breathes out my name. “Oz.”
Emily
MY MOTHER’S MOTHER, my grandmother, adores kittens. A curio cabinet to my left is filled with ceramic kittens in various poses and the wall contains several oil paintings of kittens in various stages of activities such as chasing butterflies or playing with yarn. The cherry on this kitty-cat sundae is the live cat. It’s black with yellow eyes and it scowls at me from its perch on the end table. Its tail flicks left and then right with the beat of a second hand.
I’ve officially decided I like dogs. Specifically Lars.
Eli winks at me as he strolls into the room. Strolls. As if he, Oz and I are not in the nightmare they’ve described since Oz rammed into me outside the motel room.
Eli plops onto the couch across from the one my grandmother sits in. I’m in the chair in the middle experiencing a bad case of furniture tug-of-war.
I have an urge to hug Eli, to grab his hand and let him lead me away from this insanity, but I’m so terrified that I’m frozen. Literally. My hands are as cold as Olivia’s.
My stomach growls loudly and the entire silent room glances at me.
“You could have fed her.” Eli reclines on the couch and lays an arm along the back, reminding me of how Oz had done the same thing that night on the bench outside the room that became mine.
His thumbs hitched in his pockets, Oz watches me from the entryway between the kitchen and the living room. My uncle stands parallel to him a few feet away. Another guy hangs back toward the fridge. I swallow for the millionth time as my windpipe continually constricts.
“We offered,” says my grandmother. “But she declined. Would you like something, Eli? Coffee, juice, arsenic?”