He shuts his mouth and somehow his not finishing the sentence makes me edgy. I try to trace through every interaction I had with my father and think of what he might have seen. I wince at the memory and absently rub my arm where Dad had grabbed me.
“I’ve been through anger,” Dust continues in a soft voice. Softer than I would have thought possible for a rough guy like him. “I’m helping you because no one else should be pushed to the point that I was, and I’m trying to help you figure out your problems without it having to go as south as it did for me.”
There’s a weird buzzing sensation in my head as I look into the eyes of a stranger, and see for the first time someone who understands the madness in my mind. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“That’s up to you, but first you need to know your options. So, let’s walk to the clubhouse, find your friend, and take this one step at a time. Until you decide your next move, I’ll stick around the clubhouse in case you decide you want to bail. I always feel better knowing I have an out.”
Relief shoots through me and I could hug him for his offer, for this gift. He’s not the only one who feels more secure knowing there’s a way to leave. That’s the only way I know how to survive.
Chapter 16
Eli
Pigpen and I sit on the picnic table Emily had been on earlier, and the two of us watch as Razor listens to his girlfriend, Breanna. They’re on the front porch, and her head and hands move as she speaks. Razor’s one hundred percent locked onto her every word, nodding occasionally, and his shoulders are squared like he’s ready to jump off the porch and throw the punch that will start a gang war. The kid’s quiet by nature, so the silence on his end isn’t unusual, but what hits my stomach is the intensity of his eyes. Evidently nothing she’s saying is good.
Breanna just spent thirty minutes inside Cyrus’s cabin with her friend Addison, and from the hopelessness on Breanna’s face, Addison didn’t leave because her father asked her to clean her room.
“If this is as bad as I think, Addison needs to leave her home.” There’s no joke to Pigpen now, and when he’s serious, my skin crawls with the sensation that death’s not too far behind.
“I know,” I say.
“We can call the county extension for domestic abuse,” he continues. “They’ll come get her and take her to a shelter, but I think us taking her out of town will be the better option.”
I know that, too. “She doesn’t trust us.”
“Mia didn’t know me, and she got on the back of my bike.”
“But Dust trusted us, and she only left town with you because he told her that you’d lay down your life to protect her.” Truer words have never been and will never be spoken. When Pigpen’s sworn to protect someone, no one could ask for a better guardian.
Breanna stops talking, and Razor pulls her in for a comforting hug, the type that offers strength and security. The type that hopes to hide how bad the situation really is.
Pigpen readjusts beside me. “I keep waiting for that kid to catch a break.”
“Razor’s only hurting because he cares. That’s not a bad thing.”
“No, but I want something to be easy for the kid. Maybe he could have two months without his heart being torn out.”
Pigpen watches Razor, and the guilt and the pain Pigpen keeps buried deep slips out into his expression. I can’t help but wonder if, in all these years, Pigpen’s had two hours without having his heart ripped out. “Razor’s pain isn’t your fault.”
Not at all interested in what I have to say, Pigpen leans forward, rest his arms on his thighs and rubs his hands together.
“Do you ever think of telling Razor the truth about why you came to Snowflake? The reason you joined the Reign of Terror?”
The glare he sends me would make lesser men piss their pants, but I don’t flinch.
“Why would I do that?” he demands.
Because I love Pigpen like a brother, and while I respect what brought him here, I had hoped that through the years, he’d find a way to forgive himself for a sin he never committed. “Razor can handle the truth.”
“Maybe I can’t.”
Razor draws back from Breanna, mumbles something to her then leaves her there as he jogs down the stairs. His path is straight to us, and when he stops in front of the picnic table, he appears as grim as the reaper himself.
“How bad?” I ask.
“Addison’s father is Satan, and she wants to run away.”
That much I already knew. “Does she have a plan?”
Razor shakes his head. “Not one that Breanna could get out of her. Breanna told her what you said, Eli, about the club wanting to help, but Addison’s scared. She’s not sure if she should listen to what we have to say, much less take our advice.”
I don’t blame her distrust. Most people aren’t trained to look at bikers as people who want to help or people you should accept help from.
“I have to get Breanna home soon,” Razor says. “Her parents asked for her to be back by one, and I’d like to show them respect. Plus, if she doesn’t go home and Addison’s parents contact Breanna’s parents, it won’t take long for Addison’s father to connect the dots.”
That gives Addison an hour with someone she trusts. For a girl going through huge problems, that’s not a lot of time. “Is there somebody else we could bring by? Another friend? A family member?”
Razor shrugs. “Besides Breanna? She has lunch with Violet at school, but they keep each other at a distance. There’s no one else she keeps close.”
Pigpen stands and digs his keys out of his pocket. “I can help with this.”
A thousand questions form on the tip of my tongue, but I stay silent. If Pigpen says he has a solution, he does. My brother, if anything, is loyal and solid.
Chapter 17
Pigpen
A few hacks into the right website and it took me less than ten minutes to find out where Caroline Whitlock lives. Public schools don’t have the best internet security. Security costs money, and considering they can’t afford text books, I’m guessing secure online databases weren’t in the cards. It’s a shame, and I make an entry in my mental to-do list to volunteer my services next week.
I park my bike in front of the small Cape Cod and cut the engine. It’s a tiny brick place at the end of a cul-de-sac. Manicured, well maintained, and close to every inch of the yard is filled with bushes and flowers. It’s Eden in a neighborhood where there isn’t much individuality. If this is what the front looks like, I’m curious about what’s inside.
Rosebushes line the stone path to the front door. Red, white, pink and orange. The red rose at the graduation was the right call as it’s evident Ms. Whitlock likes flowers.
Too bad what I’m about to do will ruin any chance I had with her. I’m guessing she’s not going to be a fan of a near-stranger knocking on her door close to midnight and even less a fan of that stranger begging her to hop on the back of his bike, but I don’t have much of a choice. An eighteen-year-old girl is in pain, and she’s more important than me.