“Let’s handle one dramatic event at a time. So what exactly do you hope to accomplish by talking to these people?”

These people would be my grandparents. Violet didn’t know my mother’s brother’s name, but I remembered her parents’ names and this was the only listing in the Louisville phone directory that matched. “I’m hoping they’ll tell me the truth.”

Violet offers me a tilted head with a “whatever” gaze. “There’s no such thing as the truth. There’s what people wish would have happened.”

True. “Maybe they’ll give me enough of a picture that I can piece together the rest of the story.”

“So we’re clear, you’re not visiting with grandma and gramps to get the truth. You’re wandering over there in the hopes they’ll say something that will make you like Eli again.”

The skin on my arm itches and I sort of hate Violet for speaking so plainly. “Possibly.”

“You know my opinion on the men in the club, right? That they aren’t redeemable?”

“If you feel that way, then why are you helping me?” Then why did she fall asleep so close to Cyrus?

“Because you’re the type who’s determined to learn the hard way.”

I’m not the only one. Her phone rings again and now Chevy’s face appears on the screen. She glances out the window and I reject the call. “I think he cares for you.”

“I think I’m two seconds away from leaving your ass on the curb.”

Well played. “Wish me luck.”

“Do you want me to go in with you?”

“No. This will be awkward enough without an audience. Mom gave me the impression that the reason they threw her out was because they weren’t thrilled she was pregnant and that she’d decided to keep me. I’ve always pictured them being superconservative and from what you’ve told me, that guess is becoming solid. Could you imagine them having a daughter who fell in love with and had a baby with a biker? They had to go insane.”

“Sounds like the makings of a true tragedy.”

“Yeah.” Yeah. I wonder what Oz and I will be. “If I don’t wave or text or something in two minutes, I’ll need you to call in the cavalry.”

I smile, she smiles and I’m out the door.

I chose the loose-fitting jeans and the purple top Eli bought me in Nashville in case Mom’s parents really are conservative. The summer morning is warm enough that I’m starting to sweat, but that could also be the nerves.

The porch is nice. It’s the plastic type that mimics wood. My footsteps sound strange against it and I lift my bangs away from my face as I stand in front of the door. Big deep breath in. Then another. A tickling flow of adrenaline leaks into my veins.

A push of the doorbell and I can hear the loud chimes from outside. One second. Two.

The door opens and across from me stands a much older version of my mother. She wears a pair of jeans and a blue button-down shirt. Nice and pressed. There are pearls in her ears and a gold cross hanging from her neck. Like Olivia, she owns older. Her hair is still blond and I can’t help but wonder if it’s dyed of if I’ll have fantastic genetics. There are lines on her face. Particularly around her blue eyes and her mouth.

“Hello.” She stares at me and I form the millions of responses to the hundreds of ways she’ll ask why I’m here.

“Hi.” It would be good to speak more, possibly explain that I’m not selling magazine subscriptions.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” A hesitant smile eases across her face and my lips turn down. Something isn’t right.

A man walks up behind her. He’s older, has gray hair, but what causes me to start backward in the same rhythm of my pounding heart is the black leather vest on his body.

There’s a honk. A long one. A loud one. The heel of my foot dips off the back of the stairs and when I pivot to run, my hands smack into the chest of a man. He’s Mom’s age and he has the same eyes and nose as her, but there’s a scar that slices along his cheek.

“Hi, Emily,” he says. “Why don’t you come in? I know Mom’s been dying to meet you.”

I swivel back to the woman, begging her with my eyes to let me go. The man behind her angles to respond to someone in the room and on the back of his vest are the words that cause me to tremble: The Riot Motorcycle Club.

“Come on.” The guy Mom’s age lays a foreboding arm around my shoulder. “Let’s catch up.”

Oz

WE’RE A FEW miles out from Emily and I can’t sit still. Eli’s pressed the truck to the max, but it’s still not fast enough.

“We would have been faster on the bikes,” I say.

I hate how calm Eli is. Since the moment Violet called and told me what had happened, he’s been too calm. His entire expression smoothed out like marble. “Emily’s not going to be in the condition to ride safely on the back of a bike.”

A deadly snake slithers inside me, raising its head as it coils tighter in my gut. “If you think they’re going to harm her, then why isn’t anyone else with us? Why the hell aren’t we calling the police?”

Eli slows at a stop sign, looks both ways as if we’re on a Sunday stroll, and then turns right. Even though we told Violet to go, she hasn’t. She’s stayed right where she called me from—a spot a few houses down from where Emily went inside.