“So if the Riot is a gang, then what is the Terror?”

Oz still wears his vest. The leather across the shoulder is also darkened with Eli’s blood.

“The same thing I’ve been trying to tell you since we met—we’re a brotherhood, a family. Our entire organization is built on respect and the only way you have respect is if it’s built on love. We’re not thugs jockeying for power. We’re a group that supports and doesn’t tear down.

“I won’t paint pretty pictures for you. You’ve seen how we live. It’s different, but different doesn’t mean wrong. Society has their view of normal and we have ours. Being a part of the club means freedom to us. Freedom from what others dictate for our lives.”

The muscles in my neck tighten. “If that’s true, then why were you always doing what they told you to do?”

He lowers his head and a part of me hurts that I pushed him so hard on a day when he saved not only me, but Eli. “Because I thought doing what I was told was what being a part of the club meant...until last night. I get it now in a way I never understood it before. It’s not about following, it’s about respect. Me giving respect, earning it and then getting it back in kind.”

I rake a hand through my hair. Life used to be easy. Life used to be simple. Now, it’s complicated. There’s a knock on the door and I turn. It’s Chevy and he’s carrying a flower. With a flick of his fingers, two more flowers appear.

Respect. Olivia had told me that if I allowed the club in, they would love me—that they would respect me—and Oz is saying that in order to gain the respect, I must give it.

I wave Chevy in and he edges the door open, leans in and offers the flowers to me. I accept them with a smile. He winks, and when he walks away, closing the door behind him, two Reign of Terror vests slide into view.

They’re protecting Eli. Standing by him. They’ll never leave his side. A little bit farther down at the nurses’ station, Olivia harasses a nurse with Cyrus by her side. Beyond them is the waiting room and a sea of black vests. “They’re watching over Eli, aren’t they?”

Oz nods. “And if you let them, they’ll watch over you, too.”

Yes, life used to be simple, but I never had a family like this. “You said that Eli wanted you to tell me something.”

Oz stands and extends his hand to me.

“I don’t want to leave him,” I say.

“You don’t have to, but today seriously fucked me up. If you don’t mind, I want to hold you and convince myself that this nightmare is over.”

I lay my hand in his, and he pulls me up and then settles me onto his lap. He wraps his arms around my waist and I place my head on his shoulder as I reclaim Eli’s hand.

Oz’s heat sinks past my clothes, my skin, even my bones, and it’s comforting my soul. I inhale his dark scent and it’s the first time in hours I feel completely safe.

“Is it a long story?” I ask.

“Epic,” he answers. “The craziest I’ve heard.”

“I thought your job was to prevent me from learning the truth.”

“No,” Oz’s lips whisper against my temple and there’s a flurry of rose petals in my stomach. “My job is to love you.”

Warmth floods my heart and I kiss his neck. I like how he presses me closer to him in response.

“After I tell you, though,” Oz hedges, “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you’ll leave here for a few minutes. Eat. Rest. Talk with your dad.”

Panic cramps my stomach at the idea of leaving Eli. “I don’t know.”

Oz’s arms create a protective shelter. “I want you to trust me to watch Eli while you take a break. Trust me to chase your monsters away.”

His words cause my chest to ache while at the same time healing a few of the wounds inside me. “I trust you. I more than trust you. I love you.”

I raise my head and Oz tilts his so that we’re staring at each other. He caresses my cheek as his blue eyes soften. “You were supposed to wait to say that until we had a nice, peaceful calm moment.”

“Well,” I say with a sheepish grin, “if the Terror is my family, I’m not sure those moments exist.”

Oz chuckles and lightly kisses my lips.

“All right,” I say. “Explain it to me.”

“Your mother is the daughter of the Riot Motorcycle Club...”

Oz

I SIT IN the small windowless room that has gray walls. Hook is on one side of me. Pigpen on the other. Razor’s hanging tight near the wall. The room’s so compact that our knees touch if we shift. It’s the room the doctors used to inform the family of how Eli’s surgery went. A few days ago, we learned Eli survived. Today, I’m learning my fate.

The door opens. Cyrus and Dad stride in and Dad motions toward Razor. “Give us a few minutes.”

Razor offers me a fast pat-hug and leaves. This is the first time since the morning after my patch-in party that I’ve been this close to Dad. I extend my legs and cross my arms over my chest, feeling uncomfortable. The last words Mom said to me were an apology I never saw coming.

Cyrus drops into a chair and Dad leans against the closed door. “They’re going to let Eli go home tomorrow.”

Which means Emily will be returning to Florida. Her dad’s been calm. Very patient. I see why Emily worships him, but that laissez-faire attitude he had in regards to the club, which we appreciated even as it boggled our minds, has disappeared.