He rests his elbow on the open window and grasps the roof of the truck. “I know. I’m your cousin.”

That draws my attention. “We’re related?”

“By blood,” he admits, sharing my enthusiasm for this family reunion. “Our fathers were brothers.”

He doesn’t even attempt to allow me space as he settles in his seat. I’m the equivalent of a thin slice of moldy unwanted cheese between these two massive guys.

Chevy spreads his knees and I scoot over only to end up with my thigh touching Oz’s. I jerk back and crash into Chevy. He tosses me an are-you-impaired glare and the sigh that leaves my mouth is painful.

Oz peeks in my direction and my stupid body tingles. I’ve been kissed by three guys. Two of whom I at least liked and they liked me back. Both of those kisses were also comparable to licking live fish out of the ocean.

Never once did my heart race for them. Never once did my mouth dry out. Never once did my universe explode into fireworks like it did when Oz kissed me. I lower my head and rub my temples to keep from groaning in frustration. I don’t even like Oz and for some stupid reason I dream of crawling onto his lap, wrapping myself around him and kissing him until our lips fall off.

The truck rocks on the worn-out road and when Oz accelerates, the potholes become unforgiving as my body is flung from one side to the other. First knocking into Chevy then back into Oz. This is freaking horrible.

My fingers fumble at the seam of the seat, but not a seat belt in sight. Neither guy wears one and I feel completely naked not strapped in. Oz hits sixty-five and with both windows rolled down, wind whips through the truck, causing my hair to sting my face. I gather the locks at the nape of my neck and my body flies into the air again as the truck pounds into a hole.

“Will you slow down?!” I slam back into the seat, reach for the console to steady myself and the result is a fistful of wires. With a turn, I slide to the left. My body completely flush with Oz’s. This is worse than the Himalayan at the county fair.

“Can you try to sit still?” Oz asks.

“Can you try to drive like a normal person or at least tell me where the seat belts are at?”

Oz smiles and I notice my cousin sporting a smirk, as well. I hate both of them.

“There they are,” says Chevy. “Stop the truck.”

Oz

CHEVY’S OUT THE passenger-side door before I stop the truck and jogs ahead. Around the curve of the road, practically hidden by the deep green of the trees, is a flash of red hair and the back end of a blue 1972 Chevelle.

Dammit. I’d love to smash Chevy’s head into the side of the truck for leaving me alone with Emily, but I can’t. Not when I understand why he’s a mess. I cut the engine and angle to face her. “This is club stuff so stay here.” We’re deep on Cyrus’s property and she’ll always be in sight.

Emily focuses on the dashboard and I feel like a dick. I almost kissed her and now I’m treating her like shit. She deserves better, but I don’t have time to make this right. “I mean it. I need you to stay in here.”

Still nothing.

“Fuck it.”

I exit the truck and Violet and Chevy are already going at it like they had during the last few weeks of their doomed relationship.

“I said I got this!” Violet grabs hold of the jack in Chevy’s hands. His knuckles fade into white as he clenches the tool.

Violet’s seventeen, the same age as Chevy. She’s all red hair, blue eyes, faded jeans, blue button-down, a few inches shorter than him and pissed off at the world. Specifically the club.

I nod my chin at the kid standing awkwardly off to the side. Odds are this is the first time Violet or Stone have seen the club since someone leaked to the Riot about Emily. He’s the paranoid type that wonders in his jacked-up head if we would blame him when he didn’t do anything wrong. Because I don’t want him pissing his pants, I smile when I say, “What’s going on, Stone?”

The kid lights up, but shoves his hands in his jeans when his older sister imitates a wall and slides in between us with her hand still on the jack.

“His name’s not Stone.” Pure venom spills out with the glare she throws me. “It’s Brandon and, as I said, we don’t need your help.”

“I have to disagree with you on that,” I say. “Seeing that it’s me, Chevy and Razor who are your family and families help each other.”

“Is she related to me, too?” asks a familiar voice.

I lower my head before I glance over my shoulder. Damn it to hell. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

Emily flutters her eyelashes. “Since when did I volunteer to be your lapdog?”

Violet laughs and releases the jack. “I like you. What’s your name and why are we not hanging out?”

Emily’s eyes dart to mine and she shuffles back. That’s right, Emily. There’s a reason I told you to stay in the truck and if I’m going to keep you from being abducted by the Riot, you need to start listening.

“This is Emily,” I say. Violet and Stone won’t rat that she’s with us. At least the old Violet wouldn’t. “She’s staying with Eli for a few weeks.”

That shuts Violet up and it also causes her face to go white. “Oh, shit.”

Oh, shit is right. Since the term “club stuff” didn’t mean squat to Emily, I try another approach. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes? This is a family issue.”