I could argue and tell him I’m taking my car home, but I don’t want to. I want him to try to show me that he can protect me, even if I know he can’t.
His phone beeps from his pocket, signaling that he’s got a text. It’s a little sad that I still remember the tones he has set for different notifications. He withdraws his hand from my cheek and pulls his phone out, reads the screen, curses, and sends a text back at a furious pace. I watch quietly as he curses again and makes a frustrated grunting sound.
“Let’s go,” he says as he takes my hand and drags me off the porch.
My hair and sweatshirt absorb the rain quickly, soaking me to the bone. I have to work to keep up as he pulls me toward his bike at a rapid speed. She’s drenched from the downpour, but she’s a trooper and will work just fine. He hands me his helmet, so I place it on my head and wait for him to climb onto the bike. He swings a leg over and starts her up quickly. Revving the engine, he pops up the kickstand, and I climb on, wrapping my arms tight around his waist. He’s without a helmet, which is hugely illegal in California, but nobody says shit to anybody in a cut around here. All it would do is earn them a headache to mess with the club. Still, I worry about him. Being on this bike with him feels like I’m home. I refuse to accept that has anything to do with Jeremy, but more to do with the bike itself. We speed away, passing my Bug on our way out. I don’t doubt that she will be returned to me soon.
Soon, we pull up the house, and the rain has stopped. Jeremy doesn’t even get the bike cut off before Dad’s outside and screaming at us. His deep, hysterical voice demands to know where we’ve been.
Jeremy coolly cuts off the bike. “Miss Priss’s car broke down. Had to pick her up.”
“You got shit to do, prospect,” Dad says.
Jeremy’s relaxed face hardens as does his entire body. I extract myself from him and his bike and take off his helmet. He puts the kickstand down and nods at Dad. “Yes, sir.”
“You tell me if my kid’s car breaks down. You wait for orders. You don’t go fucking missing on a job,” Dad screams a little too loudly. Our neighbors are cool as hell, but still. They know the club does some shit they probably wouldn’t approve of. At least, I can’t imagine they don’t, but that doesn’t mean we need to take out an ad on the highway to advertise it to everybody. “Get out of my fucking sight.”
I hand him the helmet and watch as he straps it on his head, gives the kickstand a shove, and then starts up the bike again and takes off all in a matter of moments. Jeremy’s gone, and I’m left with Dad, who’s pissed as fuck and wanting to know where I was that my car broke down. I could lie, but if he sends someone to get my car and it’s not where I said it was, I’ll be in even more trouble. So instead, I lie and say I have a friend who lives two doors down from the Jennings family. I don’t tell him that exactly, but I give him the address of my supposed friend’s house. His face pales and his breathing catches when I say the street name,
With a hard glare he points at me and says, “You’re not going over there again. I don’t give a fuck how good of friends you are with this bitch. No more. And especially not fucking again without a man on you.”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Do you understand me, Cheyenne? It’s not safe. It’s really not safe. I’m not fucking playing with you.”
“Yes,” I snap and throw my hands up in the air. “I get it. I’m sorry!” I stomp off in the house and up to my room. Something about Dad’s reaction makes me feel weird about having been over there, like there’s something more that I’m missing. I just wish I weren’t so dense and I could actually put my finger on the missing piece of the puzzle already.
CHAPTER 17
February
14 months to Mancuso’s downfall
It’s been a few weeks since I last saw Jeremy. And it’s killing me. He sent me one text message on Valentine’s Day. I’ve probably brought that text up and stared at it a hundred times since. It still gives me butterflies every time I read it.
STILL THNKNG BOUT UR ASS.
It’s not mushy or romantic or anything, but it’s perfectly Jeremy. I’m the biggest freaking idiot on the planet because I’ve convinced myself that was his way of telling me to have a good Valentine’s Day. I never responded because by the time I could breathe again, it had been so long since he’d sent it. I didn’t know if it was too awkward to respond that late or if I should just not respond at all. I still don’t know if responding would have been better. He didn’t try to text me again, so now I bet he thinks I’m ignoring him.