“YOU MOVE LIKE an old man.” Chevy sits on the dresser and shuffles cards. He cuts the deck, then fans them in his hand as if that shit is easy to do. “You act like you were shot or something. Then you let your bike slide out from underneath you—that’s sad.”
“Fuck you.” The entire right side of my body is bruised from the fall on the bike. I’m sore, but I’m living. The doctor the club brought in told them I’d get tired fast, but I’m on my feet and haven’t collapsed yet.
“How was school?” I dig, and Chevy raises an eyebrow. In eighteen years, I’ve never asked that question. In fact, I rarely ask anything. My cell busted in the fall and I haven’t been able to contact Breanna. I’m not curious about school as much as I need to hear Breanna’s okay.
“Good,” he answers. “Boring.”
I glare at him and the end of his lips tilt up. “I’m assuming you’re referring to a girl with black hair, real smart, and has a habit of glancing in your direction from across the room. Same girl you can’t take your eyes off whenever she’s around.”
Yeah. That would be the one.
The humor flees from his face. “It was one thing when you were infatuated with her, but she’s been watching you as much as you’ve been watching her. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t see options for how this game you’re playing ends well.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s not from our world. Breanna’s not the girl looking for a quick ride. She’s the girl who wants flowers before the sit-down dinner. She belongs to the family that has probably printed up just-say-no-to-the-Terror pamphlets.”
She’s a good girl, I’m all that’s bad and Chevy’s convinced I’m capable of destroying anything good. “Oz and Emily are working.”
“They’re different,” he states. They are. Oz is badass, but he’s never been feared like me, and Emily is a good girl, but she’s Reign of Terror blood.
“And if you want to know, I’ve seen Kyle Hewitt talking to Breanna in hallways and stairwells. She might be looking at you, but it’s him she’s being seen with in public.”
A dangerous anger curls within me. “She was what?” Breanna’s kept that tidbit private.
“Go do your thing.” Chevy’s eyes flicker to the bathroom, halting the conversation. I’m taking my first shower since the accident and Rebecca’s bent on someone being near in case I pass out.
I crack my neck to the side. Breanna and I, we need to talk. “Where’s my new phone?”
“Shower, then food, then phone.”
Showering had been the priority, but calling Breanna stole first place. Knowing that I’m seven degrees of angry, Chevy wouldn’t give me the phone even if I whipped out my knife, and to be honest, a shower might make me feel human again. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Chevy wields the cards so they fall like rain from one hand to the other. “Cyrus says you do. He’s going to be real pissed if you pull that I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up bull in the shower and I wasn’t here to play hero and catch you.”
This treating me like an invalid crap got old the moment I woke. “If you go anywhere near that shower while I’m in it, I’ll slice you open.”
“Taking your blade in with you to shower? That’s creepy, man.”
“I will if you don’t leave.”
“You’re a cranky son of a bitch.” But Chevy smiles. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
Me, too. I nod at his words. When he nods back, I have to look away before emotion gets the best of me. “Get out of here so I can shower.”
He hops down. “Hungry?”
Stomach felt like a garbage dump last night, so I didn’t eat. Rebecca said it was the result of the painkiller the guys gave me. I rub my eyes. Guess I’m allergic to anything that brings me peace. “I should eat.”
“What do you want?” He’s dead serious on feeding me.
He’ll think me weak if I ask for soup. I’m standing and I’m walking, but Rebecca said it could take days for me to reach one hundred percent. “Whatever, as long as it’s hot.”
“I’ll be back, and I’m serious, no passing out—if you fall in that shower and bleed all over the damn place, I’ll kick your ass.”
I flip him off. He flips it back. I love the bastard.
“Hey.” I stop Chevy before he leaves. “Did you hear anyone talk about the Riot?”
“No, why?”
I shrug, but the conversation between Eli and Cyrus repeats in my mind. Problem is, I don’t know if it was real or if my head was off its rocker. Chevy points at the shower, and when I don’t say anything, he leaves. I pull off my shirt, kick off my jeans and enter the tiny bathroom.
Breanna
I’M COLD. I’M HOT. I’m on the verge of fainting.
What I really am is flush against a wall in an industrial kitchen. Beyond the fact that I can’t begin to comprehend why a motorcycle club needs an industrial kitchen, I’m questioning my decision-making skills and sanity.