“Am I really in danger?” I ask.
Oz pops open a bottle of beer and takes a drink. “You want one?”
I shake my head. “I don’t appreciate you drinking and driving.”
“We’re staying here tonight,” he says. “I had already cleared it with Eli before everything went to shit with Olivia.”
My eyebrows furrow together. “Why would you have done that? And you haven’t answered my question.”
“I am answering it.” Oz pulls a long draw off the beer and then sets it on the small bar separating the living room from the kitchen. “The Riot was spotted thirty miles north of Snowflake. That isn’t their territory and Eli liked my idea of moving you in case they decided to stop by for a visit.”
I shrink into the sectional couch that encompasses most of the space in the room. No wonder my mother is a train wreck. It’s almost easy to believe everything Oz is saying. Almost easy to believe that it’s true. “Do you get tired of living this way?”
“Which way is that?”
Delusionally? But it’s not my intention to argue with Oz. Especially when he’s hurting.
“Which way, Emily?” There’s accusation in his voice. I may not be looking for a fight, but Oz is.
“Have you ever thought of a life outside of the club? You know, get an office job, settle down in a nice neighborhood, have two point five kids and a dog named George. Maybe a goldfish or two?”
“If I get a rope and tie it around my neck, will you help push me off a cliff?”
“I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t understand why you want to live like this. You’re supersmart and superawesome when you want to be. I’m just saying that the rest of the world isn’t cloak-and-dagger. It’s easy and peaceful.”
Oz scratches the sexy stubble along his jaw. “Know what I don’t have to deal with in my world?”
“Sanity?”
He grins. “I could say the same about your world, but listen up.”
Oz drags a chair from the small table in the kitchen area into the living room and straddles it. His biceps flex as he crosses his arms over the wood of the chair and when I tear my gaze away I find amusement flickering in his eyes.
I’ve been busted. “I never said you weren’t pretty.”
“You lied, Ms. Integrity. You are bold. And if we’re swapping compliments, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
Heat flashes on my cheeks and I immediately look down.
“Don’t do that,” says Oz.
“Do what?”
Strong fingers underneath my chin and I swear it’s harder to breathe. Oz lifts my head so that we’re staring at each other again. “Don’t deny a true compliment by looking away. You’re braver than that.”
I bite my bottom lip and Oz swipes his thumb over my mouth, causing me to let it go. His thumb stays at the corner of my mouth and I swear he must feel my pulse pounding in my veins.
He lowers his hand and I clear my throat. “I believe we were talking.”
“Yeah,” answers Oz.
I search frantically for what we were discussing. “You were going to give me some great insight into your world.”
“Yeah. That. In my world, we don’t have to worry about half the shit that you do.”
This I have to hear. “Like?”
“Backstabbing. Trust issues. The Terror is about family and loyalty. When someone says they’re going to do something they do it. When one of us has a problem, every man in the club will drop whatever they’re doing to help. I’ve seen how the rest of the world works and I don’t care for it. Everyone out for themselves. Shoving knives into each other in order to reach another rung on the ladder. Lying to save face. Once you’re in the club, you have a family you know won’t abandon you.”
My mind wanders to the countless relationships I’ve had over the years with girls who swore to be my friend one minute and then wouldn’t speak to me the next. The hours of gossip that fill my school day. The lying, the manipulation, the constant power struggle between social groups.
And then I go home and listen to my parents talk about the same issues, but in adult terms. How someone cost Mom her spot on the PTA board. How another doctor lied to my father and took credit for research he had accomplished.
Me, Mom and Dad—we have each other, but how many times have I felt hollow because the three of us were outnumbered?
Oz’s words sound seriously pretty, but it’s easy to disregard the ugly when it doesn’t fit your argument. “Eli left me and you’re currently lying to me. The club can’t be as perfect as you think.”
Oz reaches behind him and my eyes widen when he produces a very real, very terrifying handgun. I draw my feet onto the couch and scramble back, but only end up a few inches farther from the weapon.
“Calm down, I’m not going to shoot you.”
“That’s a gun. It could go off and kill me. Those things happen. I’ve seen it on the news.”
“The safety is on. Look.” He tilts the gun and slides his thumb over something, shifting it toward him. “Safety off.” Click. “Safety on, but if it will make you feel better...”
A louder noise and out pops a part that I assume contains the bullets. He holds up both parts in the air for me to see then rests them on the end table at two different corners. “I’m carrying a gun. See—I told the truth.”