Chapter 21 NOVA
NOVA
Tears cascaded down my face. The Nova’s tires screamed on the pavement, so I screamed too. I screamed and screamed and screamed.
Emmett had killed my brother. Not Stone, but Emmett. Dad must not know. TJ’s friends who’d been with him that night must have gotten it wrong because if Dad had known . . . Emmett would be dead.
Except Emmett was alive. And I’d fallen in love with him.
I’d fallen in love with my brother’s killer. The enemy. It was all too much for my heart, so I screamed.
The noise was raw and hoarse. The sobs shook my entire body and with each one came excruciating pain.
I wanted to go back, to erase the last hour. I wanted to forget that I’d asked for the truth and Emmett had given me just that. But there was no going back. There’d be no forgetting. And as my screams faded into the night, all that remained were the tears.
This had to end.
There were so many lies. So much hate. The devastation of this war between the Tin Kings and Warriors was horrific.
It had to stop before someone else suffered.
I had to stop it.
Part of me wanted to lash out and rage at Emmett. He’d admitted to killing TJ. He could have let that lie go on forever and no one would have been the wiser. But he’d confessed because he didn’t lie to me.
God, how I wished he had lied.
I slapped a hand to my mouth as another sob escaped, my eyes so full of tears that the dark road ahead was nothing but a watery streak of black lit by my headlights.
“Why?” I whispered to the road.
It didn’t answer.
“Why?” I screamed and pounded a fist on the steering wheel.
This was so fucked up.
This was so epically fucked up.
After Emmett had told me the truth, I’d run from his house. There’d been nothing to say.
It was me.
Another cry escaped my lips.
This had to end.
I swiped at my face, trying to clear my vision so I could see to drive. I swallowed hard, embracing the pain, then slammed my foot into the gas pedal. I aimed the Nova toward town and the Clifton Forge Garage. Toward the Tin King clubhouse and everything that it represented.
The Arrowhead Warriors had been destroyed. They were nothing but ash and smoldering coals. They were nothing. The Tin Kings should be nothing too. If there were no clubs and clubhouses, then there could be no more death.
The tears began to subside as I wound through town, my hands clutching the steering wheel, my knuckles white.
This had to end.
The garage came into view and the tall, chain-link fence that surrounded the property glowed from a nearby streetlamp. The front gate was secured with a chain and padlock, making it difficult to enter without a key.
I aimed the Nova dead center at the gates, illuminating them as I hit the accelerator. The car slammed into the fences, tearing them apart and busting the chain like a hot knife through butter. Motion lights flickered on as I raced past the shop, down the lot to the clubhouse.
My tires screeched as I slammed on the brake, sliding to a stop in front of the wide building.
Another chain and another padlock wrapped around the handles of the clubhouse’s door.
Trees clustered around the dark-stained building.
Grasses brushed their trunks, the stalks overgrown and brittle from the change in season.
I shoved out of my car, not bothering to kill the engine. I wouldn’t be in Clifton Forge for long. A slight breeze picked up a strand of my hair and blew it into my tear-streaked face.
Before me, the clubhouse loomed. The building swam in shadows. It sat abandoned and ominous.
“Fuck you,” I said, my words swallowed up by the night. “Fuck you!”
Fuck the Tin Kings. Fuck the Arrowhead Warriors. I hated them both.
If the Tin Kings didn’t exist, if their club was truly gone, then they didn’t need this clubhouse, did they? I dove into the Nova and popped the trunk. Then I moved without hesitation, without regret or remorse but with an all-consuming purpose for my emergency supplies.
The butane lighter. The Glock. The gas can.
It was fitting that the fuel I’d kept for TJ would help me end this tonight.
I tucked my pistol into the waistband of my slacks.
I hadn’t touched it since my last practice session at a range in Missoula, before I’d ever set foot in Clifton Forge.
Dad had insisted that both Shelby and I be proficient with a handgun.
I doubted she’d touched a weapon in years.
Not me. I’d always made it a point to practice regularly.
Then with my lighter in one hand and the gas can in another, I marched for the clubhouse, climbing the two wide steps to the concrete platform that extended down the length of the building.
Above me was a small overhang. Its eaves were littered with silky white spiderwebs that glowed like strands of spun silver in the Nova’s headlights.
The windows were filthy and behind their hazy glass panes were sheets of plywood. They’d boarded the building up from the inside, making it hard to break in.
Not that I had any intention of going inside.
This was a wooden building. The foundation was concrete and I was sure the basement was too, but this building was wood and wood burned.
I twisted open the plastic container of gas, the fumes wafting in my face as I took a step away from the door. Then I hefted the can to my hip, thrusting it forward so that a slosh of gasoline splattered on the door. Drops hit my shoes but I did it again until the door glistened with the liquid.
Setting the can aside, I took out my lighter and set the flame against the wood.
The gas caught with a whoosh, fire streaking up the door’s face and brightening the stoop. I stood there, watching it burn until the heat forced me back a step.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up my chest. I’d set the Tin King clubhouse on fire. Oh my God, I was crazy. Maybe I hadn’t exactly expected it to burn. Maybe I was falling apart.
Definitely falling apart.
But the realization that I’d lost all control didn’t stop me from swiping up my gas can and hurrying around the building to repeat the gasoline pour and ignition on each of the building’s faces.
My shoes were covered in dirt and the heels caked by the time I made it around the clubhouse. The October darkness was no match for my fire and the parking lot shined with flickers of yellow.
The heat from the flames caught on the wind and carried the warmth to my face as I returned to the Nova.
I’d just committed arson. The last place I should be lingering was at the scene of the crime but I couldn’t make myself move. I heaved the empty gas can toward the clubhouse, then clutched my lighter like a weapon and watched the clubhouse burn.
The flames danced against the midnight sky. The crackle and hiss drowned out all noise until a distant rumble caught my ear.
I tensed but didn’t move. I knew they’d come.
It was only a matter of time before Emmett found me.
Probably the same way he’d tracked me down in Missoula, likely through my phone.
Or maybe he’d gotten an alert when I’d broken through the garage’s fence.
Whatever the reason, I would stand here until he came.
This was my fire. He didn’t get to take this from me. He didn’t get to take this sliver of revenge.
This fire was all I had left.
The engine thundered into the parking lot and I glanced over my shoulder, surprised to see not one, but two headlights.
Emmett.
And Dash Slater.
I pulled the gun from my waistband and held it tight at my side.
“Nova!” Emmett yelled, leaping off his bike beside my car. He strode my way, his bootsteps loud. He reached for my elbow, tugging me toward him. “Get back.”
I shook off his hold as Dash rushed to his side, his eyes fixed on the burning clubhouse.
“Fuck.” Dash dragged a hand through his hair.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Emmett’s eyes were wide, the flames reflecting in his brown gaze.
It was roaring now, its fingers stretching for the stars. Soon there’d be sirens. Soon there’d be questions.
“Get back.” Emmett reached for my arm again, but I yanked it away. “Nova.”
“No.” I stepped back. “No.”
His chest heaved. “What are you doing?”
“Taking this from you.” I flung out a hand toward the building, the hand with my gun.
A familiar click sounded above the noise of the fire. Past Emmett’s shoulder, Dash had pulled his own gun, both hands on the grip and the barrel pointed my way.
“Put the gun down,” he ordered.
Emmett held up his hands, shooting Dash a look.
Dash ignored him. “Drop it.”
“No.” I raised my chin. “You can kill me first.”
“No!” Emmett stepped between us, shielding me from Dash. “Baby, drop the gun.”
“Don’t,” I barked, a fresh wash of tears coating my eyes. I wasn’t his baby anymore. “You killed him.”
“I didn’t know,” he said, his eyes so full of pain and remorse. “It was dark and—”
“Don’t make excuses,” I snapped, my hands and arms beginning to tremble. The gun practically rattled against my leg. “You killed him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“For you, yes.” He took a step closer.
“Liar.” I raised the gun to his face, forcing his feet to stop. He held his arms up even higher.
“Emmett,” Dash warned, shifting so that he could put his sights on me again.
“Back the fuck off, Dash,” Emmett warned, his eyes never leaving mine. “Nova, please.”
“You killed my brother.” My voice cracked.
He only nodded.
“You sent my father to prison.”
He opened his mouth, but then his body flinched. My words registered like I’d just slapped him in the face.
No more secrets.
This had to end.
“You ruined my family. You and your brothers.” I flicked the barrel of my gun toward Dash.
“Your father.” Emmett’s arms dropped. “Who is your father?”
I stayed silent, holding his glare with my own. He’d put it together. I was in love with a very, very smart man.
“TJ.” The realization clicked like pieces coming together. “Tucker Junior.”
“You’re Tucker Talbot’s daughter?” Dash asked.
“Yes.” For the first time in my life, I admitted it to someone who wasn’t in my family. I was Tucker Talbot’s daughter. I wasn’t proud of it. I wasn’t proud of him.
I was just so fucking sick of living this lie.
“No.” Emmett shook his head. “Impossible.”
I curled my lip. “Possible.”
“You’re not his daughter,” he clipped. “I know who his daughters are. You’re not one of them. You’re fucking lying. Again. Tell me who you are. Who is your father?”
“Tucker. Talbot. I’m his daughter.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m—” My argument died on my tongue.
I know who his daughters are.
The world tilted under my feet. Emmett’s sentence sank deeper and deeper.
You’re not one of them.
I was his daughter. Shelby was his daughter. If Emmett didn’t know me then . . .
Who were the daughters Emmett knew?
“What the fuck?” Dash’s eyes widened. “What is going on?”
My gaze flicked between the two, their profiles alight from the inferno raging at our sides. The blood rushing through my ears drowned out the noise.
Emmett reached for his side.
I raised the gun. “Stop.”
“I’m just getting my phone, okay?” One hand dove into his jeans pocket while he held the other between us, palm open.
My entire arm trembled and the movement caused the gun to shake. But I held it to his face, watching as he flipped through his screen to open something up. Then he handed it over, the device extended like he knew what was on it was a bomb.
On the screen, he’d pulled up a picture of two women.
Sisters.
Sisters who looked exactly like my sister.
The strength left my arm and it dropped, the pistol slipping from my grip. It clattered to the ground beside my feet as I stared at Emmett’s phone and the faces on the screen.
This had to be a lie. This couldn’t be real, could it? Except they both looked so much like Shelby. Her nose. Her mouth.
A loud crash boomed.
Dash and Emmett both turned to the clubhouse as the building shifted. Maybe the roof was collapsing. Or a wall. I was too engrossed in the phone to pay it much attention.
“You’re lying.” I looked up to find Emmett’s gaze waiting.
“I have never lied to you.”
“You’re lying!” Fresh tears streamed down my face, hot like the fire.
Emmett took one step forward. “You didn’t look at what you took off my laptops, did you?”
I shook my head. Would I have found these photos? “These are . . .” My throat closed on the words. His daughters.
These women were his daughters.
Emmett, the Tin Kings, had known about them. Dad had daughters besides Shelby and me. He’d had a family.
And suddenly the reality of my life hit me like a tidal wave.
We hadn’t lied to stay safe from his enemies. We hadn’t hidden our names, our identities, to escape danger.
We’d lied to protect his lie.
We’d been his other family. The dirty secret.
“You didn’t know,” Emmett said.
“I don’t know anything anymore,” I whispered.
His phone slipped from my fingers, falling to the ground beside my gun. I took one step away from him, then another. I backed away until my knees hit the hood of the Nova, then I was gone.
I drove away from the fire. I drove away from Emmett. I drove until I got home.
The minute the Nova was parked in my garage, I plucked that flash drive from the ashtray and took it inside, not caring that I smelled like smoke and that my face was salty from crusted tears.
I sat at my own computer and loaded up the flash drive. It took me twenty minutes to find the file. First, I read the report from the private investigator. Then I started leafing through photos.
Dad standing beside a sweet, pretty brunette at a high school graduation. The next photo was of their whole family, when the girls—my half sisters—had been younger. They’d probably put it on a Christmas card. Because this was Dad’s real family.
Everything else was a lie.
Including me.