Jude snarled, throwing me awhy-the-fuck-has-this-become-my-problemglare, and headed off in pursuitofRoni.
“Good luck with that!” I called after him, feeling all sorts ofbitchy.
“You.” Brody pointed his finger at me. “Outside.”
He turned and stalked through the crowd toward the barndoors.
“What about my five minutes?” I called after him. Geez. He couldn’t get rid of me fastenough.
I stood there with my arms crossed, huffing. I watched the band play for a fewseconds.
But yeah,Iwent.
If I didn’t, Brody would’ve just found me again. Even if he had to stop the band and announce over the mic that I was here, I was underage and it was past my bedtime—he’d done it before—and drag me out, which would’ve been hella embarrassing in front of all thesepeople.
I followed him into the night, into the rain that had started to mist down, across the edge of the field and into the sprawling backyard of whatever biker’s house this was. We were alone in the yard, so I knew he was probably going to rip into me anysecond.
I wentfirst.
“I can’t just leave Roni! We cametogether!”
Brody turned on me so abruptly I slipped on the damp grass and skidded into him. I grabbed onto his leather jacket to steadymyself.
“How did you get here?” hedemanded.
“In hermom’scar.”
“Then she’ll get home in her mom’s car. You,” he said, “are coming with me.” Then he hooked his hand around my arm and hauled me across the lawn toward his Harley, which was parked in the deserted back lane alongside a couple of trucks, instead of out front where the Kings’ bikes were. And not like I could stop him. He was twenty, I was fifteen, and he was way the hell biggerthanme.
“Wait! I want to stay! Stop dragging mearound!”
He released me in the middle of the yard, putting himself between me and the barn. “Get on the bike, Jessa. I’m takingyouhome.”
“No,you’renot!”
I resented that I wasn’t allowed to be there; that my brother, Jude and Brody made all the rules and I had tofollowthem.
I resented that every time I came to a show without their permission, I wasthrownout.
Most of all, I resented that Brody didn’t want methere.
He swiped a hand over his face and swore into the dark; I could practically see the steam coming out his ears as he turned back to me. “Where the fuck is yourjacket?”
I hugged myself against the misting rain. “I didn’twearone.”
Brody scowled; his eyes had locked on my chest, where my shirt had slipped off my shoulder, baring part of my bra. He took a step closer, looming over me. “What thefuckdo you think you’re doing wearing that in there?” He jabbed a finger at my chest, into theSinners MCpin that I wore on my bra strap, just over my left breast, grinding it intomyskin.
“Ow!” Igasped.
“You know who those guys arein there?” He punctuated his words with more jabs. I backed away but he just followed, jabbing all the way. “You knowwhatthey are? You know what they’llthinkwhen theyseethis?”
“It’s mine!” I said, slapping his hand away. “Stopjabbingme!”
“It saysSinnerson it,” he said icily. “That sound like a bunch of old ladies sitting around knitting scarves to you? It’s a fucking motorcycle club, Jessa. That pin belongs tothem, and so does any chick stupid enough to wear it to a party crawling withbikers.”
“You gave ittome!”
“When you were fucking five! And I told you long ago to stop wearing it.” With that, he ripped my beloved pin off my bra and whipped it into the wetgrass.
