The highly anticipated third book in Katie McGarryâs Thunder Road Series is being released today! LONG WAY HOME is a Young Adult Contemporary Romance being published by Harlequin Teen! Grab your copy of the next book in this emotionally charged series, and donât miss Violet and Chevyâs story!
LONG WAY HOME Synopsis:
Seventeen-year-old Violet has always been expected to sit back and let the boys do all the saving.
Itâs the code her father, a member of the Reign of Terror motorcycle club, raised her to live by. Yet when her dad is killed carrying out Terror business, Violet knows itâs up to her to do the saving. To protect herself, and her vulnerable younger brother, she needs to cut all ties with the clubâincluding Chevy, the boy sheâs known and loved her whole life.
But when a rival club comes after Violet, exposing old secrets and making new threats, sheâs forced to question what she thought she knew about her father, the Reign of Terror, and what she thinks she wants. Which means re-evaluating everything: love, family, friends . . . and forgiveness.
Caught in the crosshairs between loyalty and freedom, Violet must decide whether old friends can be trustedâand if sheâs strong enough to be the one person to save them all.
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"An intoxicating and unforgettable story that kept me glued to the page."
âKami Garcia, #1 New York Times bestselling author, on Walk the Edge
CHEVY The instructions of the English homework I didnât do hangs out from the top of my folder: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both. Story of my life. According to my football coach, I chose wrongly on the two crap paths I had to face last week. I just ran into Coach on the way to English, and he ripped into me for my sorry decision-making skills when it came to me choosing to stand up for the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club instead of a member of my football team. I didnât just get my ass chewed out, his tirade made me late for English with no tardy note. Which is great since my English teacher hates late students like I hate riding my motorcycle in forty degree weather while it rains. I round the corner, then peek through the small window on the door of my class. Ms. Whitlock stands in front of her desk in her patented white button-down shirt, gray pencil skirt, and dark-rimmed glasses. From the back row, my best friend Razor meets my eyes and shakes his head. Damn. That means sheâs in one of her moods where sheâs refusing to let anyone in. Iâm not a tail-tucked-between-my-legs type of guy, but this lady is one of the few who can reduce me to begging. If she doesnât let me in, then sheâll mark me as absent, the front office will think I skipped, and that means I wonât be able to play at tonightâs football game. The window rattles when I knock. The entire class turns their heads in my direction, but Ms. Whitlock doesnât. The muscles in my neck tighten. She is one of the hardest core people I know and my grandfather is the president of a motorcycle club. That says something. She starts for the white board and I knock on the door again. This time, Ms. Whitlock does look my way and she grants me the type of glare reserved for people who kick puppies. I got it. Iâm late. Iâm the scum of humanity, so let my ass in so I can play football. Thereâs this guy in my club, Pigpen. Heâs about the same age as Ms. Whitlock, late twenties, and heâs a walking hard-on for this woman even though she would never give him the time of day. He practically runs into walls when sheâs around because heâs too focused on checking her out. I donât see gorgeousâall I see is seriously pissed off and the person standing between me and playing. Ms. Whitlock points at the clock over her desk. Sheâs telling me I can wait. If Iâm lucky, sheâll open the door after the quiz that Iâll receive a zero on. If Iâm not so lucky, she wonât open the door at all. Two pathetic paths and I could only travel one. Nowhere in that stupid poem did it mention there was good and bad to both paths and that sometimes itâs best not to choose, but to set up camp at the fork and do nothing at all. I slam my hand into the nearest locker, almost relishing the sting. âFeel better?â A glance across the hallway and I freeze. Doesnât matter how many times I see her in a day, she still manages to take my breath away.