Walk The Edge

I added an additional exclamation point in my head.

“Just because you don’t acknowledge me on your memory,” chides Addison, “doesn’t mean I’ll forget what I said. Someday you’ll trust me enough to let me in your head.”

“I trust you.” The reply is immediate because her words stung—stung because they’re honest. I love Addison, more than some members of my family, but I’ve never flat out discussed my ability to recall things. Being near me as much as she has—she knows.

I avoid talking to Addison about this gift, or curse, because she’s one of the few people who make me feel normal, and there’s a comfort in fitting in, even if it’s just with one person. “I trust you more than anyone else.”

At least that statement is a hundred percent true.

“Then why didn’t you tell me how Kyle Hewitt cornered you in the hall and was trying to convince you to write his English papers for the year?”

My stomach rolls as if it had been kicked. “How did you know?”

She gives me the disappointed once-over. “I overheard you two when I was coming out of the bathroom. I stupidly thought that if I gave you enough time you’d tell me.”

My mouth hangs open and my mind races as I try to formulate an explanation for why I didn’t tell her, but the words embarrassed and ashamed and terrified freeze on the tip of my tongue.

Addison nudges my knee with hers. “I’m glad you said no. What did he offer in return for writing his papers?”

Then she must have not heard everything. “Money.”

“Kyle is such an asshole. Reagan heard U of K may offer him a football scholarship if he can raise his grades. His daddy and granddaddy are all proud and I guess Kyle is trying to cover his bases with his offer to you.”

“Do you think he’ll talk crap about me now?” Because that’s what a lot of guys at our school do. They spread rumors. Some true. Some not true. Unfortunately, the truth doesn’t matter once people start talking.

“Maybe,” she says with a tease. “But being the shining star in gossip is better than being invisible, right? You know what will help make you shine this year?”

“Oh, God,” I mumble. “Don’t start this again.”

“Cheerleading!” She lights up like a Christmas tree. “I’ll work my magic and get you on the squad. I’m not talking backflips. You can be the girl who holds the signs during the cheer.”

I grin because how can I not when she resembles a set of Fourth of July sparklers, but before I can respond a motorcycle engine growls to life.

Addison mutters, “Damn.”

My head snaps up. I’m expecting to spot Thomas and his gang riding their bikes in our direction, but instead it’s a sight that can rival whatever damage they could have done if they had abducted us.

Addison’s father’s impeccably white four-door eases to the curb. Dizziness disorients me as I imagine the expression he must be wearing beyond the blacked-out windows. I clear my throat. “I thought you told him you’d still ride home with me.”

“He probably feels like being pissed,” she answers.

The motorcycle engines cut off as Addison gathers her purse. I grab her wrist before she stands. “I am so sorry.”

She yanks on my hair again. “You stress too much. See you tomorrow, brat.”

Two steps down, laughter from the circle of men, and Addison pivots so fast her blond curls bounce into her face. “I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

She said the words loudly, too loudly. Loud enough that the men grouped near the motorcycle stare at us. Her father honks the horn. It’s a shrill sound in the quiet evening.

“Go. I’ll be fine.” Though my palms grow cold and clammy.

The car’s horn screams again into the darkening sky. Addison’s eyes widen as her gaze flickers between the club and me. I can’t go with Addison. Her father doesn’t allow anyone into their house, car or lives. Each second that passes without her behaving exactly how he expects means his wrath will be worse when she returns home.

“Go.” I hold up my phone. “They texted.” A lie. “They’re less than a minute out.”

“Okay,” she whispers, as if suddenly realizing she drew the attention of the people we’ve been attempting to avoid. “You text me the moment you get in the car.”

I fake a smile a true friend will hopefully buy. “Promise.”

Addison nods, then sprints to the passenger side of her father’s car. She opens it, slips inside and sends me one last pleading glance before shutting the door. Her father pulls away. Not fast, not in a hurry. Slowly. Very slowly. Methodical even. Which makes sense because that’s exactly how he is with Addison.

As soon as the red taillights of the car disappear from view, I spam my entire family. I am officially alone with the Reign of Terror. If I die, I’m holding each of you responsible.

A buzz and it’s from my oldest sister, who is working a full-time job fresh out of college a few hours away. Dramatic much?

Me: No, I’m alone at school and there are at least six of the RTMC here.

Second oldest sister, Clara: Them driving by does not mean you are alone with them.

A pause, then she sends a second text. This is her lame attempt at attention. I win the pot. Told you she’d crack by her senior year.

Another buzz, from my oldest brother, Samuel. It’s the middle child syndrome.

My oldest sister again: lol Like Bre would ever be in a situation that puts her alone with the Terror.

Clara, the forever instigator when it involves me: Bre’s too good for that. God forbid she make a mistake. Miss Perfect would never be anywhere near them. She probably thinks she sees them from 2 miles away.

Liam, the oldest one closest in age to me: lololol True. Someone send her a text back and ask her to take a selfie with them in the background.

My fingers curl around the phone as if I could reach through and strangle each of them. I’m still here and each of you suck!

Silence as they realized they’d pushed Reply All. Even with my name at the top of the To section it’s like I’m invisible. Everyone thinks they know me, but no one sees me.

“Everything okay?”

My entire body flinches with the sound of the deep male voice. As if sensing death peering over me, I slowly raise my head and a weight crushes my chest. Golden-blond hair. Ice-blue eyes. Black leather vest. It’s Thomas and he’s standing in front of me.

I jump to my feet, and my cell, my sole source of communication, my only method of calling for help, falls to the ground and cracks open.

RAZOR

HER FACE IS white against her raven hair. Ghost white. I’d bet my left ball she hasn’t breathed since I spoke. Her hand is outstretched toward the busted cell on the ground, but her wide hazel eyes are cemented on me. I turn my head and I’m greeted by the amused faces of my brothers from the Reign of Terror who stand next to their bikes in the parking lot. They’ll be harassing me on this for weeks. Fuck me for trying to be chivalrous.

“You okay?” It’s a variation of the question I asked a few seconds ago, but this one she seems to understand as her body trembles to life.

“Um...” she stutters. We’ve been at the same schools since elementary age, otherwise I’d wonder if she was a foreign exchange student with limited English. “I only have twenty dollars.”

The muscles in the back of my neck tense. “I’m not going to jack you for your money.”

She quits breathing again.

“Nice to know your current bank account status,” I bite out. “But I asked if you were okay.”

Color returns to her cheeks as I pin her with my gaze. She accused me of trying to rob her. I know it, she knows it and she’s now informed I’m not the asshole in this scenario.

“Yes,” she finally answers. “I’m okay. I mean no... I mean... I broke my phone.”

She did and that sucks for her.

Her eyes flicker between me and the phone like she wants to retrieve it, yet she’s too paralyzed. Saving us from this torture, I swipe the pieces of the cell and lean against the wall.

The distance between us relaxes her and that gulp of air was audible as she tucks herself tight in the corner farthest from me. This reaction isn’t new. I’ve seen it since I was a child whenever my father or anyone from the Terror entered a room full of civilians. To everyone outside of the club, we’re the evil motorcycle gang bent on blowing the house down.

People and their hellish nightmare folklore involving us pisses me off. I don’t know why I told the guys to give me a minute. I’m late for plans I made with Chevy and some girls, plus I’m on call in case the board chooses to meet sooner rather than later to discuss Detective Jake Barlow.

But something about how this chick appeared alone and frightened messed me up. It reminded me... The thought stalls and the emotional speed bump causes a flash of pain in my chest. Screw it, her expression reminded me of Mom the last time I saw her—the night she died.

My mom. I shake my head to expel her ghost. One visit from one bastard trying to use me and I’m being haunted by a past I can’t change. That’s what the detective was salivating over—to use me for info on the club. He’s one of too many who believes our club is the devil’s prodigy.

What he doesn’t see is that we’re a family—the type of family that comes when called. Obviously not like this girl’s family.

“Is it yes or no?” It’s damn difficult to shove the battery in now that the frame is bent.

“Yes or no what?” Her long black hair sweeps past her shoulders. She has the type of hair that would have to be pulled up if she rode on the back of my bike. Gotta admit, I like her hair, especially how it shines under the lights of the school’s overhang.

“If you’re okay.” I survey the mostly empty area to prove a point. “If we leave, you’ll be alone, and I don’t care for that. There’s some real psychos out there.”

She swallows. I’d be number one on her list of psychos. With a snap, the battery lodges into place. The casing takes me longer, but I wrestle that back into alignment, too.

She wears sandals with a heel and has pink painted toes. The girl fidgets and it draws my attention to her body. Her jean skirt displays some seriously mouthwatering thighs and her sleeveless blue button-down has flimsy fabric that hints at the outline of her bra strap. She’s this mix between conservative and sexy. Breanna Miller is bringing it our senior year.

Under my scrutiny, she bends one knee, then straightens the other. Bet she hasn’t realized how half the male population drooled over her tonight as she walked down the hall.

What she does know? She’s terrified of me. I stretch out my arm, inching her cell closer to her. If I were a great guy, I’d lay it in the middle between us and let her scurry to it from there, but I’m not a great guy. I’m just good enough to stay behind to protect her from being raped by some bastard with a meth addiction who could be wandering past the school.

Despite efforts from the Terror to help crack down on drug dealing, there’s a growing drug population in town. There’s been some robberies, some break-ins, and I don’t feel right leaving her alone.

“Not sure if it’ll work,” I say, nodding toward the phone, “but it’s back together.”

Breanna nibbles on her lower lip, then releases it as she shuffles toward me. She accepts the cell, and this time she rests her back against the middle column of the school entrance instead of rushing away. Still a nice distance in case she needs to bolt. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It’s getting darker faster, and under her touch the cell springs to life and brightens her face. There’s no way I’m abandoning her. On top of the meth heads in town, the Terror have had issues with a rival motorcycle club, the Riot.

There’s a lot of history between the Terror and the Riot. Tip of the iceberg is that they’re mad we won’t give them money for riding in their “territory.” We’re mad that they believe they have the right to ask. Last I checked, America was still the land of the free.

Over the past two weeks, the Riot have taken to joyriding near our town. They’re testing boundaries and the club’s on edge wondering if our unsteady peace agreement is floundering.

All of us are waiting for them to cross lines they shouldn’t and ride into town. If the Riot do drive by tonight and they hear we’ve been at the school, they might check it out. Leaving this girl alone with the likes of them is like offering fresh meat to a starved wolf.

“Need a ride?” I ask.

She waves her phone. “No, thank you. My family is on their way.”

Breanna peeks at me between swipes of her phone and I don’t miss how her eyes linger on my biceps. Good girls like Breanna like to look, but they don’t like to touch. A few more glances and a clearing of her throat. She’s dismissing me. Her life sucks because I’m not leaving.

“I’m Razor.” Though I have no doubt she knows and, if not, I’m aware she can read the road name patch sewn to the front of my cut.

“I’m Breanna,” she answers in this soft tone that dances across my skin. Damn, I could listen to that voice all night, especially if she sighs my name as I kiss the skin of her neck.

Yeah, I would like to see this girl on the back of my bike. As I said, I’m not a great guy, and earlier I was just going for good, but her luck ran out. My bad side took over. “I know.”

The right side of my mouth tips up as her face falls. I’m about to play Breanna like she’s never been manipulated before. I hitch my thumbs in my pockets and decide to enjoy the ride. “So, that twenty dollars? Why did you bring that up?”

“What?” She recoils.

“Do you have something you need me to protect?” I ask.

She’s lost and that’s my intention. “That’s what I do—protect things. I work for the club protecting semi loads from being stolen. Can be dangerous. Sometimes I’ve had to pull a gun. I’m assuming that’s why you brought up the money. You need me to protect something for you.”

She blinks. A lot. I fight to prevent from smiling. I press her again, knowing she’ll feel so bad for calling me a crook that the next time I ask, she’ll accept that ride. “Is that why you brought up the twenty dollars? Were you trying to hire me?”

Breanna

IS THAT WHY you brought up the twenty dollars? And things were going so well. As in I no longer thought Thomas was going to kidnap me and kill me. I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I insinuated he planned on robbing me because...well...I thought he was three seconds from robbing me. I thought if I told him what I had, the experience would be less painful.

Literally.

My phone vibrates. It’s my mother and I can hear her weary voice in the written words. Sorry, Bre. I could make excuses, but I thought your dad picked you up and he thought I got you and both of us were home and thought you were upstairs. Your dad left to pick up Zac and I let Joshua take my car. Liam’s on his way to get you now.

Liam. My fate rests in the hands of my older brother who has the mental maturity of a grape. For the love of God, he got a Froot Loop stuck up his nose this morning—on purpose.

My shoulders roll forward as I groan. Loudly. So loud that when I raise my head, Thomas is gawking at me like I’ve grown a unicorn horn.

That’s it. I’m going to die a horrible death. I’m alone with a biker who has a patch that indicates he carries deadly weapons and he already admitted he uses a gun. He’ll probably record my demise and upload a viral video as a warning to the rest of the world not to mess with him.

Twenty dollars. What reason can I think of for telling him about my twenty dollars that won’t insult him? I doubt that saying “Hey, Mr. Biker Guy, I was totally offering it as payment so you won’t kill me” would fly...or maybe it will. He protects things...semi loads...as a job... “Yes!”

His forehead furrows. “What’s a yes?”

I bounce on my toes. I’m happy. I’m excited. I am not going to die! Muppet arms are in full force. “I was offering you twenty dollars because I was going to hire you.”

He laughs. It’s more of a chuckle, but it’s a fantastic sound and it’s a beautiful sight on an already gorgeous face. My heart flutters for a moment beyond the fear, but as his laugh wanes, he narrows his frozen blue eyes on me. My happy moment fades, and my arms fall to my sides.

“I’ll bite. What are you hiring me for?”

I sweep my hair away from my face and steal a peek at the rest of his motorcycle friends, who are now talking among themselves and ignoring us. “To be my bodyguard.”

“Your bodyguard?” he repeats while crossing his arms over his chest.

He’s not buying it, but I’ll try to sell it. “I knew you protected stuff.”

“You did?”

I didn’t. “Totally, and when Addison had to leave, I was going to walk over to you and ask if I could pay you to stick around until my ride showed, but you...” Scared me to death. “Startled me and I lost track of what I was going to say.”

He works his jaw and my mind is ticking with what it might imply. Jaw flexing can mean a person’s agitated, but in order to know I’d need a baseline of behavior to compare it to...

“Is that right?” He interrupts the weird flow of information in my brain.

Not at all. “Yes.”

Thomas settles against the wall and he reminds me of an angel. An archangel. I was obsessed with them in elementary school. Easily consumed every archangel book in our town’s library—both volumes. Archangels are the warriors of God. This guy, he’s definitely beautiful enough to be a heavenly creature and he’s also deadly enough to wield a sword, but I’m not convinced he dabbles on the side of righteousness.

“If I agree to be your bodyguard,” he says, “you’ll owe me?”

“Yes.”

He nods like he’s hearing something way more than what I said. “Then I accept.”

Thomas holds out his hand to me and I stare at his offered open palm, then meet those cold eyes. I can do this and then all will be okay. I lift my arm and inch my hand closer to his.

“So we’re clear.” He stops me centimeters short of our hands touching. The heat from his skin radiates to mine. “The condition is that as long as I’m protecting you, you’ll owe me.”

There’s a whisper nagging me to run. To do anything to escape this situation. It’s more than the warning caressing the inside of my head, it’s also the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. He’s gorgeous and dangerous. Like the fallen angel Lucifer must have been. This could be the equivalent of a handshake with the devil.

I’m minutes away from my brother rescuing me, so whatever deal we’re on the verge of forging will be temporary. Then this night will drift away like the nightmares I used to have as a child. A distant memory of something that will feel so unreal I’ll wonder if it happened at all.

My hand slides into his and his fingers close around mine. It’s a firm grip. One I couldn’t slip from if I wanted. He doesn’t shake our joined hands. Instead, he steps closer and lowers his head so that we’re eye to eye. “When a brother of the Reign of Terror makes a promise, we don’t break it, and we expect the same from those we do business with. Which means you can’t walk from this deal without consequences.”

The air rushes out of my body, but as I draw back to renege on my verbal agreement, our hands move up once, then down, then up again.

The deal made, the promise in stone, and a car horn honks. My entire body vibrates and I dash away from Thomas. My skin burns as if I had shaken hands with him in the flames of hell.

A rap song blares into the night and I look over to the curb to see Liam bolting out of the driver’s side of his beat-up, extremely used car. The wrath of God blazes from his eyes. “Bre!”

Thomas eases back as if he’s informing me to go. Almost dropping my phone again, I fumble with my purse. “I owe you money.”

Granted he didn’t actually “protect me” after the handshake, but I’ll gladly pay him for not shoving me into whatever blacked-out van they have waiting.

Thomas waves me off. “You can pay me later.”

Guess he does expect payment for the one second of services rendered.

“Bre!” Liam left the car door open and he’s barreling in like a freight train without brakes. Liam’s taller than me, with black hair like mine, and he’s toned from the years he played linebacker in high school. “Hey, asshole, get away from my sister!”

“He doesn’t mean it.” I stumble backward off the steps, toward the safety of my brother. I don’t like how Thomas is watching Liam closing in, nor do I like how we have gained the complete attention of the guys near the motorcycles.

“Liam’s a spaz sometimes, like a mental condition,” I ramble, though truer words could never be spoken. “But I swear he’s cool, I promise, and I’ll pay you soon.”

With his focus solely on my brother, Thomas edges his hand to the underside of his leather vest and my stomach lurches. “Get this guy out of here before he starts shit he can’t finish.”

Holy crap. Thomas does carry a gun, and if my stupid brother doesn’t calm down, we’ll both be witnessing it firsthand. I trip down the stairs and crash into my brother, shoving both of my hands into Liam’s chest. I plant my feet into the ground as he throws his momentum forward.

Liam’s dark eyes bore into me. “You weren’t kidding, were you? The Terror have been here the whole time.”

A flash of anger rages through me. “Obviously.”

“Did you forget to pick her up?” Thomas’s tone is too casual. So casual it sounds more threatening than any shouted words I’ve heard in my life. “If so, someone should school you on what family means.”

“Did he hurt you?” Liam demands.

“I’m fine.” But we’re in danger if we stay much longer. “Can we go?”

Liam’s eyes dart over my face, searching for the beating I was originally terrified of receiving. “We need to go now,” I urge.

He hooks an arm around my shoulders, but not without aiming a last death glare at Thomas. Am I happy to see my brother? Yes. Am I thrilled to flee from this situation? Hell, yes. But it takes everything I have to not ask Liam when he started to care.

Liam leads me to the car, his head swiveling from Thomas to the group of guys tracking us like vultures. With each step my brother takes, his fingers dig into my shoulder and he pulls me tighter to his body. Liam practically throws me into the passenger seat, rounds to his side, then accelerates so quickly that my head hits the headrest.

“Will you chill out?” I shout.

“Chill out?!” Liam checks the rearview mirror and the tires squeal as he takes a sharp right, driving way faster than anyone should in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone. “You were hanging out with the Reign of Terror!”

An internal snap. A loud internal snap. An extremely audible snap and my body jerks. “I was not hanging out with them. I was waiting for someone to pick me up. If you recall, I texted, but I believe the response was I was being dramatic!”

Liam hammers the steering wheel with his fist and I ram my fingers through my hair. My hands are trembling. I’m trembling. The adrenaline rush as I negotiated my life in a handshake with Thomas and my brother’s unexplainable anger has me flailing near the edge of insanity.

My mind drifts in and out of foggy, rash thoughts, but one clear message slowly emerges from the mist. “You already knew Joshua and Dad had the cars when I texted for help, didn’t you?”

His lips thin out as he remains silent.

I sit on my hands to keep from strangling his thick neck. “Did you know I wasn’t home?”

Liam’s fingers drum the steering wheel once and he dares to flash that oh-I’m-so-cute-that-girls-giggle-at-everything-I-say smile. “Listen, Bre, I was—”

“Don’t you dare lie,” I cut him off. “Did you know I wasn’t picked up before you left and that Mom and Dad thought I was home?”

“Yes.” A cloud rapidly descends over his face. “I knew.”

My blood pressure tanks with his admission. “You suck.”