Walk The Edge

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 (#ulink_4c0e062d-8f7a-5b86-8668-e5562d8c0e09)

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.