Thunder Road: Walk The Edge Part 16

I raise my fingers to my head and they flutter about like the movement can help him understand the organized chaos. "I don't know how to describe it, but when my mind doesn't have something to work on, I feel like someone's peeling off my skin. My mom says I never relax, but how do I explain that crossword puzzles and those mind games on my phone are what help me unwind?"

I wish I would learn to shut up around him. I've spent too many years trying to keep this part of myself locked tight so no one can use it as ammunition against me and here I am handing it out freely.

"You're the coolest d.a.m.n person I've met," he says.

On the inside, I'm smiling like an idiot. I may also be smiling like an idiot on the outside.

"If you're working on my code," he says, "then I'm still your bodyguard. Deal's still in place, and if it makes you feel better, then I won't involve the club."

My happy moment withers. "You know the whole bodyguard thing was a sham."

Razor's mouth edges up and my breath catches. Good G.o.d, he's gorgeous with a frown, but he's perfection with a smile. "I thought you were trying to hire me last week."

"Would you hate me if I told you that you scared the h.e.l.l out of me last week and I said some stupid things I'm sorry for?"

"I'd like you more than I already do for being truthful. There's not too many people who can do honesty."

The way he stares at me, as if he likes who I am, causes me to become shy. I run my fingers through my hair and pretend I'm crazy interested in the ends, because I have no idea what to do with myself now.

Razor doesn't propel the conversation along, so I do what any other self-respecting seventeen-year-old would do: change the subject. "Mr. Duncan told me about this cla.s.s yesterday and he let me take the book home, so I read the syllabus and-"

"You memorized it," Razor cuts me off with a grin.

I bob my head back and forth. "Maybe." Yes. "Anyhow, there are projects and Mr. Duncan said we can do them together, but I'm not sure you'll want to work with me, because-"

"I do."

I blow out a frustrated sigh. "Razor-"

"We're working together. You're smart, I'm not."

"You're one of four people who tested into AP physics. I'm not buying what you're selling. But anyhow, you need to remember how I explained I'm not good at math, and there is math in physics, so-"

He slices his hand across his throat, ending the discussion, and I snap my mouth shut. While me and big, bad hot biker guy may be forming some sort of strange friendship, I'm not pushing him into conversations he doesn't want to have.

"Back to the deal." There's a glint to Razor's eyes that's a hundred percent mischief and I'm tempted to play along. "You crack my code and I'll continue to watch your back, and I'll even sweeten the pot. If you and your friends want to go out dancing, I'll be DD, mop the floor with any boys that try to cop a second-base feel, then I'll make sure you get safely home."

I swallow at the thought of Razor being the guy stealing a second-base feel. I haven't been that far before. Bet he has. I bet he's full of all sorts of fun, fascinating moves. "Thank you for the offer, but my clubbing days are officially over."

"That's a shame." His eyes wander the length of my body like he sees beyond my clothes. "I loved the blue dress."

Um... I've lost the ability to speak or to think or to do anything, so I flip through our textbook. Words. Words would be good. Any word. Preferably words that make sense.

"If we're working together, then you'll need to read the syllabus today. The first video is tomorrow. Did you know that everything falls at the same rate? Like if someone was to chuck you and me off a building at the same time, we'd both fall at the same rate of motion because of gravity? It's called acceleration of gravity. If you exclude wind resistance, everything, and I mean everything, falls at the same rate of 9.81 meters per second. You, me, cats, dogs, hedgehogs. We'll be doing a project on that."

Yep, words.

"We're going to toss hedgehogs off a building?" he asks.

I try not to giggle at his bad joke and fail. "An egg."

"Good on the hedgehog. That could get messy. Speaking of throwing people off buildings, we have two options of how to handle Hewitt."

And the conversation was going so well... "What do you mean?"

"I can try scaring the h.e.l.l out of him," he says, like we're discussing the weather.

"You already tried that and he said if you get involved in any way someone else will post the picture. I was in the bathroom, remember? Scaring him didn't work."

His mouth twists up in a deadly way. "That was me being friendly."

I shiver despite the heat of the cramped room. "What's the second option?"

"We get rid of the picture."

"How?"

"By being smarter than them."

It's like he's set out a puzzle and my mind is desperately trying to sort the pieces. "Only way to get that photo is to know who is in the group a.s.sociated with the site and then hack into their computers and phones to delete it or destroy the hardware."

He doesn't even blink at my words.

"I'm not a computer hacker," I say. "And I have no clue who he's working with."

"You're not, but I know a few things about computers and you're smart. Together we can figure this out."

I fiddle with the corner of the syllabus. "I don't want to write the papers. If I do it for him, it's a lie he could hold over me forever-just like the picture."

I could lose my chance at a scholarship or admission into my colleges of choice for cheating. My skull starts to feel as if it's collapsing in and I rub my temples as if that could help. I wish this problem would go away. I wish none of this had ever happened.

"Breanna," he says, then goes quiet. I glance up and he continues, "You won't write the papers and that picture will be deleted, okay?"

I nod and Razor seems to accept my answer. His eyes dart around my face as if he's waging an internal war. "It's going to be h.e.l.l on you to be seen with me."

It's not a question. It's a statement. A very, very true statement.

"If we're sharing," he says, "I'm going to catch h.e.l.l being around you."

My eyebrows rise at this. "Because I'm the epitome of trouble?"

He laughs and it's a glorious sound. One that warms my insides. But then the laugh turns a bit bitter and dies out. "I've been warned I could hurt you without meaning to."

My stomach sinks and my posture deflates along with it. Addison said the Terror have to follow orders or there are consequences. "Have you been told to stay away from me?"

Razor's expression gives nothing away and in the silence I can hear the whispers of the boys on the other side of the room. I clear my throat and try a different question. "Are you going to get in trouble for hanging out with me?"

"I'm running out of allies. Hanging with you might p.i.s.s off one of the few I have left."

It's not really an answer. A million questions spring to mind about his club and who his allies are and who is warning him away from me and why, but the one single thought that wins out is... "I don't want you to get in trouble over me."

Razor offers a crooked smile that I guess is meant to comfort me, but all I see is sadness. "I'll worry about me so you don't need to. I hate to ask, but beyond us working together in cla.s.s, do you have a problem with keeping whatever this is between us a secret?"

He nudges my leg with his own, rekindling the fire that had begun to burn minutes before. "The fewer questions I get from the club about you, the better it will be, and it'll be easier on you at school the less we're seen together. Besides, being a secret makes the flirting more fun."

I should be annoyed at what Razor is saying, at the idea that he doesn't want to be seen with me in public. Instead, a thrill runs through me, so fast, so strong, that goose b.u.mps form along my arms. A secret. Me and Razor from the Reign of Terror-a secret. There's something magical in the idea of there being a secret between us. Something exciting about being allowed to explore this newfound friendship without the prying eyes of the rest of the world.

Life just went from awful to incredibly fantastic. "I can absolutely live with that."

RAZOR.

Breanna: Apples. Your turn.

I DON'T KNOW why her answer causes my lips to curve up, but it does. It's eleven at night. She texted to let me know she wasn't making much progress on the code. I texted back that she should take a break. Now neither of us seems eager to end the conversation. Our texts took a turn toward random and we've been sharing favorite foods. Breanna's moved us on to fruit.

Me: I don't eat fruit.

Breanna: Liar.

I laugh. Maybe I am.

It's been a few weeks since Breanna and I made our deal. She's been working on my code and, with a few glares from me, Kyle Hewitt has gone mute about me and Breanna, which is what I wanted. He's scared of me, yet with time pa.s.sing, he's relaxing. Tonight I step up my game to nail the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Breanna: Kyle's paper is due soon.

The rare happy moment dies. Me: First step to getting K out of your life starts tonight.

Breanna: When are we going to shoot the rockets?

Cla.s.sic Breanna. She switches the subject to school when she stresses out. Her brain operates so fast I'm not sure she's aware of the defense mechanism. Me: Tomorrow? I know a place where we can shoot them off.

Breanna: Sounds good. I get off work at six. I don't have a ride so can you pick me up?

My smile grows. Twenty dollars she has no idea what she asked for. Me: Yeah. Wear jeans and boots. It's going to be a fast ride. I gotta go.

I pocket my cell and chuckle as it vibrates with her frantic responses. I suck down half my beer and consider grabbing another. People surround me. Over a hundred of them, but for a while I lived in a world where there wasn't chaos, only me and Breanna.

Music pounds from speakers, there is beer on tap and two chicks are on top of the bar I'm leaning against-stripping for anyone who cares. I haven't looked up once, even when a bra was tossed in my direction. My mind has been focused on Breanna and the meeting that's about to take place tonight. Plus it doesn't help that across the room is a picture of my mother.

The clubhouse is packed and it's not just the mother chapter filling the place. Chapters from as far as California have made the pilgrimage.

It's the annual remembrance party thrown for the members of the Terror and Terror Gypsies who have died. Some of the people we're honoring are Eli's blood brother and Chevy's father, James, Violet's father and, because life is cruel, Olivia and my mother.

A new beer with sweat running down the sides slides into view and Pigpen sidles up beside me grinning like a crazy man. "Everyone's dying to know who you're texting with. It's like you're a twelve-year-old girl chained to that d.a.m.n cell. Have you started your period yet?"

"f.u.c.k you."

He punches me in the shoulder. "Seriously, who's on the other end?"

I drink the beer while maintaining eye contact. He should know better than to ask questions he won't get answers to. He motions to my cell. "I could hack it and find out."

Proved he could this afternoon after the two of us hacked into emails of someone who's been targeting a client. "You won't."

He tilts his head in annoyed agreement. A brother wouldn't disrespect another brother like that. "Is it a girl? If so, tell me you're being smart and covering up. This club has had enough teenage baby bulls.h.i.t to last us a lifetime and the last one was born seventeen years ago."

"I need something," I say, ignoring his jab at Eli.

"Finally! Name it and it's yours. That's what we've been waiting for, brother. You to come to us."

I shift to look at his reflection in the mirror on the wall beyond the bar. He appears too d.a.m.n happy and that causes a wave of uneasiness.

Pigpen curses. "You're asking me for something you don't want the club to know about, aren't you?"

I promised Breanna I wouldn't drag the club into this, but if Pigpen agrees, I can solve her problems and keep my promise. I'm hoping he'll help me as a friend.

He rests both of his elbows on the bar and has that expression that tells me he's contemplating putting a bullet in my head. "You trust family and we are your family."

"I'm trusting you," I say.

"That's not enough. Two voices can't do s.h.i.t, but together, this group, we're f.u.c.king loud." To prove his point, he shouts, "Reign of Terror."

The answering roar causes my ears to ring. Pigpen stares at me, unblinking as the mantra is repeated three more times followed by over a hundred men howling into the night.

I sip my beer again. Point taken. When the room returns to normal chaos noise level, I say, "I gave my word I'd do this on the down low, but I need your help."

I don't give my word often, Pigpen knows this, and the confusion causes him to scratch his jaw as he surveys me. "What do you need?"

"A virus that will give me a back door. Something that can travel from a cell to a home computer if it's hooked up. Nothing I've found will do the job and I need it to be undetectable."

Anyone else my age making that type of request would have their parents grounding them for a month. Pigpen goes deep in thought, then nods his head that he has what I need. "I'll send you the code tomorrow, but next time you have a favor or a problem, it's time for you to man up and come to the club. I don't care how many promises you made to other people. You got me?"

"Got it." Pigpen hugs me and I hug him back. I'd be lost without him.

With a sly smile he flickers his gaze over my shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

A warm body pushes up to my back and then her scent surrounds me. I take another drink. I made a mistake with this girl and, tonight, I hate the reminder.

"It's packed," she says into my ear, and I turn to discourage her from touching me again. Amy combs her light brown hair away from her forehead. She's showing off her tight body in a pair of painted-on jeans and a red corset. "Wasn't sure I was going to find you."

Yet she did. I like Amy. She doesn't laugh too loud to gain a guy's attention, doesn't act like a fool when she's drunk. Amy's older than me, in college, majoring in business, and she loves to play at the clubhouse on the weekends as a middle finger to her iron-fisted daddy.

Trying to find the attraction I had for her, I scan her from head to toe. It's gone, and that causes me to be unbalanced. I haven't thought of being with another girl for weeks. Can't bring myself to do it. None of them compare to Breanna Miller.

I gesture from the prospect tending bar to Amy. He hands her the usual-Fireball. She downs it, then takes a burning gasp. "Thank you. You're a cla.s.sy guy to buy a girl a shot."

I snort and peel the label off my beer. Funny how I found plenty to say to Breanna, but I've got nothing for the girl I lost my virginity to. It was the night I patched in. We did it twice and then I hooked up with a friend she brought along for the evening. The friend was Amy's idea, and at the time I thought she was brilliant.

"Are we going to play tonight?" she asks. We've played since I patched in...multiple times, but we haven't f.u.c.ked. I regret that part of the night. In the morning light, I felt like I had morphed into my dad.