Thunder Road: Walk The Edge Part 20

His eyes soften. "Maybe you belong with the Terror. Most people who join, they say the same thing-that they never felt like they belonged anywhere else, and when they found us, they found a home."

His words. .h.i.t a place too raw and I try to smile my way out of the ache. "I'm a girl, remember? You said only boys were allowed."

His gaze travels my body and my cheeks burn hot. "Never forgotten for a second you're a woman, but if you're with me, you become a part of us."

It's like someone stabbed me with an EpiPen. Pure adrenaline shocks my system as I replay his words. "Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

My heart leaps.

"And no."

A verbal slap across the face.

"I talked to you in public one time and you saw a fraction of the backlash this town will unleash if you're with me. I like you, Breanna. More than like. We can do this and try to keep it on the down low, but someone is going to figure it out. I need to decide if I can live with being the person who puts you in the line of fire, and I want you to think long and hard about being the girl a.s.sociated with the Terror."

It makes logical sense, but it honestly hurts my heart. Because of how people gossip, my lone sin with Razor could be to hold his hand and kiss him good-night on the front porch steps, but the moment everyone sees me with him, I'll be labeled biker trash for life.

"Plus you'll need to come to the clubhouse. At least once. To see if you can handle some of what I'll be around if you choose me."

"What kind of stuff are you talking about?"

Razor picks up a stone and rolls it in his hand. "Drinking. Partying. Girls." He shuts his mouth into a firm line, then opens it again. "I had s.e.x for the first time last spring-the night I was patched in. Didn't just have it once and I didn't do it with the same girl. I was drunk and I was curious and I did it. Before that, I messed around with girls but never took it too far, and I haven't taken it that far since. But...

"That night wasn't right. Point is, if you're around enough, you're going to run into some of those girls. If you end up with me, someone will tell you the stories. They'll tell you because we're talking s.h.i.t or because someone's out to make you feel bad."

My hand presses against my abdomen, as if someone had kicked me in the gut. "I don't know."

"I'll never cheat," he says in a tone that suggests I don't question him. "I swear to G.o.d, if you're with me, I'll be faithful. I'm capable of a lot of things, but cheating's not one of them."

His eyes bore into mine and my head is swimming with so many thoughts and emotions. Even with the turbulence, there's no doubt I can depend upon that promise like a life preserver.

"Do you kill people?" Because I can't be with him if the answer is yes.

"No, and you watch too much TV. We're a legit club. I won't lie, I carry a weapon for my job. If some b.a.s.t.a.r.d shoots at me, by law, I'm allowed to shoot back. It's called self-defense. But I only carry my gun when I'm working for the security company. When I'm off, it's locked up tight in a safe at the club. I'm not interested in carrying any other time. A gun's a heavy burden. I never forget that when I carry. Life means something to me and I don't plan on stealing it from anyone else."

My face practically twitches as I attempt to process that tidbit of information.

"Do you trust me?" Razor asks.

I survey the field and listen. The lack of people's voices or the sound of traffic on the road confirms my answer. I'm already alone with him, so... "Yes. What do we do now? Take it one step at a time? Go from one day to the next until we get caught or decide to do something different?"

Razor cracks a grin. "Works for me. Especially if I get to kiss you."

I laugh and my mind is hunting wildly for the logic, for the pattern. There's a slow throb when I wind up chasing my tail. We're a couple, but we're not. We're together, yet we're supposed to be figuring out if we want to or should be together. We care for each other, yet we're keeping it a secret.

The boy everyone sees but n.o.body knows is with the girl who everybody knows but n.o.body sees.

There's no plan, no pattern, and while every part of me that relies on rational thought to make my decisions screams in protest, the part I hardly ever lead with, the part that has never led the way before...my heart...it takes a stand. "That works for me, too."

RAZOR.

IT'S MONDAY AND I'm playing a mixed-up version of hide-and-seek. Breanna said she hangs in the library before school, but she was nowhere to be seen near the tables at the front where everyone else is. But as Breanna's proved time and again, she's not like the rest of the sheep in this herd.

We kissed this weekend and made a lot of nondecisions. Since the moment I dropped her off a block from where she lived, I've been dying to see her again...to touch her again.

I cut down the first row of stacks, take a right and spot Breanna sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out and an open book in her lap. Her long midnight hair has fallen forward, shielding her mood from me. Once again, she's in a skirt, but today she has a white b.u.t.ton-down sweater over her blue top.

We're alone and it's what I want. This plan will work only if Kyle thinks Breanna's abandoned me for him. I'm not surprised by the lack of people. She's loitering in the 500's. Doubt anyone is eager for early-morning reading on quantum physics. "Hey."

"Hey." Breanna brightens. She closes her book and I readjust my footing when I catch the t.i.tle. She was reading about quantum physics. Should have guessed Breanna would be the exception to the rule. She often causes me to feel...unworthy.

I fail at masking my thoughts and Breanna places both of her hands over the t.i.tle of the book before glancing away. I'm such a f.u.c.king a.s.s. "You're still cool."

"You looked at me like I'm suffering from leprosy and my nose is dangling from my face. I've been well versed in that expression since seventh grade, so don't bother lying to me."

I edge near her. "What you saw was me feeling bad about myself." Wondering what's wrong with me that I can't be more like her. "People take their insecurities out on the thing or person that makes them feel threatened."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

"Like everyone else in this d.a.m.n town, I wish I had a quarter of what's in your head. You have a gift that makes people scared there's something wrong with them because they're nothing like you." Being a child of the Terror, I'm also well versed in taking the brunt of people's fear.

She rolls her eyes again and I ignore her att.i.tude. "Tell me something you've learned."

I stare at her. She stares at me. When it's clear I could do this all day, she caves. "Well...did you know if you removed the empty s.p.a.ce from atoms, you could fit all of humanity into a sugar cube and that there are things that can travel faster than the speed of light and that light sometimes travels slower than...well...the speed of light?"

I had no clue. "Nope."

"Now you do, and so do I, so if we run out of things to talk about, then we have that."

I crouch next to her and realize how weird the smile on my face feels. The first couple weeks of smiling, I didn't know I was doing it, but now that I've been continuing, I notice. Maybe because I'm exerting muscles that have been frozen for too long. "Humans suck and light has traffic issues-I'm keeping up. Any reason for your choice of reading material?"

She squishes her lips to the side as she fiddles with the zipper of her pack. "I was curious if time travel was possible. Stupid, I know, but it was either that or redoing a crossword puzzle I had already done, which doesn't help much with the itch in my brain."

"Why time travel?"

She tilts her head as if I should already know and my gut twists.

"Do you wish you never met me?" I ask.

"No," she rushes out. "Not at all. It's Kyle I'd like to dissect from my life."

The peace she always brings unbalances me. I settle my hand over hers, which is fidgeting with the bag. "I'm glad we met, too."

I look into her eyes for one second. Another. Breanna's searching my face longer than anyone I have known and it's not for a battle of dominance. It's as if she honestly likes what she sees. I hope she finds something redeemable in me, because I like what I see in her.

A thump. Breanna jumps and withdraws her hand from mine. I stand and survey the area. Someone must have dropped a book a few rows over. I'm stupid for letting down my guard in public. There's a reason why I sought her out so early. "Kyle's been busy on his phone."

Breanna beams. "And?"

"I found your picture on his cell, his home computer, and I've figured out four of the five people in his group." It helped that I knew two names instead of one.

She blows out a breath and her shoulders relax. "All of this from one computer virus."

I nod. Pigpen taught me how to upload code from the internet and how to get it on people's computers and phones so I have a back door to their network. So far, the code he sent me is complete magic.

Words to live by: never use public Wi-Fi. Protecting our clients means discovering who is after them and almost everyone leaves a digital trail for someone savvy enough to follow.

"You keep surprising me," she says.

It's nice to prove to Breanna that I also have a few smart tricks up my sleeve.

"What about the fifth person?" she asks as she stands. "And are you sure you have the correct three other people and can you delete the pictures without them knowing and how will you know you get them all and what if they find out and..."

The bell rings and I risk touching her as I lay one finger over her soft lips. She goes absolutely still and it takes ma.s.sive amounts of self-control not to tunnel my fingers in her hair and press my mouth to hers.

"Breanna?" I say, and it comes out much lower than I had intended.

She licks her lips. My eyes briefly shut as her warm tongue grazes my finger. She turns red and I'm haunted by images of her doing that again, but on purpose and slower. I clear my throat and continue, "Trust me."

I lower my hand and she breathes out, "I can do that."

Breanna: What if this first one isn't a code? What if it's the cipher?

I lean against the seat of my motorcycle parked on the side of the road. Next to me is a stranded semitruck full of fine Kentucky bourbon. It's a cold autumn night, which means this winter is going to be a b.i.t.c.h. My cut is on over my zipped-up leather jacket. My fingers are numb as I discarded my gloves so I could text with Breanna.

In the past month, on this same road in the mountains of the Tennessee/North Carolina border, three other rigs not under Terror Security have met the same fate of two blown tires. Those trucks were jacked of their cargo at gunpoint while the driver had been fixing the problem.

With the black night surrounding us and the occasional flash of headlights from pa.s.sing cars, there's an eerie sensation to this scenario. My neck itches, like there's a scope of a high-powered rifle trained on me.

Me: Cipher?

Breanna: The key to the lock. I'm going to take a look at the second code and see what I can do with that and let my mind play on the idea of the other code being a cipher.

This is the first night in two weeks Breanna and I haven't talked on the phone. I even called last weekend when I was on break, but there's tension in the air tonight. The foreboding feeling of everything going to h.e.l.l in a matter of seconds.

Me: Sounds like a plan. Gotta go. Break's up.

Breanna: Be safe.

Be safe... I can hear her gentle voice saying the words and it wraps around my bones like a caress. d.a.m.n, this girl has me tied in knots.

Off in the trees crickets chirp, and to my right Eli and Pigpen scan the area with their backs toward the driver who's repairing the tire. Pigpen has his fingers on the piece strapped to his side. Eli's hand rests on the gun holstered to his back. Man O' War is up near the front of the rig. We're rotating watch every ten minutes to stay alert.

Am I safe? No. None of us believe we're safe. We're on borrowed time until someone strikes. When I explained to Breanna what I do part-time for the security company, her forehead wrinkled and she fell silent. I never miss how her eyes linger on the patch on my cut that informs law enforcement that I carry a weapon.

The patch is there as a warning to anyone who wants to f.u.c.k with me and it's a calling card to police that I'm legal and papered up on my weapon and that I won't draw unless someone tries to shoot me first.

It's hard to witness Breanna's struggles not to ask the million questions forming in her head or accept when I won't answer. Some days, I think we'll make it. Other days, I'm not sure.

The door to the cab of the truck shuts. Man O' War and Pigpen hang near the front of the rig and Eli strides over to me. "Driver's almost ready to go."

I crack my head to the side in an attempt to push away the growing unease. In the red taillights glowing from the back of the truck, Eli appears more like the devil than a friend. It's too d.a.m.n dark outside. Too d.a.m.n quiet. Even the crickets have gone mute.

"Someone's out there," I say.

"Faster we get moving, the better. You've been a good man to have on this. We knew this trip could be trouble, and I picked you for this run because I knew you could handle it."

It's high praise coming from him and I savor the moment.

"Your dad misses you at home," Eli says simply.

Dad's texted a few times. Each message a reminder of business with the security company. Stuff he's aware Eli already told me. Then there are times at the clubhouse when I've caught him staring at me from across the room with an expression that suggests he might walk over and talk to me-but he never does.

"Have you thought about moving back?" Eli asks.

"Yeah." It's an honest answer, but I leave out the rest-that I can't return. Not until I know how Mom died.

"You're letting what the detective said get to you, which means you aren't trusting your father, the club or me. Each day you spend at Cyrus's is a confirmation of that."

"Would you prefer I go home and pretend?" I pretended before the detective and I'm not lying to myself anymore. Unlike Dad, I own some integrity.

"No." He pauses. "Have you visited with the detective again?"

I straighten and my fists tighten at my sides. Barlow hasn't contacted me. Either he's listening to Pigpen's warning and staying away or he's trying me at home, not realizing I bailed weeks ago. And I promised to keep my distance from him. "Are you calling me out on my word?"

A stick snaps in the trees and adrenaline pumps into my system. Eli and I turn toward the sound. Instincts flare and my hand goes for my gun. A shadow of movement to my left and I'm throwing Eli to the ground. Bullets whistle past. I cover him as we smack the blacktop.

Two pings into the metal of the rig meant no bullets into skin. Those were so d.a.m.n close that the air near my ear moved.

I'm rolling and so is Eli. We jump to our feet, crouched low with guns aimed and triggers pulled into the darkness. The vibration of each round fired jerks through my body, but years of practice keeps me strong and true. My shots are a deterrent, to warn them to stay away.

The rig roars to life and the vibration of the working engine rumbles through me.

"Get the truck out of here!" Eli yells. A motorcycle parked near the front growls. There should be two bikes and the idea of a brother down scares the s.h.i.t out of me.

Leaves shake on the bushes in front of me. "They're coming in!"

The truck lurches forward, the gears shifting with a whine. More shots ring out. Blinding pain rips through my arm and my entire body whiplashes with the impact. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"He's. .h.i.t! He's. .h.i.t!" Pigpen flies into view, gun drawn and on the prowl to kill.

Eli's firing. Round after round into the darkness. The sound is deafening and white lights appear in front of my eyes as my d.a.m.n arm screams in agony. Urge is to go down. To surrender to the burning torment, but the need to survive forces me to ignore the wetness running along my skin.

Two shadows in front of me and I aim my gun. Last-second recognition halts my finger from pulling the trigger. Eli and Pigpen walk backward as a human shield as they fire, edging me toward my bike.

"How bad?" Eli shouts.