Walk the Edge

  “We gave him something different,” Cyrus says. “We gave him—”

  Rebecca cuts him off with a “Fuck each of you,” then descends into another rant.

  I almost died after the appendix surgery. I was six and Dad said Mom rocked me in an ICU room for hours begging me to wake up. I’m allergic to some shit. Something I should remember but can’t as the need to sleep threatens to drag me under a black veil.

  There’s another brush of fingertips across my face and Breanna appears in my mind. The bed dips with her weight and she touches my hand. “Thomas, I need you to open your eyes.”

  Thomas. I told her to call me Razor, but I like the idea of her saying my real name. My hand twitches as I capture hers. She’s here and I want her to stay. Everyone else can leave and I need her to lie beside me. Maybe then I can sleep. Deeply.

  “That’s right,” Breanna says again, but she sounds off—more like Rebecca, but it’s her hazel eyes that bore into mine. “Come back to us. You did great with taking my hand, but I need you to open your eyes.”

  Damn, I’m trying, but they’re glued shut.

  “We need to take him in.” There’s an edge in Breanna’s tone and also a hint of fear. I don’t like her scared. Not with me. I rub my thumb over her skin. Don’t be scared with me.

  “There’s no way to hide the gunshot wound,” Eli says. “The hospital will call the police. Razor understood what he was taking on when he agreed to let us patch him here.”

  “You’re putting him through this to save an account with your company?” she spits.

  “I’m doing this because we don’t want the police to know he’s been hit. It’ll be public information then. Fuck the company. This could be the Riot, and I will not have them thinking he’s weak. If they think that, I might as well sign his death certificate now.”

  “He’s our family, Eli! Basically my son! I can’t let him die because of an allergic reaction!”

  “He’s my son, too, my fucking brother, and I’m trying to keep him alive!” Eli snaps, and I grasp firmly on to Breanna’s hand. Damn, I need to open my eyes. Going toe-to-toe with Eli is like playing with a loaded semiautomatic weapon with the safety off.

  “You don’t think it’s killing me to see him like this?” Eli yells. “You said the shit we put in the IV would help!”

  “I said it might help!” she shouts back. “But he’s not

  responding!”

  I swallow and it’s like the middle of Arizona in my mouth. “Don’t, Breanna.”

  Silence.

  “What the hell did he say?” asks Eli.

  Another squeeze of my hand. “Open your eyes, Thomas.”

  Too many muscles involved in hoisting my lids. I crack them open and blink to force the blobs of color to merge into something recognizable.

  Breanna’s missing, and in her place is Rebecca. Her dark hair is pulled back in a bun, and she wears her blue nursing scrubs. Dad stands behind her, and he rolls his neck like he’s relieved.

  “Welcome back,” says Rebecca. “How do you feel?”

  I swallow again, and my throat’s as bad as my mouth. “Like I’ve been shot, then I used my skin to scrape off some blacktop.”

  Chuckles in the room and Eli mumbles something about telling everyone I’m coming around. Rebecca’s asking me questions. My full name. How old I am. Her name. Everyone in the room’s name, then road name. She’s checking an IV bag that’s attached to a pole. Inspecting my wounds. Looking at my eyes.

  “How bad?” I ask.

  “Flesh wound with the bullet,” she answers. “Good thing you were wearing jeans and your leather jacket when you took the spill. It could have been worse.”

  I nod as a fuzzy memory of already having this conversation squeezes out. Blood loss from the flesh wound and sinking blood pressure made me dizzy and I wiped out on my bike. Club got me back here banged up, bleeding and bruised.

  We were hired by the company because they wanted their loads delivered safely and they preferred no bad press if there were problems, which means we keep everything quiet. Eli’s right, I agreed to be treated by friends of the club away from the hospital, but Rebecca is also right—dying from an allergic reaction wasn’t on my bucket list.

  “I’d feel better if you stayed awake for a while,” she says.

  Cyrus, Eli and my father congregate in the doorway. When they notice me staring, they all give me a chin lift of approval.

  There’s a round of cheers from below and that’s when I realize I’m in one of the private rooms in the clubhouse.

  “The club’s been sitting vigil. Oz and Chevy are ready to start throwing fists if they don’t let them up soon,” Rebecca whispers as she peels back the bandage on my arm.

  I scrub my face with my other hand and I’m smacked with an IV line. No way I heard her correctly. “Thought I was the black sheep of this club.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re all black sheep.” Rebecca winks. “And, by the way, when you’ve had a few minutes to get your bearings, you’re filling me in on who Breanna is.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, then close my eyes again.

  Breanna

  ME: I’ve figured out the second code. I don’t understand the meaning, but maybe you will. It’s the third time I’ve texted this to Razor and it makes me dizzy with nerves that he has yet to reply.

  I twine my fingers around a lock of my hair and pull as I scan the hallway again. The internet articles I read on the Reign of Terror circle my brain: Reign of Terror member shot by a rival club in Louisville this summer, Reign of Terror member killed in a hit-and-run accident last year, and an article from a few years back that detailed carnage between the Reign of Terror and another club not mentioned by name before my birth.

  It’s been three days since I’ve heard from Razor and I’m losing my mind.

  “Bre!” Addison blocks my view of the hall and I blink at her harsh tone. “You aren’t even listening to me.”

  No, I wasn’t. “Sorry.”

  “I’m serious about this. If you’re going to date him, you need to tell somebody.”

  Addison was jump-up-and-down-with-joy when I told her that Razor and I were in an undefined relationship, but with each day that passes, my forever-positive best friend has developed into a worrywart.

  “You count as somebody,” I say.

  “Not what I mean.” She slips in front of me again when I turn my head, searching for Razor in the hallway thick with students waiting for the morning bell to ring. “You need to tell someone else...like your parents.”

  The loud voices and laughter vanish as Addison gains my undivided attention. “They would freak if they found out I was dating him.”

  Addison innocently bobs her head. “Yes, they will, which is the point. I liked you flirting with him and then you guys kissed and I was cool with that—you know, like you were busting out of your shell. But falling for him? That’s too far. He’s part of the Terror. Being with him is not safe.”

  “You’re buying the rumors. You know over half the stuff everyone says is lies.”

  Addison grabs my hand. “Which means half of the stuff they say is true. People around the Terror get shot. People who hang with them end up in bad situations. Mia Ziggler was a real person. She did get on the back of a Terror bike and she did disappear. I don’t want that for you.”

  My body sways with her words. “So if I go public with Razor and the entire school calls me a Reign of Terror slut, does that have truth to it? Does that make me a whore?”

  My best friend backs away like I smacked her. “No. How could you say that to me?”

  Tears burn my eyes. Because that’s what I’ve been facing regardless of my relationship with Razor. Maybe Razor is right. Maybe I can’t cut it as his girlfriend, but the thought of breaking it off hurts my
heart. “I like him and he likes me.”

  Addison’s eyes soften and she halfheartedly yanks a strand of my hair. “You aren’t making being your friend easy this year, brat.”

  She drops her arm and I catch sight of a huge bruise. I snatch her wrist and draw up her sleeve. Disgust swims through me. “Things with your dad are getting worse, aren’t they?”

  Addison jerks back and pushes down her sleeve. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not fine. This has to stop!”

  Fire rages out of her eyes, reminding me of the Terror patch, as she raises a pointed finger in my direction. “You get to preach to me about my dangerous life if you do something about yours. Until then, I’ll back off you and you’ll back off me.”

  It’s like she’s reached in and fractured my soul. “Addison—”

  But she’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of people, and has left me alone. My foot edges in the direction she retreated when fingers wrap around my wrist. A grip, then a yank.

  Adrenaline shoots into my veins. It’s Kyle. He’s been doing this more and more. Dragging me into stairwells and hallways. Begging me to tell him what he can give me in return for the papers. Explaining that he feels bad, that he’s having nightmares, that he’s consumed with guilt. That he’s going insane.

  In a flash, I’m in the stairwell and I’m greeted by red hair and blue eyes. It’s Violet, a girl I’ve never talked to before, and now we’re close to very alone.

  “I need you to meet me after school,” Violet whispers as she leans into me.

  Talk about being on an upside-down roller coaster. “What?”

  “It’s Razor. He’s been shot and he’s asking for you.”

  * * *

  It’s after school and I’m in free fall. Two million thoughts in my mind and I can’t hold on to a single one. Violet’s charging through the green forest and I’m on her heels. We parked a quarter mile away and she’s spitting out a laundry list of warnings like...

  “You’re supposed to be smart. Everyone says you’re smart. Why would Razor be asking for you? Everyone knows to stay away from him. Everyone! And he goes and says the name of the one girl who should have the brains to stay away.”

  Razor was shot. With a gun. Metal entered his body at speeds of hundreds of miles per hour. Razor said he valued life. He said he took owning a gun seriously, but obviously other people don’t share his point of view.

  He could be dying and I might not ever see him again and Violet won’t answer questions, at least not directly, and her nonanswers cause bile to continually inch up my throat. “Why isn’t he in a hospital?”

  I’m in my sandals and have a hard time keeping pace with Violet’s blistering speed. Because I’m wearing a skirt, the long grass swats at my legs and stings my skin.

  “Because they’re fucked-up, that’s why.” Twigs crack under Violet’s feet as she glances over her shoulder at me. “Razor used to be a normal kid. Well, as normal as you get being raised by thugs, but then they messed with him.”

  “Who’s they?” I stumble over a root and catch myself on the bark of a towering tree. Leaves of three on a vine. I flick my hand away.

  “Who do you think? The club.” She pauses. “He’s screwed up in the head, Razor, I mean—you know that, right?”

  A crow caws overhead and there’s a rush of beating wings as an entire flock of birds take flight. We’re surrounded by a green canopy, but the growth is so thick that the forest floor lacks full afternoon light. Despite the heat of the October day, goose bumps form on my arms.

  “He’s been good to me,” I say.

  The tough expression she wears at school dissolves, and in front of me is a girl I’m not sure many people have met. “You’re probably the only person in the world who would ever admit that.”

  “If I’m not allowed at the clubhouse...” Violet explained that females aren’t allowed in there without a member sponsoring them. She also said no one under eighteen is permitted. If I could pass either of those qualifications, it wouldn’t matter because the clubhouse is on lockdown—whatever that means. “And if you hate Razor so much, then why are you doing this?”

  She flinches. “I never said I hated Razor.”

  “It seemed implied.” In our short time together, she’s blasphemed the Reign of Terror MC to the point I’ve been ready for her to sacrifice an animal to complete the curse.

  “You don’t understand me or the Terror. Nobody understands. All this town is good for is gossip and lies.”

  I agree. I don’t understand how a guy everyone is terrified of makes me feel safe. I don’t understand how a guy who stayed behind to protect me when he didn’t know me has been shot. I don’t understand how a guy who carried me out of an alley full of shattered glass is the enemy everyone is warning me about.

  Violet’s mouth trembles as if whatever she’s holding in is causing her pain. “My father is dead because of the Terror. My reputation has been ruined since kindergarten. My mother is a mess, my brother has issues...my life has been damaged by the club, so excuse the shit out of me if I’m not their biggest fan.”

  “Then why are you taking me here?” I ask.

  “Because...” She struggles to breathe. “It’s Razor and he asked for you.”

  When she exhales, it’s like she’s flipped an emotional switch from on to off. Not sure which one I prefer—the girl who felt everything or the girl who appears stone cold. “I don’t know why he asked for you, and I sure as hell don’t understand why you agreed to come with me, but some advice?”

  I nod.

  “Break this off with Razor, because there’s nowhere for it to go. I know who you are. Everyone at school has your number. You’re the supersmart girl who’s going to leave Snowflake for good, and I can also tell you aren’t clubhouse girl material.”

  My knee bends as I shift my weight and I feel oddly overdressed in my sweater and skirt. Something about the way Violet said clubhouse girl brought up the image of less clothes and more confidence.

  “Maybe Razor doesn’t want a clubhouse girl.” Whatever that means.

  She laughs. Throws her head back and laughs. “As I said, you don’t understand. He won’t walk away from the club for you.”

  “I’d never ask him to.”

  Her eyes narrow on me as if she could choke me with her glare. “I sneaked into a party once, know what I saw? My dad doing body shots with a woman who wasn’t my mother—his wife. Women swinging their bare tits as they danced on the bar. You aren’t the kind of girl who’s going to let a strange guy do body shots off you and you sure as hell aren’t the girl who’s going to strip for shits and giggles in front of a crowd. Are you telling me you’re going to be fine being with a guy that calls that a typical Friday night?”

  A lump hardens in my throat and I stagger back. No, I wouldn’t. In fact, the idea repulses me. Razor’s words haunt me... I had sex for the first time the night I patched in...

  “And let’s say you can get over all that,” she continues. “I seriously doubt you’ll be okay being harassed by everyone in town and by the police. You’re going to resent every whispered rumor and judgment, which means you are going to resent everyone in the world. And then there are those dark, silent and lonely nights you wait by the phone to hear if the people you love have been shot or killed. The MC path for a woman isn’t a life—it’s a death sentence.”

  I look behind me, over my shoulder, back to the way we came. This is what I’ve heard my entire life...what I’ve been told over and over again. And this girl—Violet—she was raised with them, she knows what no one else knows, has seen what no one else has seen, and she’s telling me to run.

  There’s a crackling of leaves and my head snaps back in Violet’s direction. A woman with dark hair appears. She’s older than me but younger than my mother and she eyes m
e and Violet warily. “What’s going on, Violet?”

  “This is Rebecca,” Violet says to me as she studies the new woman. “I texted her for help. This is Breanna.”

  Rebecca inclines her head as if she understands why my name should mean something. “How did you know?”

  It’s a question to Violet and Violet’s response is a shrug. “I’ll wait here for her. Breanna mentioned she has to be home by four thirty, so the two of you might want to get moving.”

  “Club’s on lockdown. Neither of you would be permitted near the property.”

  “Then I suggest you don’t get caught.” Violet crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll take her home now if you want, and that will prove what I’ve always known—that the women involved in this club are puppets.”

  Rebecca straightens and lifts her chin. “Your father raised you better than to disrespect your family.”

  Violet and Rebecca enter a staring contest that feels more like a duel with pistols. Violet severs eye contact first. “Either take her or don’t. I did this for him, not for any of you.”

  Rebecca cups a hand to the back of her neck and surveys me. “You aren’t what I thought he would have picked, and in case you’re wondering, that’s a good thing...for him maybe, but not for you. Let’s go. You need to be quiet and do exactly what I say as I say it, do you understand?”

  I take another step back as a cold sensation floods my limbs. “Maybe I should go home.”

  “I agree,” says Rebecca, “you should, but you won’t. Your name was the first off his lips when I was convinced he was going to die. Women don’t walk away from that type of commitment easily. I’ll guarantee your safety if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m married to a board member, so I wield some influence. We need to get moving as we’re both wasting time.”

  My hand drops to my stomach. “Did you say you thought he was going to die?”

  Rebecca stretches her arm toward me and wiggles her fingers, encouraging me to lay my palm over hers. “Let’s go see him.”