“Tell me more!” Emily’s grin grows. In a lawn chair, Emily sits on the lap of Oz—a guy who graduated from my high school last year and scared the crap out of me when he walked by, but he’s hard to find intimidating as he watches Emily as if the sun rises and sets by her.
The other guy from our school—Chevy—shakes his head. “You’re killing us, Breanna. Razor, ask your girl for some mercy.”
We’re all smiles: me, Razor, Chevy, Emily, Oz and this other guy from school they call Stone. He’s a couple of years younger than us and he’s the kind of guy your soul hurts to look at because people at school torture him. My soul withers further as I realize that could be me.
Razor moves beside me to straddle the bench seat. He hooks an arm around my waist and glances down at my legs as a silent request for me to do what he’s done. I also straddle the bench and end up with my back flush to him. I wait for everyone to whisper about us sitting so cozily, but like with the beer, no one cares.
“Breanna’s lying.” Oz runs his finger along Emily’s knee and it’s the type of touch that suggests they share very personal secrets. “I was a Boy Scout at school.”
Ha. That’s a lie. “So you’re saying during my freshman year you didn’t punch Adam Jones in the face, causing him to spew blood in my direction?”
“In my defense, it was your boy that started the fight.” Oz mocks this innocent expression, but there’s no way I’m buying it. “I was helping a brother out.”
Razor makes a disgusted noise. “Guy I hit was already down. You were feeling left out.”
I snap my body around. “I babysat other people’s children for months to earn enough for that sweater and I never got the blood out of it. Anyhow, I don’t remember you there.”
“I was already in the office being suspended. First part of the fight happened in the parking lot. The guy I fought hit me hard, Breanna. So hard my hair moved and then I had to really hit him back. I’m the one who should be getting the sympathy points.” He bats his baby blues at me and I shake my head at him because I’m melting.
“What were you guys fighting about?” Emily asks.
Oz, Chevy and Razor look at each other, then go quiet. I drop my hand to cover Razor’s fingers that are firm against my stomach. I know why they fought. The rumors at school were brutal and guilt consumes me for being the person who brought up the subject.
Adam Jones called the Terror worthless, and when Razor told him to keep his mouth shut, Adam told Razor he must be worthless, too, since his mother preferred death over being with him.
“What was your first impression of me?” Chevy asks, moving the conversation forward. I adore that about him and Oz. They read Razor well and form a protective bubble around him.
“First impression of you,” I repeat. It’s what started my stories. Oz asked point-blank what I thought of him and, through coaxing from Razor and Emily, I gave in. “Eighth grade stands out. That was when you gas-lighted our science teacher into believing he was crazy.”
I look over at Emily. “Chevy stole things from him and then a few days later he’d put it back someplace different, and when our teacher found it, Chevy and Razor would tell him the item had been there the entire time.”
Chevy chuckles. “Fucked-up bastard didn’t have a chance when the rest of the class joined in. The asshole was starting to lose his mind at the end.”
“You didn’t?” Emily’s eyes widen. “I thought you were the good one.”
Oz and Razor bark out a laugh and Chevy flashes a sly one-sided smirk. “I am the good one, but then I hang out with these two. I’m telling you, I’m trying to save their souls, but they keep dragging me down.”
“Seriously,” Emily says. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Chevy shrugs and Oz wraps both his arms around Emily in a hug. “The guy was sick in the head. He used to call girls to his desk, drop his pencil and then look up their skirts or down their shirts when they bent over to pick it up.”
“Why didn’t anyone do anything?” Emily asks. “Tell another teacher. The principal. Somebody.”
“We tried.” Razor’s voice vibrates against the skin of my shoulder as he sweetly presses his lips to a sensitive spot on my neck and it’s hard not to shiver from the pleasure. “No one listened.”
“The board listened.” Chevy rolls his plastic cup in his hand. “Cyrus and Oz’s dad hounded the principal and the school board.”
“Lot of good that did,” answers Razor.
“The bastard’s not teaching anymore, is he?” Chevy challenges.
“Not because the board tried the appropriate way first.” Razor picks up my cup again and drinks while he keeps his eyes locked on Chevy. What makes me tremble is how Chevy grins like a satisfied asylum inmate. Chevy offers his fist, Razor bumps it and my stomach twists.
Everyone, including Razor, has said the same thing—the Terror try to abide by the law, but they play by their own rules. But then I recall how girls cried before and after class. How Addison used to throw up on Monday mornings because of what we had to endure in science, and then I think of those horrible moments that I had tucked away to the back recesses of my mind... “I’m glad you did it.”
They had hopped on to another conversation and they pause and stare at me.
“What?” Razor asks.
I should say I didn’t mean to speak. I should continue to carry the secret like I have since eighth grade, but for some reason, this group, this place, these fantastically raw people—maybe I don’t have to hide anymore.
“He did it to Addison.” The memory causes the fried chicken I ate earlier to war with the potato salad. “Mr. Mull did it to Addison a few times. He kept me after class because I was ahead of everyone else, so the school was giving me extra assignments, and she would stay because she didn’t trust him alone with me. He would drop his pen and he wouldn’t let us leave until she picked it up. It had to be her. It always had to be Addison. And she would never leave me behind, even when I begged her to, because she was scared what he would do if it was just the two of us alone.”
I remember feeling ashamed and used and all I did was stay after class. Addison was the one who took the brunt of the abuse. “So...yeah, I’m glad you did it.”
Razor’s arm around me tightens and he mumbles a low curse. There’s a wildness in both of the other boys’ eyes that frightens me.
“You don’t need to worry about anyone making you feel like shit again.” Razor’s threat is ominous and made with the promise of death.
“Amen,” Chevy adds. “Anyone ever makes you the slightest bit uncomfortable, Breanna, you tell one of us. You’re with Razor, which means you’re family.”
Family. My eyes flicker up with the word and there’s a sincerity in Chevy’s face that causes a small part of my heart to ache. He means what he says. Without knowing me...without really understanding me...he’s already accepted me...he’s suggesting I belong.
“It’s true,” Razor says in this soft voice that’s almost a whisper. Our eyes meet and I wonder if he can spot my bewilderment. It can’t be that easy. Nothing is that easy. I have a huge family. People who are supposed to love me regardless, and it’s never this easy.
“Reign of Terror,” Chevy says, and his statement rips Razor’s attention away from me.
Razor tips his head to him and repeats, “Reign of Terror.”
Oz turns his head toward the men crowding the bonfire and yells, “Reign of Terror.”
A sense of awe and fear runs through me as a loud, deep chorus of “Reign of Terror” is shouted into the night. Not once, not twice, but three times, ending in a warrior cry that causes me to shrink into Razor.
Razor gently hugs me to him as if he can sense my unease, kisses my temple, then slips off the seat, leaving my back cold. He stands beside me and places his fingers under my chin.
“I told you months ago—I got your back.”
He did and I never understood how much he meant his promise. He swipes his thumb across my cheek and it leaves a burning trail along my skin. “You ready to head?”
I power on my phone and it reads seven forty. Twenty minutes until the proverbial Reign of Terror midnight for minors. “Sure.”
He inclines his head to the clubhouse. “I gotta say some goodbyes.”
It’s implied he’s telling me to stay. I grin an okay and he does that heart-stopping caress one more time before looking over at Oz and Chevy. They both nod at whatever he silently requested.
“Do you visit Snowflake often?” I ask Emily after Razor disappears into the swarm of bodies.
“Not as much as I’d like. Eli’s all paranoid about the Ri—”
Oz interrupts her with a clearing of his throat and her cheeks redden. Something important was about to be revealed and my mind grabs the mystery. There’s a heavy silence that follows and none of us can figure out what to say to make it any less awkward.
I choose the old standby for awkward. “Do you mind if I use the restroom?”
The thought of going back into the clubhouse causes my stomach to flip, but it’s the only excuse I can think of to get me and Emily alone.
Emily shifts off Oz. “I’ll take her to the cabin.”
“Eli said no one but you and the board goes into the cabin.” There’s a bit of repentance in Oz’s expression, but his words are firm enough that he obviously won’t break this rule.
Emily stiffens like his statement was a blow. “I like her, and she shouldn’t have to go into the clubhouse if she doesn’t want.”
“And you promised to follow the rules,” Oz says as if he’s implying something else.
Emily shrugs like she doesn’t care and pivots away from him. “Fine. Then I’ll show her where the bathroom is in the clubhouse and then you should go home or stay in the clubhouse or do whatever you want, since that rule means you can’t come in the cabin, either. And according to the rules, I’ve been ordered back to the cabin after eight, so have fun without me.”
Oz’s head falls back as Emily snatches my hand and weaves us through the throngs of men.
“You don’t mean that,” Oz calls out, and I know he doesn’t see Emily’s smirk. Oh my God, she’s a little devil playing him like a violin.
“Yes, I do,” she yells back, then spins in his direction, smirk completely gone. “Have fun being by yourself tonight.”
The men around us laugh and I blush when someone suggests something about Oz becoming good friends with his right hand. I expect Oz to be angry, but he chuckles as he and Chevy stand. Emily pulls on my hand again and sweeps me into the clubhouse. I don’t understand any of these people or how they interact with each other.
Oz and Chevy track us. It’s weird yet chivalrous and it’s then I understand what Razor was asking them to do—to protect me.
We enter a hallway adjacent to the kitchen and there’s a deep line for the woman’s bathroom. Most of the women don’t have cuts like Rebecca’s and there’s more skin than there is clothing.
“It must be getting seriously close to eight,” Emily mumbles, then shouts, “Eli’s daughter coming through.”
“Emily!” Oz yells, and I wish I could own the flirtatious yet angry expression Emily throws Oz.
“What?”
“She can use the bathroom in the cabin.”
Emily places a patronizing hand to her chest. “Why, thank you, Oz, what would we ever do without you?”
She lets go of me when Oz invades her space. Every part of them touches. “I have a few ideas of what we can do together.”
Emily smiles wickedly up at him, winks, then grabs my hand again. It’s a blur as we slink past bands of men and eventually we trot up the stairs to the log cabin. Once we’re in and she checks to see that Oz and Chevy have chosen to stay on the front porch, she whispers, “You have questions, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It’s total disorientation. The clubhouse was so...beyond normal and this...this is like a modern-day storybook cottage. I’m shocked. In a good way. The walls are made of massive tree trunks, but everything about it is straight out of one of my mother’s home magazines. Nice but comfortable furniture, a television, bright lighting and pictures. A ton of framed pictures hang out on tables and bookcases.
“Breanna,” Emily urges. “We don’t have much time. What do you want to know?”
I jerk back to reality. Questions. Razor. “What is the RMC?”
“I had a feeling you were going to ask that,” Emily says as a curse, then peers outside. At the foot of the stairs, two huge men with cuts that say Prospect stand as if they are sentries to a kingdom. “We can’t have ears for this conversation.”
Emily drags me down the hallway, we take a sharp left and she shuts the door to the bedroom. On the bed, Lars lifts his head and wags his tail.
Emily peeks out the window as if someone might be eavesdropping. “We have maybe five minutes, so let’s get to the point. You can’t tell anyone I’m telling you this, okay? Because the reason I’m doing it is that they stupidly tried to keep it from me and it backfired and you’re dating Razor now, so you should know.”
“Okay.”
Emily tugs on the ends of her long hair. “The RMC is a rival motorcycle club in Louisville. The Terror and the Riot hate each other. In the past, it was bad, but they have a peace treaty now, but it seems to be on the edge of falling apart. I’m telling you this because if you see anyone from the Riot, you need to get out quick, especially if they know you’re the girlfriend of one of the Terror.”
The click in my head is so audible that I’m surprised Emily didn’t hear it. I unlocked part of a threat and that threat was from the Riot Motorcycle Club.
“Eli and the club are freaking out. The Riot ran through on their bikes a couple of weeks ago and then Razor went after them on his own. If Cyrus hadn’t caught up to him, there is no telling if Razor would have been hurt. Because of that Eli has been stonewalling me on visiting.”
My mouth is completely dropped open. “Razor what?”
“Went after them,” she repeats.
“Is that who shot Razor?” It’s like I can’t draw enough air into my body.
Emily goes completely still as if she’s a statue. “Say that again?”
Secrets. Violet told me that this is a life of secrets. “Razor was shot. It’s part of the reason why they’re throwing this party.”
Emily’s eyes dart to the thoughts in her head. “I was told it was for me, but this makes more sense. But we’re off track. Look, I like you. You’re funny and nice and everyone in the club is seriously praying you two work because, to be honest, Razor’s freaking suicidal.”
I blink several times and Emily’s expression falls. “I don’t mean, like, he’s tried it or he’s vlogging his last words or anything. I mean he does these stupid things like that fight you talked about or chasing after the Riot or...”
Teetering on the ledge of a bridge over a rushing river. “I understand.” I try to force myself out of the long tunnel of shock. “Then it’s safe now? You’re here in Kentucky, so the Riot is no longer a problem?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t supposed to know about Razor going after the Riot, but I overheard Oz and Eli talking about it when they visited me in Florida. It drives me freaking insane, but this club is super secretive and that’s not going to change. I mean, for God’s sake, I consider Razor a friend and he was shot and no one told me.”
“If it isn’t safe, then why are you here?”
Emily gestures to the dresser and on it are two wooden boxes. “Those are Olivia’s ashes. She was like a mom to Oz and Razor, but she was my biological grandmother. She left us instructions of what she wants us to do with her remains. One
box is for me and Oz and the other is for Razor. Her letter to me and Oz said that we had to spread her ashes in Kentucky. Eli let me come because I told him we were being disrespectful to his mother if we pushed it out any further.”
I walk over to the boxes and take an interest in the one that has an envelope with Razor’s name resting on top of it. “What is Razor supposed to do with the ashes?”
“No one knows. Not even Razor. Olivia left him the bylaws of the club and said when he figured it out, he would know what to do with her ashes. What’s even odder is that Oz and I received our letter after she passed, but she had specific instructions for when Razor was to get his. He received his a few weeks ago and it was related to some sort of event that no one will tell me about. Olivia was awesome, but she could be weird.”
I note the wistful tone in her voice—the same one Razor has when he speaks of Olivia. She must have been someone truly amazing. Behind the box is a stack of papers stapled together and I tilt my head. “Are these the bylaws?”
“Yes, but we need to go. Razor will be looking for you and Oz will be pissed if he finds out I’m telling you this.”
A screeching of a screen door, boots down a hallway, and Emily is pleading, but my focus is on the page. The first code’s a cipher...a key to unlock something else...
Razor involved me with the code because a detective brought him a file on his mother. Olivia—a woman he admitted he loved and who loved him in return, a woman married to the president of this club—this Olivia left bylaws to be given to him after a specific event. An event where Razor was trying to discover what happened to his mother?
I snatch the bylaws off the dresser and Emily rushes toward me. “What are you doing? I know you’re new, but you cannot read those. Seriously, they will freak out and—”
“I need a printer.” I fish my cell out of my pocket. “I have a file and I need to print it.”
Emily squints in confusion and there’s no way she can understand. No one knows what this is about and I won’t tell her, but even worse, this isn’t only about Razor anymore. This is also about me. I’ve seen the code. It’s there in my head, when I sleep, when I eat. A constant nagging.