Walk The Edge (Thunder Road #2)(63)

“But if I don’t find out what happened to my mother...if that code you’re working on doesn’t pan out...it may mean the end of the road for me and the club.”

A pit forms in my chest. “Why?”

“They’ll either throw me out for what I’ll do next or I’ll walk because I won’t be able to stomach looking at them after the betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” My mind is running in a million directions. “What are you going to do?” Then I recall what he said. “Or can you not tell me?”

Razor rubs his arm, and when his sleeve lifts, I spot a tattoo. It’s a rain of fire. A lot like the picture on the back of his cut. He worships this club enough that he’s forever marked himself for them. Leaving them would literally be like peeling the skin off his body.

“There’re parts I can’t tell you, but there are parts I can.” And he does. He tells me about how a Jefferson County detective visited him the night of our orientation. He tells me about the file and how he found the code. He explains how he’s now full of questions and desperate for answers.

More important, Razor is talking. Openly. Candidly. With heart and emotion. This moment is even bigger than the kiss we shared. I love that he’s trusting me, love the sound of his voice, but hate the agony in his tone.

“If you don’t crack the code, then I’m left with no choice but to talk to the detective.”

“So what if you talk to him?”

Razor’s jaw works as if I’ve stumbled across a crime in progress. There’s a sinking inside me. He means what he says. There’re things he won’t discuss.

I flex my toes and, with my arms hugging my knees, I rock. “Does it change? When people get married? Your friend Oz, the one who graduated this past year—his mom works with my mom at the hospital. Would her husband talk to her with what you can’t talk to me about?”

He shakes his head no and my feet collapse to the ground. It all feels hopeless. How can you be with someone who won’t talk to you about the most important part of their lives?

“Are you saying I know everything about you?” he asks. “That even if we were married with ten kids, that you wouldn’t keep a secret your best friend swore you to protect?”

“That’s different.” I think of how I promised Addison I would never divulge to anyone that her father hurts her and her mother.

He hikes a skeptical brow. “Integrity’s integrity. Not too many ways you can split hairs on that subject.”

Though I don’t like it, I understand, then decide to let it go. “The club—it’s your family?”

“We’re f*cked-up enough to be blood-related.”

I giggle, and he pushes me with his shoulder. “At the end of the day, the shit you take is worth being part of your family, right?”

My mind wanders to Clara and Liam and Zac and Paul. I reminisce about dishes and years of diapers and how I’m the outsider. “I love them, but I’m not sure I belong.” Or if they even believe I belong with them. “I’m not sure I belong anywhere.”

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 hit 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 associated 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 sex 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 shit or because someone’s out to make you feel bad.”