Walk the Edge (Thunder Road, #2)(101)

“That how it is?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says like it’s simple addition. “That’s how it is.”

We glare at each other as it crawls under my skin that he won’t look away.

“And another thing...you say you love her, then you better figure out quick if you can trust us, because if you want to get her out of this mess, you’re going to need the club. Just so you know, brother, you think it’s impossible to trust us with you, it’ll probably kill you to trust us with what you love the most.”

A muscle in my jaw twitches. “If you help her, I want in.”

Pigpen shakes his head. “We offered that help the night you brought her to the club. We saw you weren’t budging. This is it, kid. End of the road. The stakes are high everywhere and it’s time for you to go all in or to f*cking fold. Which one is it going to be?”





Breanna

I’VE BEEN DRAWN to Razor—like a possessed moth to an inferno. So many reasons explain why: his beauty, his understanding, the way he protects, but it’s not until my chat with Clara that I understood what attracted me to him emotionally...at least initially. He understood what it was like to feel as if you had possibly driven someone to take their own life.

The guilt.

The self-hate.

The feeling that your existence is absolutely worthless.

I saw it in his face the night outside of Shamrock’s and I hurt for him because I still hurt for me. Clara pulled the knife away from her skin. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks, telling me that she would do it if I ever told anyone what I saw.

I never betrayed her secret. Instead? I’ve let it eat me from the inside out.

A rush of air escapes my lips. His mother didn’t commit suicide. I’m utterly relieved for him and still devastated for me. Year after year, Razor grew up tortured by the gossip of everyone in town, grew up believing that his mother chose to take her own life rather than to be with him. The entire time, the people who think they know everything knew nothing, but the emotional damage has already been done. The same damage that’s already been done to me.

I stare at his mother’s picture. She was beautiful. Blond hair. Sky-blue eyes. She has a fantastic smile. Mom says she was smart and full of life and Rebecca said that being a club girl isn’t for everyone. Is it for me?

My eyes dip to a picture of Razor, Chevy and Oz crouched near a motorcycle. They’re flipping off the camera and they grin as if they were laughing like children.

“I like it when you smile.” Razor strides into the room and I jump. I hadn’t realized I had been smiling, but I got lost in the pictures. As weird as his world is to me, I do strangely find myself gravitating toward it. As if I do belong.

An undertow of sadness yanks me down. I finally find a place I belong and I’m being ripped away. I’ll have to tell him and doing so is going to break my heart.

I gesture to the picture. “This reminds me of the night of orientation. You were working on your motorcycle then, too.”

Razor gathers me so that his front warms my back. He props his chin on my shoulder and his breath tickles the sensitive spot behind my ear. A wave of pleasure races through me.

“So you were checking me out that night.” The smugness radiating from him is so sickening that I mock elbow him and he fake flinches as if I hurt him. I drank Razor in that evening, and I lean back into him now, reveling in the fact that, at least in this moment, he’s mine.

“We need to talk.” Razor loses his lightness, and I’m not ready for us to confront reality—the logic of our situation.

“We do.” I pivot in his arms so we’re face-to-face. “But you made a promise to me about you healing and then us being alone, and I know how you are about your promises.”

Razor goes completely still, and as he blinks back to life, he tunnels his fingers into my hair. “Breanna, those are words I fantasize about hearing you say, but we have time.”

I shift my weight because we don’t have time.

His fingers ease farther into my hair until he cups my head. “I know Kyle sent the picture to your parents. Addison told me they’re sending you away. I know you’re scared this is—”

“The end,” I finish for him. “I need us to make memories.”

Razor’s eyes shut like my words cause him pain and it’s not what I want. He lowers his forehead to mine. “We’re going to figure this out.”

We won’t, and a lump in the back of my throat confirms this. “Their decision is made. There’s nothing I can do or say to make any of this go away.”

“No, Breanna.” His voice cracks and it causes a flash of agony in my chest. “Let’s take a few steps back, talk this out, solve the puzzle—”

I kiss him. My mouth on his. Without fear. Without thought. All of my emotions, my love, my trust wrapped up in this embrace. Our lips move in time. Too fast, almost desperate.

There’s an ache within me—a curling of warmth in my stomach. It’s like an indescribable, beautiful need, a desire even, and it’s calling for Razor to touch me, to ravish me, to bring me to this glorious high only he has brought me to before.

His fingers gently pull on my hair, creating pleasing tingles that zap to my toes, and my hands find his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, I explore his muscles, but this isn’t enough. I crave the warmth of his skin, and for there to be absolutely nothing between us.