Walk the Edge (Thunder Road, #2)(66)

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 damn dark outside. Too damn 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 damn 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 shit 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 bitch!”

“He’s hit! He’s hit!” 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 damn 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.

I’m f*cking fantastic. Blood’s pouring down my arm and it feels like I’ve been branded by a hot iron. “I can ride.”

They protect me as I straddle my bike. I ignore the pain as I lift my arms to provide cover as Pigpen, then Eli, slip on their bikes. No one’s shot back. Odds are they’re long gone, but I’m not in a gambling mood.

Eli revs his engine and I grimace as I rotate the throttle. Eli’s on my left and Pigpen on my right as we take off. Both have their guns still drawn and their expressions are deadly.

The world around me zones in, then out. The blood streaming down my arm is more than a trickle. Coldness numbs my fingers and my grip on the bike weakens. Eli drives ahead of me. Gravity beckons to me and the last thing I see is headlights.





Breanna

MY MIND WHIRLS and my hand can barely keep up with my racing thoughts. The pencil scratches against the paper, my handwriting unintelligible to anyone other than me. This code was much easier than the first. Each letter clicks into place and each word that is created causes blood-tingling euphoria.

There were too many letters in one continuous sentence. Too many Q’s. Too many Z’s. As if they were a placeholder for spaces. I purposely blurred my vision and letters started rearranging in my head and that’s when I saw it—these letters need to be reorganized into columns. My entire body trembled and I dug in, entering the most intense word search of my life.

Consider this your... My cell pings and my muscles convulse as I snap out of the trance and back into my bedroom. Another ping.

My breath catches in my throat. Razor. It has to be him. I scramble for the cell, which is lost under a heap of wadded paper balls. I slide my finger across the screen and my happy feelings die.