Walk the Edge (Thunder Road, #2)(69)

Confirming this would be a betrayal of what I wish she would have done that day.

“You have been so withdrawn. You’re home and you do what you need to do, but you aren’t here. Something happened and I want you to talk to me.”

Kyle is blackmailing me and I’m not sure you’ll believe me when I say that Razor is a good person. It’s there on the tip of my tongue, but then I realize what has happened since. How I have kissed Razor and I’m forming feelings for him.

She would never permit me out of the house if she knew how much I long to touch and kiss Razor more. I’ve tumbled down a rabbit hole, and no matter how I fight for a way out, I slide deeper. There’s no saving me from this situation.

“It’s over now—the rumors. Everything. I’m fine.” I’ll remain that way if Razor succeeds...or if I write Kyle’s papers.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

So am I. There’s this ache. It’s in an area so deep that the pain can live there forever—as if it’s a cancer along my soul. Mom has no idea how badly I wish she had been there for me. But she wasn’t and now it’s too late.

I long to confess my sins and find unyielding grace, but I’ve done too many things wrong. Chosen too many paths she’ll never be able to forgive.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I promise.”





RAZOR

I’D GIVE MY left ball if I could flip onto my side, but the fire shooting down my arm whenever I try stops me. It also keeps drawing me out of sleep. Doesn’t help that half my face burns and my side feels like it’s been shoved through a shredder.

My muscles are sluggish and my thoughts are slow, like I’m dreaming while being aware.

“...could have been the Riot.” It’s Eli. I’d know that serious-as-a-freshly-dug-grave voice anywhere.

“I’ve thought of that,” says Cyrus. “I flipped through the police reports on the other truck robberies. This hit was different. In the other incidents, they attacked as soon as the driver got out. In this hit, they waited too long and they waited for Pigpen and Man O’ War to be out of range—for you and Razor to be alone.”

“Think the Riot knows the detective talked to Razor?” Eli asks.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Cyrus answers. “If so, our boy has a huge target on his back I’m not sure we can erase.”

Erase...

Erase...

Erase... The word seems important. It referred to another word, another idea that also felt critical, but it fades with a hand that grips the back of my neck and lifts my head.

“Drink, son.” It’s a voice that’s familiar. Low. Rough. “You need to drink.”

Sounds like my dad, but Dad hasn’t given a shit about me in weeks. Gotta be one more jacked-up dream in the line of dozens.

Something grazes my lips and cold liquid sinks down my throat. When my head rests against the pillow again, the pain slips away and I finally can sleep...

There’s a caress across my forehead and my hair moves with it. I should open my eyes. It’s what the soft voice is insisting I do, but instead I attempt to shift again. I want to sleep on my side. Maybe then, I can sleep deep without the dreams.

“Has he responded to you at all?” the soft voice says, and I angle my head to the sound. It’s Oz’s mom—Rebecca. She’s nursed me back to health several times in my life. Damn—when the hell did I get sick?

“What he’s doing now?” Dad says. “He turns his head toward whoever’s speaking.”

“What did you give him?” Rebecca asks.

There’s an answer I can’t discern and Rebecca curses. “I told you Tylenol. You f*cking men drive me crazy. Give him any more of that and I’ll castrate all three of you. He’s always been sensitive to drugs, or do none of you remember his appendix surgery? I should shoot you. Lord knows there’s enough guns in this place that I can find a spare.”

“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.