“Why?” My voice comes out cracked.
There’s silence in the room, and when I glance up, most everyone is focused on the table, but Dad’s watching me. “Things were building up to bad with the Riot. It’s why your mom and I fought. Same shit that had gone down with the Riot years before was happening again and she was scared for me.”
Because years ago, Dad almost died in the fight for Emily’s safety. Dim memories of hushed hospital rooms and the man I believed invincible in a bed. Mom in tears by his side, Olivia whispering to me that he was strong and me clinging to Cyrus’s hand like if I let go I would tumble down a dark hole.
“Olivia was watching you and your mother refused to draw them anywhere near you, which meant she wouldn’t come anywhere near the clubhouse.”
It’s too much. Too fucking much and I breathe in but the air doesn’t reach my lungs. “Did she know about the code?”
“Yes and no,” Dad answers. “She saw a different piece of code once in my belongings. Your mom was quick. Realized by my reaction when I saw it in her hands it was related to the Riot, but didn’t know much else. This was that messed-up period after Eli was released from prison. The Riot was pissed he got out on parole and they wanted to renege on the deal made to keep peace between our clubs. They demanded we hand over Eli. We told them to go fuck themselves. So we began negotiating. Communicating through the code and short meetings.”
“Why code?” I ask.
“Law enforcement has always been after them,” Eli explains. “Made them paranoid. They didn’t like putting anything in writing. Face-to-face meetings were risky for both sides—too many pissed-off people with guns. We first used the code when they found out Meg was pregnant with Emily. She knew all their different ways of translating the code. When the stakes between our clubs were being raised and they felt that law enforcement was on the edge of cracking the code we were using, they stole a copy of our bylaws, sent the code to Meg, and she knew how to decipher it. That’s how we’ve always communicated with them. The code worked. Kept our people safe while we tried to keep the Riot calm.”
“Eventually,” Dad adds, picking up the thread, “when it was clear we weren’t handing Eli over to them, they sent the list.”
Cyrus slides a piece of paper in front of me and I recognize my father’s handwriting. Dad must have been the one to translate the Riot’s message. The name at the top is my mother’s. The next Olivia’s, and it goes down the line of the wives of club members. Anger ripples through me. “They were willing to go after women?”
Eli’s seat creaks when he adjusts. His legs are out straight, his arms crossed over his chest, and it’s one of the rare times he won’t make eye contact. “When holy hell broke out over Emily and her mom before I went to prison, the Riot went after club members. After I lost custody of Emily when I went to prison, they decided to make it personal.”
My hand slams on the table. “Why the fuck didn’t you take the warning shot seriously? I saw the message. Breanna broke it. They warned you this was coming.”
He lifts his dark eyes and the regret swimming in them smacks me in the stomach. “Both codes came together and we got it five minutes before your mother called. We didn’t even have it completely deciphered before your mother was being tailed out of the parking lot.”
“Why did they leave the code with Mom? She wasn’t Terror.”
The room falls silent and all eyes are on Dad. Finally, he speaks. “They wanted me to find it. Guess they figured she’d call, figured I would find it in her car if they abducted her, or if they did mean for her to go over the bridge, I guess they thought I’d find it in the aftermath. The Riot wanted me to know that I couldn’t save the woman I loved from them. They wanted to show that they were in control, that they held the power.”
“Razor,” Eli says, “I would have handed myself over on a damned platter for your mother, but I was never given the chance. Your mother was the warning shot.”
My body sways as if I’ve been sucked into an undertow. My mother never had a chance. She never had a fucking chance and she drove away from help to save me. My lips turn down and it’s hard as hell to ignore the raw ache in my throat. “Was she forced off or did she go over to save herself?”
Dad and Eli shrug their shoulders to show that they’re both haunted by the unknown.
“She died on impact,” Eli says. “Your dad stayed at the clubhouse talking with her while the rest of us tore off to try to catch up. She told your dad that they were coming up beside her. Our best guess is that they tried to cut her off at the bridge to force her out of the car and that’s when she went over. Maybe she lost control of the car. Maybe she saw that as her best chance at life. I’m sorry, but we don’t know.”
Fear. My mother’s last emotion was fear. My fingers tunnel in my hair and I pull, hoping the physical pain can somehow wipe this internal agony away. “Why not tell me? Why lie to me about how she died?”
“You were ten,” Dad says like he’s experiencing the same pain. “When I walked in Olivia’s house with your mother’s blood on my hands, I went down the hallway and found you on that bed with your friends and with your arm slung over that dog. You looked peaceful. I couldn’t wake you and look you in the eye and tell you that I fucking failed you. That your mother died because some asshole club ran her off the road and I failed to protect her.”
I thrust back the seat so that I’m no longer at the table and settle my elbows on my legs. My foot begins to bounce on the floor as the sadness and anger within me builds to the brink of explosion. “But I’m not ten anymore. I haven’t been ten for a long time.”
“No, son, you haven’t, but there were eight other names on that list and we had to make sure no one would suffer the same fate as your mother. We did what needed to be done and we secured everyone’s safety. Olivia, Rebecca—the two women you loved the most after your mother would have been next.”
It’s not an answer and this insanity that has always crawled along my skin demands the truth. “I spent eight years of my life thinking she left me on purpose. Eight years of thinking I wasn’t enough.”
“We didn’t know that’s what you thought. We—”
“Bullshit,” I shout. “That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dad collapses back in his seat. “Because I promised not to.”
“Because the board told you not to?” I demand.
A muscle in his jaw jerks and his eyes pierce me. “Because the last words your mother said to me were to make sure you never joined the club, and if I couldn’t promise her that, that I never tell you what happened, because she knew me.”
He pounds his hand to his chest. “She knew how broken I was on the inside. She knew how fucking crazy I’d become after her death, and she didn’t want those demons inside you. She knew what I would do if she died, and she sure as hell didn’t want you to grow up and become the dead man I am. She begged me before she went off that bridge to make sure this war did not become generational. You and I both know that if I told you, that if you grew up knowing that the Riot was responsible for your mother’s death, this entire club would be at war. She knew that when you became old enough, you would be leading the charge.”
“It’s too late.” All the anger, all the pain pours out. “I’m already dead. There’s nothing inside me. The first time someone told me she chose death over life, I died and it’s too damned late for me now.”
“That’s not true.” Dad’s expression turns into a plea. “Maybe it was, but I’ve been watching you. Over the past few weeks it’s like seeing you reborn. The boy who loved his mother. The boy who laughed when his mother laughed, I’ve seen him.”
I’m shaking my head. “It’s not me. It’s being around Breanna. She loves me, but I’m still dying.” Every second of every day, I’m still withering.
�
�This girl may love you, but you had to alter something inside you for the changes we’re seeing. Someone’s love can only hold together broken pieces for so long. The glue, that’s you—and I’ve been witnessing you piece yourself back together.”
It sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m on the mend. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not, because I’ve loved you and so have half the people in this club and we’ve never been enough. She might love you, but you’re happy because you’re loving her back.”
“I’ve loved you back.”
“You haven’t,” he says with finality. “Not fully. You can’t fully love someone unless you trust them and you have never trusted any of us.”
He leaves it unsaid that I somehow found a way to trust Breanna, but not them. It’s like I’m on a forsaken merry-go-round. The ride starts. The ride stops. We never go anywhere but in circles. I slump forward, too heavy to hold myself up. Too heavy to continue to shoulder all the shit that constantly tears me apart. “She’s never lied to me.”
“You’re the same as me. We keep our promises. I made a promise to your mother and I love her enough to keep it.”
“Even if it hurt me?”
Dad contemplates the question. “Maybe I agreed with her. Maybe I decided I wanted you to grow up in peace. Maybe I couldn’t stomach watching you fall into a pit of vipers. Maybe I’m the complete bastard you think me to be.”
Everything that’s been said whirls in my brain and the insanity I’ve fought for so long pulses as it longs to be released. “Did whoever send Mom over that bridge—did he pay for his sins?”
The atmosphere practically crackles with pissed-off energy. I’m staring Dad down. He’s doing the same to me. I overpronounce my words so there’s no mistaking my thoughts on his efforts to prevent a generational war. “Was there justice for my mother’s death?”
Dad angles forward on the table and his low voice rumbles along the wood to me. “Know that trust I was talking about?”
I nod.
“You will show it to me and to this club before you ever get that answer. Now the question is on you, son. Can you trust your brothers to have taken care of this, or are you going to do what you’ve done time and time again and take matters into your own hands, even if it means blowing this club to hell in the process?”
Breanna
THROUGH THE PROPPED-OPEN back door to the Barrel of Fun, the cool autumn breeze rushes through the trees and a waterfall of vibrant leaves falls to the ground. My eyes and lungs burn from the harsh cleaning products infecting the air. The ice cream shop officially closed last night and today I’m making extra cash by preparing it for the winter.
My boss hacks as the bleach in the bucket sloshes over the sides. I prop my mop on the wall and jack my thumb toward the back door. He nods. We both quit talking an hour ago. Either to prevent ourselves from inhaling more poison than we should or because we both lost the ability to speak.
I seriously need to find a new job.
I step outside and the intake of clean oxygen is like a pillow for my lungs. The stray pieces of hair that had escaped the bun stick to my sweaty face and I peel my sweatshirt off my skin in an attempt to cool down. As much as today’s manual labor has been constant, it hasn’t been enough to ease my concern for Razor. I’m not sure anything will ever erase the memory of how he looked so absolutely broken.
My boss coughs again and I head for the thick trees. In the distance, a car honks and a semitruck rumbles past on the road out front. My cell never vibrated in my pocket, but I pull it out anyway, hoping for a message from Razor. But like last night, there’s nothing.
Me: I’ve been thinking of you. I’m here if you need to talk or not talk. Either way, I
Razor and I have never said certain words aloud. We’ve definitely expressed our emotions physically and in the calm silences in between those precious kisses and touches. We’ve also referenced how we feel about each other, but we’ve never fully admitted it.
I bite my bottom lip. In my daydreams as a child, I imagined a guy saying it first, but I care so much about Razor that he needs this—especially since his world has been torn apart.
Me: Either way, I love you.
The edges of my mouth lift when I see the words on the screen. I do love him and it’s not as scary to confess as I thought. In fact, it feels natural.
Razor: I cut out on my bike last night to clear my head. I’m in Tennessee, but I’m heading back now. Straight to you. I want to hear those words out of your mouth.
The smile on my face grows. He’s coming home to me.
Another vibration. Razor: I love you too.
Butterflies. A million gorgeous butterflies. My fingers are flying across the screen and not keeping up with the gazillion thoughts in my head and then my phone is gone.
Gone.
Ripped from my fingers, and when my head snaps up, a hand goes to my throat and my back slams into a tree. The air rushes from my body as two soulless eyes bore into mine. It’s Kyle and he’s gone insane.
Panic floods my system. No air in, no sound out, nothing. Dizzying thoughts overwhelm me as the pressure on my throat nears painful. He’s killing me. Kyle is killing me.
My fingers scramble for my neck, claw at the stranglehold. My feet kick and, with a flick of his arm, pain shoots into my spine as he rams me against the tree again. A flash of black as consciousness is on the verge of being lost and I fight to keep my eyes open.
“Did you and Razor honestly think you could play me?”
White dots mar my vision and my lungs hurt. I crane my neck, desperate for air, and only a pathetic squeak erupts from my mouth as he pushes on my body again.
Kyle leans forward and his breath is hot on my ear. I flinch at the way his mouth moves against my skin. “We found how your boy was hacking us, and for that you are going to pay.”
The pressure on my neck releases, a gasp of air from my body, and I drop to the ground. Coughing, choking, my hands landing where he was crushing my bones.
Kyle paces in front of me. A short loop and his eyes are on me. “The day you asked to work with me instead of against me. You used me. You helped him get into my phone.”
Tears well up in my eyes and I throw my head back to yell, but no sound escapes.
“He has four of us, but not all of us, and you tell that asshole that the one he can’t find, he won’t. He’s the one that figured out we were hacked. He’s the one that noticed we were connecting to a dummy server. I don’t know what the hell Razor was planning on doing, but I’m back in control of this game. I want my damned papers, Breanna. I want the first one on Friday and I expect perfection.”
He crouches in front of me. “And in case you’re wondering how far I’m willing to take this, I left a present for your parents at your home. Manila envelope. Your mom’s and dad’s names on the front. I dropped it off, rang the doorbell, then watched from across the street as your mom answered and picked it up. In case you’re wondering, inside was the photo. Fucking push me again and that photo will be up on Bragger before you can say my name.”
Kyle stands, throws my phone at my feet, then a piece of paper drifts from his hands. It’s the picture of me and Razor and it’s spelling my demise.
* * *
I’ve been banished to my room, but I’m not sure what the consequences will be if I leave. They’ve already told me I’m forbidden to set foot outside the house, forbidden to talk to anyone on the phone, forbidden to do anything more than breathe.
When I walked in from work, my parents confiscated my cell. My father then grew angry red when what they thought was my password didn’t work and I refused to give them the real one. Razor’s codes are on my phone. So is the picture of me and him together at Shamrock’s and the ones of me drinking. They’ve seen the picture of me and Razor, but someho
w for them to find it on me would be worse.
Funny how I was terrified of them seeing that photo and being disappointed in me. Now I’m scared they’ll see that photo and judge Razor. I’m holding out hope my parents will calm down and grant him a chance.
It’s one in the morning and my parents are fighting. So loud I can decipher most of what they say from my bedroom. Mom’s blaming Dad for being busy at work, Dad’s blaming Mom for ignoring me when I went to her for advice and Elsie’s crying in her room.
Neither of them seem to hear her or care.
Part of me had been praying Razor would show under the streetlamp on his motorcycle, beckoning me to climb down so we could run away. It hasn’t happened and it won’t.
My door creaks when I open it, and across the hallway, Clara, Joshua and Liam are gathered on Joshua’s bed. They stop their intense whispers and study me as if I’m a stranger. In the end, I guess I am. It’s never been a secret that I’m the outsider.
“Mom told you to stay in your room.” Clara’s home on break and I wish she would get a life like my two oldest siblings and never return. “Did you hear what I said?”
Clara reminds me of a dog nipping at another’s heels to force them back in line. She’s always been snapping at me and I’ve always turned tail and fled, but I’m not her submissive puppy anymore.
“Elsie’s crying,” I say.
Her sobs grow louder and so does Mom’s voice. “...do you expect of me? I can’t handle all of this on my own! My job is important, too...”
“Do you think acting perfect is going to make them like you again?” Clara smirks as if her words were sharp enough to draw blood.
“You won, Clara. They hate me. Everyone in this family hates me. If you don’t mind, I’m going to let you continue your gloating party while I take care of Elsie.”
Walk the Edge Page 29
