Walk the Edge

by Katie McGarry

  My head swims like I was involved in a head-on collision. “So he let her die and moved on? He just accepted it? The Riot wins because the Terror was weak?”

  “The Terror is strong because we don’t act like the Riot.” Pigpen spits like he’s a viper showing his fangs full of venom. “My old man—he’s Riot.”

  “What?”

  “I grew up in their clubhouse. I understand you because I am you. I also learned to crawl on the sticky floors of where guys made their oaths. But here’s the difference, I grew up watching people make stupid mistakes in the name of revenge.”

  “You grew up Riot?”

  Pigpen flicks my questions away with a shake of his head. “Another conversation for another day. Point is I’m Terror because the Riot don’t play straight.”

  Anger rumbles through me like a thunderhead about to hit land. “They killed my mother. Are you telling me that’s worth letting go? That justice shouldn’t be served?”

  “I’ve killed people before, Razor, and that shit...it changes everything and it doesn’t just change you. It’s an avalanche to everyone around. What your father did, lying to you about how she died, it may not have been the definition of right, but he did it because he loves you...because he wanted to keep you and the people he cared about safe.

  “What your father did—it wasn’t weak, and he sure as hell didn’t accept it, but that’s his story to tell, not mine. Here’s the thing, kid. You are the product of your parents, a product of this club, and you’ve been denying us for months, and the man I’m standing next to now, the one wrestling with God—you’re beginning to understand what it means to make a sacrifice for the one you love. Question is, can you forgive us for loving you the same way you love her.”

  There’s a shifting of wood and Pigpen and I both snap our heads to catch my father near the screen door. How long he was there and what he heard, I don’t know. But I think of how he sat with me after I took the bullet, the night I came home and he stood proud next to me, the way he looks at me now like a broken man waiting for his son to return home.

  Right and wrong begin to get muddled. Black and white merge into shades of gray. My father loved me enough to do something so huge in regards to my mother that the Terror respects him and it brought a fragile peace to two warring clubs. He also did what he could to maintain that peace throughout the years—including lie to me...because he loved me.

  I gesture with my chin and he’s hesitant as he strides toward us. Like he’s ready for me to pull back and swing instead of joining him in conversation. “What do you need?”

  The muscles in my neck tense as I throw everything I have with Breanna away, but I’m giving her up to make sure she’s safe because, sometimes, that’s what love requires.

  Just like my mom did. Just like Dad did, too. And maybe someday, Breanna will understand, like I’m starting to now. “Kyle Hewitt and four other guys from school are blackmailing Breanna with a picture of me and her, and if we don’t stop them, they’re going to torture her and then eventually try to ruin her life. I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. This...” Is killing my pride. “It’s too big for me and I need your help.”

  Dad takes a relieved breath, a lot like the moment I opened my eyes after the bullet. He even rubs his hands over his face like I was raised from the dead. Pigpen claps my arm and smiles at me like he did the night I was patched in. “Welcome back, brother. Now let’s get to work.”

  Breanna

  I’M SITTING ON the front porch again, my head between my knees. Nausea and dizziness are often caused by the lack of proper blood to the brain. Doing this places the brain at the same level as the heart so the blood doesn’t have to fight gravity to reach the brain. That’s the theory. Personally, it also keeps me from having to bend over too far if I do vomit.

  I’m cold and clammy and hot at the same time, yet I’m free.

  I lift my head and the autumn breeze feels good against my skin.

  Free. I’m officially outside the box. I’m free.

  Free is terrifying and open and it’s similar to being a bit lost—but it still feels...free.

  My cells vibrates and pings over and over again. Reagan has called twice. Addison three times. My cell sings again with her ringtone. The count is now up to four.

  Elsie wanders from the house and plops down beside me. Her black hair is in a ponytail and half of the strands are falling out. She’s in her school clothes and there are Band-Aids over her scraped knees. I put those bandages there last night. I wonder who will do it when I’m gone.

  “You look sick,” she says.

  “It’s been a rough afternoon. How was your day?”

  “Rough.” Elsie straightens, then her eyes wash over me. In a few seconds, she leans forward and rests her combined hands on her legs. A complete mirror image of me.

  “What made it rough?” Typically this conversation would happen in the kitchen with me pouring a glass of milk while she and Zac swipe cookies off the plate I have waiting for them.

  “Lauren,” she says as if a word could be a scowl.

  Lauren. I sigh for her. We all have a Lauren who’s the bane of our existence. While I had two older sisters and two older brothers, Elsie is the product of being a girl with three boys ahead of her. She’s a proud tomboy and Lauren isn’t.

  “You shouldn’t let what other people say bother you.” My advice feels hollow.

  Elsie flashes me a brief smile. “At least I have you.”

  My heart sinks. How many times have I told her that and all this time I had planned on leaving. “You do, but you also have Zac, Paul and Joshua. And you heard Liam last night, he might be moving back in to help.”

  “Not the same. Clara and Liam are fighting because you went someplace you weren’t supposed to go again.”

  I could lie to Elsie, but she’s smart enough to know the difference. Where I’m built for facts, her little brain reads people very well. “Mom and Dad tell me I should be like you. That I should listen. You aren’t listening anymore and now they’re sending you away. If I don’t listen, will they send me away?”

  I shake my head. “I wanted to go away. It took me not listening for them to listen to me. Sometimes people don’t listen until bad things happen. They realize then they should have listened instead of talked. Sometimes people are too busy hearing what they want to hear, seeing what they want to see, and they don’t care what’s real, only what they think is real.”

  Elsie shifts away from me. “You want to leave home? But you have another year before you have to leave. Why would you want to do that?”

  Another piece of her hair falls and I beckon my youngest sister to sit on the step between my legs. She does and I begin the task of undoing the knot of hair I had put up this morning. “I wanted to fit in someplace, and I thought if I left, I would.”

  “You fit in here.”

  I brush her hair out with my fingers and then smooth it back up. “I didn’t think I did.”

  “Sounds like you were the one not listening.”

  The rubber band snaps her hair in place, but it’s the snap inside me that hurts. “What?”

  Elsie glances at me from over her shoulder. “Like when I don’t fit in with the other girls, you tell me I have you, which means you have me. And if I have Zac and Paul and Joshua and Liam, then that means you do, too. It sounds to me like you aren’t listening.”

  My body goes numb as my mind begins to disseminate the information. Is it possible... No, I mean Clara has always treated me like... But there are eleven people in my family and she’s one. And Liam—he’s willing to give up his dreams of independence because he’s concerned for me.

  “If you’re sad because you’re in trouble,” Elsie says, “then don’t be. I get in trouble all the time, and sometimes after I cry, those are the times Mommy hugs
me the hardest and you look like you need a hard hug.”

  And she does it. Elsie hugs me hard, throwing her entire being, soul and all, into loving me. I hug her back and try to fight the lump hardening in my throat.

  “It’s like you said when Daddy forgot to pick me up at ballet. Sometimes these bad things happen to prove you’re strong enough to be a Miller.”

  My eyes shut with the wetness forming there. I did tell Elsie that. She was sad. I was sad for her and I made being forgotten in the pickup rotation a badge of honor, and it’s not until this moment that I realize how right she is. This family is messed up, but it’s still my family.

  Just like the club is Razor’s family. Razor loves me so much that he’s willing to go to any length to protect me...even involving his family.

  A sense of urgency rushes through me. I need to find Razor. I need to talk with him and tell him I understand his drive to inform the club, his family, but there has to be a way that we can stay together without anyone getting hurt.

  “I love you, Elsie.” I kiss her temple, and when she eases back, I touch the end of her nose. “And I’m glad Mom and Dad didn’t stop at eight.”

  She grins widely to show two adult teeth and a bunch of crooked baby teeth. “Me, too.”

  “Let’s go get some cookies.” I offer my hand, she accepts, and the two of us walk in. Elsie continues to chatter as we pass the living room, and when she settles into the seat at the kitchen, eats her cookie and drinks her milk.

  Razor loves me and he’s going to freak when he sees the post. When Elsie hops down from her seat and races off to play with Zac, I stare at Liam’s car keys on the island.

  I’m already in trouble. Not sure I can go much deeper. Especially when my parents discover the post and how I ran off with Razor earlier today. One more outing won’t matter.

  Before I lose my courage, I snatch Liam’s keys and text Razor: Meet me at the bridge. We need to talk.

  RAZOR

  WAITING.

  It’s never been my strong suit and, until Breanna, neither had trusting.

  Right now, I’m doing both.

  Waiting and trusting.

  I’d rather get shot and take a spill on my bike with no jacket and have my skin scraped off by the blacktop than wait for the board to decide how they’re going to handle Breanna. Unfortunately, my single option is to sit here in the beat-up chair near the pool tables.

  Oz sinks the eight ball in the corner pocket, then tosses the stick onto the table. It rolls until it hits the other side of the green felt. He obviously isn’t into this waiting shit, either. “You should have come to me.”

  I tip the chair until the back of my seat smacks the wall behind me so I can rap my head against it. I came clean over an hour ago and I’m already sick of hearing how everyone has faced a demon similar to mine. Truth is—what I hate is how they’re right.

  Oz eyes me like he’s pissed. “I handed my cut to Eli thinking I couldn’t make it in this club.”

  My seat falls forward with a crack. “You serious?”

  “Dead.” He doesn’t once blink as he holds my gaze. My best friend isn’t lying.

  Chevy barrels through the door to the clubhouse. “Try answering your damn phone!”

  Great. Another guy to lay into me. “Board took my cell.” To look at the pictures I took of the detective’s files. To research how deep this detective is digging to threaten either us or the Riot. They’re also studying the info I gathered on the guys blackmailing Breanna. “They’re in Church now.”

  Church is how the club refers to their private board meetings.

  “We got problems.”

  I stand, hands out in a stop sign. “I told the board and we’re working on it.”

  Chevy yanks his phone out of his pocket, slides his finger across it and tosses it at me. “It’s Breanna. She’s dropped a mother of a bomb.”

  On the screen is Breanna’s account, but confusion muddles my thoughts. It’s the picture of me and her. “Did the son of a bitch hack her account?”

  “She posted it and she named Kyle. Whether she realized it or not, Breanna started a war. And here’s the thing, we were at practice when he found out. Kid looked crazy and he tore off.”

  Ice water seeps into my veins. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “I tried,” Chevy says. “But coach physically held me back. As soon as he left, so did I and came straight here. If I was Kyle and my world was falling apart, I’d go after the source of the pain, brother, and we need to get to Breanna before he does.”

  I could race out of here now. Return to controlling this problem. It’s what I’ve done for years. What instinct screams at me to do, but I can’t continue to rely only on myself. This doing it on my own...it’s what makes me weaker. The club is what makes me stronger.

  I turn to Oz as I dial Breanna’s number. “Interrupt Church. If Kyle’s on the warpath, I need a wall of cuts surrounding her.”

  Chevy pulls out his keys as Oz runs up the stairs. He pats me on the back as we head for our bikes. “Never thought I’d say this, but let’s go win you the girl.”

  Win me the girl. It’s what I want, but for now, I’ll settle for her being safe.

  Breanna answers after two rings. “Hello?”

  I almost swear with relief at the sound of her sweet voice. “It’s me. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

  “The bridge. I’m driving to the bridge because I want to talk to you.”

  Breanna Miller @breanna212 · 2 hrs

  I’m Breanna Miller. The smart girl. The quiet girl. The one who belongs to a large family. I’m Breanna Miller. Number 5 in the line of 9. The girl who everybody knows and nobody sees. I’m Breanna Miller. A girl who went to Shamrock’s and ended up falling in love with Thomas Turner—Razor of the Reign of Terror. The boy who everybody sees and nobody knows. I’ve been with him for months. I’m in love with him and I don’t care who knows.

  I’m Breanna Miller. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I don’t know yet who I want to be. I’m Breanna Miller and I’m not sure what my future might hold.

  I’m Breanna Miller and Kyle Hewitt took this picture of me and Razor after Razor saved me from a potentially dangerous situation. Kyle took pictures of me when I was vulnerable. He took this one when Razor was being a perfect gentleman. He took it in a moment where it looked like more happened than what really did.

  And even if something did happen, that is between me and Razor and not between me, Razor and the rest of the world. Private lives should remain private. Period.

  Kyle has been blackmailing me to write his papers. His first one is due on Monday. I won’t be writing it. In fact, because of this picture, I possibly won’t be in school anymore, nor will I be in Snowflake, and any dreams I’ve had for my life might be ruined.

  I’m Breanna Miller and you’ll think of me whatever you want. Some of you might call me a freak. Some of you might call me a slut. Call me whatever you want, but I’m Breanna Miller and I know who I am and it officially doesn’t matter what any of you think.

  Share, like, comment. It doesn’t matter. At midnight tonight, I’ll be deleting this account.

  Breanna

  LIAM’S ENGINE WHINES when it hits forty-five, so I’ve kept the speedometer to under forty. He’s going to be furious when he discovers I “borrowed” his car without his permission, but there’s too much at stake.

  The muscles in my neck tighten as I turn onto the access road that leads to the bridge and my skin vibrates with nervous anticipation. This dread is like a sixth sense screaming at me that the world is collapsing. That’s because it is. It’s been a bad day, a bad night, just a bad...life.

  But then I think of Razor’s hands touching my bare back, the way his lips feathered kisses along my ne
ck. It’s not all bad. Some of it has been very, very good.

  Razor. It’s like my soul breathed his name.

  Razor is the only thing that’s been right in my life.

  A rumble of an engine from behind me and my eyes flicker to the rearview mirror. The late-afternoon sun glints off the windshield and nausea strikes my stomach hard and fast. Cherry-red muscle car. It’s Kyle.

  He lays on the horn and uneasiness tiptoes through my bloodstream. This area is isolated. No traffic, no houses, no farms. Just very, very alone.

  Kyle blares his horn again and my palms sweat. Fading fall grass borders both sides of the narrow road. There’s nowhere to go. No sanctuary in sight.

  He revs his engine and his horn sounds off again as he swerves. Kyle pushes alongside of me, the left side of his car angling up as he races along the grass. My heart beats hard and a million thoughts collide in my mind. Stop. Don’t stop. Grab my phone. Call for help. Go faster. Hit the brakes. Be better. Be smarter.

  A flash of red. Metal crunches against metal and the steering wheel jerks. My body jars with the impact and I fight the losing battle to keep the car on the road. The frame shudders as I press the brake, but the car hurtles toward the tree. I’m going faster, why am I going faster? The brake, the brake, the brake.

  I lift my foot off the gas, rip the wheel to the side, slam on the brake and miss the tree by inches. My body whiplashes to the side. Pain against my skull. And the entire world possesses a dreamlike haze.

  The door to the car creaks. A combination of the warm sun and the cold autumn breeze drifts across my skin.

  “Come on!” It’s Kyle’s voice, but his face is nothing but a blur.

  The seat belt is unbuckled, my body is moving because of a pull on my arm and it’s odd how my legs work. There’s a humming in my ears and I close my eyes to gain my bearings.