Walk the Edge
Page 96

When I lift my head, Clara’s completely pale and she holds on to her elbows like she’s about to break. She gently rocks back and forth. “I didn’t know that still haunted you.”
Every second of every day. “There are some things I wish I could forget, but, like you, I’m cursed.”
A rumble of a motorcycle and I stand. Razor pulls in front of my house, and when his gaze meets mine, I know the answer to his silent question.
Clara steps toward me. “No, Bre.”
Unfortunately for her... “This isn’t your decision to make.”
RAZOR
BREANNA GLANCES AROUND my house. It’s the first time I’ve brought a girl home. This moment’s huge, and I’d share how much this means to me, but we don’t have time for my emotions. We have problems.
“You have a nice home.” By her slight grin, I can tell she means it.
“It’s small.” But pride leaks out. I could never be ashamed of the place Mom loved.
“Bigger isn’t better.” It’s a reference to her family, and I hate the sadness in her eyes.
I snag her hand and draw her forward. “Want to see my room?”
Breanna blushes as she threads her fingers with mine. I flip on the light, and Breanna takes in the narrow room with the Reign of Terror banner, the dresser and the mirror hanging over it. She touches the pictures taped on the wall. Most of them are of me, Chevy, Oz and Violet in various stages of life. There’s two of me and Dad and at the top is one of me and Mom.
“She didn’t commit suicide,” she says.
It’s a mixture of relief and anger. “No.” I’m grateful that Breanna doesn’t press for more, because she already knows more than she should.
“The code helped?” she asks.
“Yeah.” A sickening sensation crawls along my insides. “It helped.” And I haven’t helped her. “This stuff with Kyle—we’re going to figure it out.”
Breanna’s pursing her lips like she’s about to disagree when the sound of a motorcycle gains our attention. She twists her fingers in her hair and her eyes shoot to the closet as if she’s searching for a hiding place. “Am I allowed to be here? Holy crap, you’re cutting school. Your dad is going to freak. I did not mean to get you in trouble.”
I slip into her personal space, circle an arm around her waist and kiss the next string of worries from her lips. It startles her, and when I lick my tongue across her lips, she sucks in a breath and molds completely into me. Her sweet scent overwhelms me, and when she eases her soft curves into my body, I become very aware of the bed less than a foot from us.
A knock on the front door and I begrudgingly release her. “I’m not in trouble, you’re fine in my house and stay here. I need to talk to Pigpen alone.”
“How do you know it’s him?”
Because I asked to see him and I don’t ask anyone for anything. “I just do.”
Breanna lowers herself to my bed, and I pause. Damn, she looks good there and leaving is the last thing I want to do, but in order to help her, I need Pigpen. He knocks again and I cross the room, open the door and step out onto the porch.
Pigpen leans against the railing and nails me with his stare. “This is the second time you’ve gone AWOL on the club. Let me tell you, that shit got old the first time. Next time I fucking text you to see if you’re alive, you text back.”
Hell, I’m so caught up in Breanna’s problems I forgot about Friday night. After the board laid it out for me in regards to Mom’s death, I split as I needed time to digest.
“Do you hear me?” he demands.
“Loud and clear.”
“Good. So what’s this 911 Oz sent out on your behalf?”
“I’m against the ropes on a problem.” Quick and to the point. Hopefully less painful.
“Knock and the door shall open...”
...ask and you shall receive. How many times has he said this to me? Breanna might consider this a betrayal, but it’s one person, not the whole club. “Breanna’s being blackmailed by some guys at school with a picture they took of me and her. I thought I could nail them and erase the picture by using the backdoor program, but they found it.”
“Thought I taught you to move fast when you work with hacks like that.”
He did. “I couldn’t figure out one of the guys. I was waiting for them to slip his name in an email. If I moved before I had the last of the group, I would have tipped my hand.”
Pigpen crosses his arms over his chest, clearly pissed that I’m not following his set rules for hacking. “You should have come to me when you hit that snag.”
“I fucked up.”
“You did, but now you’re playing straight. What was your endgame?”
“Figure out who was involved. Go through their phones and computers, then wipe the picture clean in one swipe.”
“It’s a hell of a risk to take that they haven’t stored the picture someplace else. I taught you to never underestimate.”
Until they found my hack, I was convinced they were minor-league players. I crack my neck as I do something I hate—repeat myself. “I fucked up and Breanna’s suffering for it. If you can’t figure it out, I’m asking for help.” And doing so is like offering a pound of my flesh.
“Give me what you know and we’ll get it taken care of.”
“I promised Breanna this would stay out of the club. I’m asking this as a personal favor.”
Pigpen shoves off the railing and studies me like I got caught knocking over a liquor store. “I told you, no more personal favors. You have a problem, then you lean on your brothers. That’s the point of the whole fucking club.”