Thunder Road: Walk The Edge Part 21

I'm f.u.c.king 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 s.p.a.ces. 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 b.a.l.l.s. I slide my finger across the screen and my happy feelings die.

Message 1, Kyle: We should get together to figure out what my paper will be about. Maybe I can help you with the research.

Message 2, Kyle: You still need to let me know what you want in return for writing my papers.

Disappointment tastes like stomach bile. His paper is due soon, and if Razor doesn't find out the ident.i.ty of the fifth person, I'll become something I never wanted to be: a cheater.

I roll my neck in an attempt to ward off the sore muscles caused by hunching over the code for too long. A quick check of the time and it's no wonder I'm stiff. I retreated to my room after I put my younger siblings to bed at nine and I'm still sitting cross-legged in the middle of the single twin bed at midnight.

I scroll through my messages, hoping I missed one from Razor. Friday night, Razor and I texted while he was on break and then...nothing. I texted him again, but he never responded. It's Sunday and my chest aches. I understood why we couldn't talk Friday, because of his job, and I'm sure that's why I haven't heard from him, but I miss him.

My cell buzzes and my stupid heart leaps. One glance down and the bitter nausea returns. Kyle: You look sad at school sometimes. I didn't do this to make you sad.

How exactly did he think blackmailing people would make them feel? Ecstatic? Included? He's freaking psychotic, but Razor has told me to play nice. Me: Things have been tough at home lately. I'm fine. We'll talk about your paper soon.

I power off my cell and toss it onto my nightstand. If it's off, then I can pretend Razor's contacting me instead of knowing he isn't.

A knock on my door and my eyes widen when Mom walks into my room. Exhausted is the best way to describe her. Her black hair is knotted in a clip at the base of her neck, but several strands have broken loose. Dark circles are under her eyes and it's like a few new worry lines have formed near the corners since dinner.

She's in a Bellarmine University T-s.h.i.+rt, a gift I'm sure from Clara, and a pair of sweatpants. Mom's in her early fifties and tonight is one of the rare nights it shows.

She smiles as she closes the door behind her. "Hi."

"Hey," I say. "I thought you were in bed."

"Elsie had a nightmare and then Liam stopped by to talk."

I had heard his car rattle into the drive about two hours ago. He works third s.h.i.+ft and sometimes stops by here for leftovers before he clocks in.

Mom scans the room and I know what she sees: empty.

The bunk beds pressed into the corner are waiting for daughters who will probably never return for longer than a one-night visit. With Nora and Clara gone, the walls are barren except for the thousands of pushpin holes put there by my sisters in the blue paint. I could add my personality to the room, but it seems useless. As soon as I graduate, I'll join the ranks of gone.

Mom sits on the edge of my bed and her forehead wrinkles as she notices the clutter. "What's this?"

I gather up the papers and stuff them into my backpack. "Schoolwork. How's Elsie?"

I should ask how Clara is, but I won't. Liam told me Clara is having a rough time transitioning into her new environment, but he thinks she will graduate. Maybe she will. Maybe she won't. I have to be honest, after being abandoned on the side of the road, I don't have it in me to care.

"She'll be fine. I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk-just the two of us-since I've been home. Your father said you did a fantastic job taking care of everyone while I was gone. Thank you."

Not like Dad would know how things went. He was on the road more than he was home, but no one perished, nor was anyone physically scarred for life. It's too early to judge the mental repercussions of me being in charge for two weeks.

Mom reaches over and curls over the ends of my hair as if that will give the straight locks some life. "I'm proud of you. Not just for stepping up when I was gone, but in everything you do. Your dad's proud, too. He told me you're living proof we did something right."

I flinch as if she's shoving a pickax into my chest.

"So..." Mom grins. It's forced and it's more tired than cheerful and it causes fear to tiptoe through my stomach. She's not here because she was pa.s.sing by my room. She's here because she's smelled blood. "I'm late, but as promised, I'm all yours."

It's impossible to meet my mother's gaze. If only she'd said those words over a month ago maybe everything would be different.

Mom returned two weeks after Kyle began blackmailing me, and the moment she strolled in the door, Zac vomited. Paul and Elsie weren't too far behind. Mom seemed to have forgotten her promise of being "all mine," but I was okay with that. Kids puking trumps kid not puking.

Guess I could tell her, but instead of Mom just being disappointed in me for going to Shamrock's and my time spent with Razor of the Reign of Terror, I'd also have to explain how I'm days away from writing a paper for Kyle. This is a grave I can't seem to stop digging.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asks.

That I'm a failure. "Nothing."

"It was something, and I know I didn't handle things well when you came to me." The way she speaks, it's like she's coaxing a spooked kitten from behind a couch. Too kind. Too understanding. She can't even imagine the damage I've sustained. "I can't change the past, but I'm here now. Talk to me, Bre."

I wish I could. I wish I hadn't been swept up in this storm, but I have and there's no turning back. "There was some stuff, but it worked out and I'm okay now."

Mom's silent and the lack of response from her creates a heaviness in my chest that causes breathing to be a labor.

"Liam visited me this evening to talk about you. He told me about Thomas Turner."

My bones practically jump out of my skin. "What?"

I expect wrath to be pouring out of my mother's eyes, but instead I discover sympathy. She places her hand over mine. "Liam hung out with some old friends on Friday night."

Meaning Liam hung out with people I go to school with. He was on the football team in high school and he still attends the games to cheer on his home team. My head falls back. Translation: Liam chatted with Kyle.

"Liam heard from a friend that Thomas Turner is in some of your cla.s.ses this year. He also heard there were some rumors going around about you and Thomas at the beginning of the year. Liam put two and two together and realized that was what you were upset about the day I left. He feels bad for how we treated you and I feel worse."

Blood drains from my face and I'm sorting through the possibilities of what she heard, but I keep landing on the same spot: Mom heard about the rumor floating around school. The one that says that Razor tried to ask me out. Because if she heard Razor and I were body to body at Shamrock's or that we're dating/not dating, she's handling the idea of me lying to her way too well. It also means Kyle is throwing out a reminder to me to stay in line.

"What did Liam say?" I ask.

"Nothing I believe. Nothing Liam believes." Mom squeezes my hand and she inhales a quivering breath. "Liam told me what happened the night he picked you up from orientation. About how you were alone with Thomas, and then he told me about the rumors going on at school..."

"What rumors?" It's odd how distant I sound. Like I'm stuck in a tunnel. Even odder is how I've become detached-from my body, from my mind.

"That Thomas Turner was bothering you at school and that people were jumping to wrong conclusions. He also said Kyle Hewitt got into a fight with Thomas in order to protect you."

I'm not sure if I'm in shock or if I'm relieved.

"Please talk to me," she begs. "The Terror have their own way of living and it can be frightening. I want to make sure you're okay. I want to be here for you. Liam's scared something more happened the night of orientation. He's feeling a lot of regret and...so am I."

Did he also spill how he forced me out of his car? That he dumped me on the side of the road? Mom swallows and she grows overly interested in the bedspread. Maybe he did confess. Maybe the two of them commiserated over their guilt.

"Did Thomas Turner hurt you?" Mom asks.

"Thomas Turner stayed behind at orientation because I was alone. He stayed behind to protect me." If Razor and I do end up together, I should lay some positive groundwork, but what if Mom uses her spidey senses and figures out how deep I'm into him? "He and I...we're working together in our AP physics cla.s.s. He's not that bad. Actually, he's nice."

"Nice?" Mom eyes me as if she's weighing what to say next. "That's not how the Terror operates. Odds are he's being nice to you for a reason. I'm grateful your brother showed when he did at orientation, and I think you need to keep your distance from Thomas outside of cla.s.s."

"Isn't it possible everyone is a little overdramatic about the Terror?"

"I worked with Thomas Turner's mother."

My heart stops beating. "What?"

"And I'm sure you've heard the rumors about how his mother died."

Slightly ashamed, I nod. I've spent my life hating rumors, but I've had no problem listening to them. I guess I was thankful they weren't slandering me.

"Layla wasn't from Snowflake. She met her husband at a party in Louisville when she was in her last year of college. She wasn't who you would have thought of as a Reign of Terror wife. Supersmart, lots of honors when she graduated. When she arrived in Snowflake, she was so full of life. I purposely would switch my s.h.i.+fts around to work with her."

Mom's eyes glisten with sad tears. "She was a lot like you. She could have done anything. Ended up anywhere. And she wound up married to a man that made her unhappy."

My throat constricts. These may be the answers Razor is so desperate for. "Did she tell you that? Did she tell you she was unhappy?"

Mom shakes her head. "Layla was private when it came to her husband. It's the way the Terror operates-they expect complete secrecy, but she arrived in Snowflake one person, and over that last year of her life, I saw the light in her eyes wither."

"Some people say she didn't commit suicide," I say. "That it was an accident."

"Maybe. Only G.o.d knows the truth, but I do think the rumors regarding the Terror have weight. If you want me to be perfectly honest, most rumors are based on truth."

Her words strike me in the stomach. "So you believe the rumors about me sleeping with Razor?"

Mom's head ticks back. "No. I told you, neither your brother nor I believe that, but we are convinced you gained Thomas Turner's attention and that scares me. What upsets me even more is that you tried to come to me and I shut you down."

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. .h.i.t was different. In the other incidents, they attacked as soon as the driver got out. In this. .h.i.t, 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.+t 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 s.h.i.+ft 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. d.a.m.n-when the h.e.l.l 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.u.c.king 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 "f.u.c.k 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 s.h.i.+t. 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."