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“Yes,” she finally answers. “I’m okay. I mean no... I mean...I broke my phone.”
She did and that sucks for her.
Now her eyes flicker between me and the phone like she wants to pick it up, yet is too paralyzed to do it. Saving us both from this torture, I swipe up the pieces of the cell and lean against the wall opposite her.
The distance between us helps her breathe and that gulp of air was audible as she tucks herself tight in the corner farthest from me. This type of reaction isn’t new. I’ve seen it since I was a child whenever my father or anyone from the Terror entered a room full of civilians. To everyone outside of the club, we’re the big bad motorcycle gang bent on blowing the house down.
People and their hellish nightmare folklore involving us piss me off. I don’t know why I told the guys to give me a minute. I’m late for plans I made with Chevy and some girls, plus I’m on call in case the board wants to meet sooner than later to discuss Detective Mike Barlow.
But something about how this chick looked alone and frightened messed me up. It reminded me... The thought stalls out in my brain and the trip-up causes a flash of pain in my chest. Fuck it, her expression reminded me of Mom the last time I saw her—the night she died.
My mom. I shake my head to expel her ghost from my mind. One visit from one bastard trying to use me and I’m being haunted by a past I can’t change. That’s what that detective wanted—to use me for info on the club. He’s one of too many who believe the Terror are the devil’s progeny.
“Is it yes or no,” I say as I attempt to shove the battery into place. It’s damn difficult now that the frame is bent.
“Yes or no what?” Her long hair sweeps past her shoulders. She has the type of hair that would have to be pulled up if she wanted a ride on the back of my bike. Gotta admit, I like her hair, especially how it has a shine under the lights of the school’s overhang.
“If you’re okay.” I overtly glance around the mostly empty area to prove a point. “If we leave, you’ll be alone and I don’t care for that. There’s some messed-up people out there. Fucked up enough that you shouldn’t be alone.”
Breanna swallows. I’d be number one on her list of fucked-up people. With a snap, the battery lodges into place. The casing takes me a few more seconds, but I wrestle that back into alignment, too.
She wears sandals with a heel and has pink painted toes. The girl fidgets, though. It’s nerves. Her jean skirt displays some seriously mouthwatering thighs and her sleeveless blue button-down has flimsy enough fabric to hint at the outline of her bra strap. She’s this mix between conservative and sexy and Breanna Miller is bringing it our senior year.
Under my scrutiny, she bends one knee then straightens the other. Bet she hasn’t realized how half the male population was staring at her tonight as she walked down the hall.
What she does know? That she’s terrified of me. I stretch out my arm, inching her cell closer to her. If I were a great guy, I’d lay it down in the middle between us and let her scurry to it from there, but I’m not a great guy. I’m just good enough to stay behind to make sure she’s not raped by some bastard with a coke addiction who could be wandering past the school.
“Not sure if it’ll work,” I say, “but it’s back together.”
Breanna nibbles on her lower lip, then releases it as she walks toward me. She accepts the cell, and this time, she rests her back against the middle column of the school entrance instead of rushing away. Still a nice distance in case she needs to bolt. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
It’s getting darker, faster, and, under her touch, the cell springs to life and brightens her face. There’s no way I’m leaving her alone. Especially since we’ve had issues with a rival motorcycle club, the Riot. Over the past two weeks, the Riot have taken to joyriding near our town. They’re testing boundaries and the club’s on edge wondering if our unsteady peace agreement is floundering.
All of us are waiting for them to cross lines they shouldn’t and ride into town. If the Riot does drive by tonight and they hear we’ve been at the school, they might check it out. Leaving this girl alone with the likes of them is like offering fresh meat to a starved wolf.
“Need a ride?” I ask.
She waves her phone. “No, thank you. My family is on their way.”
Breanna peeks at me between swipes of her phone and I don’t miss how her eyes linger on my biceps. Good girls like Breanna like to look, but they don’t like to play.
A few more glances and a clearing of her throat. She’s waiting for me to leave. Her life sucks because I’m not going anywhere.
“I’m Razor,” I say, though I have no doubt she knows and, if not, I’m aware she can read the road name patch sewn to the front of my cut.
“I’m Breanna,” she answers in this soft tone that dances across my skin. Damn, I could listen to that voice all night long, especially if she uses that sweet tone to sigh my name as I kiss the skin of her neck.
Yeah, I would definitely like to see this girl on the back of my bike. As I said, I’m not a great guy and earlier, I was just going for good, but Breanna’s luck ran out. My bad side decided to take over. “I know.”
The right side of my mouth tips up as her face falls.
I’m about to play Breanna like she’s never been played before. I hitch my thumbs in my pockets and decide to enjoy the ride. “So, that twenty dollars? Why did you bring that up?”
“What?” She recoils.
“Do you have something you need me to protect?” I ask.
