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Violet nods and I can’t decide if I’m comforted or mad that the two of us fall so easily into our friendship even though she has shit on everyone else I love.
“What’s going on with you and Breanna?” she asks.
I shrug. “She’s helping me with something personal, so I’m going to try to help her with this, but I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
“No way. My life may suck because of that picture, but I will not have club blood on my hands. Does Breanna know she’s making a deal with the devil?”
“This is on me, not the club. I promised her they wouldn’t be involved.”
Violet’s head jerks back. “You’re lying to the club?”
Why is she shocked? “I kept what you’ve told me quiet.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you would, which is why I didn’t tell you everything. Razor—if the club finds out you’re hiding something big like this from them, they’ll kick you out.”
She’s not wrong. The club would want to know about anything involving Violet. She was the daughter of a brother who died. They feel it’s our job to protect her now. As for the stuff going down with Breanna, they probably would be pissed if they knew that I’m seeking retribution without their knowledge or consent. Then again, Violet doesn’t understand how close I am to being thrown out to begin with. “That’s my problem. Is it Hewitt that blackmailed you?”
She’s silent as she weighs whether or not she should tell me. What’s seriously jacked is that I have a cut on my back that says I have an entire clubhouse of men who should trust me, but the only ones putting that trust into action are two seventeen-year-old girls.
“No,” she says. “I had no idea Kyle was involved. Not until you just told me that Breanna’s being blackmailed, and, by the way, how is that possible? The girl is a saint. What on earth can he have on her?”
Tension forms in my neck and I pop it to the right. “He has a picture of me and her together, and before you go there, don’t. We didn’t do anything.”
She smirks. “You must have been doing something, and go you for ‘not doing anything’ with the smart girl. I bet her family must be thrilled she’s not only into a Terror boy, but she’s dating the notorious Terror boy.”
“We’re friends.”
A “psh” leaves her. “You don’t have friends, but for shits and giggles, let’s say you are just friends—keep it that way. Don’t mess up that girl’s life by dragging her into the club.”
My patience level is depleting fast. “Who blackmailed you?”
“Promise no club involvement.”
“I already gave my word to Breanna.”
“Great, but you gave it to her for her situation. I want your word on my situation.”
Keeping a secret from the club regarding Breanna—I could justify that. She has no club involvement. But keeping a secret of who has caused Violet pain and misery, the secret I swore to tell the board the moment I found out—I’m entering near damnation. Good thing I’ve been teetering on this ledge for a while. “You have my word.”
Trusting I’ll stay true, she immediately answers, “Rob McEntire.”
A muscle in my jaw twitches and Violet shrinks. That’s the asshole she was making out with the night the Riot flew into town. “What was he blackmailing you for?”
Violet raises her chin and creates a fist with her fingers. “Something that I took the risk of not doing, and you saw how that blew up in my face.”
I’m a damn pot on the stove getting ready to boil. Violet’s smart. If she said sexual favors out loud, I would already be on my bike and would be seconds away from ripping his heart from his chest with my bare hands. “He’s still blackmailing you.”
She looks away now, at the tree, and her foot begins to tap. “I lost my chance at a scholarship out of this dump town over that picture. I was a finalist and they called and I was happy and Mom was happy and a few days after the picture went up the college called back and told me what they found on the internet and that I was no longer—” she uses her fingers to create quotation marks “—material that lived up to their standards. So, yeah, I said yes to Rob and in return he took the picture down.”
But it’s still out there. And other places now. She knows this. I know this, but like Kyle had warned Breanna, they probably had more.
“You should have come to me,” I say.
“I did!” Tears form in her eyes. “You demanded that we go to the club when I needed my friend. The moment I said a name, Chevy, Eli or Cyrus would have taken a gun to his head.”
“What makes you believe I won’t?” I ask. “I’m the crazy one, remember?”
“You’re emotional,” she says. “But you think before you leap. They don’t just leap—they go psychotic. Eli went to jail over a temper tantrum gone wrong and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of living in this damned town!”
