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Violet plays with her necklace and drives. Waiting for her response is skull-crushing and each second that passes makes this entire situation nauseating.
“I was up for a scholarship,” she finally says. “To someplace far away from here and I was told by a college recruiter that they were seriously considering me until they did a search for me on the internet. He told me their board of trustees couldn’t in good faith give scholarship money to a candidate with a questionable reputation.”
Hot moisture pools at the bottom of my eyes.
“No matter what happens, don’t let Razor talk you into going to the club with this,” she says.
“Why?”
“The Terror plays by their own rules when push comes to shove and I don’t want blood on my hands.” It’s not an answer, yet it is one at the same time.
“You said most of the stories were lies.”
“I did, but I didn’t mention which ones were true.”
My bottom lip trembles and I suck in a breath to prevent tears from falling. Violet places her hand over mine and I link our fingers together. “What am I going to do?”
“One of us is going to get out of this town. When you make it, remember me when I come asking you for a job.” Violet squeezes my hand. “In the meantime, I would plan on writing those papers.”
RAZOR
BREANNA IS STRANGLING my hand so tightly she could rival a tourniquet. Gotta admit, the girl may be frightened, but she owns a bigger pair of balls than most men.
It’s Friday and we’re still standing near the row of parked bikes. We arrived at the clubhouse a few minutes ago. She took her time to gain her land legs and then bought more time by combing her fingers through her hair, then checking her cell to see if her cover story is holding. It all adds up to stalling.
I swipe my thumb over her frozen hand. It’s been a cool day, but I’m betting it’s nerves causing her to be cold. “You ready?”
She nods too quickly. “Do I look okay?”
“Yeah.” She’s fucking gorgeous. Jeans that hug her right and a blue top that sets off that black hair. What I really love is that she’s wearing my leather jacket. “Stick with me at all times. If I get pulled away, you stay with Rebecca or with Oz or Chevy. You never leave our sight.”
Breanna blows out a shaky breath. “I thought this was a big old family-friendly dinner.”
“It’s the same type of rules as if you went to Shamrock’s. Stick with who you know.”
Breanna’s eyebrows rise and a ripple of uneasiness rushes through me when I remember she didn’t stick with who she knew that night. She danced with a whole lot of guys who would have knocked the hell out of each other for the chance to be with her—the girl who had no fear.
“New rules—when you go to someplace unknown, you stick with who you know.”
Breanna’s face brightens as she watches my annoyance...fuck it, my jealousy.
I grab on to her belt loops and drag her into me as I sit on the seat of my bike. She’s between my legs and she has this contagious smile that locks me into her. My hands settle on her hips and I imagine all the things I plan on doing with her tonight. After she meets the club, after we eat some dinner, I’m getting her back on my bike and we’re riding to someplace private.
Breanna nervously glances around. “We aren’t alone.”
We’re not. “No one’s going to rat. What happens at the clubhouse stays here.”
“Good to know.” Breanna wiggles as if that nonverbal cue is enough to convince me to release her. “But there are a lot of people around.”
The crystal ball grows clear. Breanna doesn’t like an audience, but if she’s going to hang around here, she’s going to have to get used to a few things. My fingers stay on her hips and I attempt to distract her with a change in conversation. “My jacket looks good on you.”
“Do you want it back?”
“No. I want every guy to know you belong with me.”
“It doesn’t have your name on it, so how do they know it’s yours?”
“They’ll know.” Because it has a hole in the arm from when I got shot. Next time I go into Louisville, I’ll buy a new one and let her keep this one. I’ll tell her it’s for protection on my bike, and it is, but it’s also a nice calling card of get-the-fuck-away-from-my-girl. “Wear the jacket.”
