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I look over at Emily. “Chevy stole things from him and then a few days later he’d put it back someplace different, and when our teacher found it, Chevy and Razor would tell him the item had been there the entire time.”
Chevy chuckles. “Fucked-up bastard didn’t have a chance when the rest of the class joined in. The asshole was starting to lose his mind at the end.”
“You didn’t?” Emily’s eyes widen. “I thought you were the good one.”
Oz and Razor bark out a laugh and Chevy flashes a sly one-sided smirk. “I am the good one, but then I hang out with these two. I’m telling you, I’m trying to save their souls, but they keep dragging me down.”
“Seriously,” Emily says. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Chevy shrugs and Oz wraps both his arms around Emily in a hug. “The guy was sick in the head. He used to call girls to his desk, drop his pencil and then look up their skirts or down their shirts when they bent over to pick it up.”
“Why didn’t anyone do anything?” Emily asks. “Tell another teacher. The principal. Somebody.”
“We tried.” Razor’s voice vibrates against the skin of my shoulder as he sweetly presses his lips to a sensitive spot on my neck and it’s hard not to shiver from the pleasure. “No one listened.”
“The board listened.” Chevy rolls his plastic cup in his hand. “Cyrus and Oz’s dad hounded the principal and the school board.”
“Lot of good that did,” answers Razor.
“The bastard’s not teaching anymore, is he?” Chevy challenges.
“Not because the board tried the appropriate way first.” Razor picks up my cup again and drinks while he keeps his eyes locked on Chevy. What makes me tremble is how Chevy grins like a satisfied asylum inmate. Chevy offers his fist, Razor bumps it and my stomach twists.
Everyone, including Razor, has said the same thing—the Terror try to abide by the law, but they play by their own rules. But then I recall how girls cried before and after class. How Addison used to throw up on Monday mornings because of what we had to endure in science, and then I think of those horrible moments that I had tucked away to the back recesses of my mind... “I’m glad you did it.”
They had hopped on to another conversation and they pause and stare at me.
“What?” Razor asks.
I should say I didn’t mean to speak. I should continue to carry the secret like I have since eighth grade, but for some reason, this group, this place, these fantastically raw people—maybe I don’t have to hide anymore.
“He did it to Addison.” The memory causes the fried chicken I ate earlier to war with the potato salad. “Mr. Mull did it to Addison a few times. He kept me after class because I was ahead of everyone else, so the school was giving me extra assignments, and she would stay because she didn’t trust him alone with me. He would drop his pen and he wouldn’t let us leave until she picked it up. It had to be her. It always had to be Addison. And she would never leave me behind, even when I begged her to, because she was scared what he would do if it was just the two of us alone.”
I remember feeling ashamed and used and all I did was stay after class. Addison was the one who took the brunt of the abuse. “So...yeah, I’m glad you did it.”
Razor’s arm around me tightens and he mumbles a low curse. There’s a wildness in both of the other boys’ eyes that frightens me.
“You don’t need to worry about anyone making you feel like shit again.” Razor’s threat is ominous and made with the promise of death.
“Amen,” Chevy adds. “Anyone ever makes you the slightest bit uncomfortable, Breanna, you tell one of us. You’re with Razor, which means you’re family.”
Family. My eyes flicker up with the word and there’s a sincerity in Chevy’s face that causes a small part of my heart to ache. He means what he says. Without knowing me...without really understanding me...he’s already accepted me...he’s suggesting I belong.
“It’s true,” Razor says in this soft voice that’s almost a whisper. Our eyes meet and I wonder if he can spot my bewilderment. It can’t be that easy. Nothing is that easy. I have a huge family. People who are supposed to love me regardless, and it’s never this easy.
“Reign of Terror,” Chevy says, and his statement rips Razor’s attention away from me.
Razor tips his head to him and repeats, “Reign of Terror.”
Oz turns his head toward the men crowding the bonfire and yells, “Reign of Terror.”
A sense of awe and fear runs through me as a loud, deep chorus of “Reign of Terror” is shouted into the night. Not once, not twice, but three times, ending in a warrior cry that causes me to shrink into Razor.
Razor gently hugs me to him as if he can sense my unease, kisses my temple, then slips off the seat, leaving my back cold. He stands beside me and places his fingers under my chin.
“I told you months ago—I got your back.”
He did and I never understood how much he meant his promise. He swipes his thumb across my cheek and it leaves a burning trail along my skin. “You ready to head?”
