Watching her dance with her friends and seeing her throw her head back and laugh—that wasn’t full of shit. Listening to her explain how her mind works—that wasn’t full of shit, either. “The Breanna Miller who danced and figured out the code wouldn’t listen to some asshole guy.”
“You don’t get it,” she says. “You don’t care what anyone thinks. You walk around in your scary cut, and if you don’t like what people say, you throw a punch or have a million bigger, badder biker guys who will throw a punch for you. I can’t throw a punch, and besides Addison and Reagan, I don’t have a million people behind me. I have less than one year left in this hellhole and then I can leave town and become anyone I want to be. In a year, I don’t have to be Breanna Miller. Not number five in the line of nine and not the standby joke for boys at school.”
“I do get it.” More than she thinks. I’m the one who’s overheard the town gossip about how my mom died and why. Breanna goes to argue, but I cut her off. I’m not interested in discussing Mom, especially after what happened with the board. “I do get it. End of story.”
She flinches, interpreting my words as a reprimand. Not my intention, but the conversation had to end. I need you to help me figure out if my mom killed herself or if she was murdered, but I don’t know how to ask. “I’m your bodyguard, right?”
Breanna dramatically inclines her head and strands of her hair fall into her face. “Beyond words being used as knives, the only terrifying part of this town is the Reign of Terror. So are you saying you’re going to protect me from you?”
She might need it. “I came here tonight to watch over you. You and I, we made a deal. We shook on it, and as I’ve said, once you make a deal with the Terror, you don’t break it. But I’m going to give you a chance to back out with no repercussions.” Because I like her and she shouldn’t feel forced to hang out with me, no matter how much I need her help.
“You came here because of me?”
I already told her that and I don’t repeat myself. I cross my arms over my chest and wait for my statement to sink in.
“You’re taking this bodyguard thing seriously, aren’t you?”
I keep to myself that she should be glad I upheld my end of our agreement. “I’ve protected you twice. Now I need something from you, but if you don’t want to help me, I’ll let you out of our deal with no hard feelings.”
Breanna yawns and her eyes grow heavy. She’s the type who gets tired when she drinks instead of annoying or weepy. It’s one more thing I like about her. “What do you need?”
“Your brain.”
Breanna
MY BRAIN. HE NEEDS my brain. Of course he does. Why else would he be talking to me? No guy would choose to be alone to kiss me. I practically threw myself at Razor, confessing I was hoping to be kissed, and he gives me a rain check, which I’m realizing is the equivalent of a gentle letdown. What was I expecting? Him to admit he lured me to the bed of his truck to ravish my body?
Yeah, I know. I’m supposed to be this twenty-first-century woman and obsessed with a man desiring me for my massive intellect. I am woman, hear me roar, and all that stuff, but for once, it would have been really freaking awesome to be the girl in the pretty dress left alone with the gorgeous bad boy who wants to kiss me.
I evidently expected too much out of the universe. “I’m not writing your papers.”
Razor goes rock solid and I make myself smaller when those blue eyes ice over again. “Did I ask you to?”
“No,” I croak.
“Do you believe what everyone says? You think I can’t write my own papers?”
I know what he’s referring to. People say he’s stupid because he failed fifth grade, but until he brought it up, that fact had stayed stored away in the dark recesses of my mind. “No.”
“Did I ask you to cheat?”
“No.” Once again, I made a horrible presumption. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think. Remember that, now let it go.” Razor pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket and flips through icons. A split second later he’s showing me a picture.
I’ll admit, my vision isn’t the best. In fact, everything has a blurry haze on the edges. My eyes are drying out and my contacts are irritating the crap out of me. My goal in life is to find a pillow and my glasses. Give me that combo and I’ll die a happy girl.
A blanket would be like sprinkles on ice cream.
I squint at the lit-up cell and the thoughts in my head disappear. I reach out, grab Razor’s phone and use my thumb and forefinger to enlarge the picture. “What’s this?”
“Some sort of a coded message. Can you decipher it?”
“I’m not a puzzle ATM where you insert the code and I spit out the answer.”
“Do you speak to all bikers this way?”
I choke on a laugh or a hysterical sob. I’m too tired and light-headed to analyze which one. “I was raised to never speak to any of you.”
“Guess that makes you a rebel.”
“Guess so.” But I’m too lost in the numbers and letters to enjoy this easy banter between us. “It’s worked like a crossword puzzle.”
“Yeah.”