Breanna’s missing, and in her place is Rebecca. Her dark hair is pulled back in a bun, and she wears her blue nursing scrubs. Dad stands behind her, and he rolls his neck like he’s relieved.
“Welcome back,” says Rebecca. “How do you feel?”
I swallow again, and my throat’s as bad as my mouth. “Like I’ve been shot, then I used my skin to scrape off some blacktop.”
Chuckles in the room and Eli mumbles something about telling everyone I’m coming around. Rebecca’s asking me questions. My full name. How old I am. Her name. Everyone in the room’s name, then road name. She’s checking an IV bag that’s attached to a pole. Inspecting my wounds. Looking at my eyes.
“How bad?” I ask.
“Flesh wound with the bullet,” she answers. “Good thing you were wearing jeans and your leather jacket when you took the spill. It could have been worse.”
I nod as a fuzzy memory of already having this conversation squeezes out. Blood loss from the flesh wound and sinking blood pressure made me dizzy and I wiped out on my bike. Club got me back here banged up, bleeding and bruised.
We were hired by the company because they wanted their loads delivered safely and they preferred no bad press if there were problems, which means we keep everything quiet. Eli’s right, I agreed to be treated by friends of the club away from the hospital, but Rebecca is also right—dying from an allergic reaction wasn’t on my bucket list.
“I’d feel better if you stayed awake for a while,” she says.
Cyrus, Eli and my father congregate in the doorway. When they notice me staring, they all give me a chin lift of approval.
There’s a round of cheers from below and that’s when I realize I’m in one of the private rooms in the clubhouse.
“The club’s been sitting vigil. Oz and Chevy are ready to start throwing fists if they don’t let them up soon,” Rebecca whispers as she peels back the bandage on my arm.
I scrub my face with my other hand and I’m smacked with an IV line. No way I heard her correctly. “Thought I was the black sheep of this club.”
“Sweetheart, you’re all black sheep.” Rebecca winks. “And, by the way, when you’ve had a few minutes to get your bearings, you’re filling me in on who Breanna is.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, then close my eyes again.
Breanna
ME: I’ve figured out the second code. I don’t understand the meaning, but maybe you will. It’s the third time I’ve texted this to Razor and it makes me dizzy with nerves that he has yet to reply.
I twine my fingers around a lock of my hair and pull as I scan the hallway again. The internet articles I read on the Reign of Terror circle my brain: Reign of Terror member shot by a rival club in Louisville this summer, Reign of Terror member killed in a hit-and-run accident last year, and an article from a few years back that detailed carnage between the Reign of Terror and another club not mentioned by name before my birth.
It’s been three days since I’ve heard from Razor and I’m losing my mind.
“Bre!” Addison blocks my view of the hall and I blink at her harsh tone. “You aren’t even listening to me.”
No, I wasn’t. “Sorry.”
“I’m serious about this. If you’re going to date him, you need to tell somebody.”
Addison was jump-up-and-down-with-joy when I told her that Razor and I were in an undefined relationship, but with each day that passes, my forever-positive best friend has developed into a worrywart.
“You count as somebody,” I say.
“Not what I mean.” She slips in front of me again when I turn my head, searching for Razor in the hallway thick with students waiting for the morning bell to ring. “You need to tell someone else...like your parents.”
The loud voices and laughter vanish as Addison gains my undivided attention. “They would freak if they found out I was dating him.”
Addison innocently bobs her head. “Yes, they will, which is the point. I liked you flirting with him and then you guys kissed and I was cool with that—you know, like you were busting out of your shell. But falling for him? That’s too far. He’s part of the Terror. Being with him is not safe.”
“You’re buying the rumors. You know over half the stuff everyone says is lies.”
Addison grabs my hand. “Which means half of the stuff they say is true. People around the Terror get shot. People who hang with them end up in bad situations. Mia Ziggler was a real person. She did get on the back of a Terror bike and she did disappear. I don’t want that for you.”
My body sways with her words. “So if I go public with Razor and the entire school calls me a Reign of Terror slut, does that have truth to it? Does that make me a whore?”
My best friend backs away like I smacked her. “No. How could you say that to me?”
Tears burn my eyes. Because that’s what I’ve been facing regardless of my relationship with Razor. Maybe Razor is right. Maybe I can’t cut it as his girlfriend, but the thought of breaking it off hurts my heart. “I like him and he likes me.”