I kiss her cheek and walk away. She follows, smacking my a.s.s, and smiles as she shoulders by me. "You're too young to be in love, Razor, but whoever it is, she's a lucky girl."

I s.n.a.t.c.h her wrist before she disappears into the crowd in her search for her rebound good time. "I'm not in love."

Amy sadly laughs and it's the type that hits her eyes in that sympathetic way I hate. "I lied about just now finding you. I've watched you text for the past half hour. Me and you-we had fun together, but I never made you smile."

She touches the edge of my lips. "You should smile more often, but if whoever it is makes you sad, you know where to find me."

Here on any Friday or Sat.u.r.day night. "Have fun tonight."

She waggles her eyebrows. "Will do."

My back pocket vibrates and I leave the clubhouse, striding past the bonfire and groups of guys cutting up. The night is dark, no moon, and it's even darker when I enter the tree line and head for the towering oak Chevy, Oz, Violet and I used as home base. I can almost hear Violet singing, "Not it."

There's a shadow of a form leaning against the tree and I'm impressed she showed. It's taken me two weeks of groveling to get her to agree to this, but I did grovel because this will be my first solid lead. "You missed your dad's memorial."

Violet powers on her cell so the two of us have light during this clandestine reunion. "It's the club's fault he died. Why would I partic.i.p.ate in something that will ease their guilt?"

I cross my arms over my chest, not caring to get into a p.i.s.sing match with her. "The picture of you that was put up on Bragger, were you being blackmailed?"

She goes pale against her red hair. I smacked the nail on the head.

"How did you know?" she whispers.

"It's happening to someone else."

"Who?" she asks, then answers her own question with an annoyed huff. "Breanna Miller."

I don't verbally confirm it, but I do meet her eyes.

"That sucks," she says. "Not that it should happen to anyone, but she's too nice for someone to be messing with her."

"This stays between us."

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 s.h.i.t 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 p.i.s.sed 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 s.h.i.ts 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 d.a.m.nation. 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 a.s.shole 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 d.a.m.n pot on the stove getting ready to boil. Violet's smart. If she said s.e.xual 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 d.a.m.ned town!"

My fingers curl in and out because the need is to shout. To throttle her because she knows this club is legit, that they never would have killed anyone, but then there's a question in the back of my head. A lingering doubt. My mom. I have to swallow the hurt tightening my throat.

Something caused Violet to walk away from her family, and whatever that something is, I wonder if it's on the same level of agony as my mother.

Violet hugs herself and she looks so d.a.m.n pathetic that my chest aches. I swear under my breath, then wrap my arms around her. Her shoulders shake and each deep breath she takes to keep from crying causes the anger inside me to build. My heart breaks for her, for the friendship that's been floundering this past year, and for how Breanna must also be emotionally crumbling.

"I'm going to fix this," I say as I hold my best friend. "I promise I'm going to fix this for both you and Breanna."

Breanna I AM NEVER using public Wi-Fi again. I researched what Razor told me last night after we hung up and it's frightening how unsafe technology is. Razor divulged his scheme and I've been worrying since over this insane plan. He has the simple part. He sits back and types. I, on the other hand, have to speak with the devil.

Nervous adrenaline leaks into my system as the bell to the diner rings. I walk in and, as he promised, Razor's in the corner working intently at his laptop and, like clockwork, Kyle is on the opposite side of the diner eating lunch with his friends.

This is what Razor has been doing for the past couple of weeks-following Kyle. Understanding his routines and rhythms. Kyle doesn't seem to know that Razor has his life dissected and doc.u.mented to the minute.

My cell vibrates. It's Razor. Don't look so terrified. He touches you and I'll stick this dull steak knife through his skull.

Me: It's not him touching me I'm afraid of.

Razor: Is it me you're afraid of touching you? If so, I promise you'll like it.

My temperature jumps to triple digits. Razor touching me. It hasn't happened yet beyond a few careless brushes of his body against mine while in physics. Regardless, my imagination goes to places beyond him caressing my face or holding my hand and beyond PG-13. I suck in a breath to regain a logical train of thought. Me: I'm afraid he'll find out what we are about to do.

Razor: All the same. You say the word, I'll use the knife. Or say the word, we leave now and I'll give you that ride we keep talking about.

I never know if he's joking. Me: Let's stick to the plan.

Razor: You're no fun. All work and no play...

I smile, and when I peek at him, his eyes are still glued to the screen, but he's grinning, too. Digging deep for courage, I choose the side of the diner Kyle and his friends are at, select a booth by myself and study the menu. There's no way I could eat anything without regurgitating.

"Hey." Kyle slithers into my booth. Per part of the plan, I texted Kyle last night and asked if we could meet to discuss his paper, and like Razor thought he would, Kyle suggested the diner. It's scary how everything Razor said would happen is coming to fruition.

"Hi." I make a point of looking over my shoulder at Razor. "I didn't know Thomas would be here."

Razor's real name feels weird on my tongue.

"He's been coming here for a few weeks. Waitress says he comes for the Wi-Fi, which makes sense. I heard he lives in a box of a place in the middle of nowhere."

Reception is sketchy for everyone in town, which is why Kyle doesn't question a thing-whenever any of us comes into the diner, we switch to the Wi-Fi because it's reliable.

I fiddle with the napkin. Razor said to act as if I'm terrified of him and I thought it would be hard to do. But it turns out it's easy to act afraid, because I am-of Kyle.

"Are you sure we should be in the same place as him?" Razor's suggestion for me to say. Reverse psychology.

"It's good for him to know he's not in control. Besides, I thought you two were best friends." Kyle extends his arm along the back of the seat.

"He's too intense, plus he's mad at me." I glance over my shoulder again like I'm worried.

"Are you okay?" His question is part concern, part confusion. Like he actually cares about my well-being.

Please buy my lie. "If I tell you, you're going to tell everyone at school, then it'll be on Bragger, and then he'll really be mad."

Kyle's eyes dart over my face. Get him to trust you, Razor had said. I read an article that said people bond quickly over two things: gossip and joint misery. If it's true, then gossiping about how Razor's bothering me ought to be a friendship gold mine.

Kyle plops his arms on the table, encompa.s.sing too much s.p.a.ce. "I won't tell anyone."

I roll my eyes and I don't have to pretend for that. "Sure."

"No. I mean it." He scratches behind his ear. "Look, between me and you, Razor's been scaring the h.e.l.l out of me. There's something not right about that guy and I don't like the idea of you being wrapped up in him. You're too nice of a girl for a psychopath."

I attempt to squash the anger flaring within me. Razor's not the crazy one, it's him, but Kyle needs to believe we're bonding. I clear my throat and use the hurt from Kyle to convince him my emotions are about Razor. "What happened at Shamrock's was a mistake."

A mistake that Kyle created by snapping a photo of me in a private moment.

"You're too good for him, Bre. I hope you can see that. I don't want to put that picture up any more than you want it live, but if you think that picture would shatter your life, it would be nothing compared to if you did get involved with him. The guy is a nut job."

I hate that he uses my nickname. I hate how he thinks he knows Razor because he's listened to rumors. "You're right about Razor." He's wrong. "Working with him in AP physics has scared me and he's mad I'm trying to switch partners."

Kyle swears like he cares and has the nerve to reach over like he intends to touch my hand. I withdraw it as if I didn't notice his kind gesture and twist my fingers in my hair.

"It's okay," Kyle says. "You're in public around him. Nothing will happen."

"So this is what I was thinking." I'm so ready for this charade to be over. "I want to work with you, not against you. If you say the picture won't go up, then I believe you."

"Now you're talking." If he had given me that smile last year, I would have been happy. "Tell me what you want for writing my papers and I'll make sure it's yours."

For you to be castrated. "There is one thing you can do."

He stretches out his arms like he's willing to give me a hug. "Anything."

"Send me a copy of the pictures. All of them."

His forehead furrows. "Why?"

"I want them as a reminder," I say. "Of how stupid I can be and how I made a wrong choice." Like believing the rumors involving Razor.

"You shouldn't be hard on yourself," he says. "He's conned a lot of girls, not just you."

The empty aching at the thought of how many girls Razor has possibly been with overwhelms me. I could try to convince myself that his female companionship issues are a lie, but even I've seen him in action. Each time, he was getting biblical with them, but not in the G.o.dly fashion.

"Will you send them to me?" I prod.

I sag with relief when Kyle produces his phone and swipes here and there in order to send me the photos. My heart picks up speed as my cell pings with his message and then as I ask if he still has the email from his English teacher that describes what he needs to do with the paper. With each second he's on the Wi-Fi, I experience a high and a panic.

Can Kyle tell what's happening? Will his phone beep like NORAD and he'll realize we've deceived him? But none of that happens. Kyle interacts with me as if we're friends and I let him talk, encouraging him to keep hunting for things on his phone.

If Razor's true to his word, this nightmare is on its way to being over.

There's ice cream in my hair. Why wouldn't there be? In the tiny employee bathroom of the Barrel of Fun Ice Cream shop, I lower my head, run water over the sticky strands, then yank so many paper towels I can hear trees in the rainforest screaming in protest.

I squish the towels to my hair in an effort to dry it and the rumble of a motorcycle causes my stomach to fill with a million anxiety-ridden b.u.t.terflies. Oh my G.o.d, I'm getting on a motorcycle with a member of the Reign of Terror. Scratch that. I'm getting on a motorcycle with Razor, voted by my school as the most feared member of the Reign of Terror.

I peer at my reflection in the mirror to see if I've gone insane.