Rebecca leans over to me. "This is his moment. It's huge that he shared it with you."

"Is this because he was shot?"

"Yes and no. They respect him for taking his job seriously, but this moment is because he saved one of his brothers."

A sense of awe overwhelms me and then I remember Razor as he stood with me outside the school, how he whisked me up in his arms outside the bar, and how he was willing to fight for someone he didn't even know because I asked. Warmth settles into my heart-saving people is what Razor does.

"I'm proud to be with him," I tell her as guilt tiptoes along my stomach lining. He's introducing me to his family and he's fine with keeping us a secret from mine. In fact, he's fine with keeping us a secret altogether, explaining that our relationship is no one else's business.

"You should be. But at the same time, life in the Terror isn't easy. Most people will draw dividing lines and will make you choose between us and them. I'll be honest, you're too young to make that choice."

Rebecca wears a cut, too, but this one is much different from Razor's. It's black like his and she has a nickname patch sewn on, but there are no other patches. The back simply states Terror Gypsy and a small patch at the bottom contains a name I've heard Razor use before-the name of another member.

She notices me studying her cut and she touches Razor's jacket. "Keep this on. It'll make tonight easier for you."

So I've already been informed. "Any other tips?"

"Don't come here without Razor. In fact, you aren't allowed in the clubhouse without Razor, and if you're under eighteen, you have to leave by eight. No exceptions."

I can live with that. "How old were you when you chose this life?"

"The same age as you, and most days I don't regret it."

My stomach bottoms out. "Most days?"

"Demons haunt the souls of some of these men. It's what drives them to belong to a part of society most can't understand. Razor's not exempt and loving someone like that can be hard."

Razor's demon is his mother. I haven't told Razor, but I'm still working on the second code. Maybe this is a demon I can help exorcise.

"Have you had enough of the clubhouse yet?" she asks.

I force my lips to move up like I'm fine even though I'm practically quaking.

Rebecca laughs. "Emily feels the same way. She's at a picnic table outside. Let me introduce the two of you."

RAZOR.

I'M IN THE BACK of the clubhouse and I have a line of guys willing to buy me a beer. Conversation is flowing fast. Everyone has something to say and they're saying it at once. I'm the one who's silent, so to them, it means I'm the one who listens.

Pigpen slips in between a group of guys and waves two fingers at the prospect behind the bar. The prospect slides two longnecks to him and, with them in hand, Pigpen motions with his chin for me to follow. Brothers pat me on the back, on my good side, as I tail him. Pigpen cuts into the kitchen, holding the door open for me with his foot. When I'm through, he hands me the other beer and the entire board claps.

The door shuts behind me and the serving window is closed. We aren't in the boardroom, so whatever is about to happen isn't official, but serious enough that they prefer privacy.

Pigpen sets his beer on the counter, then lifts himself to sit on it. Eli leans his back on the wall next to him, and Dad's beside Cyrus near the stainless-steel table in the middle of the room. They stare at me as if they're expecting something, and I'm at a loss.

"We're dying here," Eli says. "Spill."

Still doesn't help.

"You brought a girl," Eli says slowly as if I'm mentally impaired. "Is this Breanna?"

"Better be." Pigpen grins. "Otherwise she's going to be p.i.s.sed when you roll over and whisper another girl's name in the morning."

My head lowers. I'll never live that down. "Yeah, that's Breanna."

"Miller?" Dad asks.

I nod, curious how he knew her last name.

"Her mom works in accounting at the hospital," he says.

It's not new knowledge, but it's something I never gave a second thought to. Curiosity creates a stab of physical pain. How is it we've been together and I never asked about her family?

"Breanna's mom and your mom worked closely together. Your mom considered Breanna's mom a good friend." There's a mournful smile on his face that slices me deep. "She said Breanna's mom was pregnant all the time. Then she'd come into work with a baby and your mom used to come home begging for us to have another once she got a whiff."

I want to ask why I was an only child, but then I think better. It's not like he'd answer.

"Does her family know about you?" Eli asks.

"No, neither does anyone else. I don't want her taking s.h.i.t for being with me."

Eli and Cyrus share one of those glances that leads me to believe they read minds.

"They're a good family," Dad says. "She, and they, deserve better than for you to be sneaking around in the shadows."

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds at school will crucify her if they know she's on the back of my bike."

"He didn't say school, pinhead," Pigpen interrupts. "He said her parents."

Acid churns in my stomach. "And what if they keep us apart?"

"Then you come to us," Dad says. "You come to me. For the millionth time, son, you need to trust us." He leaves out "trust me" because we're both aware of where I stand on that.

"I don't want to lose her."

"You won't. Trust us to help if it comes down to that."

"Just like you helped Mom?" I spit.

He and I glare each other down and the tension in the room is so thick that it's strangling me. For one night, Dad and I found a way to let our past go, and he was right, our problems sure as h.e.l.l didn't waste their time plowing into us again.

"I heard your girl's smart," Pigpen pipes up to ease the building tension. "In fact, I've heard she's f.u.c.king Einstein, which brings up the question of how the h.e.l.l she ended up with you."

I flip off Pigpen. He suggests something anatomically impossible, and as the familiar ribbing begins, we sober up when Cyrus says, "She's the other person in the independent study."

Silence as I understand what they must be a.s.suming-that somehow our brains are the bond between us, but what they don't understand is that I don't hold a candle to Breanna.

"Yeah," I answer. "She is."

"See," Pigpen says. "The boy does have brains."

"Not like hers." Before they can argue, I jack my thumb over my shoulder. "Breanna's freaked enough about being here, so I'm going to find her."

"She under eighteen?" Eli asks, and I nod. "Then she's out of here by eight. A few other chapters are riding in later tonight in your honor. s.h.i.t's going to get crazy."

I'll be expected to show later, and maybe I will after I get Breanna safely home, but right now, my focus is her. All on her. I nod again to let him know I heard and leave to find my girl.

Breanna PAPER PLATES WITH the remnants of our dinner are stacked at the end of the picnic table, and there are enough red plastic cups on the table that I've lost track of which one is mine. I'm drinking water. Emily is drinking a diet soda. Oz and Chevy are drinking beer. They've had multiple cups and, when they first sat at the table, Razor had a beer, too.

He drank one and after that he's stuck to my water. It's intimate that we share the same cup and it's odd to watch people my age drink so freely with so many adults around. What's crazy-no one, not a single adult, cares.

"Tell me more!" Emily's grin grows. In a lawn chair, Emily sits on the lap of Oz-a guy who graduated from my high school last year and scared the c.r.a.p out of me when he walked by, but he's hard to find intimidating as he watches Emily as if the sun rises and sets by her.

The other guy from our school-Chevy-shakes his head. "You're killing us, Breanna. Razor, ask your girl for some mercy."

We're all smiles: me, Razor, Chevy, Emily, Oz and this other guy from school they call Stone. He's a couple of years younger than us and he's the kind of guy your soul hurts to look at because people at school torture him. My soul withers further as I realize that could be me.

Razor moves beside me to straddle the bench seat. He hooks an arm around my waist and glances down at my legs as a silent request for me to do what he's done. I also straddle the bench and end up with my back flush to him. I wait for everyone to whisper about us sitting so cozily, but like with the beer, no one cares.

"Breanna's lying." Oz runs his finger along Emily's knee and it's the type of touch that suggests they share very personal secrets. "I was a Boy Scout at school."

Ha. That's a lie. "So you're saying during my freshman year you didn't punch Adam Jones in the face, causing him to spew blood in my direction?"

"In my defense, it was your boy that started the fight." Oz mocks this innocent expression, but there's no way I'm buying it. "I was helping a brother out."

Razor makes a disgusted noise. "Guy I hit was already down. You were feeling left out."

I snap my body around. "I babysat other people's children for months to earn enough for that sweater and I never got the blood out of it. Anyhow, I don't remember you there."

"I was already in the office being suspended. First part of the fight happened in the parking lot. The guy I fought hit me hard, Breanna. So hard my hair moved and then I had to really hit him back. I'm the one who should be getting the sympathy points." He bats his baby blues at me and I shake my head at him because I'm melting.

"What were you guys fighting about?" Emily asks.

Oz, Chevy and Razor look at each other, then go quiet. I drop my hand to cover Razor's fingers that are firm against my stomach. I know why they fought. The rumors at school were brutal and guilt consumes me for being the person who brought up the subject.

Adam Jones called the Terror worthless, and when Razor told him to keep his mouth shut, Adam told Razor he must be worthless, too, since his mother preferred death over being with him.

"What was your first impression of me?" Chevy asks, moving the conversation forward. I adore that about him and Oz. They read Razor well and form a protective bubble around him.

"First impression of you," I repeat. It's what started my stories. Oz asked point-blank what I thought of him and, through coaxing from Razor and Emily, I gave in. "Eighth grade stands out. That was when you gas-lighted our science teacher into believing he was crazy."

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. "f.u.c.ked-up b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't have a chance when the rest of the cla.s.s joined in. The a.s.shole 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 princ.i.p.al. 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 princ.i.p.al and the school board."

"Lot of good that did," answers Razor.

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d'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 b.u.mps 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 cla.s.s. 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 cla.s.s because I was ahead of everyone else, so the school was giving me extra a.s.signments, 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 cla.s.s. 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 s.h.i.t 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?"