“Crap!” I shout into the night, but no one is around to hear.
To the right is a Dumpster. To the left is another alley. Both are shadowed. I choose left and pray once I reach the corner there will be light. But as I go to walk, the world becomes disoriented. I throw my hand out to the wall when stumbling seems easier.
“Alone again?”
My head snaps back to the entrance and a surge of adrenaline shoots through my veins. Emerging out of the darkness is a large, looming figure. I stagger back. Away from the night of the alley, toward my hope for light, but there’s a crunch of glass under my feet. I trip, my ankle twists and a spasm blasts from my foot up to my leg.
My already bad balance is completely thrown. My arms flail, there’s a pain near my elbow as it connects with the brick and my body topples back.
I close my eyes, bracing for the impact of the ground, but as fast as I was falling, I hit something and then I’m ascending. My eyes fly open and I’m greeted by the most beautiful blue eyes. But then I shiver. Those eyes are as frozen as ice.
“You have the worst luck,” he says.
It’s Razor and he’s cradling me in his arms. As my skin vibrates, there’s a part of me that agrees with his assessment. But a small dissenting voice wonders if, in this moment, I’m lucky.
RAZOR
TEAR TRACKS MARK Breanna’s face and mascara smudges near her eyes. The sight of her unhappy tugs at my soul. She’s light in my arms and her hands clasp around my neck. She grabbed for me as I caught her. By the shock on her face, she has no idea how her fingers have started to play with the ends of my hair near the base of my neck.
It’s a tickling sensation and it’s causing me to want to hold Breanna much closer than she already is. “Are you okay?”
Breanna nods, but the answer is no. She’s crying, she ran out of the club and she’s in an alley alone with me. No part of that equation adds up to okay, but girls never make sense.
“I tripped,” she admits. “You scared me and I tripped.”
“Sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “Let me get you over the glass.”
She glances around, then trembles. Someone lost their mind in the alley and smashed entire cases of bottled beer along the walls and concrete.
“Wow.” She cuddles into me.
“Yeah.” The broken glass isn’t by happenstance. It’s the reason I tried to warn Breanna from coming here. New school year also means a new class of Army recruits. Drunk Army boys on a high after kicking another guy’s ass doesn’t spell a good night for a high school girl.
The glass crunches under my boots and her arms wind tighter around my neck as I guess she’s noticing the blood trails along the wall and ground.
“What happened out here?” she asks.
“Army hazing.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
My silence is the answer. As we near the street, there’s a lump on the ground and the whimpers confirm it’s not a wounded animal. Thanks to the beams of light flooding from the parking lot, I spot the red of blood over skin.
“Don’t look,” I tell her, but by the way she sucks in her breath, she’s already seen.
“We have to help him.”
Footsteps at the opening of the alley and one of the Army boys Breanna danced with slides into view. This guy ain’t bleeding, so that suggests he was one of the group doing the cutting.
“I know him,” she confides.
“Don’t look him in the eye.” If he had given his name to her and believes she can identify him, he might have a problem letting us go.
G.I. Joe eyes me. His job is to keep the guy on the ground from standing. My job is to get Breanna the fuck out of here.
“Razor,” she pleads as we reach the lump on the ground and the guy on duty.
“I mean it. Don’t look.”
“Please help him.” Breanna buries her face in the crook of my neck and I get a whiff of her perfume. It smells sweet, like honeysuckle, and it reminds me how delicate this girl is and how we’re both in danger.
“Please,” she begs one more time, and her lips whisper against my neck. A shock wave registers through my body at a ten point oh. Helping this guy will bring hell. The Reign of Terror avoids Army drama and they stay out of our way. But the desperation in Breanna’s voice... I want to kick my own ass.
The guy on duty angles his shoulder enough to show me he’s letting me through, but... “Your buddy’s had enough,” I say.
“He’s had enough when we say he’s had enough.”
True. “Friendly advice.”
Pissed at my advice, he straightens. “Are you going to take me with her in your arms?”
Breanna starts to move, but I readjust her to encourage her to keep her head down. She doesn’t need to see broken bones and she doesn’t need to know that the Army boy who made her smile earlier was taking a break from a sadistic ritual act.
“Nope, but we will.” Chevy sounds like he’s asking the guy to drink with us, but that smile on his face as he steps out of the lamplight and takes his place next to me in the alley suggests he’s ready for a fight. Possibly itching for it more than me.
Oz follows Chevy and his shoulder smacks Army boy’s as he goes to hover over the lump. Oz’s eyes flicker from Breanna to me, but he schools his expression. Saving girls, that’s Oz’s style, not mine, and her in my arms will make him jumpy. I’m the one he thinks is crazy.