I snort and peel the label off my beer. Funny how I found plenty to say to Breanna, but I’ve got nothing for the girl I lost my virginity to. It was the night I patched in. We did it twice and then I hooked up with a friend she brought along for the evening. The friend was Amy’s idea, and at the time I thought she was brilliant.
“Are we going to play tonight?” she asks. We’ve played since I patched in...multiple times, but we haven’t fucked. I regret that part of the night. In the morning light, I felt like I had morphed into my dad.
I kiss her cheek and walk away. She follows, smacking my ass, 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 snatch 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 Saturday 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 participate in something that will ease their guilt?”
I cross my arms over my chest, not caring to get into a pissing 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 shit 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 pissed 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 shits 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.”