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 pissed 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 shit 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 bastards 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 hell 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 fucking Einstein, which brings up the question of how the hell 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.”