Читать книгу Walk The Edge - Кэти Макгэрри, Katie McGarry - Страница 14

Breanna

IS THAT WHY you brought up the twenty dollars? And things were going so well. As in I no longer thought Thomas was going to kidnap me and kill me. I made a mistake. A huge mistake. I insinuated he planned on robbing me because...well...I thought he was three seconds from robbing me. I thought if I told him what I had, the experience would be less painful.

Literally.

My phone vibrates. It’s my mother and I can hear her weary voice in the written words. Sorry, Bre. I could make excuses, but I thought your dad picked you up and he thought I got you and both of us were home and thought you were upstairs. Your dad left to pick up Zac and I let Joshua take my car. Liam’s on his way to get you now.

Liam. My fate rests in the hands of my older brother who has the mental maturity of a grape. For the love of God, he got a Froot Loop stuck up his nose this morning—on purpose.

My shoulders roll forward as I groan. Loudly. So loud that when I raise my head, Thomas is gawking at me like I’ve grown a unicorn horn.

That’s it. I’m going to die a horrible death. I’m alone with a biker who has a patch that indicates he carries deadly weapons and he already admitted he uses a gun. He’ll probably record my demise and upload a viral video as a warning to the rest of the world not to mess with him.

Twenty dollars. What reason can I think of for telling him about my twenty dollars that won’t insult him? I doubt that saying “Hey, Mr. Biker Guy, I was totally offering it as payment so you won’t kill me” would fly...or maybe it will. He protects things...semi loads...as a job... “Yes!”

His forehead furrows. “What’s a yes?”

I bounce on my toes. I’m happy. I’m excited. I am not going to die! Muppet arms are in full force. “I was offering you twenty dollars because I was going to hire you.”

He laughs. It’s more of a chuckle, but it’s a fantastic sound and it’s a beautiful sight on an already gorgeous face. My heart flutters for a moment beyond the fear, but as his laugh wanes, he narrows his frozen blue eyes on me. My happy moment fades, and my arms fall to my sides.

“I’ll bite. What are you hiring me for?”

I sweep my hair away from my face and steal a peek at the rest of his motorcycle friends, who are now talking among themselves and ignoring us. “To be my bodyguard.”

“Your bodyguard?” he repeats while crossing his arms over his chest.

He’s not buying it, but I’ll try to sell it. “I knew you protected stuff.”

“You did?”

I didn’t. “Totally, and when Addison had to leave, I was going to walk over to you and ask if I could pay you to stick around until my ride showed, but you...” Scared me to death. “Startled me and I lost track of what I was going to say.”

He works his jaw and my mind is ticking with what it might imply. Jaw flexing can mean a person’s agitated, but in order to know I’d need a baseline of behavior to compare it to...

“Is that right?” He interrupts the weird flow of information in my brain.

Not at all. “Yes.”

Thomas settles against the wall and he reminds me of an angel. An archangel. I was obsessed with them in elementary school. Easily consumed every archangel book in our town’s library—both volumes. Archangels are the warriors of God. This guy, he’s definitely beautiful enough to be a heavenly creature and he’s also deadly enough to wield a sword, but I’m not convinced he dabbles on the side of righteousness.

“If I agree to be your bodyguard,” he says, “you’ll owe me?”

“Yes.”

He nods like he’s hearing something way more than what I said. “Then I accept.”

Thomas holds out his hand to me and I stare at his offered open palm, then meet those cold eyes. I can do this and then all will be okay. I lift my arm and inch my hand closer to his.

“So we’re clear.” He stops me centimeters short of our hands touching. The heat from his skin radiates to mine. “The condition is that as long as I’m protecting you, you’ll owe me.”

There’s a whisper nagging me to run. To do anything to escape this situation. It’s more than the warning caressing the inside of my head, it’s also the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. He’s gorgeous and dangerous. Like the fallen angel Lucifer must have been. This could be the equivalent of a handshake with the devil.

I’m minutes away from my brother rescuing me, so whatever deal we’re on the verge of forging will be temporary. Then this night will drift away like the nightmares I used to have as a child. A distant memory of something that will feel so unreal I’ll wonder if it happened at all.

My hand slides into his and his fingers close around mine. It’s a firm grip. One I couldn’t slip from if I wanted. He doesn’t shake our joined hands. Instead, he steps closer and lowers his head so that we’re eye to eye. “When a brother of the Reign of Terror makes a promise, we don’t break it, and we expect the same from those we do business with. Which means you can’t walk from this deal without consequences.”

The air rushes out of my body, but as I draw back to renege on my verbal agreement, our hands move up once, then down, then up again.

The deal made, the promise in stone, and a car horn honks. My entire body vibrates and I dash away from Thomas. My skin burns as if I had shaken hands with him in the flames of hell.

A rap song blares into the night and I look over to the curb to see Liam bolting out of the driver’s side of his beat-up, extremely used car. The wrath of God blazes from his eyes. “Bre!”

Thomas eases back as if he’s informing me to go. Almost dropping my phone again, I fumble with my purse. “I owe you money.”

Granted he didn’t actually “protect me” after the handshake, but I’ll gladly pay him for not shoving me into whatever blacked-out van they have waiting.

Thomas waves me off. “You can pay me later.”

Guess he does expect payment for the one second of services rendered.

“Bre!” Liam left the car door open and he’s barreling in like a freight train without brakes. Liam’s taller than me, with black hair like mine, and he’s toned from the years he played linebacker in high school. “Hey, asshole, get away from my sister!”

“He doesn’t mean it.” I stumble backward off the steps, toward the safety of my brother. I don’t like how Thomas is watching Liam closing in, nor do I like how we have gained the complete attention of the guys near the motorcycles.

“Liam’s a spaz sometimes, like a mental condition,” I ramble, though truer words could never be spoken. “But I swear he’s cool, I promise, and I’ll pay you soon.”

With his focus solely on my brother, Thomas edges his hand to the underside of his leather vest and my stomach lurches. “Get this guy out of here before he starts shit he can’t finish.”

Holy crap. Thomas does carry a gun, and if my stupid brother doesn’t calm down, we’ll both be witnessing it firsthand. I trip down the stairs and crash into my brother, shoving both of my hands into Liam’s chest. I plant my feet into the ground as he throws his momentum forward.

Liam’s dark eyes bore into me. “You weren’t kidding, were you? The Terror have been here the whole time.”

A flash of anger rages through me. “Obviously.”

“Did you forget to pick her up?” Thomas’s tone is too casual. So casual it sounds more threatening than any shouted words I’ve heard in my life. “If so, someone should school you on what family means.”

“Did he hurt you?” Liam demands.

“I’m fine.” But we’re in danger if we stay much longer. “Can we go?”

Liam’s eyes dart over my face, searching for the beating I was originally terrified of receiving. “We need to go now,” I urge.

He hooks an arm around my shoulders, but not without aiming a last death glare at Thomas. Am I happy to see my brother? Yes. Am I thrilled to flee from this situation? Hell, yes. But it takes everything I have to not ask Liam when he started to care.

Liam leads me to the car, his head swiveling from Thomas to the group of guys tracking us like vultures. With each step my brother takes, his fingers dig into my shoulder and he pulls me tighter to his body. Liam practically throws me into the passenger seat, rounds to his side, then accelerates so quickly that my head hits the headrest.

“Will you chill out?” I shout.

“Chill out?!” Liam checks the rearview mirror and the tires squeal as he takes a sharp right, driving way faster than anyone should in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone. “You were hanging out with the Reign of Terror!”

An internal snap. A loud internal snap. An extremely audible snap and my body jerks. “I was not hanging out with them. I was waiting for someone to pick me up. If you recall, I texted, but I believe the response was I was being dramatic!”

Liam hammers the steering wheel with his fist and I ram my fingers through my hair. My hands are trembling. I’m trembling. The adrenaline rush as I negotiated my life in a handshake with Thomas and my brother’s unexplainable anger has me flailing near the edge of insanity.

My mind drifts in and out of foggy, rash thoughts, but one clear message slowly emerges from the mist. “You already knew Joshua and Dad had the cars when I texted for help, didn’t you?”

His lips thin out as he remains silent.

I sit on my hands to keep from strangling his thick neck. “Did you know I wasn’t home?”

Liam’s fingers drum the steering wheel once and he dares to flash that oh-I’m-so-cute-that-girls-giggle-at-everything-I-say smile. “Listen, Bre, I was—”

“Don’t you dare lie,” I cut him off. “Did you know I wasn’t picked up before you left and that Mom and Dad thought I was home?”

“Yes.” A cloud rapidly descends over his face. “I knew.”

My blood pressure tanks with his admission. “You suck.”

“God, you really are too dramatic.” My intestines twist at the sound of my sister’s voice. Clara’s lying flat on her back in the backseat. She taps a package of cigarettes against her hand, removes one, then puts it between her lips.

“Please don’t smoke around me,” I say before she has a chance to dig out her lighter. It’s not a shock to find Clara with Liam. The pair is often attached at the hip.

“Please don’t smoke around me,” she mimics in a high-pitched voice, then resumes her normal tone. “Do you ever get tired of being perfect? For once, Bre, give the rest of the world a shot at not living up to your standards.”

“I’m not perfect.” Clara and I—we don’t work as siblings. On TV, siblings get along, but Clara and I have been oil and water since my birth. She’s four years older than me and I was supposed to be her baby to take care of. Turns out Clara didn’t want a new baby. She wanted a pony. Guess who was disappointed when our parents brought me home from the hospital?

This summer has been hell with her and she’s been more unbearable than normal since Mom and Dad announced she has to pay her own college tuition because it’s her fifth year.

“Boohoo.” A lighter clicks in the backseat followed by the smell of smoke. “My family forgot me, so I’m going to make everyone drop what they were doing to rescue me.”

“Quit it, Clara.” Liam uses a gentle tone as he glances in the rearview mirror. He won’t see her, only a stream of smoke rising into the air. “She wasn’t lying. The Terror was there and they were messing with her. Why do you think I tore out of the car like I did?”

Silence from the backseat. Liam and Clara are inseparable. Like how I wish I was with any of my siblings. There’s an exhale and I swallow the cough tickling my throat.

“How close?” she asks.

“Too close,” he answers.

I crack the window for fresh air. Clara and Liam were together the entire time I was asking for help. Texting next to each other as I was alone. My family does suck.

“I’m sorry, Bre.” Liam’s apology sounds sincere, but there’s a strong suggestion of anger seeping in his tone. “I already had to pick up Joshua and Elsie from practice and it was my sixth time this week. I’m in college now. I shouldn’t be everyone’s damn chauffeur and babysitter.”

I wince at babysitter. Child number five is an odd position. The older four are a clique. Always have been, and for them, I’m the start of the baby siblings they’ve had to drag around.

My four younger siblings consider me a part of the annoying older crowd who “think they’re boss” and “tell them what to do,” which is somewhat true, as I’ve been their official sitter since my older siblings graduated from high school.

Clara sits up. “If you guys are doing this apologizing family bonding crap, I want out.”

I roll my eyes. Typical Clara. She’s the main reason why I’m on the outs with my older siblings. Clara forces them to choose between her and me. My sister wields a frightening amount of emotional power over me and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of the damaged relationship between me and Clara.

“You and I are going to talk like I said we would,” says Liam. “Let me take Bre home.”

Clara places her hand on the handle. “Stop the car now or I’ll open the door and jump. You know I’m not kidding.”

Liam mumbles a curse as he eases over to the curb and then pleads with me using his eyes. Pleads. Like he wants me to offer to be the one to walk home. Yes, we are three blocks away. Yes, our neighborhood is safe, but I’m not the one pitching a fit like a four-year-old.

There’s an awkward pause in the car as they wait for me to be the one to leave. I cross my arms over my chest. This may make me a horrible human being, but Liam’s driving me home.

“Fine.” Clara breathes out like she’s choking on fire. “I’ll be waiting here when you’re done.” She slams the door, then collapses to the curb in front of the car like a beaten stray dog.

I hate her. I hate Liam for not leaving. I hate myself more for considering getting out. Even though Clara does stuff like this to needle me, there’s something about how she fixates on the ends of her brown hair that makes her appear broken.

“What’s her problem?” I ask. Clara drops her hair like she’s disgusted. Most of us in the family have black hair. She’s tried dyeing hers black, but her hair never holds the color.

“She’s going through some stuff. Big stuff. Clara needs a friend right now.”

Don’t we all.

“Clara’s upset Mom and Dad asked her to pay tuition. She struggles with focusing.”

Clara’s brain is like mine. She also remembers things extremely well, but the craziness I experience when I’m not working on something—when I’m not solving a crossword puzzle or a brainteaser—Clara feels it constantly, and I hurt for her. I’ve felt like she does twice in my life and both times it was like someone blaring a never-ending foghorn. I’ve found ways to keep my brain active. Clara never discovered a solution to stay focused. At least a healthy solution.

“Handling how your brains work,” Liam continues, “it doesn’t come as easily to her as it does to you. It’s like you’re the same, but hardwired differently.”

Clara has said that to me more than a hundred thousand different ways since we were young. My favorite being that I stole her ability to focus while we were still eggs in my mother’s ovaries. Because that happens.

“She needs me,” Liam says quietly.

So do I, but I don’t say that. Instead, I lay my fingers on the door handle.

“Thanks, Bre.” Liam smiles as if his approval should be enough of a reward. Unfortunately, I’m pathetic enough that a part of me gets sappy because I did earn it.

“I am sorry for yelling. The Reign of Terror are dangerous. They hurt people. If you knew the stories I’ve heard, seen some of the shit they pull, you’d understand why I was angry.”

Liam’s eighteen months older, but he consistently treats me like I’m eight instead of seventeen. I doubt there’s a soul in this town who isn’t aware of the Terror’s reputation.

“And you were there with them. Alone. That’s not good.”

“I know,” I say softly. “He approached me. It wasn’t the other way around.”

“Did any of them hurt you?”

“No.”

“Scare you?”

Yeah, but somehow that feels wrong to say. “The guy that was near me fixed my phone.”

Liam chuckles and it relieves some of the tension in the car. “It broke again?”

Against my wishes, the ends of my mouth edge up. “Yeah.”

I need a new one, but with nine kids, three of them in college, money is tight. I bought that phone with money I earned selling soft-serve ice cream last summer at the Barrel of Fun.

“Jesus, Bre. Just, Jesus.” The lightness fades as Liam rolls his neck. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? It’s only three blocks and Addison’s house is on the way.”

It’s not okay, but what difference would it make if I said so. My response is to leave the car. I have the fleeting thought to ram my fist into Clara’s stomach when she hops up from the curb and heads for the passenger seat with a smirk on her face. She played her hand and she won.

I hate her. I really, really do, and for the level of hate festering in me, when I die, I am probably heading to hell.

Liam U-turns and I watch as the headlights of the other passing cars blur into one another. I tilt my head back and stare at the first bright star in the sky. A long time ago, I used to wish on stars, but the act is useless. It’s a fairy tale created to make us think we have some semblance of control over our lives. I used to believe in magic, but I’m seventeen now and I gave up on happy endings a long time ago.