One moment of recklessness will change their worlds.
Smart. Responsible. That’s seventeen-year-old Breanna’s role in her large family, and heaven forbid she put a toe out of line. Until one night of shockingly un-Breanna-like behavior puts her into a vicious cyber-bully’s line of fire—and brings fellow senior Thomas “Razor” Turner into her life.
Razor lives for the Reign of Terror motorcycle club, and good girls like Breanna just don’t belong. But when he learns she’s being blackmailed over a compromising picture of the two of them—a picture that turns one unexpected and beautiful moment into ugliness—he knows it’s time to step outside the rules.
And so they make a pact: he’ll help her track down her blackmailer, and in return she’ll help him seek answers to the mystery that’s haunted him—one that not even his club brothers have been willing to discuss. But the more time they spend together, the more their feelings grow. And suddenly they’re both walking the edge of discovering who they really are, what they want, and where they’re going from here.
I’m ENTIRELY DEVASTATED. My head and eyes hurt too much to read the book in time for the tour. Sucks, because McGarry is one of my FAVORITES. I had the pleasure of reading her debut before it was even released. (it makes me fuzzy inside knowing that I was attached enough to keep it. I’m pretty sure It’d be impossible to find someone willing to give it.)
Her face is white against her raven hair. Ghost white. I’d bet my left ball she hasn’t breathed since I spoke. Her hand is outstretched toward the busted cell on the ground, but her wide hazel eyes are cemented on me. I turn my head and I’m greeted by the amused faces of my brothers from the Reign of Terror who stand next to their bikes in the parking lot. They’ll be harassing me on this for weeks. Fuck me for trying to be chivalrous.
“You okay?” It’s a variation of the question I asked a few seconds ago, but this one she seems to understand as her body trembles to life.
“Um…” she stutters. We’ve been at the same schools since elementary age, otherwise I’d wonder if she was a foreign exchange student with limited English. “I only have twenty dollars.”
The muscles in the back of my neck tense. “I’m not going to jack you for your money.”
She quits breathing again.
“Nice to know your current bank account status,” I bite. “But I asked you if you were okay.”
Color returns to her cheeks as I pin her with my gaze. She accused me of trying to rob her. I know it, she knows it, and she’s now informed I’m not the asshole in this scenario.
“Yes,” she finally answers. “I’m okay. I mean no…I mean…I broke my phone.”
She did and that sucks for her.
Her eyes flicker between me and the phone like she wants to retrieve it, yet she’s too paralyzed. Saving us from this torture, I swipe the pieces of the cell and lean against the wall.
The distance between us relaxes her and that gulp of air was audible as she tucks herself tight in the corner farthest from me. This reaction isn’t new. I’ve seen it since I was a child whenever my father or anyone from the Terror entered a room full of civilians. To everyone outside of the club, we’re the evil motorcycle gang bent on blowing the house down.
People and their hellish nightmare folklore involving us piss me off. I don’t know why I told the guys to give me a minute. I’m late for plans I made with Chevy and some girls, plus I’m on call in case the board chooses to meet sooner rather than later to discuss Detective Jake Barlow.
But something about how this chick appeared alone and frightened messed me up. It reminded me…The thought stalls and the emotional speed bump causes a flash of pain in my chest. Screw it, her expression reminded me of Mom the last time I saw her—the night she died.
My mom. I shake my head to expel her ghost. One visit from one bastard trying to use me and I’m being haunted by a past I can’t change. That’s what the detective was salivating over—to use me for info on the club. He’s one of too many who believes our club is the devil’s prodigy.
What he doesn’t see is that we’re a family—the type of family that comes when called. Obviously not like this girl’s family.
“Is it yes or no?” It’s damn difficult to shove the battery in now that the frame is bent.
“Yes or no what?” her long black hair sweeps past her shoulders. She has the type of hair that would have to be pulled up if she rode on the back of my bike. Gotta admit, I like her hair, especially how it shines under the lights of the school’s overhang.
“If you’re okay.” I survey the mostly empty area to prove a point. “If we leave, you’ll be alone, and I don’t care of that. There’s some real psychos out there.”
if you register your pre-order of Walk the Edge, you get an exclusive short story about Noah and Echo (the two lovebirds from Pushing the Limits) I’m so jealous! I really can’t afford to pre-order every book I want (because that would end with owing the book store my life, my first born….)
So, you can register your pre-order here
Purchase links for Walk the Edge are in the sidebar!