Honestly, none. When I first darted by, I was too sick at the thought of getting caught, and the second time, I was still numb from Razor declaring me done with the code.
“Half the stories about the Terror aren’t true,” she says. “Some of them are, but most of the real bad ones aren’t. I still don’t think you should hang with the Terror, but that’s not my decision to make.”
“You didn’t have to bring me today.”
“True.” She hesitates. “I hurt someone recently because I was too dead set on making them think the Terror are evil. Call this my penance.”
“Do you still think they’re evil?”
“As sure as I am that Satan’s real, and in case you’re wondering, he is. I still think you should run and never look back, but you’re a big girl and can make your own choices.”
I digest that and decide to switch the subject. “That’s cool—that they look out for you.”
Her smile falters. “My dad died. I’m not interested in anyone replacing him.”
Wrong change of subject. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. I have a feeling that isn’t the question you were going to ask.”
No, none of this is the conversation I planned on having. I rub my forehead and push forward. “How bad was it when that picture of you was posted on Bragger?”
Violet eases her foot off the gas and the car slows from her breakneck speed. I find the courage to look over at her and she mirrors the agony I felt when Kyle sat across from me in the library. “How bad is the picture they have of you?” she asks.
My throat tightens as the urge to share and the self-preservation to keep this secret quiet wages war within me. Violet focuses on the road again and her knuckles go white on the wheel. “Those assholes never know when to stop, do they? I mean, me? I walked into that mess, but you, what the fuck have you ever done wrong?”
“I went to Shamrock’s. I drank and I ended up outside with Razor and someone took a picture. Razor was leaning into me, but we didn’t kiss. We didn’t do anything. We were talking, but the picture looks a million times worse and they were going to...” My chest constricts and my eyes burn.
“Label you a whore,” she finishes for me. “They were going to post it and label you a whore.”
Violet slams her hand against the steering wheel and pain slashes through me. She’s lived through this torment. Even worse than me because people have gossiped about her for as long as I can remember, since she’s a child of the Terror.
“I’m not going to lie. I knew you were being blackmailed. Not because Razor told me, but because Razor asked about the picture taken of me.”
My eyes widen and she waves me off. “I put the pieces together. He didn’t tell me, and because he’s so damn set on playing rogue, I bet he hasn’t said anything to anyone else. And, by the way, it’s in direct violation of club rules for him to keep a secret like this, but that’s neither here nor there. Tell me what they’re blackmailing you for.”
“I’m being blackmailed to write papers.”
“Kyle Hewitt is a fucking moronic asshole,” she spits out with enough venom that a chill courses through my blood.
“Was he the one that posted the picture of you?”
“No. Someone else. I was being blackmailed, too, but I didn’t give in and look what happened to me. What sucks is, I have given in to keep more pictures from going up, but the damage was already done.”
“What was it like?” I whisper, almost terrified of the truth. “When the picture went up?”
Violet’s expression clouds over. “Awful. So awful I considered if life was worth living. So awful that some days I don’t want to get out of bed. So awful that I have made myself a whore just to not go through it again.”
It takes several heartbeats to ingest her honesty. She’s painting the horrible future that I’ve created in my mind. “Razor’s trying to help. He’ll fix this for both of us.”
She yanks out a chain around her neck that had been hidden by her shirt, and she fingers a silver cross. The charm is about two inches long and it’s thick, like it belongs to a man. “Computers?”
“Yes.”
“He’s smart. But I’m not sure he’s smart enough. Before Razor pulls the trigger on whatever he has planned, make sure he’s a hundred percent sure he’s keeping you safe. Otherwise this group of guys will make it rain brimstone and fire.” Pity fills Violet’s eyes. “No offense, Breanna, but you’re not the type to dance in the rain. Especially the type that burns.”
; Hysteria wells up within me. “What do I do, then? Because I’m starting to go crazy. Always wondering if he’s going to put it up, the guilt of keeping a secret, and if I do give in, I’ll be doing something wrong. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going like this.”