“What happened out here?” she asks.

“Army hazing.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

My silence is the answer. As we near the street, there’s a lump on the ground and the whimpers confirm it’s not a wounded animal. Thanks to the beams of light flooding from the parking lot, I spot the red of blood over skin.

“Don’t look,” I tell her, but by the way she sucks in her breath, she’s already seen.

“We have to help him.”

Footsteps at the opening of the alley and one of the Army boys Breanna danced with slides into view. This guy ain’t bleeding, so that suggests he was one of the group doing the cutting.

“I know him,” she confides.

“Don’t look him in the eye.” If he had given his name to her and believes she can identify him, he might have a problem letting us go.

G.I. Joe eyes me. His job is to keep the guy on the ground from standing. My job is to get Breanna the fuck out of here.

“Razor,” she pleads as we reach the lump on the ground and the guy on duty.

“I mean it. Don’t look.”

“Please help him.” Breanna buries her face in the crook of my neck and I get a whiff of her perfume. It smells sweet, like honeysuckle, and it reminds me how delicate this girl is and how we’re both in danger.

“Please,” she begs one more time, and her lips whisper against my neck. A shock wave registers through my body at a ten point oh. Helping this guy will bring hell. The Reign of Terror avoids Army drama and they stay out of our way. But the desperation in Breanna’s voice... I want to kick my own ass.

The guy on duty angles his shoulder enough to show me he’s letting me through, but... “Your buddy’s had enough,” I say.

“He’s had enough when we say he’s had enough.”

True. “Friendly advice.”

Pissed at my advice, he straightens. “Are you going to take me with her in your arms?”

Breanna starts to move, but I readjust her to encourage her to keep her head down. She doesn’t need to see broken bones and she doesn’t need to know that the Army boy who made her smile earlier was taking a break from a sadistic ritual act.

“Nope, but we will.” Chevy sounds like he’s asking the guy to drink with us, but that smile on his face as he steps out of the lamplight and takes his place next to me in the alley suggests he’s ready for a fight. Possibly itching for it more than me.

Oz follows Chevy and his shoulder smacks Army boy’s as he goes to hover over the lump. Oz’s eyes flicker from Breanna to me, but he schools his expression. Saving girls, that’s Oz’s style, not mine, and her in my arms will make him jumpy. I’m the one he thinks is crazy.

“Reign of Terror have never given us problems before,” Army boy says.

“No problems from us,” announces Chevy. “Concerned civilians. Looks like a stray wandered into your woods and it appears we’re helping her out.”

Chevy winks at me and I’d punch him in the jaw if I weren’t holding Breanna.

“How about you take care of things?” Oz jerks his chin to the parking lot.

How is it I’m the one who’s been jonesing for a fight and I’m the one carrying out the girl? I ease past and Chevy calls out, “Your girl’s bleeding.”

I am never going to hear the end of this. Chevy and Oz know I don’t get attached, yet in less than three days I’ve made Breanna my business twice.

I should carry Breanna inside, find her friends and dump her off, but instead I walk past the cars, past the bouncer and the line, and head to the back corner of the lot where we parked. She’s shaking and I won’t sleep tonight until I confirm she’s okay.

Bleeding. Chevy said she was fucking bleeding. If she is, it’s going to really piss me off.

“Is he okay?” Breanna inches her head away from my neck and onto my shoulder. The movement causes pieces of her hair to drift across my skin. My blood grows hot and suddenly my fingers become aware of her soft body.

Because of the way she’s turned into me, my fingers press into the smooth skin of her arm and it’s then I realize how warm my hand is on her leg. A peek down and I have to swallow the groan. Her skirt has ridden up and the sight of her thighs is enough to spur my brain to remember the fantasies I had of her in a dream last night.

She asked a question. I should focus on that and on the ground. She asked about the wounded guy in the alley. The guy who joined the Army and for some reason has ticked off his squad. Will he be okay? Fuck no. He’ll receive worse later because we intervened now. “It’s taken care of.” For the moment.

“What are your friends going to do?”

Deniability will be her best companion. “Walk the guy on the ground out.”

Breanna relaxes in my arms and a part of me hates that she’s reading exactly what I wanted into my answer. She’s too trusting. Like I’ve been too trusting of the club.

I drove my bike, but Chevy and Oz rode in Eli’s truck. Chevy had plans to get hammered, but that field trip into the alley may be the release he was searching for. I lean Breanna into me so I can undo the latch to the tailgate, then gently place her on the bed of the truck.

Breanna slides from my arms, and because she’s unsteady, I edge forward to offer her support with my upper body. Her hands slowly slip from my neck to my shoulders, then land on my chest. She looks up and those hazel eyes consume me like I’m some sort of savior.

She has rose-petal lips. They’re perfect and begging to be kissed. I could do it. God knows she’s not thinking straight. I watched her down two drinks in less than a half hour and everything from her body weight to her reputation at school screams lightweight.