Did he also spill how he forced me out of his car? That he dumped me on the side of the road? Mom swallows and she grows overly interested in the bedspread. Maybe he did confess. Maybe the two of them commiserated over their guilt.

“Did Thomas Turner hurt you?” Mom asks.

“Thomas Turner stayed behind at orientation because I was alone. He stayed behind to protect me.” If Razor and I do end up together, I should lay some positive groundwork, but what if Mom uses her spidey senses and figures out how deep I’m into him? “He and I...we’re working together in our AP physics class. He’s not that bad. Actually, he’s nice.”

“Nice?” Mom eyes me as if she’s weighing what to say next. “That’s not how the Terror operates. Odds are he’s being nice to you for a reason. I’m grateful your brother showed when he did at orientation, and I think you need to keep your distance from Thomas outside of class.”

“Isn’t it possible everyone is a little overdramatic about the Terror?”

“I worked with Thomas Turner’s mother.”

My heart stops beating. “What?”

“And I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about how his mother died.”

Slightly ashamed, I nod. I’ve spent my life hating rumors, but I’ve had no problem listening to them. I guess I was thankful they weren’t slandering me.

“Layla wasn’t from Snowflake. She met her husband at a party in Louisville when she was in her last year of college. She wasn’t who you would have thought of as a Reign of Terror wife. Supersmart, lots of honors when she graduated. When she arrived in Snowflake, she was so full of life. I purposely would switch my shifts around to work with her.”

Mom’s eyes glisten with sad tears. “She was a lot like you. She could have done anything. Ended up anywhere. And she wound up married to a man that made her unhappy.”

My throat constricts. These may be the answers Razor is so desperate for. “Did she tell you that? Did she tell you she was unhappy?”

Mom shakes her head. “Layla was private when it came to her husband. It’s the way the Terror operates—they expect complete secrecy, but she arrived in Snowflake one person, and over that last year of her life, I saw the light in her eyes wither.”

“Some people say she didn’t commit suicide,” I say. “That it was an accident.”

“Maybe. Only God knows the truth, but I do think the rumors regarding the Terror have weight. If you want me to be perfectly honest, most rumors are based on truth.”

Her words strike me in the stomach. “So you believe the rumors about me sleeping with Razor?”

Mom’s head ticks back. “No. I told you, neither your brother nor I believe that, but we are convinced you gained Thomas Turner’s attention and that scares me. What upsets me even more is that you tried to come to me and I shut you down.”

Confirming this would be a betrayal of what I wish she would have done that day.

“You have been so withdrawn. You’re home and you do what you need to do, but you aren’t here. Something happened and I want you to talk to me.”

Kyle is blackmailing me and I’m not sure you’ll believe me when I say that Razor is a good person. It’s there on the tip of my tongue, but then I realize what has happened since. How I have kissed Razor and I’m forming feelings for him.

She would never permit me out of the house if she knew how much I long to touch and kiss Razor more. I’ve tumbled down a rabbit hole, and no matter how I fight for a way out, I slide deeper. There’s no saving me from this situation.

“It’s over now—the rumors. Everything. I’m fine.” I’ll remain that way if Razor succeeds...or if I write Kyle’s papers.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

So am I. There’s this ache. It’s in an area so deep that the pain can live there forever—as if it’s a cancer along my soul. Mom has no idea how badly I wish she had been there for me. But she wasn’t and now it’s too late.

I long to confess my sins and find unyielding grace, but I’ve done too many things wrong. Chosen too many paths she’ll never be able to forgive.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I promise.”

RAZOR

I’D GIVE MY left ball if I could flip onto my side, but the fire shooting down my arm whenever I try stops me. It also keeps drawing me out of sleep. Doesn’t help that half my face burns and my side feels like it’s been shoved through a shredder.

My muscles are sluggish and my thoughts are slow, like I’m dreaming while being aware.

“...could have been the Riot.” It’s Eli. I’d know that serious-as-a-freshly-dug-grave voice anywhere.

“I’ve thought of that,” says Cyrus. “I flipped through the police reports on the other truck robberies. This hit was different. In the other incidents, they attacked as soon as the driver got out. In this hit, they waited too long and they waited for Pigpen and Man O’ War to be out of range—for you and Razor to be alone.”

“Think the Riot knows the detective talked to Razor?” Eli asks.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Cyrus answers. “If so, our boy has a huge target on his back I’m not sure we can erase.”

Erase...

Erase...

Erase... The word seems important. It referred to another word, another idea that also felt critical, but it fades with a hand that grips the back of my neck and lifts my head.

“Drink, son.” It’s a voice that’s familiar. Low. Rough. “You need to drink.”