I am so excited to be able to share the first chapter in Walk the Edge, the second book in Thunder Road by Katie McGarry. I am looking forward to Reading this book so much, after I absolutely loved Nowhere but Here. I can't wait to read Razor's story. Without further ado, here's the first chapter!
Chapter One
THERE ARE LIES in life we accept. Whether it’s for the sake of
ignorance, bliss or, in my case, survival, we all make our choices.
I choose to belong to the Reign of Terror Motorcycle Club. I
choose to work for the security company associated with them. I also choose to
do this while still in high school.
All of this boils down to one choice in particular—whether or
not to believe my father’s version of a lie or the town’s. I chose my father’s
lie. I chose the brotherhood of the club.
What I haven’t chosen? Being harassed by the man invading my
front porch. He’s decked out in a pair of pressed khakis and a button-down
straight from a mall window. The real question—is he here by choice or did he
draw the short stick?
“As I said, son,” he continues, “I’m not here to talk to your
dad. I’m here to see you.”
A hot August wind blows in from the thick woods surrounding our
house, and sweat forms on the guy’s skin. He’s too cocky to be nervous, so that
dumps the blame of his shiny forehead on the 110-degree heat index.
“You
and I,” he adds, “we need to talk.”
My
eyes flash to the detective badge hanging on the guy’s hip and then to his dark
blue unmarked Chevy Caprice parked in front of my motorcycle in the gravel
drive. Twenty bucks he thinks he blocked me in. Guess he underestimated I’ll
ride on the grass to escape.
This
guy doesn’t belong to our police force. His plates suggest he’s from Jefferson
County. That’s in the northern part of Kentucky. I live in a small town where
even the street hustlers and police know each other by name. This man—he’s an
outsider.
I
flip through my memory for anything that would justify his presence. Yeah, I
stumbled into some brawls over the summer. A few punches thrown at guys who
didn’t keep their mouths sealed or keep their inflated egos on a leash, but
nothing that warrants this visit.
A
bead of water drips from my wet hair onto the worn gray wood of the deck and
his eyes track it. I’m fresh from a shower. Jeans on. Black boots on my feet.
No shirt. Hair on my head barely pushed around by a towel.
The
guy checks out the tats on my chest and arms. Most of it is club designs, and
it’s good for him to know who he’s dealing with. As of last spring, I
officially became a member of the Reign of Terror. If he messes with one of
us, he messes with us all.
“Are
you going to invite me in?” he asks.
I
thought the banging on the door was one of my friends showing to ride along
with me to senior orientation, not a damned suit with a badge.
“You’re
not in trouble,” he says, and I’m impressed he doesn’t shuffle his feet like
most people do when they arrive on my doorstep. “As I said, I want to talk.”
I
maintain eye contact longer than most men can manage.
Silence
doesn’t bother me. There’s a ton you can learn about a person from how they
deal with the absence of sound. Most can’t handle uncomfortable battles for
dominance, but this guy stands strong.
Without
saying a word, I walk into the house and permit the screen door to slam in his
face. I cross the room, grab my cut off the table, then snatch a black Reign of
Terror T-shirt off the couch. I shrug into the shirt as I step onto the porch
and shut the storm door behind me.
The
guy watches me intently as I slip on the black leather cut that contains the
three-piece patch of the club I belong to. Because of the way I’m angled, he
can get a good look at our emblem on the back: a white half skull with fire
raging out of the eyes and drops of fire raining down around it. The words Reign
of Terror are mounted across the top. The town’s name, Snowflake, is
spelled on the bottom rocker.
He
focuses on the patch that informs him I’m packing a weapon. His hand edges to
the gun holstered on his belt. He’s weighing whether I’m carrying now or if I’m
gun free.
I
cock a hip against the railing and hitch my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans.
If he’s going to talk, it would be now. He glances at the closed door, then
back at me. “This is where we’re doing this?”
“I’ve
got somewhere to be.” And I’m running late. “Didn’t see a warrant on you.” So
by law, he can’t enter.
A
grim lift of his mouth tells me he understands I won’t make any of this easy.
He’s around Dad’s age, mid to late forties. He gave his name when I opened the
door, but I’ll admit to not listening.
He
scans the property and he has that expression like he’s trying to understand
why someone would live in a house so small. The place is a vinyl box. Two
bedrooms. One bath.
A
living room–kitchen combo. Possibly more windows than square footage.
Dad
said this was Mom’s dream. A house just big enough for us to live in. She never
desired large, but she craved land. When I was younger, she used to hug me
tight and explain it was more important to be free than to be rich. I sure as
hell hope Mom feels free now.
An
ache ripples through me, and I readjust my footing. I pray every damn day she
found some peace.
“I
drove a long way to see you,” he says.
Don’t
care. “Could have called.”
“I
did. No one answered.”
I
hike one shoulder in a “you’ve got shit luck.” Dad and I aren’t the type to
answer calls from strangers. Especially ones with numbers labeled Police. There
are some law enforcement officers who are cool, but most of them are like
everyone else— they judge a man with a cut on his back as a psychotic felon.
I
don’t have time for stupidity.
“I’m
here about your mother.” The asshole knows he has me when my eyes snap to his.
“She’s
dead.” Like the other times I say the words, a part of me dies along with her.
This
guy has green eyes and they soften like he’s apologetic. “I know. I’m sorry.
I’ve received some new evidence that may help us discover what caused her
death.”
Anger
curls within my muscles and my jaw twitches. This overwhelming sense of
insanity is what I fight daily. For years, I’ve heard the whispers from the
gossips in town, felt the stares of the kids in class, and I’ve sensed the pity
of the men in the Reign of Terror I claim as brothers. It’s all accumulated to
a black, hissing doubt in my soul.
Suicide.
It’s
what everyone in town says happened. It’s in every hushed conversation people
have the moment I turn my back. It’s not just from the people I couldn’t give
two shits about, but the people who I consider family.
I
shove away those thoughts and focus on what my father and the club have told
me—what I have chosen to believe. “My mother’s death was an accident.”
He’s
shaking his head and I’m fresh out of patience. I’m not doing this. Not with
him. Not with anyone. “I’m not interested.”
I
push off the railing and dig out the keys to my motorcycle as I bound down the
steps. The detective’s behind me. He has a slow, steady stride and it irritates
me that he follows across the yard and doesn’t stop coming as I swing my leg
over my bike.
“What
if I told you I don’t think it was an accident,” he says.
Odds
are it wasn’t. Odds are every whispered taunt in my direction is true. That my
father and the club drove Mom crazy, and I wasn’t enough of a reason for her to
choose life.
To
drown him out, I start the engine. This guy must be as suicidal as people say
Mom was, because he eases in front of my bike, assuming I won’t run him down.
“Thomas,”
he says.
I
twist the handle to rev the engine in warning. He raises his chin like he’s
finally pissed and his eyes narrow on me. “Razor.”
I
let the bike idle. If he’s going to respect me by using my road name, I’ll
respect him for a few seconds. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
Damn if the man doesn’t possess
balls the size of Montana. He steps closer to me and drops a bomb. “I have
reason to believe your mom was murdered.”
Pre-Order WALK
THE EDGE, Register your Pre-Order and receive an exclusive Echo and Noah short
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Title:Walk the Edge
Author: Katie McGarry
Genre: Young Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Publication date: March 29th 2016
Publisher: Harlequin TEEN
Synopsis:
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 cyberbully'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.
Book Links:
Don't miss the first book in the Thunder Road series, Nowhere but Here
About Katie McGarry:
Katie McGarry was a teenager during the age of grunge and
boy bands and remembers those years as the best and worst of her life. She is a
lover of music, happy endings, reality television, and is a secret University of Kentucky basketball fan.
Katie is the author of full length YA novels, PUSHING THE
LIMITS, DARE YOU TO, CRASH INTO YOU, TAKE ME ON, BREAKING THE RULES, and NOWHERE BUT HERE and
the e-novellas, CROSSING THE LINE and RED AT NIGHT. Her debut YA novel, PUSHING
THE LIMITS was a 2012 Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction, a RT Magazine's
2012 Reviewer's Choice Awards Nominee for Young Adult Contemporary Novel, a
double Rita Finalist, and a 2013 YALSA Top Ten Teen Pick. DARE YOU TO was also
a Goodreads Choice Finalist for YA Fiction and won RT Magazine’s Reviewer’s
Choice Best Book Award for Young Adult Contemporary fiction in 2013.
Author Links:
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