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That is all Razor needs.
His knee slams into my ribs.
Pain explodes.
He rolls toward Sweet.
She is crawling for her mother's picture with one hand stretched toward it.
“Sweet!”
She looks back.
Razor lunges.
I grab the back of his jacket and drag him down, but momentum sends all three of us toward the broken edge.
Gravel tears loose beneath my boots.
Sweet's fingers close around the frame.
Razor catches her ankle.
She screams.
The sound rips something open inside me.
Sweet jokes when she is afraid.
If she's screaming, there is no room left for humor.
I slam my boot down on Razor's wrist.
He releases her with a curse.
Headlights flare through the trees.
Bikes.
My brothers.
Razor sees them.
Panic replaces calculation.
That makes him more dangerous.
He surges upright, catches Sweet by the torn back of her shirt, and hauls her against him.
The knife presses to her side.
They're too close to the edge.
Way too fucking close.
I lift both hands.
Blood runs from my forearm to my fingertips.
