Chapter One
Screams punctured the air, making the gorgeous redhead serving me drinks jump. It came from the room just next door. She’s one hell of a beauty, Razor mused.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and Richard ‘Razor’ Sawyer was likely twice her age. Her gold halter top highlighted all her curves, the generous swell of her chest and ass, and that glorious hair. It fell in curls down her back like fire. Razor fantasized about what it would be like to kiss those lips. He bet they’d be cherry sweet.
Razor didn’t miss the other details as well. The fading yellow bruise behind her left knee. The purpling one just on her left cheekbone.
The men in his MC treated their women like queens. It wasn’t the same for the Black Dogs MC, that much was clear. These scumbags pretty much did whatever they wanted. Screw the law. They didn’t possess a lick of decency.
The poor son of a bitch next door wailed again. This time, he started pleading for his life. The men with him only chuckled.
The screams didn’t bother Razor or King as much as they did the serving girls. Rat and his new VP Vulture sat across the table from them, gauging their every reaction. Razor finished his vodka in one gulp.
King would normally bring his own VP Brick along to this dangerous meeting, but Brick was on his honeymoon with his old lady. Razor, the Ruthless Reapers MC’s sergeant-at-arms, had to do. King knew he could always rely on him to do the club’s dirty business. He knew Razor would keep his cool in a meeting between monsters. Razor wasn’t too sure of that now. The more he stared at the redhead, the more anger bubbled inside him. It didn’t make any sense. He didn’t even know this woman’s name, but he could tell she’d been through hell.
A wild idea started in his head. That he could track the bastard who gave her all those hurts and make him scream. Ridiculous, considering Razor only met this haunted siren today.
Siren. Yeah, that was the right word to use. Gut instinct told him this woman, whoever she was, would lead him to his doom. Best Razor sit through this meeting and forget about her. He had to remember why he was there with King.
For months, the Black Dogs MC had hounded them. They didn’t exactly behave like sitting ducks either. When the Black Dogs MC sought a senseless fight with them or worse, disrupted their deliveries, they hit back twice as hard. All that back and forth had accumulated a number of deaths. Rat called them here for a truce, but King and Razor didn’t quite believe Rat’s intentions.
“Vulture, tell Link and Dom to keep it down. We’re having a meeting,” Rat said.
Razor always thought the nickname didn’t suit him. Rat was six-three, muscled, and heavily inked. Some women, those who were stupid enough to fall for his charms, would even consider him handsome.
“Nat, refill Razor’s drink,” Rat said.
The Black Dog MC’s latest victim let out a wail. The redhead’s hand shook as she refilled Razor’s drink. She didn’t meet his eyes, but up close, he saw they were a strange gray-green color. A single gunshot silenced the Black Dogs’ latest, and unfortunately, Nat spilled his drink. She visibly cringed.
“It’s fine,” Razor said without thinking. He touched her gently on the wrist. She didn’t fling his hand away or tell him off, and for some stupid reason, that pleased him. He smiled up at her. His MC brothers and most of the women he’d been with always said his smile unsettled them. Razor was going for nice here.
She looked so scared, he added, “I don’t need a refill.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll grab you a new drink soon,” she whispered and flashed him a small smile. Then she hurried away to the bar, probably to grab a rag.
“Why don’t we sweeten this truce a little bit?” Rat suggested.
Vulture hadn’t returned, but Razor could make out voices in the next room. Vulture was loud enough he could hear the words body disposal and quietly. Razor didn’t know that one. Rat had his last VP killed on account of betrayal, at least that was what Rat had said.
“Your group stays out of our delivery routes. We’ll do you the same favor. That’s about it,” King said firmly.
Razor could hear the finality in King’s voice. The prez wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, and Razor didn’t blame him. They both willingly walked into Black Dogs MC territory, and their clubhouse was an old warehouse they converted into their living quarters.
The problem was that the entire place had been built like a maze. Razor tried taking note of all the possible exit routes when they entered. King and he had been led through so many twists and turns, he lost count, and he felt like a pig being led to the slaughter. That didn’t sit right with him. He was used to being the predator, not the prey.
“I can’t help but notice your friend here has been staring at Nat’s ass and tits the entire time,” Rat said.
“You going to throw her in for free?” Razor asked.
A reckless question and he knew it. King glared at him, but Razor ignored the silent warning in King’s eyes. He wasn’t a fool. Toying with the Black Dogs MC wasn’t the brightest idea in the world.
“Nat, come here,” Rat ordered.
Razor immediately distrusted the smile he wore.
The redhead approached him with slow, tentative steps. She looked downright frightened like a mouse caught in a trap.
“Nat here is Vulture’s bitch,” Rat said in that same monotone voice that irked Razor. He touched his belt, then remembered King and he had to surrender their weapons upon entry into the clubhouse. Rat looked to Nat. “Tell these nice men who owns you, dear.”