Chapter Three
Razor had been in the middle of a delivery job when his phone rang. He looked at the screen, frowning. Unknown number.
Normally, Razor let those calls go to voicemail, but for some reason, he thought of Nat. Three days had passed, and Razor couldn’t seem to erase the gorgeous redhead from his mind.
Keeping an eye on his crew as they unloaded the merchandise for their client, Razor picked up.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Help me,” a voice croaked, weak and desperate. Recognition hit him like a lightning bolt.
“Nat?” he asked.
Static crackled on the other end. He could hear her taking deep, painful breaths on the other line. What happened? Was she in trouble? Did that fucker Vulture finally lose his shit and decide to take it out on her?
That last thought left a sour taste in his mouth. Razor had to choose his words with care. Time was running out. He didn’t know how he knew that, he simply did.
“Where are you, Nat? I’ll come get you,” he said in a firm voice.
“Firewood Road,” she whispered. Then the call ended.
Razor stared at his cell phone for a few moments. He’d never run out on a delivery job before. As King’s sergeant-in-arms, he’d been tasked with making sure each weapon’s drop-off went without a hitch.
“Grizzly,” he called to a veteran MC member and one of his good friends.
Grizzly stood by him, but his gaze remained on the rest of their crew. Jose, the representative of the Hernandez Cartel and one of the MC’s long-time clients, watched the proceedings with indifference.
Razor doubted Jose would pull a fast one on them. The MC and the cartel had a working relationship for almost two decades. That could’ve been a life-or-death call, or it could mean nothing. Either way, Razor had killed and bled for the MC. He could be excused this one time.
“What’s up?” Grizzly asked him after a moment of silence had passed.
“Oversee the rest of the operation. Make sure they wire the money on the spot. I need to leave. Emergency,” he said.
Grizzly didn’t question him. He merely nodded. “King sending you on another errand?”
“This is personal,” he said.
The big biker raised his eyebrows at that.
Razor didn’t have time to explain.
“Give my regards to Jose, will you?” Razor added.
Without another word, Razor turned his back and walked to where he parked his Harley. He mounted it, then checked his GPS map. Firewood Road was a small, barely noticeable lane on the outskirts of Black Dogs MC territory.
Razor revved his engine and drove toward the direction Nat uttered. He didn’t care that he went beyond the speed limit. Worry swelled in his gut, an unfamiliar emotion. Razor couldn’t remember the last time he cared about someone this much.
Nat was dangerous, but he knew that already. It took him half an hour, even at full throttle to reach Firewood Road. By then, the sun had set. Good. Night would provide him decent cover.
Going anywhere near Black Dogs MC’s land was practically a death wish. He didn’t see anything at first, only a few abandoned houses in the distance. This place used to be a thriving neighborhood once, he decided.
Weeds choked the front lawns. Doors to several houses lay open, an invitation into the dark unknown. Windows without any glass showed him the inside of most of these houses had been stripped to their bare bones.
Razor didn’t let his eerie surroundings distract him. There. He could almost make out a pale, unmistakable slender leg behind one scraggly, overgrown bush. A purple high heel lay a discarded in the grass next to the leg.
Razor practically flew off his bike. He sucked in a breath, unsure what he’d find. Dread lined his insides. Was it too late to save Nat? He slowed his pace now, approaching the body.
He wasn’t squeamish by nature. In his savage line of work, Razor thought nothing could faze him, but Nat’s broken body did. She lay curled up on her side on the grass. She lay so still, she reminded him of a bloody doll.