Chapter Four
Nat found herself in a hospital bed when she woke up. She ached and hurt all over, a familiar sensation. Vulture never pulled his punches.
Why should he? The Black Dogs Mc considered themselves kings of that dingy little town, and Vulture was Vice President, second only to Rat. No one would bat an eyelid if he finally crossed the line and ended her miserable life.
It all started coming back to her. Fragments of memory at first, then everything. Vulture had cornered her yesterday afternoon, pissed off and drunk. The moment he held out Razor’s card to her, Nat knew that was it. The straw that broke the camel’s back.
After he imparted his final lessons on her body, he rode up to Firewood Road and dumped her body behind an overgrown bush like trash.
Natalie didn’t need to raise the sheets to see the mess Vulture left on her body. It was a miracle she was alive. Anger, fiery and scalding, surged through her blood, her entire body.
She endured the name-calling, his leers, and his violent temper because he was right. He owned her. Nat made the mistake of trusting him. She’d dug herself a hole and couldn’t get out of it, until now.
She was alive. God. Her breathing hitched. How was that possible?
Razor. She remembered his worried bearded face looking down upon her. Not with pity, but something else, regret and rage. He was angry for her sake, for what Vulture had done to her.
Her gaze darted around the room, and she found him. He slept in the armchair next to the bed. This private room couldn’t have been cheap. Razor had spared no expense in her care, but why?
You’re not a fool, Nat. You know the answer to that, a voice inside her said.
Yes, she did. Nat couldn’t forget the hunger in his eyes when he looked at her. She didn’t know where she’d found the strength to pull out her cell phone and call him. Nat did it out of desperation because she had no options left. No one to turn to but him.
Her mother had been her only family. Nat didn’t think a stranger she only met would come to her aid, not really, and yet there he was. Her guardian angel.
Nat wasn’t naïve. She knew what he was and what he did for a living, but she couldn’t quite put him in the same category as Vulture either.
Someone knocked on the door, and another huge and inked biker entered, bearing coffee and croissants. Her stomach growled. This unknown biker’s eyes met hers and she stared back, unsure of him.
Nat didn’t miss the patch on the cut he wore, the one that had the words Vice President stitched on it.
“You’re awake. Razor’s mystery girl, well, woman,” he said. “I’m Brick.”
Nat didn’t say anything, not yet. Let Brick chalk it all up to her still feeling out of sorts.
Razor stirred on the armchair. He bolted to his feet when he saw she was awake. She found herself making space for him on the bed, even though the movement made her wince.
“Did you spend the entire night here?” she asked him.
“You’ve been asleep for two days, so two nights,” Razor said.
“Two nights?” she whispered in alarm. “That long?”
He nodded. Nat gingerly lifted the sheets, then the shift, surprised Razor touched her hand. She numbly stared at the stitches across her side.
“Vulture messed you up good. I’m guessing this is his handiwork?” Razor asked.
She let the sheet go and looked up at him, biting on her lower lip. Someone cleared their throat. Brick.
Razor frowned, as if only realizing he was there. “Nat, this is Brick. I called him for help. He arrived with the paramedics.”
“Then I owe you my thanks,” she told Brick.
“No thanks necessary. You’re Razor’s woman, and the MC takes care of their own,” Brick answered.
“I’m what?” she whispered, looking at Razor.
“We’ll talk about that another time,” he said, tucking a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face.