Page 30 of Razor
"Daddy showed me about trap doors in his comics.The Batman ones."He continued building, adding what looked like a small tower to his structure.
The trust in his voice—the easy way he referenced Razor as "Daddy" with complete acceptance—made my chest ache.We'd found safety here.Found the beginnings of happiness.The thought of losing it, of Tyler ripping us away from this new life, sent a surge of fierce protectiveness through me that overwhelmed even my fear.
A distant rumble broke through my thoughts—the distinctive sound of motorcycles approaching.Not one engine but several, growing louder as they neared our street.I stood, moving to the window and carefully shifting the edge of the curtain to peer out.
Three bikes turned onto our street, led by a familiar figure.Razor's posture was rigid on his Harley, his head constantly moving as he scanned both sides of the road.Behind him rode two other men in Wicked Mayhem cuts—Loch with his distinctive blue-black bike, and another I recognized as Socket from the brief club gathering I'd attended last weekend.
Relief flooded through me, but I didn't let it dull my vigilance.The motorcycles pulled into our driveway, engines cutting almost simultaneously.I watched Razor dismount, his movements fluid but charged with potential energy.His hand rested near his hip where I knew he carried his gun.The other men flanked him, creating a protective formation as they approached the house.
"Daddy's home," Dante said from beside me, having abandoned his Legos to join me at the window.I hadn't even heard him approach.
"Yes, he is."I let the curtain fall back into place."And he brought friends to help keep us safe."
The deadbolt turned—Razor using his key—and I steadied myself, prepared for whatever came next.Because this, I knew with cold certainty, was just the beginning of whatever threat had found us.
CHAPTER SIX
Razor
I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, my truck idling in the clubhouse parking lot as I tried to calm the rage building inside me.The security sweep of our property had turned up nothing concrete—no footprints, no cigarette butts, no tangible evidence anyone had been watching Ophelia and Dante.But I'd seen enough in this life to know absence of evidence wasn't evidence of absence.And the look in Ophelia's eyes when I'd left—a mixture of fear and determination that tightened my chest hard enough to piss me off—told me everything I needed to know.Someone had been there.And the club needed to step up.
I grabbed my phone, thumbs tapping out a message to Mustang: "Emergency church.Now.Family security issue."The gold band on my finger caught the late afternoon light as I typed, still foreign against my skin after only a week of marriage.I'd never been a jewelry guy.Even my cut's patches felt like enough decoration.But this ring carried weight—a commitment I'd made in that tacky Vegas chapel that had turned from a convenient arrangement into a bond I wasn't ready to put a name to yet.
Mustang's reply came almost immediately: "Already here.30 min."No questions, no arguments.At least he was giving me that much respect.
I left Socket and Loch keeping watch at the house, Ophelia's tight smile as I departed burning in my memory.She'd been so goddamn brave, asking me to go handle club business while she monitored the security cameras.Like she didn't want to be a burden.Like she was used to handling fear alone.I wasn't going to let her do that anymore.
The clubhouse door swung open under my hand, familiar smells of beer, cigarettes, and leather greeting me as I stepped inside.Brothers milled around the main room—a few at the bar where J.D.was serving, others clustered around the pool table where Screwball was lining up a shot.The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, one of them flickering rhythmically near the wall of mugshots we called our hall of fame.
"He's here," someone muttered as I walked in, and several heads turned.News traveled fast.
I nodded to a few brothers but kept moving toward the chapel at the rear.Through the open door, I could see Mustang already seated at the head of the table, scrolling through his phone with practiced disinterest.He glanced up as I approached, his face unreadable.
"This better be good," he said, tucking his phone away."Called in half the brothers off-shift for this."
I didn't respond, just took my seat and waited as the others filed in.The wooden chapel doors closed with a heavy thud, and Mustang banged his gavel once, twice against the table.
Ophelia
I adjusted the laptop screen to reduce the glare from the kitchen window, cycling through the security camera feeds for the third time in fifteen minutes.The house felt too quiet despite Dante's soft car noises from the living room floor.My fingertips tingled with that familiar sensation—the one I'd learned to trust during my years with Tyler.Danger sense, my brother called it.The prickling awareness crawling across my skin refused to fade.Razor and his club brothers had left over an hour ago after their security sweep turned up nothing concrete, but I knew what I'd felt.Someone had been watching us.And I intended to find proof.
The laptop displayed four quadrants of footage, covering all approaches to our property.Front yard.Side yard.Backyard.Driveway.I'd spent the last hour learning Razor's security system, figuring out how to access archived footage from earlier today.He'd shown me the basics before leaving, his hands gentle on my shoulders as he demonstrated the controls, but his mind had already been shifting to club business, to the meeting he needed to call.
"Vroom!Crash!"Dante's voice carried from where he played with his collection of toy cars on the living room rug.I glanced over, watching him arrange a complex traffic scenario involving a toy truck and three smaller vehicles.His face scrunched in concentration, completely absorbed in his imaginary world.At least he felt safe.For now.
My phone buzzed against the wooden table, screen lighting up with Razor's name.The message was brief: "Meeting with club.Stay inside."No reassurances, no timeline.Just the essential information and implicit warning.I'd learned enough about Razor in our short time together to recognize his terse texts meant he was focused, probably angry.The meeting wasn't going well.
I bit my lower lip, then forced myself to stop—a tell Tyler had always mocked."Getting nervous, Lia?Your lip says you're lying."His voice invaded my thoughts, and I pushed it away with practiced determination.Tyler wasn't here.Not yet.
Turning back to the security footage, I scrolled back to earlier that afternoon, around the time the birds had gone silent.The camera covering the backyard showed Dante and me in the sandbox, both of us unaware of whatever had caused the sudden stillness.I studied the tree line beyond our fence, eyes straining for any unusual movement.
There—at the bottom right corner of the frame.A shadow moved where nothing should be moving.I leaned closer, heart rate accelerating as I rewound and played the sequence again.A dark shape slid between the trees, there and gone in seconds.Too large for a neighborhood cat, too deliberate for wind-blown branches.My finger hovered over the mouse pad, freezing the frame at the moment the shadow was most visible.
A person?Maybe.The resolution wasn't clear enough to be certain.But it was enough to prove I hadn't imagined the threat.I saved the footage to show Razor later, methodically creating a folder and labeling it with the date and time.
My shoulders hunched forward as I continued scanning through the feeds, tension building in my neck and upper back.I rolled my head slowly, trying to release the knot of muscles that had tightened during my vigil.The ticking of the kitchen clock seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the house, marking minutes that stretched into eternities.
A sudden bang from outside made me jolt upright, adrenaline flooding my system before I processed the source—just the neighbor's dog knocking over what sounded like a trash can.Normal neighborhood sounds.Nothing to fear.But my heart wouldn't get the message, continuing to pound against my ribcage like a frantic prisoner.
