Page 4 of Hell On Heels
Razor- You, sweetheart, are a tease and need a firm hand on your ass.
Lottie- Hmmm, I’ll have to find a man willing to put me in my place.
Razor- I might know a guy.
Lottie- LOL. You would. Night, boss.
Razor- Night, Lottie.
Little did she know Razor was a man who would put her in her place. On her knees at his feet. Knees spread wide. Palms up resting on her thighs. Head bowed in a submissive pose. The thought of her before him as a submissive had his cock twitching. His thoughts were diving into a dangerous area.
He needed to get that image out of his head. He reminded himself that Lottie was Sway’s best friend. She also worked for him. If he came up with one more, it would be a three strikes you’re out. Adjusting himself he left the bar to shoot a game of pool with the boys. Hoping that would take his mind off of his sexy nurse. Not likely but a man could hope.
* * *
Lottie sank deeper into the bubble bath with a heavy sigh. “If only he could help her with her distrust with men,” she said out loud.
Flicking the bubbles she took another sip of wine and closed her eyes. She might not be able to be with a man but she sure could dream about the sexy doctor.
Chapter One
One month later…
Razor stood talking to a few of the brothers. On more than one occasion they had all protected one another; all willing to give up their lives for a brother. Coming up in the world of bikers wasn’t a walk in the park. Sometimes it was a minefield.
It meant always being on the radar of other clubs and the cops. It was like having a target on your back. What most people didn’t understand was what it meant to be in a club.
The term “brother” wasn’t the same as buddy or friend. It meant more than being a sibling. It meant that person would be the one standing between their family and any threat.
Being in the club meant his life was always at risk. Always. His family had been in the lifestyle for decades. Razor knew all too well, his life had not been his own for a long time. The way the clubs were run in the past weren’t how they were ran now. When his granddad started out with the clubs, things were simple.
They were a riding club, men hanging out drinking, fighting, and taking care of one another. When his dad joined the life, things had started changing. In the seventies, drugs like meth, heroine, and cocaine had become prevalent. Most of the guys joining were ex-military coming home to a country that didn’t want them. Or didn’t know what to do with them. They came home with opioid habits.
After the drugs came running guns, after that came everything else. Brothers killing brothers. Razor didn’t know which was worse. The drugs, the gang mentality, or the killing within the clubs. Some of his feelings he kept to himself.
Looking over towards the bar, he watched people coming and going. The place was busy with a variety of patch holders from another one percent club and their support clubs. It seemed they had stepped into a party.
Keeping his eyes peeled, his thoughts went from club life to home life, which wasn’t much to think about.
“You look like you could use a friend.”
Razor glanced over at a blonde standing next to him. To any other man she might be someone to take for a ride. From her bleached blonde hair to her blood red toenails she did nothing for him.
If he wanted to blow off steam with a woman he’d go to The Red Door for some playtime. It was easier. Cleaner. No attachments. Just uncomplicated sex with rules and a signed contract.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Whatever.”
Tipping back his beer bottle, he drained it as he tried hard to keep from laughing at the blonde as she stomped off.
Turning his attention to movement at the side of him, Razor noticed a few of the brothers looking on edge. Vicious caught Razor’s attention, letting him know it was time for the guys to fire up the bikes.
“Let’s get going,” Vicious told him, pointing towards the door. “Let’s head to the clubhouse.”
“We should look into purchasing another club. Not a strip club, but a place like this one,” Razor said offhandedly as they all stepped outside.
The club had its own businesses, some legal, some not. Some of the chapter members owned, worked, and ran them. “Bring it up at church this month,” Vicious told him.
