Page 4 of Razor

“Sultan doesn’t accept visitors and never answers questions, so fuck off back down the hole you came from before you end up there, permanently.”

“Is that how you speak to a visiting brother? I’m guessing Sultan will be pissed when he realizes his men are dumb shits.”

As they move, I’m faster and reaching out, I grasp the nearest biker’s wrist and pull him down headfirst on the table, slamming his head on the edge, releasing him as he falls.

It doesn’t take long for the second to try his luck, and as I sweep his legs from under the table, I grasp his hair and slam his face on the edge.

The others waste no time and pull their guns, and as I grasp the pepper pot, I wrench off the top and blind one with the spice, reaching for his gun and turning it on his friend instead. This time I move, and as I stand, I tower above them.

As I take my blade from my sheath, I hold it to the first biker’s throat.

“Tell Sultan I’ll be around when I’ve finished up here. Tell him Ryder King sent me.”

The fear that statement brings is almost comical, and as they scramble away from me, apologies come thick and fast.

“I’m sorry, man, we never knew. You should have said.”

“Not very observant either.” I roll my eyes, the tattoo on my arm like a fucking name tag in plain sight.

“Spinney’s junction behind Pike’s bar.”

Their words are rushed as they back away, blood pouring from the cracks in their noses.

“I’ll be there.”

As they leave, I call out, “Have you forgotten something?”

They stop as if frozen, and I point to their food. “I doubt that’s free. I’m guessing a couple of hundred should cover it.”

As they scramble for the cash, they slam it on the counter as they pass, and if I weren’t having such a fucking bad life right now, I would almost be amused. Almost.

CHAPTER 2

SUNDAY

One week earlier

Iwonder if my heart will ever be less heavy. I can’t shake the pain; it has become a part of me like my legs and arms. I can’t move without it coming along for the ride.

“Hey, Sunday.”

I glance up as Sasha, my coworker in Suzie’s salon, bears down on me, her smile as false as her lashes and spray tan.

“Mrs. Amos is in soon and you have the privilege of washing her skanky hair.”

Her eyes gleam with malevolence, which I’m kind of getting used to.

“Sure.”

I fix a bright smile on my face because I must make this work. Failure is not an option because I’m at the last chance saloon. I can’t go back – ever. Both to my original home in Los Angeles or to my adopted one. The one I walked away from and left my heart behind because of one man. Razor.

I swallow hard, pushing his image away because that fucking asshole used me and watched me walk away without so much as a kiss goodbye. I tried everything to make him fall in love with me, but I wasn’t enough. I am never enough, and washing Mrs. Amos’s skanky hair, as Sasha calls it, is the least of my problems.

An alarm flashes up on my phone, and my day has just gone from bad to worse as the notification taunts me.

Dad’s birthday.

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me because, more than anything in this entire world right now, I want to wrap my arms around him and sob like a child.