Page 73 of Razor

"This guy."

"Santiago."

Just hearing his name is enough to sour the day.

"We can remove him."

The simplicity of the statement makes my heart stumble.

For one reckless second, I'm tempted.

"But if you did..." I swallow. "You'd end up charged with murder."

His low laugh is almost amused.

"Darlin', it'd be one of many." He kisses my shoulder. "Didn't you learn anything? We've got a license to kill."

Part of me has often wondered why Ryder didn't simply eliminate Santiago when I arrived. It would solve everything.

Then again, men like Santiago probably existed on every street corner.

Razor lets out a thoughtful breath.

"I'd volunteer," he admits. "But Ryder doesn't remove people unless every other option's been exhausted. Sounds like the local MC's keeping him under control for now."

"I suppose."

Curiosity nudges away the darker thoughts.

"So tell me about them."

"The club?"

I nod.

"They're called the Wild Angels."

Even the name sounds intimidating.

"They're one of the biggest clubs operating out of L.A. People fear them because they're massive, well-organized, and don't answer to anyone. In public they wear skeleton masks. Their president..." He gives a small shake of his head. "He's practically a myth."

"What do you mean?"

"No one's ever identified him. He could walk through downtown without a mask or patch and nobody would know who he was."

"Seriously?"

"There are all kinds of stories." Razor smiles. "Some say he's a movie star. Others swear he's a famous director. I've even heard politician."

I laugh.

"So nobody actually knows?"

"Nope. Whoever he is, he's got deep pockets, one hell of a clubhouse, and enough members to take over the city if they ever wanted to."

"That sounds terrifying."

"Maybe." He shrugs. "Thing is, they don't want to. They're rarely the ones causing trouble. Usually they're the ones ending it."