Page 4 of Razor’s Redemption

"Climb on. Put your feet on the pegs here." I tap them with my boot. "Hold onto me or the rails, whatever feels safer."

She climbs on awkwardly, settles behind me, and after a moment's hesitation, her hands grip my shoulders. Light. Barely there. Like she's afraid of touching too much.

"Which way?" I ask.

"Left at the corner, then straight for four blocks. It's the blue house with the white porch."

I know.

I've seen it a dozen times, memorized which window is hers, which room the little girl sleeps in based on the nightlight that glows soft pink until around nine PM every night.

But I just say, "Got it," and pull away from the curb.

She's tense the entire ride, rigid against my back. I keep my word and go slow, take the turns careful, don't do anything that might spook her more than she already is. Four blocks feels like four miles.

When I pull up in front of the blue house with the white porch, she climbs off immediately, putting distance between us. The front window glows warm yellow. Someone's awake inside.

"Thank you," she says. She's still shaking slightly. "I don't… I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't—"

"Don't think about it."

"Kind of hard not to."

I nod. Don't know what else to say. This is where I usually leave, after I've watched her go inside, after the light comes on, after I know she's safe. This is where I disappear back into the dark and pretend I was never here.

"Do you want to come in?" she suddenly asks.

I go still. "What?"

"For coffee. Or tea. I don't—" She shakes her head. "I don't want to be alone right now. My mom's here, she's watching my daughter, so it's not just me. But it’s not the same thing" She stops, takes a breath. "And you just... you saved me. So."

Every logical part of my brain is screaming at me to say no. To thank her, decline politely, and leave before this gets more complicated than it already is.

"Yeah," I hear myself say instead. "Coffee sounds good."

Her shoulders drop slightly, relief. "Okay. Okay, good."

She turns and walks up the porch steps. I follow, cutting the engine and leaving the bike at the curb.

She opens the door and I step inside, and everything I've been watching from a distance for two months suddenly becomes real in a way I'm not prepared for.

Chapter 2 - Daisy

The house smells like the lavender detergent Mom uses on everything and the faint vanilla from the candle I left burning this morning before my shift started. Twelve hours ago. God, has it really only been twelve hours? It feels like three days compressed into one endless exhaustion that lives in my bones now.

I step inside and immediately freeze.

The kitchen light is still on.

Mom is at the table with a mug of tea and one of her romance novels, the kind with the shirtless man on the cover that she swears she only reads "for the plot." She looks up when I walk in, and her eyes go immediately to the man behind me.

The very tall, very tattooed, very dangerous-looking man I just invited into our home at almost one in the morning.

"Mom," I say quickly, before she can say anything. "This is—"

I stop.

I don't know his name.