Razor: Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club, Book 11

by Candace Blevins

  Bobcat, Slick, and I worked well together without anyone mentioning the fact I’m gay. They didn’t have to assure me they were okay with it, because they were.

  Chapter 3

  Razor

  * * *

  I didn’t see a lime-green bike in the lot when I parked and paid, and he wasn’t in the restaurant. I’d arrived a little early to be sure I got there first. It felt important for me to be established so I could offer him a seat.

  He was dressed in pale blue jeans, low slung and skin tight all the way to his ankles, red cloth high-top sneakers, and a matching red t-shirt that showed every damned muscle underneath. His blond hair flipped to the side of his face with a little poof. How did anyone in his classes learn anything?

  I stood as he neared, and pulled the chair out I wanted him to sit in. He gave a respectful nod before taking it.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  It was barely more than a whisper, but it brushed my skin, sank in, and went straight to my cock.

  “You’re welcome, boy. I have some of their moonshine barbecue chicken wings coming for an appetizer, and you have an ice water until you tell the waitress what you want.”

  “Water’s fine. Thanks. I’ll ask her for some lemon to go in it when she comes back. How are you today?”

  I smiled and felt my face relax. He didn’t ask to be polite, he truly wanted to know.

  “I’m on cloud nine, actually. I came out to my club yesterday. Feels like I’m getting a little old to have to keep doing this, but it felt important to let them meet me and get to know me before they found out about my personal life. I was about to tell them anyway, but you pushed my plan up a few weeks.”

  “They were cool?”

  “All but one person, but he didn’t block me from moving my membership from Memphis to Chattanooga, so hopefully he’ll figure out how to deal with it.” I didn’t think he would, but I hoped.

  The waitress came back and asked if we were ready to order. I looked at Matty in question, and he nodded to me instead of her. Someone had trained the boy.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I’ll have the werewolf and your homemade chips with extra blue cheese.”

  She looked to Matty.

  “I’ll have the bison burger without the bun, topped with a fried egg, mushrooms, pepper jack cheese, and bacon. Can I have it on a plate instead of the basket? Oh, I'd like to substitute a house salad for the fries, with blue cheese dressing on the side, please. If I could get some lemon for my water, that’d be great.”

  He flirted with her shamelessly, and I grinned. He probably didn’t even realize how he affected her, but I could see.

  When she left, he looked to me. “Dude, the werewolf is two grilled cheese sandwiches around a bacon cheeseburger!”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Dude?” I’d never demand a boy call me Sir until we negotiated a relationship, but I wasn’t sure I should let him get away with dude.

  He blushed. “Sorry, Sir, but that’s a lot of sandwich.”

  “What’s with ordering your burger without the bun, and a salad with dressing on the side?”

  He fiddled with his water. “I’m selective about the carbs I eat.”

  I grinned. “You do realize you hit almost every stereotype for a twink, right?”

  He shrugged. “It isn’t like I try. It’s just who I am.”

  “Fair enough. Who trained you, and how long’s it been since he released you?”

  He touched his throat and dropped his hand. “His name was Steve. He was a Marine. He was killed in action two years ago. His best friend took my collar off and put a thin necklace on me, to signify he’d take care of me until I could find my feet again. He’s straight, but he’s a Dom so he understood what I needed. I mean, no sex, but he watched over me. Ordered me to make decisions, to work out, to get off my ass and stop feeling sorry for myself after a few months. Made me race some on the weekends, found other men to Top me and give me what I needed. Forced me to start living again. I moved in with Micca, found my footing, and he took the necklace off. I’ve gotten serious with a few men since, and went into a training relationship contracted for six months, but it was over back in the summer. I’ve been concentrating on school this year, mostly.”

  “You were twenty-one when he was killed?”

  He nodded, and I shook my head. “Young to be essentially widowed, and if you were living with him, that’s what happened, whether anyone wants to call it that or not.”

  “Yeah. It was. I met him at eighteen. I already had lots of experience as a bottom, but he made me grow up. Taught me discipline. I was nineteen when I moved in with him. His will specified a few items for his brother and mom, but everything else went to me. He rented, so there was no house, but he had a decent amount in the bank. I’ve used it to help with tuition — haven’t pulled it out for anything else. Seems important I use it for something important and don’t just blow it.”

  “It is. Thank you for telling me about him.”

  “What about you? How old are you? When was your last long-term relationship?”

  “I’m thirty-two. My last long-term relationship ended nearly five years ago. It lasted three years and ended when he moved to Paris to become a model. He’s become quite successful and I’m happy for him. I’ve taken a few newbies under my wing and trained them, and had one relationship last around six months, but when he pushed to move in, I realized I didn’t want him around all the time, which meant it was time for us to part ways.”

  “And your club is going to be okay with me?’

  I shrugged. “Brothers don’t bring a girl to the clubhouse until it’s serious. It’s a big deal, allowing entry inside. I’ll be the same way. It’ll be fine for me to bring a guy, but only if it’s someone who’ll be around a while. If one of my brothers sees us out, it’ll be fine.”

  “I want to ask stuff about the club, but I figure you’ll tell me what I need to know.”

  I sighed. “Ask, boy.”

  He shook his head. “All my questions sound kind of bad, but I guess I need to know how you make money most of all, so I’ll ask that one.”

  “They brought me to town because I ran the laundromats in Memphis and they wanted to open some here. I’ve worked with the Realtor to buy or rent space, had the contractor renovate and install the equipment, and have three sites up and running so far. We’re integrating computer workstations at one location, as well as printing services. I’m about to start hiring people, so customers can drop their laundry off in the morning and pick it up clean and folded that evening.”

  “What do they have besides the bike shop, the bar, and the laundromats?”

  I’d answered enough questions about the club. He knew a little of my part, he didn’t need to know more at this point. “When’s graduation? Do you have a full-time job lined up?”

  He paused, decided whether to pursue the question, and finally chose to answer mine. It all happened in less than two seconds, but I saw every miniscule step of the decision in the muscles around his eyes and mouth, and the way his focus changed.

  “Working at the furniture store gave me the contacts I needed. Three design firms in town have expressed interest. I know which I want to work for, and the other two are a fallback possibility. I love designing rooms for friends — I can’t wait to do it for clients. It’s so satisfying to help someone create the space they want, even when they aren’t sure what they want. I can look at their clothes to pick the color pallet, talk to them about the function of the room, watch their face as they look through pictures of period and modern furniture — so many ways to reach an end result they’ll love.”

  We talked until he had to leave for his graphic arts job, and he invited me to his apartment for dinner. “I’ll cook a hearty lasagna with lots of sausage, and you won’t even notice I leave the pasta out and just put tons of cheese into it instead.”

  “Give me an address and a time, boy. I’d offer to bring dessert, but you wouldn’t eat it.”

 
“I work three to five-thirty today. I’ll ask Micca to cook the sausage, so I’ll only need to layer everything in and stick it in the oven when I get home. You’re welcome to come at six, but it’ll probably be close to seven before we eat. Micca will leave around six-thirty and won’t be home until after midnight.”

  “What’s Micca short for?”

  “Miccalena.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “Stir, at the Choo Choo. She’s a waitress.” Stir was one of the most expensive places to eat in town, and I imagined she made excellent tips.

  “You rent the apartment and she lives with you? Or the other way around?”

  “She lived in a tiny studio apartment when I moved in with her. We slept together so it wasn’t a problem — no sex, because…” He shuddered. “Closet space was a bitch though. When her lease ran out, I rented the bigger two-bedroom. We still sleep together most nights, unless one of us has someone over, or our schedules are off and we don’t want to risk waking the other when we get in late.”

  He looked at his phone, and I told him, “You need to go. I’ll plan to get there around six, so I can talk to Micca before she leaves. Text me if you need me to bring anything, otherwise I’ll bring beer.”

  “Sir. We drink wine with lasagna.”

  I laughed. Oh, this boy was going to be so much fun.

  “Get to work, Matty. Text me the address. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you for lunch.”

  I needed to be alone with my thoughts, so I rode my bike up the W Road on Signal Mountain, made my way to the top, and came down a different twisty, winding road. I liked this boy, but I needed to be smart. The danger of LEO going undercover to find out information was real. It’d been hammered in since I was a prospect — let the geeks vet anyone new. Just knowing your schedule and the basics of what you did could give them puzzle pieces they didn’t need.

  I texted Brain when I got to the compound, and was relieved to find out he was in the control room. He buzzed me in, and I gave him a sheet of paper with everything I knew about Matty. First and last name, address, cellphone, university student, and the two places he worked.

  “I had lunch with him. He’s making me lasagna for dinner.”

  “You move fast.” His grin told me he was joking with me, and I shrugged.

  “Met him Saturday night. Was going to talk to the club next weekend, moved it up to this weekend. Texted Duke late Saturday night to see if we could add me onto the agenda, but knew he wouldn’t see it until he was back in human form the next morning. I have no idea how the ol’ladies put the party and all that food together so fast.”

  “I’ll check him out. Cam’s going to get with you about a time to do a photo shoot. He’s putting together the signs and ads for the Krav Maga stuff, and he says we should use a picture of you in the ads. He wants you wearing whatever clothing you’ll teach in.”

  “We should probably get him to help design instructor shirts and student shirts. Instructors in all black, students in tan shirts and black pants. We’ll need those before he can do a photo shoot.”

  “Instructors? Plural?”

  “The self-defense courses will move to the new facility. All instructors should wear the same thing. We can start with students wearing the same tan shirts and branch out later if it makes sense. One generic outfit included with their registration fee, and if they want to purchase a shirt for their specific class they can, maybe.” I paused, thinking of the other possibilities. “If the plans to appeal to more women by bringing in a yoga teacher work out, she can wear a tighter version with yoga pants, or we can have the same logo printed on a black leotard — or whatever she wears to teach.”

  Brain tossed my paper on the desk. “We’ll let Cam figure it out, and maybe ask for Gen and Sam’s input on the clothing options. I should be able to get you the basics on your boy by morning, but the deeper stuff will take a few days. You know the drill. Be careful around him until I get the deep stuff back.”

  I showered and changed into jeans and a Harley tee. My hair is raven black, but it sometimes reflects purple in bright sunlight. I slicked it into a ponytail and debated what to drive. I didn’t know how the parking situation would be at his apartment, so I took my truck.

  Chapter 4

  Razor

  * * *

  The three-story building was beautiful. Obviously old, and made when skilled craftsman took pride in their jobs. Stately brick columns supported sizeable verandas, and I stepped under graceful brick arches to reach the front door.

  A historic marker just inside the cast-iron gated yard proclaimed the building had been the site of Walden Hospital, established in 1915. It had served the medical needs of the black community for seventeen years with a thirty-bed capacity. For the next twenty years, it was a nursing school. It didn’t say what it had been used for since 1952. It was obviously an apartment building now.

  I made my way to the correct apartment, knocked, and Matty opened it within seconds. I lifted the case of beer, and he laughed. “You’re strong, Sir. Follow me and we can put some of it in the refrigerator. I don’t think it’ll all fit.”

  “That’s okay. I came in my truck and figured I’d bring a whole case while I had the room. Anything I can do to help with dinner?”

  “No, Sir. It’s in the oven. I have bread for you, and a salad for both of us.”

  Someone walked through the apartment, and I turned as Micca joined us. “I’m Razor,” I told her as she neared. “I’m not sure we were properly introduced the other night. How’s your hand?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. Matty’s capable of defending himself, he just thinks hitting should be a last resort. That works with some people, but I could tell it was the only thing those rednecks were going to understand.”

  “And you counted on them not hitting a woman?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’d have handled the guy if he’d tried to hit me.”

  I grinned. Tried. I liked this girl.

  “I brought beer, but I guess you can’t join us before work.”

  “No. Sorry. Matty doesn’t drink beer, but I like the good stuff and you chose well.”

  I turned to Matty and he shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who said I keep hitting the twink stereotypes. I like margaritas and Long Island iced tea.” He looked at the table, already set. “And wine.”

  “I’ll drink wine with you when we eat, boy. You’ve likely chosen it so the flavors mesh, or some other shit. I’ll play along.”

  We’d walked through the living room to get to the kitchen, and Micca motioned me back to the sofa. “Please come sit so we can talk before I have to leave.”

  “She’s going to give you the mom talk,” Matty warned as he waited for me to sit and invite him to join me.

  “I feel protective of him,” Micca said with a smile. “He does the same with guys I bring home.”

  “How long have the two of you been friends?” I sat and pulled Matty down with me — beside me for now, though I wanted him in my lap.

  “Since fourth grade,” said Micca. “Our parents all knew he was gay, but neither of us did, yet. He lived in the house behind me, on a different street. Our parents put a gate in the fence, so we could get to each other without having to go all the way around four houses.”

  “And when did you figure out you were gay?” I asked Matty.

  “Oh no,” said Micca. “You can ask him that on your own time. This is my time. I know you’re gonna want to spank him and shit, but you’d better not injure him, or you’ll answer to me.”

  Matty covered his face with his hands, and I laughed and tousled his hair. “You’re lucky to have a friend who cares for you enough to threaten the big bad biker.” I looked to Micca. “I don’t expect much to happen tonight, unless he just really needs it. If he does, there’ll be bruises and welts in places designed for that kind of thing. I know how to hurt without damaging. We’re still getting to know one another though.”

&
nbsp; She looked at Matty and back to me. “No blood play. No knives. No needles. No electricity. No watersports to his face, and no drinking it. No breath play. No hands around his throat. No edge play of any sort until you get to know him a whole helluva lot better.”

  I sighed, started to address Matty, but decided to ask Micca at the last moment. “Does he have trouble negotiating hard limits?”

  A tiny nod — so small she likely didn’t realize she gave it. “He’s too damned submissive.”

  I nodded. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll agree to your limits for the evening because I wouldn’t do any of that right off the bat anyway. Most of them won’t work long term, but hopefully by then you’ll trust me with him.”

  “I like breath play.” Matty’s voice was soft, timid, and my heart warmed while my dick hardened. I pulled him to me. “Thanks for telling me. I know how to do it safely, but we’ll save it for later. Is there anything else she named that you like?”

  He nodded, Micca frowned, and I kissed the top of Matty’s head. “He’s safe with me, Micca. I’ve agreed to your restrictions for the evening, and we’ll talk before I dive into serious edge play. Does he snore?” It seemed a good time to change the subject.

  “Only in the spring and fall when his allergies act up.”

  Matty covered his face and groaned again, but I ignored him.

  “Please tell me he doesn’t wake up happy to be alive, thrilled he’s awake?”

  “Most of the time he does. Drives me crazy. I need an hour to be cranky before I can smile, so he leaves me alone until I’m ready to form sentences. If he didn’t get enough sleep or has a hangover though, he’s like a bear coming out of hibernation.”

  “Who decorated this room and the kitchen?”

  “Matty, but he put pieces of me into it. His bedroom is done in renaissance pieces and fabrics and is totally over-the-top, but I prefer modern, with clean lines. He helped with my bedroom, and somehow made the living room fit both our styles.”