Razor (Twisted Devils MC Book 1)

by Zahra Girard

  “Now it’s my turn to say I’m impressed.”

  “The club’s like a family. We look out for each other. And this town. Now all we got to do is wait.”

  “A family? You make it sound so wholesome. So, you look out for Lone Mesa… in between the acts of horrific violence like shooting up a poker game and murdering someone in a hospital supply closet?”

  “Sometimes shit gets rough. This town is our home and we like to keep out the undesirable elements that would do things like kidnap innocent nurses as they’re leaving work in order to extort drugs from them. Or those that engage in such pleasant activities as threatening and beating innocent women they’ve trapped in a closet. Pardon me for wanting less of that bullshit in my hometown.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “I’ve got no illusions about nobility, Florence. But the MC is a whole hell of a lot better for this town than those pricks you were with the other night. We don’t push drugs, we don’t beat women, and we don’t rip off hospitals. Whose side are you on?”

  “My own. I want to stay out of this mess and do my job.”

  He smirks and nods at the dead body on the floor. “Well, you’re in it, now. You want to give me a hand lifting this son of a bitch or would you rather watch?”

  Together, we lift the body onto the gurney. Even hurt as he is — and I know Razor has to be in a fair amount of pain, considering his injuries — he lifts the body with little effort and a single grunt of pain. Then we cover it with a sheet and wheel it out into the hallway. Razor keeps his head down the whole time as I guide the gurney out to the back loading dock.

  The van’s waiting there for us. There’s no driver — whoever dropped it off must’ve split — but the doors are unlocked and the key is in the ignition. Together, we open the back doors of the van and heft the body inside.

  It’s as I slam those doors shut and the sheet-wrapped body disappears from sight that the whole weight of this mess hits me; my focus as a nurse and my ability to push things to the back of my mind fails and I realize that I just witnessed a murder and helped cover it up.

  I became a nurse to help people, yet here I am, taking part in a murder?

  I heave a heavy sigh and lean into the van for support.

  This is so much more than I bargained for. And with everything I’ve done just now, my situation with those criminals from the other night is about to get a lot worse. What a mess. I’m not getting out of this hole I’m in; I’m digging it deeper.

  Then I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  It’s Razor.

  “What do you want?” I say. “I helped you get the body out of here. We’re done.”

  He shakes his head. There’s a menacing, icy tone to his voice. “Get in, Florence. You’re coming with. Because I’m not through with you by a long shot.”

  Chapter Five

  Razor

  “What? No. I helped you get the body out of here, I’m done with this mess. I want to go back inside and get back to my job.”

  Her voice is a lot shakier than it was a moment ago. Her eyes are glassy, too. But that still doesn’t make up for the fact that I know this nurse is trying to play me for a fool — she knows a lot more than she’s letting on and there’s not a chance I’m letting her go until I’m satisfied. She represents my ticket out of going to Omaha — there’s no way I’m giving that up without a fight.

  “I don’t care. Get in the van. I’ll drive.”

  She doesn’t resist; she’s starting to crack. Instead, she meekly gets in the passenger seat. Seconds later, I fire up the van and pull us out of the back loading area of St. Paul’s Hospital.

  “Do you really need my help to take care of that dead guy back there? Haven’t you killed people before?” She says once we’re further down the road and she’s had time to take a few steadying breaths.

  “I have.”

  “How many?”

  I shrug. “More than a few.”

  “Then why do you need me? Can’t you just let me go? Please?”

  I take my eyes off the road for a second — something in her voice tugs at me. Her eyes shimmer at me like wet emeralds. She’s barley holding it together. She’s afraid of me. Whether she will allow herself to admit it — and she seems like the type stubborn enough to fight it — she’s afraid. And seeing myself reflected in a woman’s fearful eyes is something I never want to see; it touches too many painful memories of my childhood.

  I take a breath and try to put a reassuring tone in my voice.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. But you and I still need to talk about a few things.”

  “Not going to hurt me? You expect me to believe that after you just murdered someone right in front of me?”

  I stare straight ahead, focusing on the road as I pull up a part of myself that I prefer to keep buried. Memories that put the squeeze of pain and regret on my heart.

  “Let me tell you something, Samantha. When I was a kid, my dad used to beat the shit out of my mother. For the littlest things, he’d brutalize her in a way that — after all the shit that I’ve done — still makes me sick to my stomach. He did it for years and he got away with it because he was a cop and he was connected. If my mom managed to get her broken hand around a telephone to call for help, it didn’t matter. Because the cop who came out to investigate would be someone that my dad had been drinking beers with at the end of his shift for years. They’d tell her to suck it up and be a better wife. It went on for years until she ran away — until she abandoned me with that abusive piece of shit — when I was fifteen. I would never hurt you. I would never hurt any woman. Even thinking about it makes me sick.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  There’s a minute of silence while she takes in what I’ve said. I’m grateful for it. It gives me time to recover and steady my own voice. Every time I think about my mother, the pain she went through and the pain she caused me by leaving me alone with my father, it fills me with emotions so raw my throat clenches up and it’s all I can do to make myself breathe.

  When Samantha opens her mouth to speak, her voice is subdued. Gentle. “Razor, where are we heading?”

  I clear my throat. Keep my eyes ahead on the road. My sight’s blurry and I need to stay focused.

  “The desert. Off the main road about ten miles outside of town, there’s an old access road that leads to what used to be a ranch. The place is abandoned, and the property is huge. There are a lot of ditches there and a whole heck of a lot of coyotes that come out at night. We’ll dump the body there.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  I take the turn. There’s nobody and nothing around for miles but desert scrub and rocks. Our wheels rumble and the van kicks up a thick cloud of dust as we leave the paved road behind and hit the loose gravel of the access road. At one point, I have to get out of the van to open up an old rusted gate. Beside me, Samantha’s got her eyes focused out her window and off into the far distance.

  “You OK?” I say.

  “No. How could I be? Look where we are.”

  “If it helps, I’m sorry things wound up like this. All I wanted to do was ask you a few questions and find out more information about those guys from the other night. They’re bad news, that’s for fucking sure. I hate that you saw what you saw and that you’re wrapped up in this. You deserve better. I just want to help, Florence.”

  Her eyes turn back to me after staring into the distance. They’re still glassy. Even glassier. Something’s gnawing her from the inside and, whatever’s hurting her like that has her afraid to speak.

  “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

  I keep my words short and my eyes on the road. We’re almost to the drop site and I’ve got too much on my mind to fall into some kind of emotional trap.

  “I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that some new player is in town and they’re dangerous. Dealing with them the other night got me shot and running into them today ended with me killing someone.
The only constant in those two scenarios — aside from me, and I mostly trust myself — is you. You are someone I don’t know and someone that I’m not sure I can trust.”

  Her voice quivers. My grip on the wheel tightens. “Do you think I want to be in this mess? Do you think I like what’s happened to me?”

  “No. I don’t think you want any of this.”

  The road gets rougher as I leave the gravel and head on to a rough track of sun-baked earth that’ll take me to an old drainage gully. Last time I was here, there was a coyote den not half a mile away, and they knew the deal: I’d supply the occasional body, they’d get a meal for taking care of the evidence.

  “Do you think I want to be trapped between some violent, drug-pushing gangsters and some murderous biker gang? Do you think I want to wake up every single day worrying if I’m going to bump into some angry man who wants to beat me, rape me, violate me in order to get what he wants from me?”

  There’s so much hurt in her voice that it takes all of my strength not to pull over right then and wrap her in a hug. I don’t trust her, I hardly know her — and, hell, for half the time I’ve known her I didn’t even know her real name — and yet I can’t bear the damn thought of some creep hurting her. The fear in her voice and the thought of her experiencing pain touches something primal inside me: the urge to protect and shelter her.

  “I don’t. I’m sorry for what you’re going through. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of it. I want to help you, Samantha, if you’ll let me.”

  “I’m trying. I’m trying. I have no idea why any of this is happening to me. All I want is to survive and do my job helping people. Is that too much to ask?” Her voice quivers and heralds the start of gentle waterworks that rips me to pieces inside.

  We get to the gully. I kill the engine. Just looking at her hurts; I’ve seen that same agonized expression in too many of my childhood memories.

  “Hey, it will be OK. We will get you out of this.”

  It doesn’t do much to help calm her down; my mother left before I was old enough to figure out how to comfort a woman in pain and I sure as shit have avoided any potential practice since then. The closest I’ve come to making a woman cry are the few women from town who think a frequent fuck is a gateway to a relationship. Even then, I do my best to leave before things get too complicated.

  But I can’t now. I can’t walk away from her. I can’t leave her.

  I’m in the middle of the desert with a dead body and a crying woman and I’m about as lost as lost can get.

  One thing at a time, I remind myself.

  I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m going to take care of the body. I’d like you to stay here and rest. It might take me a few minutes — it’s a bit of a walk and that guy is heavy — but if you need me, just call for me, OK? I’ll be close enough to hear. Can you do that for me, Samantha?”

  She nods.

  As I turn away to open the door, I think I see a glint in her eye that is anything but sad, but it’s gone before I can be sure. Her tears were genuine, I’m sure of it. I dismiss my doubts and get back to work.

  I amble my bruised body to the back doors and pull them open. Curse words I’ve rarely used — and not for lack of cursing, but for lack of pain-induced creativity — spill from my lips as I heft the heavy bastard out of the back and lug him through the brush.

  This is not what Stitch had in mind when he told me to rest.

  After I hurl the body into the ditch, I limp my way back to the van. I’m exhausted, my body’s at its limit, and my heart and mind passed that point a long time ago.

  Then I see Samantha. Glassy eyes, tear-soaked cheeks, dark brown hair mussed and hanging over her beautiful, fearful face, and I’m through arguing with her. Maybe she is hiding something, but she sure as hell needs my help; I’m through resisting my urges — there’s something about her that wrecks every cold-hearted defense I have. Whether or not she wants to admit it, this woman needs me and I’m going to be here for her.

  I sit down in the driver’s seat and lean against the wheel for support. “Hey,” I say, my voice coming out as an exhausted sigh.

  She puts her hand on my leg.

  “You look tired,” she says. “You should get some rest after everything you’ve been through. I can drive. I’ll take us wherever you want to go, it doesn’t matter. You just need to take better care of yourself and I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”

  That’s the truest-sounding thing she’s said to me all day. And there’s something about hearing the compassion in her voice and knowing that it’s directed at me that makes all my pain seem a little less.

  I take a breath. My legs ache and my shoulder feels like it’s on fire. She’s right. I need the rest.

  “Fine. We’ll go back to the hospital. I’ll give you the directions and you can drive. Then you can go. For now.”

  “Thanks, Razor.”

  That hand squeezes my leg. Gentle. Fuck, does it feel good.

  Samantha’s got a soft touch, but it’s more than enough to beat me.

  “Let’s go.”

  Whatever game she’s playing at, I know for sure there will be a lot more bodies in the ground before we’re through. I let down one woman who needed me all those years ago, but there’s not a chance in hell I’ll let that happen again.

  I’ll keep this woman safe, even if it kills me.

  Chapter Six

  Samantha

  I don’t breathe when I first leave the van and step into the parking lot at St. Paul’s hospital. Being free doesn’t feel real. As soon as I’m on solid asphalt with the van at my back, Razor reaches out of his rolled-down window and raps on the side of the door.

  “Come here,” he says. “Please.”

  I walk over, suspicious. “What is it?”

  He slams open the glove box of the van, grabs a pen and a scrap of paper, and writes something down on it. Then he hands it to me.

  “Look, I know you want nothing to do with me or anyone in the MC or any of those fucking guys from the other night, but we’ve passed the point where you have that choice. We’re not through, Florence. Not by a fucking long shot. This is my number. Now, if you’re ever in trouble, call me and I’ll come. You saved my life the other night and I appreciate that.”

  “Thanks,” is all I say, I’m so stunned. This man spins my head around like nothing I’ve ever experienced; he’s terrifying, he’s protective, he’s caring, he’s a menace, and yet, even when he’s at his most frightening, there’s this deep and animal attraction that pulls me to him. Beyond his rugged handsomeness and his chiseled jaw, there’s this energy that radiates from him — he gives everything, heart and soul, to the people he cares about.

  “Take care, Florence,” he says, starting the van up and pulling out of the parking lot.

  It’s a moment before I get my wits back. Then, after shoving his phone number into my pocket, I’m racing back into the hospital. I hope no one’s noticed my absence, or, even worse, fired me. That’d be just my luck.

  Inside, it’s a madhouse.

  The way the ER gets, that’s not an unusual occurrence, but after the last hour I’ve had, everything seems exceptionally mad. Voices shout all around me at an unreasonable volume — some giving orders, some crying for attention, some just crying — and nurses scurry about saving lives while doctors give directions in their inflated-ego voices.

  I’ve hardly plunged back into the chaos when a hand taps me on the shoulder. Whirling, eyes wide, I startle my friend and coworker, Donna.

  “Sam, you OK? You look like hell.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “Where were you? It’s been, like, an hour since I’ve seen you last. You can’t go running off like that.”

  “There was an emergency I had to take care of.”

  Donna rolls her eyes. She’s right to be upset with me.

  “We work in the emergency room, everything is always an emergency. I don’t know how things wo
rked for you when you did that Doctors Without Borders shit, but here we have to stay around for our jobs instead of wandering off into the jungle.”

  “I’m sorry, Donna. It was one of those life and death things. I didn’t have a choice,” I say. And, since it’s true, it rolls easily enough off my tongue that she believes it.

  “And you’re sure you’re OK?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “If you say so. Look, I’m just pissed because it’s been really crazy here and, until just a minute ago, one of the best nurses I know was nowhere to be found. You’d better get back to it and pray that Jackie was too busy to notice you were gone. She’s been on the warpath all day.”

  “Is she ever not?”

  “There was a rumor that she was nice for a morning a few years ago. It was right after New Year’s and the story was she unclenched enough to get laid. If you ask some of the old-timers about it, they’ll tell you. Someone even told me she smiled once that day, too.”

  I roll my eyes. “Now you’re just fucking with me.”

  “Swear to God. Hey, you want to get drinks later? You look like you could use one — or twenty — and I sure as hell could use a drink, too.”

  I smile. “Maybe. If I’m not dead from exhaustion.”

  I leave Donna and get back to my duties. For a few minutes, it feels like things are returning to normal. The patients are their usual selves — part cantankerous, part stupefyingly capable of putting themselves in the most dangerous circumstances and somehow surviving. A rare few are even charming.

  It’s not perfect, it’s not easy, but it’s my job and I love it. I enjoy helping people. Caring for them. Making their lives better.

  Then my phone vibrates. Angrily. As if it’s channeling the rage of the man who I just know is calling me right now.

  I look at the caller ID and, if it were anyone else, I’d ignore it. But even though it says Anonymous, I know who is on the other end of the line: my captor, my tormentor.