Razor (Twisted Devils MC Book 1)

by Zahra Girard

  “So, sex.”

  “Smart girl. I knew you were more than just a pretty face,” he says. His feet brush mine under the table and he makes a noise in his chest that some YouTube pickup artist probably told him was a sure panty-soaker. “You open up your legs to me, and I can help you out.”

  I close my eyes and try not to manifest my dream of tossing my beer right in his face. I need him on my side. If I get fired or suspended, there’s no way I’ll be able to get the Makris family access to the hospital’s drugs and I know for sure that, whatever they do to me, will make what Dr. Ayers wants to do seem pleasant by comparison.

  I steel myself.

  Then I think of Razor.

  Fuck, I can’t do this.

  Trent’s foot brushes me again, much higher on my leg this time.

  “Can you excuse me a second, Trent? Can I call you Trent or is that too informal? Sorry, this drink is going straight to my head — I’m such a lightweight.”

  He grins, ecstatic at the thought of an easy conquest.

  “Go right ahead. Hurry back, Samantha.”

  I stand up. Though I don’t look back, I can feel Trent’s eyes right on my ass the whole walk to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind me, I lean against it and heave a disgusted sigh of relief. The bathroom is empty and I finally have a refuge from the persistent sexual needling of Dr. Ayers.

  “You have to do this, Sam,” I say to myself in the mirror. “It’s just sex. You’ve done it to get what you want before. Heck, you did it just the other day. That thing with Razor was just sex, right? So is this.”

  Was it, though?

  Shit, I can’t even convince myself of that. I am so fucked.

  Maybe it started as ‘just sex’ to escape an uncomfortable question, but, by time number three or four, it was more than that. And when I woke up in his bed and walked to the kitchen, it didn’t feel like I was doing the walk of shame. I felt happy. I felt that spark of joy like I’d just encountered something new, something that I wanted to explore.

  Thinking of Razor reminds me I’ve still got his number on that scrap of paper stuffed in the deepest recess of my too-small pocket. It’s supposed to be for emergencies, like sighting any of the Makris family or being in mortal danger, but I think the prospect of dying of disgust because of the unrelenting sexual advances of Dr. Ayers falls squarely in the emergency category.

  I dial Razor.

  He doesn’t answer the first time. Or the second.

  He’s probably busy.

  So I settle for sending him a text. It’s simple and straight-forward. SOS and then the name of the bar I’m at.

  Then I take a minute, use the facilities, and spend another minute or five giving myself a pep talk in the mirror. I don’t want to go back out there and subject myself to the rapacious predations of that malignant doctor, but I don’t really have a choice.

  After putting on my best, most-flirtatious smile, I open the door to the bathroom and find Trent in the hallway right outside. He’s smiling, but there’s menace in his eyes.

  “I got tired of waiting. It’s not polite to keep someone waiting like that. You should know better, Samantha.”

  “You see I was in the bathroom, right?”

  “We’re discussing important things out there. You value your future at this hospital, don’t you?”

  With each word, he takes another a step closer until there’s not a single inch of space between his body and mine.

  “I do.”

  “I think we both agree that you want to stay in your job. I also think you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. Am I right?”

  His presence makes me wilt.

  “I need my job.”

  With one shove, he forces open the door to the ladies' bathroom. That grin of his grows as he sees the bathroom is empty.

  “Why don’t we go inside?”

  He shoves me in.

  In the mirror, I see the same woman who minutes ago gave me the pep talk about how I need to do whatever it takes to keep my job. That woman is sick and scared.

  “I’ve had my eye on you a long time, Samantha. Ever since you set foot in the emergency room, I’ve wanted to know what it feels like to run my hands down your back and cup that sweet ass of yours; to find out what you taste like between those lengthy legs; to know what it sounds like when you come all over my dick.”

  Every word comes with a caress that makes me shrink in revulsion.

  “Just wait, Trent. Not here, please.”

  “I am so sick of waiting. Sick of waiting for you to put out like I know you want to.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll take it like a good girl.”

  His hands are working the buttons of my shirt now. It’s all I can do to force my helpless self to stay put.

  My shirt opens.

  “What lovely tits,” he murmurs.

  His hands move to the buttons of his jeans.

  I shut my eyes.

  The sound of the door opening tickles my ears.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Nice cock you got there, buddy. Is that for me?” Razor’s voice is equal parts fury and murder.

  “Get out,” Trent growls.

  “I don’t think I will. At least, not alone. See, what I’d like to do is grab you by that little nub you call a cock, drag you back into the alley behind this bar, and show you what happens to motherfuckers like yourself who decide that raping women is a good idea.”

  I open my eyes. Razor looms over Dr. Ayers like the threat of death.

  “You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” Ayers fumes.

  Razor’s eyes disdainfully flash down at Ayer’s exposed dick.

  “I think I’ve got a good idea of the piece of shit that you are. Just a small man who wants what he can’t have.”

  Then Razor hits Trent with a thudding punch that leaves him flat on the floor. Trent hits the ground hard and lands with his face flush against the trash can, his cock unceremoniously dangling between his legs.

  It’s an impressive sight in some ways. In others, it’s quite underwhelming. Pitiable, even.

  “You OK?” Razor says.

  I nod. “I’m fine.”

  “Who was that piece of shit?”

  “A coworker. Dr. Ayers. He’s connected at the hospital and he’s been a bit of problem. But don’t worry about him. Let’s just go.”

  “Then — and I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this — cover your tits. We’re leaving.”

  I fix my shirt and follow him from the bathroom.

  We get into the parking lot. It’s cold out. It gets that way in the desert at night. Star-filled skies, chilly breezes, and the light of a half-moon are the only companions we have out here.

  My breath fogs in the air.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say.

  “Almost didn’t.”

  “Why?” I say, thinking it was something I did. My experience with Dr. Ayers has me feeling vulnerable. It was a look at a darker side of a colleague that I didn’t think existed and it’s given me plenty of reason to hate myself being so foolish. Because a creep like Trent Ayers won’t be happy unless I’m on my knees, begging for him to put his cock in my mouth.

  I should have known he’d be like that.

  It’s like Razor can read every single self-doubting thought that’s racing through my mind. He puts his arm around me and his voice is warm and all-encompassing.

  “I was tied up in club business. But I’m glad I made it and could help. You need to remember: none of that was your fault.”

  “Razor, I—” I start to say.

  He shakes his head and silences that self-hating part of me.

  “No. It’s never OK. Even in the MC — which is full of the best kind of criminals and lowlifes that a man could hope to call his brothers — it’s not OK. What that creep wanted to do was just straight up wrong no matter how you look at it.”

  And this is why I find i
t impossible to resist this man; equal parts protective, caring, and vicious, he’s an intoxicating presence. Even the smallest slight against me is enough to turn him into an animal.

  After a breath or two, I quell my racing heart and smile up at him.

  “Thank you. Do you mind if we get out of here? That prick works at the hospital and I really don’t want to be around when he wakes up.”

  “Fine, Florence. I know just the place. Let me take care of you tonight.”

  This man is just what I need in my life. It can’t hurt to get a little closer to him, can it?

  I smile and kiss his cheek. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Razor

  If there’s one thing I know that’ll comfort frayed nerves, it’s a strong margarita and a good meal. In fact, it’s the only thing I know for nerves — we didn’t talk about this shit when I was growing up. Discussions of feelings don’t really happen in the club, either. My solutions for interpersonal problems are limited to direct confrontation or the consumption of alcohol and good Mexican food.

  “Casa Rojo?” Samantha says to me, looking up at the simple painted sign above the door of the mission style restaurant building. “You’re taking me out for dinner? Is this a date?”

  “No. This is a conversation. We’ve got a lot of truths to put out there before anything we do together could be considered a date.”

  Just the hint that I might ask her some uncomfortable questions has her ready for a fight. Her posture straightens, and she gets a stubborn look in her eyes.

  “I called you for help, Razor. Not so you could pile on me about that Makris bullshit or whatever it is you’ve got going on with your MC.”

  “Just stop being so combative for once and let me buy you a drink and a fucking taco.”

  “Fine.”

  I lead her stubborn ass inside and nod at the smiling hostess as I walk straight past her and take my favorite table near the back.

  “Can’t read the sign, huh?” Samantha says as she takes a seat opposite me. “Or is ‘please wait to be seated’ too much of an inconvenience?”

  “They know me here. They’re good people. They catered Stone’s daughter’s birthday party last year, too.”

  The owner, Claudia, comes to our table with her arms wide for a hug. I stand and wrap her in my arms. She smells like roasted meat and toasted tortillas — heaven.

  “Razor, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you last. Long time since I’ve seen Stone, too. I was thinking you all didn’t like my food anymore.”

  “Things have been real busy, Claudia. I’ll tell my brothers to get off their asses and get over here real soon.”

  “That would be good. Now, take a seat, let me fix you something; you look like you’re nothing but skin and bones.”

  I sit and grin at her. “I’ll have the usual.”

  She nods. Then she looks at Samantha. “And who are you? Has Razor finally brought a date to my restaurant?”

  “Claudia, this is my friend, Samantha. She works over at St. Paul’s.”

  Claudia smiles at me, knowingly. “Friend? Has this friend finally gotten you to settle down?”

  “She’s just a friend,” I say, though it doesn’t ring true to my ears and there’s a flicker of something doubtful in Samantha’s eyes.

  “Well, Samantha, what would you like to eat?”

  Samantha says something to Claudia in Spanish. After blinking, Claudia answers back in Spanish, too. There’s a little more back and forth between the two of them, some laughter, and I’m left wishing I had paid more attention in high school Spanish class. Finally, after Samantha says something that has Claudia cackling like a banshee, the old woman leaves the table and heads back into the kitchen.

  A slight unease settles over me. I know the two of them were talking about more than just what was on the menu.

  “What was that about?” I say.

  “I was ordering and had some questions about the food.”

  “Sounded like more than that. Where’d you pick up Spanish that well?”

  “El Salvador,” she says, then she gives me a sly smile. “And I did more than order food. You know, Claudia has an active imagination and a very creative way of phrasing things.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Well, she knows we’re more than just friends.”

  I grin. “Well, most women in my life tend to be a little more than ‘just friends’ so that’s not a surprise. What else did she tell you?”

  “That you have nice eyes.”

  I grunt. “Hardly worth a big laugh.”

  “She says she’d love to see your pretty eyes looking up at her as you go down… somewhere.”

  I throw a worried look to the kitchen. “Claudia said that?”

  Samantha nods. “And more. I told her that your eyes do look entrancing when they’re looking up at me. She told me she was very jealous.”

  I sit in shocked silence for the few minutes it takes to Claudia to come back with our food. For me, there’s a sizzling plate of carne asada, rice, beans, and tortillas. For Samantha, there’s a plate of chilaquiles that smells so good I want to dive into it face first.

  As Claudia leaves, I notice there’s much more sway in her hips than usual. It’ll be a long time before I come back to this place.

  But not too long — the food is that good.

  I take a few bites and allow Samantha some time with her own meal before I dive into the subject. I’ve had enough with being jerked around by her. My patience is running on empty.

  “You’re going to tell me everything you know about the Makris family.”

  “I am?”

  “You’re in danger.”

  “I am.”

  “And you’re in over your head.”

  “I am not.”

  That makes me laugh. “Yes, you are. You might be damned smart, which is a fucking dangerous combination with your looks, but you sure as hell don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

  “You think I’m just an innocent woman with a working brain and nice tits, don’t you?”

  “You’re more than that, you’ve also got a great ass, but…”

  “Let me tell you something, Razor. I know exactly who I’m dealing with and this isn’t my first time dealing with this kind of person. When I was in El Salvador, I worked in this shelter. It was for women and children, mostly. They were usually fleeing their own homes because the domestic violence situation in that country makes the violence in the meanest streets look like child’s play. We had our fair share of return visitors but I’ll never forget this one woman: Diana. She had a little boy, Luis, and he was the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen. And every single time they came to us, they looked horrific. And every single time I prayed they had the courage to take our help to escape to a safe place,” she says. Then she pauses and her eyes get wet.

  I reach out and take her hand. I am fucking awful at interrogating this woman — any time she looks hurt, all I want to do is comfort her.

  “Hey, it’s OK. Take a breath, Samantha.”

  She takes a long drink of her margarita instead. “Instead, without fail, Diana’s husband, Rogerio, would show up to take them home. That’s where they’d stay, until a few weeks later when they’d show up with even worse injuries than before,” she says. She pauses, taking a long sip of her margarita and a bite of her food. Her voice is now cold, casual, detached. “I tried so hard to get Diana to take our help but, eventually, I got sick of seeing her show up all the time. So I pulled some of my money together and I found someone to give her husband a message.”

  “A message?” I say, knowing full what she means but having a hard time picturing this woman doing something so cold-hearted, ruthless, and, frankly, hot as hell. Men like Rogerio deserve every bit of pain that’s coming to them.

  “You know what I mean. They left his body in the alley for the rats and the stray dogs. I’m not innocent and I’m not scared to get my hands dirty doing w
hat’s right. You and I just have different ways of doing it.”

  I gain a lot more respect for Samantha in that moment. Her methods might be different, but she’s got the attitude and smarts to make one hell of an old lady.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “And so will I. But I don’t regret it. It was the right thing to do.”

  “You get more interesting the more I find out about you. I would’ve done the same thing if I were in your shoes. Well, I probably would’ve killed that son of a bitch myself.”

  “Thank you,” she smiles. It’s genuine. Bright.

  Fuck, is she ever beautiful.

  “But I’m still not letting you out of here before you give me what I want.”

  There’s a twinkle in her eye as she looks at me over the rim of her margarita glass. “Right here? How about I give you what you want back at my place?”

  * * * * *

  She would fuck right here in her driveway if I gave in to her temptations. I’m hard as a rock, her hands have been all over me from the second she shut her car door and crushed her lips to mine, and I can’t deny that it wouldn’t be a pretty sight to bend her over the front end of her sedan.

  But, though I’d love nothing more than to slip my cock deep into her wet and willing pussy, I will not let her distract me this time.

  I grip her by the wrists, wrench them behind her back, and pin her hard against side of her car.

  “What’s wrong, Razor? I thought this is what you wanted?” She says in a breathy voice that’s both teasing and begging at the same time. “Or are we going to do it rough this time? I’m up for it.”

  If only she knew how bad I wanted this. Ever since my first taste of her sweet pussy, no other pussy’s held any appeal for me.

  “We’ll get to that, I promise. But first, you’re going to answer my fucking questions.”

  Her fingertips brush my cock through my jeans and she wiggles her hips, grinding her ass against me.

  “That really what you want?”

  “It is.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “There’s plenty of women out there that I can fuck, Florence. But there’s only one that I have any inclination to protect from the drug dealers breathing down her neck. That ain’t going to be the case much longer if you keep testing me.”