Page 6 of Razor's Property

In all the times my mother taught me never to answer the door without looking through the peephole to see who it is, apparently, I never learned. I open my door as if I’m greeting a Girl Scout wanting to sell me cookies and find myself facing my pain.

“Need you to come for a ride with me, Kens.” His voice is a roll of thunder breaking out in the sky, sending a current of lightning through my body.

“No.” I cross my arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Sean.”

“I’m not asking, babe.”

Yeah, I’ve picked up on the fact that he thinks he can order me around and I’ll do as I’m told. He’s not my boyfriend anymore, and I’m not that little girl. The one so eager to please. The one who would’ve done anything for him. After what he did, my answer is and will always be no.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t get off my front porch in five seconds, I’ll call the cops.”

He steps forward and I’m suddenly frozen, locked in the past. My feet not feeling as steady as I get an up-close view of his gorgeous face. His scent drifts in like a gust of familiarity. Reminding me of a past I’ve fought so hard to forget. He’s all rugged man now, but his deep blue eyes are still the same. His nose still slopes to the perfect point. Cheeks still angular. The beard is a new addition. Unfortunately, making him look hotter than he already was. After all these years, he’s still undeniably the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I hate him for it.

“I’m going to count to five, babe. You get in my truck willingly, or I’ll put you in it. Five…four…three…” He’s serious. The vicious gleam in his eyes is a threat. “Two…” His head cocks to the side, giving me one final moment to make up my mind and decide what the fuck I’m going to do. I’m not going anywhere with him.

I go to shut the door in his face, but his huge frame blocks it, looming over me. And now he’s seething.

“Wrong choice.”

I’m suddenly upended, my body hanging over his shoulder as he storms from my house and straight to the biggest truck I’ve ever seen. He shoves me up into the back and then climbs inside.

“I thought you only rode a motorcycle?” It’s the stupidest thing to come out of my mouth. I should be yelling at him for manhandling me, but I’m so shocked by the fact that he’s not on his Harley, the bike he was obsessed with, that I can’t think past it. He worked on that thing every day throughout high school, restoring it from a piece of scrap metal he found in the back of his granddad’s garage. He turned it into something so beautiful it turned heads.

That’s how he got caught up with King and the Savage Knights. Sean had it parked outside the grocery store and was approached by the gang of bikers. They’d never seen such a beauty and were even more impressed when he pulled out his phone and showed them the before pictures. They immediately asked him if he wanted a job in their shop, working on their bikes. And that was that. He was in. Went there every day after school, then came home, telling me all about the club and how powerful the men were.

I could see it in his eyes. The gleam of excitement. The thrill of being a badass. And I knew it was happening. The induction into the brotherhood. Just like a cult, they were brainwashing him. My sweet Sean was turning into one of them. He started dressing like them and acting like them, and I stupidly thought it was a phase. I thought he’d graduate and head off to college, maybe a little tougher and with a little more confidence and swagger in his strut, but I never thought he’d give everything up for the MC—for those men. But he did. And I lost the love of my life to a bunch of lowlifes.

“Figured your stubborn ass was going to fight me, so I brought my cage,” he grits as he starts the thing up. This is the point where I should be trying to climb out and stomp back into my house, but instead I ask another stupid question.

“Why did you come to find me?” Thought he’d take my not-so-subtle hint at the club that I don’t want to see him ever again.

“‘Cause you and I need to have a talk about what the fuck is going on. Why are you stripping at that club, babe?”

Babe? Really? He has the nerve to call me that after he fucked around with two girls right in front of my face and didn’t even bother to come and apologize until he’d had his fill. He’s a fucking asshole, and I am not his “babe” anymore. And if he ever calls me that again, I’m liable to chop his dick off.

“I’m not your babe,Razor.” I use his stupid club name. “And it’s none of your damn business. Now, drive me back to my house and get the fuck out of my life.”

He doesn’t. He keeps his foot on the gas, driving out of my neighborhood, out of town, and up a mountain. His hands gripped tight around the steering wheel. His jaw locked. The glare in his stare leaving skid marks on the road as we sit in seething silence. I don’t know where the hell he’s taking me. I assume this is his way of burning off his anger, but when he pulls into a drive, winding up an old familiar road, I know exactly where we’re headed. His grandad’s cabin.

Not sure why he brought me here. If he thinks this place will remind me of all the good memories we had growing up, he’s wrong. All the happy days where we’d spend our time outdoors, laughing and talking, fishing with his grandad, baking with his grams, all of that was washed away on the day he broke my heart. Replaced with one dark stare as he turned his head, the pleasure burning heavy in his eyes, his hand tightening his grip on the girl kneeled before him, letting out an audible groan as he thrust forward, coming between her cheeks and not stopping for a single second.

He watched me stand there, being humiliated, my heart breaking into fragments, tears running down my cheeks, and he couldn’t even find the decency to stop. To shove her off. No. He proved exactly what kind of bastard he is that day, and the memories we had made up at this cabin and everywhere else disintegrated, along with my respect for the man.

I’d like to say that my love disintegrated too, but my heart still feels the aching throb of the loss. Every date I go on, every boyfriend I ever had, every kiss, every touch, I’m reminded of the loss. Reminded of what was ripped from me. The future I’d dreamt of was torn away, and every time I tried to replace it,tried to create a new dream, my body rejected it. I hate him for that. For making it so hard for me to move on.

“Why are we here?” I ask, as he pulls me out from the back and starts carrying me inside. I’d put up a fight, but I don’t have any shoes on, so I appreciate the lift. He places me down on the old front porch and unlocks his door. The place is like a time capsule, everything exactly as I remember. From the antlers hanging over the fireplace to the old rocking chair sitting in the corner. It’s exactly the same.

“This is my house. That’s why.”

“You live here now?” I run my finger over the white silk doily his grandma stitched by hand while sitting in that rocker. She was one of the sweetest people I’d ever met. “Thought you lived at the clubhouse?”

“Like I told you, I’m riding on my own for now.”

“How come?” My curiosity keeps taking control of my mouth, firing off questions when I should be telling him to take me home. “Did they kick you out of the club?”

“No. Will always be a brother. But shit went down, and I needed some space to breathe.”

I wonder if that’s code for they got into trouble with the law, and he had to go into hiding.

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