Page 12 of Raze
“Very well,” I say. “Good choice, boy. Now stand up straight, place your hands on your head, and turn and face me.”
“Y-y-y-yes, Daddy,” Nico says, his voice quiet and with a much softer edge to it.
I watch as Nico obeys me, any sign of rebellion long gone.
His cock twitches and bounces before my eyes and his cheeks flush red with shame.
I’ve got Nico where I want him. But now I’ve broken him down, it’s time to play a little nicer until I can be sure that he’ll give me every damn detail he knows about not only this gang who hired him, but about the whole damn enterprise and real players behind it too…
Chapter 5
Nico
My ass is still stinging… a hot, throbbing reminder of Raze’s hand and the confession he spanked out of me.
I’m standing in the Wolf Riders’ clubhouse bar, my jeans and briefs back on but my pride in tatters. The zip ties are gone, and my wrists are raw, but Raze’s aftercare—gentle words, a steady hand on my shoulder, a bottle of water pressed into my palm as he soothed my ass with cooling gel—left me more shaken than the discipline itself…
The Wolf Rider got what he wanted: names, places, everything I knew about Snake, Tito, and the crew they run with. I spilled it all, every detail about their stash houses, their buyers, even the guy they report to, some shadowy figure they call “the Broker.”
I’m not sure if it’s enough to save my skin, but Raze let me walk out of that interrogation room, so I’m calling it a win. For now.
The bar’s a chaotic mess of noise and smoke, heavy metal blaring from the jukebox, bikers shouting over pool games and shots of whiskey. The neon wolf’s head over the counter pulses like it’s alive, and the air smells like sweat, leather, and booze.
I’m trying to blend in, leaning against a wall near the bar, nursing a beer I didn’t ask for. My .38 is back in my jeans, a sign that Raze doesn’t think I’m out to cause trouble. But even if I was, my gun is no use here.
One wrong move, and I’m done.
There’s no escaping the fact that while Raze seems to think we’re on the same side now, if I step out of line I’m a dead man.
The Wolf Riders are everywhere, their eyes sharp, their hands never far from a weapon. I’m a fish in a shark tank, and every instinct screams to bolt, but my feet stay planted. Something’s keeping me here, and I hate that it’s got Raze’s name written all over it.
Three guys approach me, their vibe different from the rough-edged bikers. They’re younger, closer to my age, with a lightness that doesn’t match the clubhouse’s grit. One’s got a grin like he’s up to no good—Dylan, he introduces himself. Caleb’s taller, a shy smile on his face, and Keegan’s lean, with buzzed hair that shines under the bar lights. They’re not patched members, but they’re clearly part of this world, their ease in the chaos telling me they belong here…
“You’re Nico, right?” Dylan asks, leaning against the wall beside me, his voice playful. “The new guy who got Raze all worked up? I’m Dylan, this is Keegan and Caleb.”
I stiffen, my grip tightening on the beer bottle.
“Something like that,” I mutter, not sure how much they know—or how much I should say.
Caleb chuckles, nudging Keegan. “Heard you got the full Raze treatment. A spanking by the enforcer? What wasthatlike?”
My face burns, and I take a swig of beer to cover it.
“Let’s just say Raze knows what he’s doing,” I say, keeping my tone light, but the memory of his hand on my bare skin, the sharp sting, the way he called meboy—it’s still too fresh. “Disciplineandaftercare. Guy’s got a system.”
I’m trying to sound casual, but my voice cracks just enough to betray me.
I don’t want to let my guard down, not here, not with these guys, but there’s something disarming about their openness, like they’ve been where I am and lived to laugh about it.
“Oh, we get it,” Keegan says, his perfect smile catching the light as he grins. “Our Daddies are Wolf Riders, too. Arch is mine, Clay is Dylan’s, and Caleb’s with Jase. Spankings are basically a rite of passage around here.”
“Yeah,” Dylan adds, smirking. “Clay doesn’t mess around. Last time I mouthed off, I couldn’t sit for a week. But the aftercare?” He winks. “Totally worth it.”
Caleb nods, his cheeks pink. “Jase is the same. All growl, but he’s soft when it counts. You’ll see, Nico. Raze is tough, but he’s got a heart under all that leather.”
I snort, not ready to buy that.
Raze is a wall of muscle and menace, with storm-dark eyes that see right through my bullshit. The aftercare—his low voice telling me to breathe, his hand steadying me—was just a tactic, right? To keep me talking. I’ve learned the hard way since childhood that everyone has an angle. And why should I suddenly believe that Raze could be any different to the rest?
