Page 16 of Raze
Nico keeps moving, circling toward a booth where two more guys sit, one with a buzz cut—Tito, probably. He taps his nose, a signal so smooth I almost miss it.
Then Nico’s eyes lock on a guy at the bar, older, in a cheap suit, sipping a gin and tonic. Nico mouths the wordBroker, and my blood runs cold.
The big boss is here, the one behind the hits on our shipments.
This is our shot.
My hand slides to my .45, the grip familiar, my focus narrowing. I could end it now—one clean shot, the Broker’s down, and the message is sent: don’t fuck with the Wolf Riders. But before I can move, there’s a commotion near the table Nico signaled.
Snake’s on his feet, shoving Nico hard, his voice rising over the music.
“You little shit, you ratted us out!”
Another guy—Tito, maybe—grabs Nico’s arm, and a fist flies, catching Nico in the jaw. The boy stumbles, blood trickling from his lip, and something in me snaps.
I’m off the stool in a heartbeat, my gun out, the bar a blur as I move.
“Back the fuck off!” I roar, firing twice. Snake drops, clutching his shoulder, and the other guy hits the floor, blood pooling from his leg.
The bar erupts—screams, glasses shattering, people diving for cover.
Nico’s on his knees, one hand on his jaw, the other clutching his arm, where blood seeps through his jacket. A blade glints on the floor beside him—a shallow cut, but it’s bleeding bad.
My eyes flick to the bar, and I catch a glimpse of the Broker slipping out the front door, his suit a flash in the neon light.
Fuck.
I missed him. I could still catch him. But…
I hesitate, my gun still raised, torn between chasing the Broker and checking on Nico. The kid’s hurt, his face pale, those blue eyes wide with pain and fear. I curse myself for letting the Broker get away, but Nico’s blood is on the floor, and that hits harder than it should.
I holster my gun and kneel beside him, my hands rough but careful as I check his arm. The cut is superficial, a slash across his forearm, but it’s deep enough to need stitches.
“You okay, boy?” I ask, my voice gruffer than I mean it to be.
Nico nods, wincing, but his eyes meet mine, and there’s that spark again, the one from the kiss outside.
“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice shaky. “Just… caught me off guard.”
I haul him to his feet, one arm around his waist, and drag him toward the door. The blood is pouring out now—I’ve seen cuts like this turn real bad, real quick. Even if I could chase the Broker down, I’m not risking Nico’s life for it.
The bar’s a mess, bodies on the floor, the bartender yelling about cops.
Snake and Tito are down, groaning, but alive. I don’t care about them. The Broker’s gone, and that’s on me.
I fucked up, let my focus slip because of Nico, and the Wolf Riders are gonna have my ass for it. Clay and Jase trusted me to handle this, to take out the threat, and I let the big fish slip through my fingers. My reputation—hard-earned, blood-soaked—is on the line, and I can already hear the whispers:Raze is slipping, too caught up in some kid.
Outside, the air’s cooler, the storm clouds ready to burst.
I get Nico to my bike, his weight leaning into me, his blood staining my hands.
“Hold on,” I say, helping him onto the seat.
The boy is shaky but manages to grip the handlebars, his good arm trembling. I climb on in front, feeling him press against my back, weaker than before but still there, still warm.
The engine roars to life, and I gun it, tearing out of the lot, the bar fading into the distance.
We need to get back to the clubhouse, to Doc, the club’s medic, who can stitch Nico up before he loses too much blood.
