Page 17 of Raze
This isn’t quite an emergency yet, but I’ve seen enough blade wounds to know that it could become one…
The highway stretches out, dark and endless, the wind sharp against my face. Nico’s hands are loose on my waist, his grip faltering, and I curse under my breath.
“Stay with me, boy,” I growl over my shoulder, and he mumbles something I can’t hear.
My mind’s racing, torn between the job I fucked up and the kid bleeding behind me. That kiss keeps replaying—the way his lips felt, the way he leaned into it, like he wanted it as much as I did. It’s real, this thing between us, and it’s fucking with my head.
I’m the enforcer, the one who gets shit done, but right now, all I can think about is keeping Nico safe.
The clubhouse is twenty miles away, and I push the bike hard, the engine screaming.
The Broker’s out there, probably already planning his next move, and I’m gonna catch hell from Clay for letting him slip.
My reputation’s on the line. I know that.
But as Nico’s hands slip, his body slumping against me, I know I made the right call.
The Broker can wait. Nico can’t.
I just have to hope beyond hope that Clay agrees to let Doc work on a non-Wolf…
Chapter 7
Nico
This isn’t good.
I know I’m not right.
I can barely…
The world is a blurry haze, my head heavy, my arm throbbing where the blade sliced me. I’m barely conscious, but Raze’s arms are around me, strong and steady, carrying me like I weigh nothing.
My Wolf Rider Daddy’s leather jacket smells of smoke and sweat, and his heartbeat thuds against my cheek, grounding me as I drift in and out. I’m safe here, in his grip, despite everything—the bar fight, the blood, the Broker slipping away.
Raze’s voice rumbles low, words I can’t quite catch, but the tone is urgent, commanding. The clubhouse door creaks open, and the noise hits me like a wave—heavy metal from the jukebox, bikers shouting, glasses clinking. The neon wolf’s head pulses above the bar, its glow seeping through my half-closed eyes.
I’m fading, but I hear Clay’s voice, gravelly and sharp, cutting through the fog.
“He’s not one of us, Raze,” Clay says.
Raze’s reply is a growl, fierce and unyielding.
“He’s hurt, Clay,” Raze growls. “Doc’s fixing the boy, or I’m raising hell.”
There’s a pause, heavy with tension, then Clay grunts, “Fine. Get it done. But know that this is a favor. One that I’ll expect repaying.”
Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting.
My arm burns, and my mind’s stuck on Raze—how he chose me over chasing the Broker, how that choice might cost him everything. I’ve fucked up his world, and the guilt sits like a stone in my chest.
I finally thought I’d maybe found someone who wouldn’t let me down. And what do I do? I let him down instead.Urgh. Maybe I don’t deserve happiness. Maybe that’s what all my years in foster care should have taught me.
Raze sets me down on a cot in a backroom, the air cooler here, smelling of antiseptic and old leather.
Doc, a wiry guy with gray hair and a no-nonsense scowl, is already there, his medical bag open.
“Stay still, kid,” Doc barks, his voice clipped as he cuts away my jacket sleeve.
