Page 23 of Raze
Come on, hold it together.
I’ve ridden fast bikes before.
I’ve got this…
I’m gripping the handlebars, the rain-slicked road blurring past, and every rumble of the engine feels like it’s waking something inside me—something wild, something I’ve been chasing since I was sixteen, running from foster homes and dead-end towns.
This isn’t just a bike. It’s a goddamn beast, and I’m riding it like I belong, like I’m one of the Wolf Riders. The thought alone sends a thrill through me, hot and reckless, mixing withthe memory of Raze’s hands, his voice calling meboy, his lips crashing into mine outside that dive bar.
I’m still reeling from the mission—a real, no bullshit Wolf Rider mission. The kind I’d heard whispered about in dive bars, stories of blood and loyalty that sounded like legends.
Being part of it, even in my own minor role, feels surreal.
I helped takedown the Broker, watched Raze put two bullets in him, clean and cold, like it was nothing. I saw Tank sling that duffel of cash over his shoulder, grinning like we’d won the lottery.
And me? I’m still here, alive, riding Clay’s bike, my .38 heavy against my hip, my arm still throbbing under the bandage. I’m not just some hustler anymore, not just the kid caught with stolen goods. I’minthis, deep in the Wolf Riders’ world, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating in a way that nothing else has ever felt like.
The highway stretches out, dark and wet, the rain a light drizzle now, cooling my face but not the fire in my gut. I glance at Raze ahead, his broad shoulders cutting through the night, his Harley leading the way. Tank’s behind me, hauling the safe and cash, his own bike growling like a pissed-off wolf.
I can’t help but wonder—could this be it?
Could this be the home I’ve been searching for since I was a kid, bouncing from one shitty foster home to another, always unwanted, always running?
The Wolf Riders are a family, forged in blood and leather, and Raze… he’s something else entirely. His touch, his voice, hisveiny, hard cock… it’s got me hooked, and I don’t know if I want to break free or dive deeper.
Could this beforever? Me, with Raze, with the club?
The thought makes my chest tight, a mix of hope and fear. I’ve never had a place to belong, never had anyone fight for me like Raze did when he carried me bleeding from that bar, when he faced down Clay to get me stitched up.
But forever’s a big word for a boy like me, a hustler who’s always lived one job, one town, one hustle at a time. And now, with the Broker dead and the job done, what happens next?
Does Raze still want me, or was I just a means to an end?
The doubt gnaws at me, but the way he kissed me, the way he looked at me when I was shaking in that safehouse—it felt real.Tooreal.
The clubhouse looms ahead, a cinderblock fortress under the flickering neon wolf sign.
My stomach flips as we pull into the gravel lot, the engines cutting out one by one. The whole damn club is out front, a sea of leather vests and hard stares, their eyes glinting under the floodlights.
Clay’s there, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
Jase is beside him, cigarette dangling, smirking like he knows what’s coming. A whole bunch of other Wolf Riders are there too, all with a hungry look on their face…
Dylan, Keegan, and Caleb are off to the side, their faces a mix of sympathy and amusement, like they’ve been through thisbefore. I dismount Clay’s bike, my legs shaky from the ride and the weight of what’s about to go down.
The air smells like gasoline and rain, and my heart’s pounding so loud I swear they can all hear it.
I know what’s coming.
Raze and Tank weren’t kidding about that public spanking.
Stealing a Wolf Rider’s bike—Tank’s, no less—is a sin in this world, and I’m about to pay for it in front of the whole damn club.
My ass still stings from the memory of Raze’s hand in that interrogation room, the memory of his palm, the way I broke and called himDaddy, burning hotter than the wound on my arm. I’m not sure if I’m scared or turned on—maybe both—but I’m not running.
Raze strides over, his boots crunching gravel, his storm-dark eyes locking onto mine. He’s all muscle and menace, his leather jacket tight over his chest, and the sight of him makes my breath catch. Raze grabs my good arm, pulling me aside, away from the crowd, his grip firm but not cruel. His voice is low, rough, meant just for me.
“You ready for this, boy?” Raze asks, his eyes searching mine. “It’s gonna happen—public, like Tank said. But I’ll look after you, make sure it doesn’t go too far. You don’t need to worry.”
