Page 5 of Raze
“You think you’re cute, kid?” I growl, my voice low, rough as gravel. “You’re holding our shit. That’s a death wish. But you already know that, right?”
He grins wider, like he’s enjoying this.
“Your shit? Man, I’m just the delivery boy. Didn’t know I was stepping on any toes.” He tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes, playing innocent. “How about we talk this out? No need to get messy.”
I don’t buy it. Not for a second.
His charm’s a weapon, sharp as any blade, and I’ve seen guys like him before—hustlers who think they can talk their way out of anything. But he’s in deep, and he knows it. My fingerstighten on his shoulder, just shy of painful, and I lean in, close enough to feel the heat off him.
“You got a name, delivery boy?”
“Nico,” he says, all casual, like we’re swapping names over beers. “And you are…?”
I let the silence hang, letting him feel the weight of my stare. Tank and Kash move closer, boxing him in. Tank cracks his knuckles, and Kash taps that damn crowbar against his palm, smirking like he’s ready to crack a skull.
They’re waiting for my signal, but I’m not ready to give it. Not yet.
This kid’s got answers, and I want them.
Who’s he working for? How’d a punk like him end up with our goods? And why the hell is my pulse kicking up, like I’m the one caught off guard?
“You made a big mistake, boy,” I say, the wordboylow and deliberate. It hits him—I see it in the way his eyes flicker, just for a second. “Well, Nico. My name’s Raze. And we’re going to be getting to know one another very well indeed. And that’s about as far from a request as you can get…”
His smirk falters, and I feel a grim satisfaction.
Nico’s not as untouchable as he thinks.
I let go of his shoulder, but I don’t step back.
“Tank, Kash, check the crates,” I order, not taking my eyes off Nico.
They move fast, ripping open the shrink-wrap, confirming it’s our haul—laptops, burners, and a few boxes of ammo we lost last week.
My blood boils. This isn’t just a theft… it’s a slap in the face.
Someone’s testing us, and this kid’s the key to finding them.
“You’re coming with us,” I tell him, grabbing his arm and hauling him toward the door. He stumbles but keeps that damn grin, like he’s still got cards to play. I’m not sure if I want to wipe it off his face or see how far he’ll push it. “Move.”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Nico grumbles, a slightly petulant tone to his voice that I don’t appreciate.
“I were in your shoes, I’d be acting a whole lot more humble,” I growl. “You’re in serious fucking shit here, boy. Don’t think for one second that you’re not.”
Outside, the air’s cooler, the storm clouds thicker overhead.
I shove Nico toward my bike, a black Harley that’s been my ride for a decade, scarred and reliable as hell.
“Get on,” I snap, climbing on in front.
He hesitates, just for a second, then swings a leg over, settling behind me. His hands hover, like he’s not sure where to put them, and I feel the heat of him pressed against my back.
It’s distracting, and I hate it. But judging from the package that Nico’s pressing into me, he doesn’t hate this anywhere near as much as he should. I might be taking him to his certain death for all he knows—but it seems like his dick very much hasn’t got the message.
I rev the engine, the roar drowning out whatever smartass comment he’s about to make.
“Hold on, kid,” I growl over my shoulder.
His hands finally land on my waist, light at first, then tighter as I gun it.
