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Glancing up at Razor, I doubt he realizes how his confidence and strength is reassuring me.
There’s no turning back now, and I’m going to take it a day at a time while I’m here.
Razor takes my hand and leads me back toward the stairwell. "Let me show you our room. I think you'll like it."
I raise my brows, a bit surprised we’re sharing a room. “Our room?”
Razor turns back to face me for a split second, “Yeah. We haven’t furnished the rest of the rooms here yet, so my room is now our room.”
I guess this charter really is bare bones right now, but it means that Razor is putting his stamp here, which is really cool.
Razor leads me up the stairs to the third floor of the clubhouse.
There’s another living area sort of thing up here, and a doorway at the end of the hall, plus his bedroom.
Or maybe I should call it a suite.
It’s spacious, and adorned with traditional Mexican accents, but there’s a modern touch.
I’m going to guess Razor has focused on redecorating in here the most, considering this is his space.
It obviously exudes male dominance, but I shouldn’t expect anything else from him.
“Ah, there’s something else I need to show you,” Razor says softly, tugging me along with him again.
He leads me to a doorway on the other side of our bathroom and pushes it open.
We walk outside and we have a fucking balcony.
What?
He turns and gazes over my features. “We might be in the rough part of town, but I thought this was a nice feature.”
"Nice?” I shake my head, “No, this is amazing.”
"I’m glad you like it," Razor says as I walk up to the iron railing.
He wraps his arms around my waist from behind. "I thought you'd like it here."
"I do," I admit, leaning back into his embrace.
There’s a warmth, a happiness about doing this that I can’t explain.
Sure, I’m afraid sometimes, but I have faith this was the best choice for me.
Still, I’m not being foolish in any aspect. I know there are so many things that could go wrong.
After all, I’m in the arms of an undoubtedly dangerous man, away from everything I know.
I have to push my thoughts back, reminding myself this is good for me.
Being in Los Angeles, where I can drift deeper into bad habits isn’t going to help me.
I guess I didn’t even think the cocaine was a bad thing until Razor pointed it out.
I used it to help me, and now, I find I’m so distracted I haven’t even asked where to get any.
"You okay, Cola?" Razor asks, nuzzling his mouth against my neck. "You seem distracted."
