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Chapter Eleven
Nat gazed at Razor lying on the hospital bed. Quiet despair filled her. Razor got hurt because of her. She knew it would happen, but seeing him like this, vulnerable and injured, made her so … angry. Why couldn’t Vulture leave her and her man alone?
What had she ever done to incur that bastard’s wrath? Razor would be so mad she’d left the clubhouse to see him at the hospital. Nat just couldn’t sit around in their room, twiddling her thumbs, her face glued to her phone for any updates about Razor’s condition.
“How is he?” asked a familiar voice. King entered the room and closed the door behind him.
“He hasn’t woken up yet,” she said. Nat didn’t care that King could hear the fear in her voice. She hadn’t slept a wink since last night.
“Were you here all night?” King asked.
Nat nodded, surprised King stood next to her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Razor’s one tough bastard. He’ll make a full recovery. Just wait and see.”
“King, this is all my fault,” she whispered.
“What the hell are you talking about? Did you know Vulture was going to ride into town and shoot Razor and Tank?”
Oh, God. She’d forgotten Tank had been shot as well. “No, but they wouldn’t be in this position if Razor hadn’t rescued me,” she finally said.
“I’ve never seen Razor look so happy. He’s changed in a good way, thanks to you,” King said.
“Wait. Is that a compliment?” she asked him. “How’s Tank?”
King scoffed. “Don’t think much of it. You’re trouble, sure, but the club’s used to trouble. Tank got shot in the shoulder, that’s all.”
“I see. That’s a relief.” Hearing a groan from the bed, Nat instantly shot to her feet. She sat on Razor’s bed and gently touched his hand.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Razor said, voice raspy. She grabbed the water bottle next to the table and handed it to him.
Razor drank it all down. “I feel like shit.”
King and Nat both laughed at that. “Has he always been like this?” she asked King.
“Sure. He likes to joke around during a grave situation,” King said. “Most of the time, he tells poor jokes.”
Razor narrowed his eyes at both of them. “I’ve been transported into an alternate universe where you’ve become friends.”
“King just came by to check on you. He’s worried, and so am I,” she told him. She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth.
“I wasn’t that worried,” King grumbled.
“Wait. You left the clubhouse,” Razor said, frowning at her.
“I was worried about you and … I wanted to be there when you regained consciousness,” she said. “Don’t worry, I asked Grizzly to accompany me here.”
Razor looked appeased by her words.
“What happened since I was shot?” Razor asked.
“Tank’s next door. He got shot in the shoulder,” King answered. “We’re guessing Vulture got away. There’s something else.”
Sensing King and Razor had plenty to talk about, Nat said, “You must be hungry, and I remember you mentioning you hate hospital food. I’ll run down to the cafeteria to see if they have something you like.”
“Thanks, babe,” Razor told her.
She blushed, still unused to that nickname, then hurried out of the room with her purse. For a few seconds, she stood outside the door to compose herself.
“Razor’s alive,” Nat whispered out loud to herself.
