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Chapter Two
“That was interesting,” Rat was telling Vulture. Once the Black Dogs MC’s important guests were gone, Vulture shoved her off his lap like trash. Natalie Rivers fell to her knees and told herself she wouldn’t cry. Not here and certainly not now.
“I didn’t like the way that bastard was looking at my girl,” Vulture said through gritted teeth.
Nat remembered that biker’s smile, how it felt wrong in that place. That smile seemed to lack pretension, and it actually almost seemed genuine and full of sympathy.
Nat suppressed the laugh that threatened to escape her mouth. She forced herself to get up, return to the bar, and start cleaning up. Razor and Vulture talked some more, but their voices sounded like buzzing insects to her. The men in this MC didn’t think much of the women here. To them, Nat and the others were like mere ants to be stepped on.
Her mind remained occupied. Razor was probably as bad as Vulture, but some part of her didn’t think so. When she’d been serving them drinks, she felt the weight of his gray stare on her but didn’t think much of it. Men leered at her all the time, but none of the MC men would touch her because they were terrified of Vulture. Some of the women in the club said she was lucky in that sense, but Nat didn’t feel lucky at all.
Being with Vulture felt like a never-ending nightmare. Sometimes, she seriously debated killing herself. No one would miss her absence from this world after all. Her mother, her only ally in this world, was gone, taken by cancer. She would never be able to repay all her hospital bills if not for Vulture’s generosity. Generous. That was what Vulture liked to describe himself.
“Nat, Razor left his jacket. Return it to him,” Rat interrupted.
Startled, she set down the glass she’d been washing. Nat dropped what she was doing to pluck Razor’s cut from the chair. Before she could slip out of the room, Vulture blocked the way out.
“Just hand it to him. Don’t linger,” he warned her. “Remember there are cameras even outside the club.”
“Relax, Vulture. If Razor lays his hands on her, then we can consider this truce gone. Won’t that be fun?” Rat asked.
They are crazy, Nat thought. Although privately, she thought Rat was a different brand of crazy. Vulture was an easy enough man to understand. He was a possessive and jealous brute through and through, but Rat? Logic couldn’t explain Rat’s actions.
Vulture suddenly gripped her chin to the point of pain. “Tell me you understand, bitch.”
“I understand,” Nat dully said. She thought he wouldn’t let her go, but he did. Nat left the room, clutching Razor’s jacket. The clubhouse was full of narrow corridors, of various twists and turns that could make an outsider’s head spin, but Nat knew her way out.
The two MC men guarding the front door were only a few feet from her now.
“Rat asked me to return this to our guests,” she said, panting a little as she held out a jacket. They let her through. To her relief, she spotted King and Razor in the parking lot. They were about to get on their Harleys. The thought of never seeing Razor again filled her with a strange, quiet despair, which didn’t make sense at all.
She only met this man today, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking of that sincere smile he flashed at her or the silent rage in his eyes every time Vulture inappropriately touched her. In those few moments, she allowed herself to think that Razor would leap out of his seat and strangle Vulture on the spot.
Of course, daydreams were nice and all, but they weren’t reality.
“Wait,” Nat called out. Running in these ridiculous heels almost made her trip. She righted herself at the last second and forced herself to walk.
King looked at her like she was an annoyance, but Razor’s face, did it actually light up? The streetlights flickered on at that moment, and she blinked. Under the dim lights of the clubhouse, she’d only caught glimpses of his features. Out here in the parking lot, she could finally get a clear look at him.
He usually wasn’t the type she went for. Sharp gray eyes peered at her from a bearded face that couldn’t quite conceal his square jaw and sharp cheekbones. Black ink covered both his muscled arms, and more peeked from under his neck.
“Look who we have here,” he drawled in a honeyed voice that made her shiver in a good way.
When Vulture first brought her to the MC clubhouse, she’d been painfully naïve. She grew up in a tiny, broken-down trailer in the poorest neighborhood in town, and Nat thought she understood hardship.
Being with Vulture opened her eyes to a whole new world where she was prey, disposable and insignificant. He made her feel so small, so worthless, but right now, Razor looked at her as more than a broken, used-up toy. Razor gazed at her like she was a queen, a treasure to be guarded and kept safe—although she understood these thoughts were probably just an illusion.
“You forgot your jacket,” she said, holding it out. She remembered his gentle touch on her wrist and decided this man was dangerous. Just a few moments with him in the same room had her thinking there were a few good men left in the room.
Why would anyone pick a nickname like Razor? Earlier, before the meeting, Rat warned Vulture not to let his guard down around their guests, Razor especially. In the end, Nat was that same, hopeless little girl who grew up in a trailer, hoping for a prince to sweep her away to his fairytale castle.
“Thank you, Red,” he said, taking it and putting it on.
“Red?” she asked. “I don’t think we know each other well enough for you to start giving me nicknames.”
As soon as Nat said those words, she started to hyperventilate. What in heaven’s name had gotten into her? Razor’s sharp gray eyes gleamed with undisguised interest. She’d been bold and outspoken once, before Vulture had reduced to a spineless coward terrified of her own shadow.
Nat missed those days, missed being her old self. Getting involved with Vulture and his MC was like making a deal with the devil. Falling for Razor would put her in the same position. She was sure of it.
