Page 4 of Razor

I left the Montana charter yesterday, handling some business for Amara—my charter’s president.

She doesn’t like leaving Mexico too often, and so I volunteer at every opportunity to handle things for her.

Since I’ve been a nomad my whole life, I don’t mind riding across the country, or in this case—across countries.

Exhaustion settles in my muscles, aching in places I never knew I could ache.

At thirty-nine, you’d think I’d give my body a break every once in a while, but all I know is how to live life in the fast lane.

Normally, I’d stop in Las Vegas at our charter there, but this time I came here to LA.

I have some business I need to tend to, so I’ll kill two birds with one stone while I’m in the city.

Breaker, the president of the Satan’s Raiders MC, offered me a place to stay while I’m here in LA.

It’s one of the many positives of being allies with multiple clubs, we can call on each other and offer a safe place to rest our heads when needed, and they’ll be there for us when shit hits the fan.

He knows I’ll be there later tonight, but right now I need a distraction.

There’s been so much chaos going on, and I need something to take my mind off all my stressors.

There’s only one thing that can calm me down after a trip like this.

Beautiful women dancing provocatively in front of me.

I scan for a strip club, and luckily within a few minutes, I find one.

A flashing teal and pink neon sign calls my attention.

It doesn’t look upscale, but it will do for tonight.

I make a right into the parking lot and park my bike, reveling in the feeling of removing my helmet for the first time in hours.

Taking a deep breath as I dismount, the scent of gasoline and the inner city wafts through my nostrils.

I take a moment to stretch, loosening up my muscles after this ride.

Placing my helmet down, I make my way to the front of the strip club.

The moment I push the door open, stale beer and sweat hit me like a slap in the face.

I head down a wide, dark hallway, walking toward the flashing neon lights.

As soon as I make my way to the end of the hall, a woman’s voice purrs from my left side. “Welcome to Hidden Treasures, handsome.”

The bartender is behind the bar with a group of men scattered around her.

Each and every one of them have a drink in their hands, appreciating the women walking around half-naked in the club.

The bartender’s cute enough, maybe in her early thirties, wearing a tight red corset and a mini-skirt.

She eyes my cut and gnaws on her bottom lip.

If I had any ounce of energy left in me, I might take her to the bathroom right now and blow her fucking mind.

With my gruff voice I smirk, “Hello there.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Go take a load off. One of the girls will be around to see if you need anything shortly.”

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