Page 51 of Razor's Edge
“Fine, fucking fine. Smith, start the water. Torch, strip the bedding, and just throw them away. Once we have Little Miss all cleaned up and given to her momma, we’ll get this shit done.” I speak calmly, trying to calm the crying baby in my arms.
We spend the next twenty minutes showering Starla. She didn’t like the shower to start with, but once she was completely rinsed and on my chest, she calmed and decided the shower wasn’t so bad. Smith reaches out for Starla with a towel. I hand her over before turning the water off and stripping out of the wet clothes before stepping out and wrapping in a towel. Walking into my room, I pull on a pair of jeans that I won’t miss, a white t-shirt, and my cut.
I’m about to push open the door to Starla’s room, but I stop to listen.
“Shitting all over yourself isn’t very ladylike, now is it? You know, we are trying to raise ladies around here, don’t you?” Smith is whispering to her as he dresses her.
This right here is what I always wanted as a child. A family. People who have your back no matter what. People who go above and beyond for the ones they care about. This is home, and I’ll raise this little girl as my own in the crazy wild family.
“Are you ready to get the show on the road?” I ask, pushing open the door.
Smith turns to me, looking like the coke addict that stuck his hand in the stash and got caught. He holds Starla out to me before turning and leaving quickly. I chuckle, following him out of the room. Walking into the great room, I find Vixen, Edge, and a couple of the club girls on the stage, dancing and laughing. This is the first time I’ve seen her so carefree. As the thumping bass ends, Starla squeals when she spots Edge. All the girls turn to us, and the bright, happy look on Edge’s face grows even wider.
Edge jumps down, stumbling slightly. I rush to her, worry washing over me. “Hey, baby, are you okay?”
“Yes, I am perfect. Just a little lightheaded, but it could be I just need to hydrate.” Edge smiles wide, taking Starla from my arms.
“You sure?”
“I swear to it. Now go take care of things. I’m going to hang here with our girl and everyone. We are good,” Edge tells me, still not looking well.
“Okay. As soon as this is all taken care of, I’ll be back.” I kiss her hard as Prez calls for us to roll out. “Please, please be safe. Don’t leave the club grounds, and keep an eye out.” My gut turns nervously.
“I promise we’ll stay here. No adventures today,” she says, using Starla’s hand to salute.
“Smart ass,” I mutter, kissing Starla’s head and then Edge again before slapping her ass and walking out.
Let’s get this shit done.
27
Edge
As Razor walks out of the clubhouse, the need to vomit overwhelms me. I rush to the closest trash can, making it in time as I throw up everything I’ve eaten in the last week. Starla whines in my arms. Once the dry heaving stop, I stand and go over to the couches. A prospect comes over, handing me a Sprite and some crackers, and takes Starla from me. He starts dancing with her around the room to the booming music.
One of the club girls comes to me, taking a seat. “So, how far along are you?”
“What?”
“You’re pregnant, right?” she asks me.
“Nope. I can’t have kids,” I tell her, and a wave of sadness washes over me.
Having children of my own was always a dream but never a reality. I was diagnosed with severe endometriosis at a young age, and the only thing I was ever told was having children would be near impossible for me. A sharp pain hits me on my right side, and I double over in pain. Gritting my teeth, I hold in my scream. My head spins, and I feel as if I’m going to pass out.
Standing shakily, breathing through the nausea, I walk over to Vixen.
“Vixen, I’m not feeling so well. Will you be able to hang with Starla while I lay down? My head is spinning.”
Vixen turns to me, her smile falling away. “Edge, you do not look good. Starla is good with me.”
“Are you sure? I feel like a complete bitch for leaving her with you. I just … Ummm—” My words are cut off by the rising vomit and pain in my side.
“Go. We are good, I swear. Go lay down. When Flyboy gets back, I’ll have him come check on you if you aren’t feeling better by then,” she says, running a hand down my face.
I nod. If I open my mouth, I’ll be vomiting all over the floor. I make it to my bathroom as the fight not to vomit is lost, and I praise the porcelain gods with everything I have left. Eventually, I’m able to crawl into bed and try to sleep through the stabbing pains.
At some point, someone is in the room talking to me. Between the sweating and pain, I could’ve imagined it. The worst pain of my life slashes through my side, folding me in half, and I cannot hold back the scream. The door to my room slams open, a prospect standing in the threshold.
