Page 40 of Razor
A chill ran down her spine at the thought of anyone dying. “Is being a MC member dangerous? Are you good guys or bad guys?”
“That’s a hard question to answer. Sometimes what appears bad is good and vice versa.” Razor dodged answering.
“That’s not really an answer,” Honey protested, glaring at him. He never lied. Was the answer too horrifying that he couldn’t tell the truth?
“No, it’s not. Here’s my cabin.” He pulled into the driveway and triggered the garage door opener. “Let’s get you settled and then I’ll carry in your things. Look! You’ve got wheels. Someone brought over a knee roller for you.”
Spotting the device, Honey pushed her desire to know what he was involved with away and promised herself to bring the subject back up later. She leaned forward to check out what he’d gotten for her with a laugh at his statement. “Wheels, huh?”
“No drag racing allowed,” Razor warned. “And no loaning it to Vex.”
“Yes, sir!” Honey smarted off, saluting.
“Yes, Daddy,” Razor corrected, making her melt inside.
“Yes, Daddy,” she repeated, feeling happy. She liked calling him Daddy.
“Good girl.”
Honey didn’t understand why the praise did so much to her inside. Crossing her fingers, she hoped she never got immune to the phrase. Or anything he did. She squeezed her thighs together as Razor slid out of the driver’s seat and prowled around the car like a powerful beast. Her hungry gaze followed him, unable to resist his allure.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you and Beatrice inside. I bet I have a movie you might like to watch while you wait for that jerk to double the amount you requested.”
“He won’t do that,” Honey protested as Razor carefully lifted her from the car. She clung to his wide shoulders, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. Razor made her world so much easier.
“We’ll see.” Razor carried her through the garage and into a sterile kitchen.
“Do you cook in there?” Honey asked as he proceeded into a spacious family room.
“Of course! I like to eat.”
When he set her down, she relaxed against the scrumptious leather couch only to sit up straight when he snapped his fingers and announced, “Hold on. I’ve got something for you and Beatrice.”
Razor returned, taking a gray blanket out of a clear plastic wrapper. He shook out the folds before draping it over her. “Now you’re officially part of the Devil Daddies MC.”
Honey rubbed her face on the soft material. Her fingers brushed over a stitched section. She lifted the patch up to study it. “It’s the same design as the one on your jacket.”
“It is. A reminder of who will always be there to protect you. These blankets are special. Lucien created them. Each member of the MC gets one.”
She looked at him carefully, suspecting he’d stressed the word for a reason. “One?” What did it mean for her to have it?
“Yes. We guard it and only give it to the person we know is our Little.”
“Oh. This is so special. Maybe you should keep it safe,” she said, gathering the warmth to fold it.
“No, sweetheart. You don’t understand. That blanket is now yours. I won’t take it back. You’re the Little girl I wish to have it.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “How can you be so sure I’m your Little?”
“You don’t think I can recognize who belongs to me?”
She searched his face. His gaze held hers steadily, with no doubt or wavering. The broken pieces inside her seemed to snap back into place. Her diagnosis had shattered her. Then to be alone—it had been so hard.
Carefully, Honey smoothed the blanket over herself. Razor helped, making sure her toes were covered. He squeezed her left foot before pulling out his phone to snap a picture of her.
“I can’t imagine I’ll ever forget this moment, but I want to remember it clearly. Now, no zooming around the house on your knee scooter until we practice,” he told her with mock seriousness.
“Definitely. I can tell it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to pop wheelies, Razor.”
