Page 51 of Razor
“On it!” Vex promised.
Scythe drove quickly through the compound and parked in front of Razor’s house. He looked up for a garage opener and then scanned the interior.
“I left it in the driveway for him,” Honey admitted.
Scythe shook his head. “No problem. I can get in.”
His chickens ran to him as he walked to the controller on the outside wall. Scythe scooped them up and held them out of the way as he pressed in a code to raise the garage. Like magic, it moved upward.
Scythe unscrewed a small jar and scooped up a handful of something. He carried the chickens to the front lawn and set them down before scattering the small particles around them. Instantly, the creatures pecked at the treat.
After brushing his hand off on his jean-covered thigh, Scythe walked to the car and opened her door. “That will keep them busy.”
“They come to visit often,” Honey reported as he lifted her in his arms.
“Razor likes to feed them. They’re old. I don’t know how much longer they’ll be around,” he said as he carried her inside.
In a few seconds, Honey, Beatrice, and her stuff were settled back on the couch. She grabbed the blanket from the floor and hugged it tight. If only she’d stayed here. Razor would be okay.
Scythe glanced out the window at the sound of a motorcycle rumbling in the driveway. “Fucking Vex. Razor’s going to chew a new hole in him for riding that bike,” he muttered before meeting her gaze. “I’m going to grab your knee scooter and a bottle of water for you. Do you need anything else? Food?”
“I’m okay, Scythe. Go.”
“Razor would flay me alive for not getting you set up for the day. Thirty seconds won’t make a difference. I’ll bring you water and some of those protein snacks Razor likes.”
“Could I have a frozen candy bar instead?” she asked. Her suddenly famished stomach rumbled at the idea.
“He must want to keep you. Razor doesn’t share that stash with anyone but you, obviously.”
He took off quickly, closing the kitchen door and putting down the garage door. Honey sat up straight to peer out the front window. Scythe shook his head at Vex as they talked. Obviously, whatever Vex said or the urgency of the situation convinced Scythe. He strapped his helmet on and climbed on behind the bearded biker.
Slumping on the couch when the throbbing motor faded into the distance, Honey hugged Beatrice tighter. “He has to be okay. He just has to!” Reassuring herself was much tougher. Alone with her thoughts, she could only imagine Razor’s injuries and how the Ravagers would treat him.
“Please come home, Daddy. I need you.”
Chapter 17
Razor stiffened as he took stock of his surroundings. He contained the groan that threatened to burst from him as the shock of his injuries slammed in. Opening his eyes to a slit, he checked out his location with all his senses—musty, shrouded in shadows, creaking floor overhead. He guessed they’d dumped him in a basement.
The thudding footsteps above were either massive men, heavy biker boots, or both. The Ravagers. Fuck them. As soon as he got free….
Thank goodness he hadn’t led them to Honey. His heart sank. She wouldn’t know why he hadn’t come after her. His Little girl would think that he didn’t care that she had left. His anger skyrocketed, filling his vision with red.
Forcing himself to calm down, Razor breathed slowly and deliberately, calling on all his knowledge of the human mind and body. When his blood pressure lowered, he took stock of his injuries. Pain ricocheted through him.
Calling on his knowledge of psychology, Razor built a compartment in his mind and shoved the discomfort there so he could concentrate. It didn’t erase the impact of his injuries but helped him focus on getting out of there.
They’d fastened his wrists behind him with zip ties. The long plastic ends tickled his fingers. Well, he could feel them with his thumb and two fingers. The other two must be broken. The thin strips secured his ankles together as well.
Moving on, deep breaths proved his ribs were fine. His jeans stuck wetly to one leg all the way to his hip. The cool air whisked over bare flesh there. Definitely road rash. The abraded skin had saturated the material with blood. He must have landed on that hip. Mentally, he shook his head. Razor couldn’t remember the accident.
He couldn’t hear anyone breathing. I must be alone. Chancing it, he fully opened his eyes and looked around to verify no one else was around. His rigid posture softened.
Stacked boxes leaned against the walls. Cobwebs clung to the corners, giving the room an abandoned, creepy appearance. Stairs led above, but they were shrouded in darkness. The door had to be closed.
Shifting, he tested whether he could get to his feet and quickly abandoned that idea. His hip hadn’t broken, but it definitely didn’t want to hold his weight. He needed to free his hands. Ignoring the spikes of pain from his fingers, Razor attempted to snap the tough strip.
He abandoned that strategy and bit his lip. Razor had to get his hands in front of his body. Perhaps he could maneuver his legs through the loop of his bound wrists. He clenched his teeth and worked his battered hands under his hips. Hissing as the zip tie raked over the raw injury on his thigh, Razor refused to give up even as the gravel and grit bit deeper into his flesh. Finally reaching his knees, he gained more space at the narrower section of his legs.
