Page 55 of Razor
Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Vex who steadied her. “I’m ready to go to Daddy’s cabin now.”
Chapter 18
Razor refastened the strip around his hands the next time he heard visitors coming down the stairs. Putting the zip back around his wrists had taken a fraction of a minute but avoided any suspicion. They had sliced the bonds from him before manhandling him to a small, windowless room upstairs.
“Welcome to your new home. You’ll live here,” the Ravager escorting Razor told him. Viper had chosen not to visit again. Razor suspected the leader of the MC wouldn’t show up again unless Razor needed to fear for his life. The everyday management of a hostage would be beneath him.
“Cyclone here will order supplies for you. He used to be a medic, so don’t pull any shit. He’ll also determine quantities he judges appropriate.”
“Got it.” Razor nodded his understanding. He would need to tread carefully.
On the third day, Razor took a chance and requested three sets of surgical tools from a local company. The only thing Cyclone questioned was why three? Razor admitted to choosing a random number. One would be too many. Two barely adequate. Three would give some wiggle room if several MC members were injured. Cyclone understood his logic. Thank goodness.
When a large supplier Cyclone chose randomly off the internet refused such a small order, Razor shared his company of preference. He kept his tone light and tried to appear distracted by more important concerns. Cyclone found the site and quickly paid for three sets.
TwoDocs Medical Supply, Inc. was Razor’s own brainchild—crafted to offer high quality medical and psychological tools. He’d created it years ago and convinced Lucien to include the company’s business under his umbrella of holdings. Over the years, TwoDocs had supplied Razor with supplies at cut-rate prices as well as generated a large income for the MC. It focused on overseas sales. The only US customer was Razor.
Until now. An unknown entity placing a modest order with an in-town location instead of abroad would trigger an automated review. With luck, the red flag would capture Pirate’s attention as he reviewed the order for approval. While Razor didn’t expect any assistance soon, he hoped the MC would reassure Honey that he was okay.
Standing in the makeshift medical facilities, Razor could only hope his signal had reached Pirate. He hadn’t determined an exit strategy for himself if it didn’t. Trapped in that room, Razor had to trust his MC brothers would find him.
A trickle of Ravagers visited his clinic. Most were for minor things that had festered over time, becoming more serious. Cyclone sent an additional order of antibiotics out. The former medic asked multiple questions and jotted meticulous notes about each case. Razor guessed Cyclone would handle the medical treatment of the MC as soon as Viper deemed him capable. They would not require Razor for long unless complicated surgeries arose.
To keep Razor off-balance, his guards turned the lights on and off at random intervals. Meals were sketchy and not coordinated with the lights. As disorienting as this time fuck was, Razor understood enough about the human mind to stay alert and functional.
“Hey. I need some pads. Can you put something together?” Cyclone requested on one visit.
“Pads? Like gauze?” Razor asked in confusion. Cyclone should see they had plenty of bandages.
“No. Like a menstrual pad. I guess I could give her some rags,” Cyclone muttered offhand as he looked over the supplies on the shelf.
“Why not send someone out for a box of real feminine products?”
“Viper wants her to suffer. Give her the bare minimum. Embarrass her,” Cyclone admitted.
“Asshole,” Razor muttered under his breath. Instantly, he grabbed all the cotton he had and gauze to put together a half dozen pads and wrapped them in a strip of material he’d saved to use for cleaning.
Handing it over to Cyclone, he said, “Take her these.”
“Viper said she had to beg for each one.”
“Do you have a wife?” Razor demanded.
“No.”
“A sister?”
“Two,” Cyclone admitted sheepishly.
“Take her the whole lot. She’ll have to ask for more. Viper can have his fun then,” Razor said, trying to maintain a tone that didn’t reveal his growing disdain for the MC president.
Cyclone didn’t argue. He turned and left, locking Razor inside once again.
The Ravager’s attitude toward Razor had changed subtly. He wasn’t as aggressively overbearing. In fact, Cyclone became Razor’s tie to normalcy. If the medic was gone for a long period, Razor judged the time had to be night or early morning. If he showed up to ask more questions, it must be normal operating hours for the MC, probably late morning and afternoon.
In the middle of what Razor judged to be night, a commotion sounded far away—like a million firecrackers exploding in rapid succession. Razor jumped to his feet and looked around for a weapon. Cyclone kept all the scalpels locked up, but Razor had concealed a pair of scissors after a nasty treatment of a festering knife wound that had distracted the medic. He thrust them into the back of his waistband and waited.
“Razor!” a loud bellow pierced the heavy door.
