Razor (Wicked Mayhem MC #2)

1. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Ophelia

My fingers trembled as I zipped the duffel bag closed, the sound impossibly loud in the silence of my bedroom.

I'd packed only essentials—clothes for Dante, his favorite stuffed dinosaur, and the emergency cash I'd been hiding for months.

The mansion's security system would register the door opening in exactly three minutes when the overnight reset happened.

Three minutes to get Dante and escape the gilded prison my parents called home.

I crept to Dante's adjoining room, my socked feet silent on the plush carpet. His night light cast soft blue shadows across his small form. My beautiful boy. Four years old and already carrying invisible scars from his father. I wouldn't let that monster near him again.

"Dante," I whispered, gently sliding my arms beneath his warm body. "We're going on an adventure, baby."

He stirred slightly, eyelids fluttering before settling back into sleep. Thank God. I'd given him the children's melatonin gummy at bedtime—just enough to keep him drowsy through our escape. I hated drugging my son, but the alternative was worse. If he cried out, if anyone heard us...

I clutched him to my chest, his head heavy against my shoulder, and slung the duffel across my back. The weight pulled at my muscles immediately, but adrenaline would carry us through. It had to.

Two minutes.

I eased open the bedroom door, wincing at the slight creak.

The hallway stretched before me, its ornate wallpaper and gilt-framed portraits a mocking reminder of the facade my family presented to the world.

Perfect Murphy family. Wealthy. Respected.

Nobody knew what happened behind closed doors.

Nobody knew what my father had done when I got pregnant at sixteen, forcing me to stay with Dante's father despite the bruises I couldn't hide.

My throat tightened. Not now. Focus.

The grand staircase loomed ahead. Forty-three steps down to the main floor.

I'd counted them a thousand times, planning this moment.

I took each step deliberately, Dante's weight throwing off my balance.

Halfway down, his fingers clutched at my blouse, a reflexive movement that nearly stopped my heart.

"Shhh, baby," I breathed against his hair. "Mommy's got you."

A light flicked on in the kitchen.

I froze, one foot suspended above the next step. Someone was awake. The household staff shouldn't be up until five, and my parents never ventured to the kitchen themselves. I pressed against the wall, using the shadows for cover.

"Miss Ophelia?"

Rosa, our housekeeper. Shit. I'd forgotten she sometimes came down for tea when she couldn't sleep. I held my breath, willing Dante to stay silent, willing Rosa to return to her quarters.

The light clicked off. Footsteps padded away.

One minute.

I continued down, each step a small victory. At the bottom, I bypassed the main entrance with its noisy locks and cameras. Instead, I slipped through the formal dining room toward the service entrance—the staff's door, rarely monitored.

My mouth felt like sandpaper. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades despite the cool air. I shifted Dante to my other arm, muscles already burning.

"Who's there?"

My father's voice, slurred with scotch and sleep, cut through the darkness from his study. I ducked behind an antique credenza, pressing Dante's face gently to my neck to muffle his breathing.

"Rosa? Is that you?"

Heavy footsteps approached, then stopped. I could picture him—standing in the doorway of his study, narrowed eyes scanning the hallway, tumbler of amber liquid in hand. The monster who'd forced me to stay with another monster.

"Damn house makes too much noise," he muttered, followed by the soft click of his study door closing.

Thirty seconds.

I darted to the service entrance, fumbling with the lock while balancing Dante.

The night air hit me as I slipped outside—cool, sweet freedom that tasted like hope and terror mixed together.

The manicured grounds stretched before me, moonlight silvering the pristine lawn.

The garage and my car were on the other side of the property.

I cut across the side garden, staying close to the hedges. My arms ached, my legs trembling beneath Dante's weight. The duffel bag slapped against my back with each hurried step. In the distance, our estate's wrought iron gates loomed. Beyond them lay freedom. Or at least a chance at it.

A small animal skittered across the path ahead—probably a rabbit. I nearly screamed, heart hammering so violently I feared it would wake Dante. My pulse throbbed in my temples. Every shadow seemed to reach for us, every rustle of leaves sounded like pursuit.

I thought of Dante's father, Tyler. His rage when he discovered I'd taken his son.

The promises he'd made about what he'd do when he found us.

My parents would call him the moment they discovered we were missing.

They'd always preferred him—his family's connections, his fake charm—to their disappointment of a daughter.

"You're nothing without me," he'd whispered the last time, hand tight around my throat while Dante slept in the next room. "No one will believe you. No one will help you."

But my brother would. Pretty Boy had promised. He'd arranged everything—the motel, the motorcycle club that would take us somewhere safe. Somewhere Tyler couldn't reach.

The garage appeared ahead, its darkened windows offering no hint of what awaited inside. I punched the security code with trembling fingers. The small side door unlocked with a soft click.

Inside, my modest sedan waited—the only thing truly mine, purchased with money I'd saved from the allowance my parents still controlled.

I'd stashed emergency supplies in the trunk over weeks, adding things gradually so no one would notice.

I placed Dante in his car seat, buckling him in with clumsy, desperate movements. He stirred, eyes opening slightly.

"Mommy?"

"We're going on a trip, sweetie," I whispered, stroking his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Kay," he mumbled, eyes already closing.

I slid into the driver's seat, inserted the key, and hesitated. One last glance at the mansion through the garage windows. The place where I'd been raised, controlled, diminished. Marble and money and misery.

The garage door hummed to life. No turning back now. I backed out slowly, headlights off until I reached the gates. The security system would register the gate opening. By morning, they'd know. They'd call Tyler. The hunt would begin.

But we'd be long gone by then. I had to believe that. I had to believe in the promise of freedom, in Pretty Boy's plan, in the strangers who would help us.

For Dante.

I punched the gas as soon as we cleared the gates, the mansions of my parents' elite neighborhood blurring into darkness behind us. Dante slept peacefully in the back, unaware that his entire world had just changed.

Mine too.

Every set of headlights in my rearview mirror sent my heart into my throat.

I'd been driving for nearly an hour, taking random turns through empty neighborhoods, doubling back occasionally to make sure no one followed us.

My knuckles ached from gripping the steering wheel, but I couldn't ease up.

Not yet. Tyler had connections—police officers who owed him favors, friends with too much time and money.

One call from my parents, and they'd all be looking for us.

I checked the digital clock on the dashboard: 2:17 AM. My eyes burned from exhaustion and fear-fueled adrenaline. Three hours until dawn. Three hours to disappear before my parents discovered our empty beds.

The gas station I passed had a single flickering light illuminating an empty parking lot.

The neighborhoods had grown progressively shabbier—million-dollar homes giving way to apartment complexes, then to abandoned storefronts with barred windows.

I was crossing invisible borders, leaving behind the sanitized world my parents had trapped me in.

Headlights appeared behind me. My breath caught. I made a sudden right turn onto a side street.

The car followed.

"Fuck," I whispered, glancing back at Dante, still mercifully asleep in his car seat, clutching his dinosaur. My hands trembled as I took another turn, then another, my mind racing through possibilities. Was it Tyler? Had my parents somehow realized we were gone already?

I pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour laundromat, drove around back, and killed the lights. The other car drove past without slowing. Just a coincidence. Just my paranoia. I exhaled shakily, resting my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment.

"Get it together, Ophelia," I muttered.

In the rearview mirror, Dante stirred, his small face scrunching up before his eyes fluttered open.

"Mommy? Where are we?"

I twisted in my seat, reaching back to stroke his cheek. "Hey, baby. We're on our adventure, remember? Are you okay?"

He blinked sleepily, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings with mild confusion rather than fear. "I'm thirsty."

I grabbed the sippy cup I'd packed. "Here you go, sweetie. Try to go back to sleep, okay? We'll be somewhere cozy soon."

"'Kay." He took a few sips, then settled back, eyes already drooping. The children's melatonin was still working its gentle magic.

I pulled back onto the road, following the directions Pretty Boy had given me. Twenty minutes later, a flickering neon sign appeared in the distance: STARLIGHT MOTEL. Except the 'S' and 'L' were dark, leaving "TARIGHT MOTEL" glowing an angry red against the night sky.