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.
Relief poured over him as a familiar voice called his name again, Razor jumped to his feet.
Running to the barrier, Razor pounded on it, yelling, “Wraith! I’m here!
” Immediately, a heavy hand thumped the door in response.
“Shut up in there, or I’ll shoot through the wood. ” They’d left a guard outside.
Razor stepped to the side to shield his torso and continued to kick the door, making noise for his MC to locate him. “Wraith, be careful. There’s a guard.”
A few seconds later, two gunshots rang out, followed by a deep groan and the sound of something massive striking the door. The impact reverberated through the barrier.
“Stand back, Razor. I’m kicking in the door.”
Quickly, Razor stepped farther to the side.
Several heavy blows later, the wood around the lock shattered, and the bulk of his MC brother filled the doorway.
He’d never been so glad to see anyone in his life.
The Devil Daddies had come for him. Shaking his head in disbelief as he stumbled toward Wraith, Razor celebrated the bonds he’d forged with his MC. They hadn’t stopped searching for him.
“You ready to get out of here?” Wraith asked, keeping his eye on someone nearby.
“Past ready. Let’s go.” Razor limped through the opening and paused at the sight of Cyclone holding his chest. Blood welled through the man’s fingers at an alarming rate. Razor quickly assessed the situation. Cyclone was already gone. He just didn’t know it yet.
Razor hesitated. This Ravager hadn’t shown the cruelty and lack of humanity he’d observed in the others. He didn’t deserve to die alone. If only Cyclone had found the Devil Daddies first.
“Razor! You’ve got to help me.” Cyclone’s voice sounded weak and shaky. He sighed out a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Come on, Razor. You can’t do anything for him now. I returned fire to hit him dead center,” Wraith told him.
Razor glanced back at Cyclone. His chest didn’t move anymore. Additional gunshots sounded inside the building. They had to leave before anyone else got injured.
“Wraith! They have another hostage,” Razor told Wraith.
“We need to get you out of here,” Wraith said.
The big biker’s gaze ran over Razor. Wraith wrapped his left arm around Razor’s waist, supporting him. “You’re not moving well. Lean on me.”
“It’s a woman. We have to find her,” Razor said.
“I’ll go.”
Wraith whirled quickly, lifting his gun once again. Shock jolted through the big man’s frame as he stopped himself from shooting. “What are you doing here, Vex?”
“I promised Honey I would come to make sure Razor was safe,” Vex said, holding up his hands.
“And almost got yourself killed for your good deed,” Wraith growled.
“Ah, you wouldn’t shoot me, Wraith.” Vex grinned.
“Vex. There’s a woman here, somewhere in a locked room. She’s being held against her will too. Go find her,” Razor ordered.
“I can count on you to get him out?” Vex asked Wraith.
“I’ve got this,” Wraith shouted at him. “It’s about to become even crazier here. We need to move.”
Vex nodded and ran in the opposite direction down the hallway.
“Let’s go,” Wraith said and hurried Razor toward the entrance.
Razor expected danger around every corner.
Shots sounded all around them. He gripped his scissors, ready to take someone out if they blocked the path.
By the time they reached the exit, Razor’s leg was on fire.
They stopped at Wraith’s bike. The ride leader sent an alert to everyone’s phones to withdraw.
“You’re going to have to ride, Razor. Can you do it?” Wraith asked, helping him onto the back of the motorcycle.
“I’ll be fine,” Razor answered, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. He wrapped his arms around Wraith’s waist as the other Devil Daddies emerged from the building. Fury, Menace, and Scythe ran out, trailed by Street and Hellcat together. Smoke billowed out of the building behind them
“We need to go,” Fury yelled. “Reinforcements just arrived.”
“Vex came after us,” Wraith shouted, starting his bike. “Now, Vex.”
Several long seconds followed. Razor itched to get away from this cursed place but wouldn’t leave a brother behind.
Finally, Razor spotted movement in the doorway.
The smoke made it impossible to see clearly.
A flash of black and green appeared first. It took a minute to spot that the man wasn’t wearing a Devil Daddies cut.
Hellcat lifted his gun. A body fell heavily to the ground.
“Go, go, go,” yelled a familiar voice, and finally, they recognized Vex’s distinctive dark red hair.