Razor (Devil Daddies MC #3)

Chapter 1

Pulling into the parking lot at Inferno, Honey Rhoades forced herself to search for a spot.

A bank of handicapped spaces beckoned by the door, but she’d refused to apply for a permit to use them.

Other people needed them much more than she did.

Only on low-energy days like today, she regretted that decision, even though her kind neurologist had suggested she consider it.

“I chose to come out tonight. I could have gone home,” Honey announced to the empty interior of her vehicle as she drove up and down the aisles searching for a spot for her compact car.

She pulled into an empty spot eight rows away and slid out of the car.

While the promise of a fun night out at Inferno had helped her endure her unpleasant boss’s complaints, one look at the distance she’d need to cross to get to the entry steps almost made her admit defeat.

Honey stiffened her back and looped the shoulder strap of her small phone wallet over her head and arm, so it crossed her torso securely.

She could do this. She would do this. Dammit!

Careful to lift her right knee high like she was marching, Honey walked slowly to the front despite her leg muscles quivering from the challenging trek. Proud that she’d only stopped once, she grabbed the railing and pulled herself up the steps.

“Need some help, ma’am?” a youthful voice asked.

When had she become a ma’am instead of a miss? Did her physical challenges make her appear older? Forcing herself to smile, Honey glanced up at a young woman and answered, “I’m good. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Of course. You’re almost there,” the woman encouraged before thankfully walking up the stairs and letting Honey navigate the last couple of steps without an audience. Thank goodness for small favors.

Again, that voice in the back of her head encouraged her to admit defeat and return to the car. “I’m not giving up,” she told herself sternly and marched up the steps.

She made it through the short line at the door and hesitated, scanning the interior of Inferno.

The chatter and laughter of the patrons, the flashing lights under the DJ booth, and the spacious interior welcomed her.

Honey loved the upbeat energy that filled the space.

As always, the restaurant and bar thrilled her with its mixture of fun and dangerous motorcycle bad boy vibes.

The music welcomed her like an old friend. She’d always adored dancing. Now when she came to Inferno, she loved watching everyone have a blast. She swayed to the beat, remembering past fun in nightclubs.

The tremble in her legs told her to stop pushing it and go find a table.

She used to sit at the bar, but climbing onto the stools took more energy than she had tonight.

Honey spotted a booth and walked forward.

As she hurried to nab it, she forgot to focus on lifting that treacherous right foot.

Honey made it three steps before her toe caught, and she tumbled to the floor.

“Crap!” Honey forced herself to sit there for a second to make sure she wasn’t hurt and to gather the last of her energy to stand.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m a doctor. You can call me Razor.”

Honey looked up into the concerned face of the handsomest man she’d seen in a long time.

His muscles had muscles, and he rocked his salt-and-pepper short hair and beard.

She quickly controlled her expression, hoping she didn’t appear as close to drooling as she felt.

He wouldn’t be interested in her. She was too…

broken. Abandoning her first inclination to refuse, she asked for assistance.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’ve always been a klutz. If you’d help me up, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Razor told her and lifted her easily to her feet. His hands remained around her waist while she regained her balance.

The world wobbled around her, and she weaved slightly. Get it together! She stiffened her legs to steady herself. To her surprise, the man didn’t move away. He remained by her side.

His eyebrows drew together in concern. “How about you sit and rest for a bit?”

“I was going to that table. The stools are too… high for me to be comfortable,” Honey said, waving at the booth she’d headed toward. Another group had claimed it. A quick sigh escaped her. “Oh, I missed that one.” She scanned for another place to sit.

“Hey!” His voice pulled her attention back to him. He’d focused with laser precision on the table of young men. “Go sit somewhere else,” he ordered. His strong voice easily carried the eight feet separating them. The kind tone he’d addressed Honey with hardened into a fierce one.

The booth’s occupants scanned him quickly.

Immediately, they grabbed their beers and slid from the bench seats, waving for them to sit down.

Honey looked back at the handsome man and noticed his leather vest. Oh, they were afraid of him.

Honey understood that. She’d seen how the leather-vested men responded to any problems. She’d always skirted around them, fascinated by their menacing appeal.

The Devil Daddies MC ran Inferno, making it safe for welcomed visitors. She’d wondered about that term “welcomed”—unwelcomed ones were at risk? Mentally, she shrugged. Everyone had always treated her kindly here.

“Let’s sit down.” The man guided her to the booth and helped her onto the bench seat. When she had settled, he sat on the other side.

Glancing past her, he met the gaze of another biker who Honey hadn’t noticed. A slight woman stood at the biker’s side, smiling sweetly at Honey. The hunky biker next to her announced to the couple, “I’ll take a break with….”

“Honey. Honey Rhoades. Sorry. I should have stayed at home tonight and waited until I had more energy.” Honey rushed to tell him, feeling silly. She’d rest and head back to her car. This was a bad idea.

“Nonsense. Make the most of every day,” the man seated across from Honey told her as the duo moved away.

Honey grinned at him. He understood. She’d wanted to come for a while. This had been her best week in a long time. “That’s exactly why I came.”

The biker held out his hand. “I’m glad you came. I’m Razor. If my memory serves me, I’ve seen you around, Honey. This isn’t your first time here.”

“No, I’ve come on and off for the last couple of years. You’re a Devil Daddy MC biker?” Honey asked, stumbling over the words. That seemed like a lot to say.

“I am,” the man confirmed.

“And a doctor?” she asked. In her mind, MC member and doctor seemed like a mismatch.

“I am. MD and PhD.”

“Gracious. That’s a lot of schooling. Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“None taken. The Devil Daddies MC members are an interesting mix,” Razor told her.

“Oh, do they call you Razor because you’re a doctor? Like instead of a scalpel or bones?” Honey babbled and tried to stop herself.

“Something like that,” he confirmed, but she didn’t believe him. His name held more significance than that.

“Thank you for helping me. I don’t need any medical attention,” she assured him. He must have stopped to help to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself. People filed lawsuits for all sorts of bizarre reasons.

“Good.” He turned and called the name of a passing waitress. She stopped immediately.

“What would you like to drink, Honey?” Razor asked, focusing back on her.

“Oh! Could I have water or a soft drink?” Honey didn’t indulge much and definitely didn’t need the alcohol to make her more unsteady.

“Of course. Do you like strawberries, Honey?”

“Love them.”

“Sara, would you bring Honey a bottle of water and a virgin strawberry margarita to try? I’d love the stout on tap, please,” Razor ordered.

“You got it, Razor. Be back in a few,” the chipper server promised. She looked at Honey and smiled. “Hey, glad to see you again.”

“Thank you.” When Sara bustled off, Honey asked in amazement, “They make virgin margaritas?”

“They will for you,” he answered without hesitating.

“Nice. Thank you.” Unsure what to say next, Honey scanned the interior. It was still early, but groups of people had congregated at the bar, around tables, and on the dance floor. She squashed the small zing of envy at the sight of everyone moving to the addictive beat.

“Would you like to dance?” Razor asked as if he read her mind.

“Oh, no. I have two left feet these days. I love that they’re having fun though.”

“These days? Has something changed for you?” he asked.

She stiffened, immediately uncomfortable. Razor seemed to pick up on her body language instantly.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry. My professional training getting ahead of me, I’m afraid.”

Honey searched his face, only noting his concern, and relaxed her automatic guard. “What kind of bike do you have?” she asked, changing the subject. “Or do you ride?”

“I have a Harley chopper. Do you know what that is?”

“I’ve definitely heard the name Harley. Chopper? Does that have something to do with the front?” she asked, trying to remember the romance novels she’d devoured about motorcycle clubs.

“Very good. It does. The front section is elongated. I’m impressed. Have you ridden a bike before?”

“Oh, no. None of my family has one. A few bad boys in school did, but I was quite timid then. I’m sure they never noticed me.”

“The bar zipped these together for me quickly,” the server said as she paused by their table with her laden tray. She set down the drinks quickly and dashed away before Honey could pull her credit card out to hand it over.

“Oh!” Honey said, holding her card.

“Put that away. I’ve got this,” Razor assured her. “They keep a tab in the back for the MC members.”