Page 46 of Razor
"She'd tell me to run faster," I replied, thinking of the fierce old woman who had left her fortune directly to me, bypassing her son entirely because she'd recognized the man he truly was."She knew exactly who you both are."
My father's hand tightened around his water glass, knuckles whitening.With his other hand, he made a subtle gesture toward the restaurant entrance—a small, almost imperceptible movement of two fingers.Through the peripheral vision I'd developed during years with Tyler, I noticed two men in dark suits enter the restaurant, positioning themselves near the exits.They wore the bland, forgettable faces of professionals accustomed to dirty work, their eyes constantly scanning, hands hanging too precisely at their sides near concealed weapons.
"Your inheritance was meant to stay in the family," my mother said coldly."Not be squandered on whatever sordid lifestyle you've embraced.Not handed over to some thug in leather who clearly only wants you for the money."
I almost laughed at the absurdity.Razor, who owned his house outright, who ran the club's finances with meticulous precision, who had married me when he thought I had nothing but a frightened child and a suitcase of clothes—he was the gold-digger in this scenario?
"Razor doesn't know about the inheritance," I said quietly."Never asked about money.Never will."
Something shifted in my father's eyes—calculation, reassessment."Then he's using you for something else.Men like that don't marry single mothers out of the goodness of their hearts."
"Some men actually have hearts," I countered, thinking of how tenderly Razor tucked Dante in at night, how he'd built a family protection network within days of our marriage.
My father leaned forward, close enough that I could smell his expensive cologne, see the tiny burst vessels in his eyes from years of controlled rage and expensive scotch."You're coming home today," he said, each word precise and threatening."One way or another.The boy needs proper guidance.You need supervision.This charade ends now."
His hand shot across the table, fingers closing around my wrist with bruising force.The same grip he'd used when I was sixteen and tried to date a boy he didn't approve of.The same control tactic he'd employed my entire life.
But I wasn't sixteen anymore.I wasn't alone.
My free hand slid into my purse, fingers closing around the small device Razor had given me.I didn't hesitate, just pressed the button hard as my father attempted to drag me halfway across the table.
"Let.Go."Each word came out as a separate command, loud enough that nearby diners turned to stare.
"Stop making a scene," my mother hissed, glancing nervously at the watching patrons."You're embarrassing yourself."
"No," I replied, looking directly into my father's furious eyes."You're embarrassing yourselves."
"Problem here?"
The voice came from just behind my father's shoulder—quiet, controlled, but carrying an undercurrent of danger that made the hairs on my arms stand up.I didn't need to look to know who it belonged to.
My father's grip loosened slightly as he turned his head to find Razor standing beside our table, his presence commanding immediate attention despite his casual clothing.Without the leather cut, without the visible trappings of his club affiliation, he might have passed for any other diner—except for the predatory stillness in his posture and the cold calculation in his eyes as they assessed the situation.
"This is a private family matter," my father said, his tone clipped but cautious."I suggest you move along."
"My wife.My family."Razor's gaze dropped pointedly to where my father's fingers still circled my wrist."So again—problem here?"
My mother's eyes widened as understanding dawned."You're him," she said, voice dripping with disdain."The criminal she's been hiding with."
"The husband she's building a life with," Razor corrected, his tone conversational but his eyes never leaving my father's face."The man who's asking you nicely—once—to release her."
The atmosphere at the table crackled with tension.I could see the calculations running behind my father's eyes—the public setting, the witnesses, the unknown quantity that Razor represented.His fingers slowly uncurled from my wrist, leaving angry red marks that would later bloom into bruises.
"We're simply concerned for our daughter and grandson," my mother said, shifting effortlessly back into her concerned parent persona for the benefit of onlookers."This has all been a misunderstanding."
Razor's mouth curved into something too predatory to be called a smile."No misunderstanding.Your daughter—my wife—said no.That's the end of the discussion."
I stood, moving to Razor's side, feeling his arm slide protectively around my waist.My father half-rose from his seat but froze when Razor's posture shifted almost imperceptibly—a subtle change that somehow transformed him from casual diner to imminent threat without a single overtly aggressive move.
"This isn't over," my father said quietly, his eyes fixed on mine."We have the legal documents prepared.One call to Judge Harrington—"
"Make your calls," Razor interrupted, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I'd heard only a few times before."But understand something.My family is protected.By me.By my club.By her brother's club."His gaze flicked meaningfully to the two men in suits, who had started moving toward our table."Your hired help might want to reconsider whatever they're planning.They're already outnumbered."
As if on cue, I noticed Socket enter the restaurant, taking a position near the bar.Through the front windows, I could see Loch leaning against a motorcycle, watching the entrance with predatory focus.
My mother's face had gone pale beneath her perfect makeup."This is exactly why Dante shouldn't be in your custody," she hissed."Surrounding him with thugs and criminals, teaching him that violence is acceptable—"
"Teaching him that family protects family," I corrected, finding strength in Razor's solid presence beside me."Teaching him that love doesn't come with conditions or controls."
