Page 53 of Razor
As I walked out, I could feel the weight of what had just happened settling across my shoulders.I'd challenged Mustang directly and won.The club would never be the same again.
Neither would I.
Ophelia
I paced the length of the safehouse living room, my socked feet silent on the worn floorboards as I pressed the burner phone tighter against my ear.J.D.had rigged it somehow to pick up the chapel's security feed, a direct line into the heart of club business where I wasn't supposed to have access.The young Prospect had given me a look when he'd handed it over—half concerned, half conspiratorial—before taking his position outside."Razor would skin me alive if he knew," he'd muttered, "but you deserve to hear what they're saying about you and the little man."Now, as voices crackled through the speaker, my heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was certain it would wake Dante, finally sleeping in the next room.
The safehouse felt impossibly small suddenly, its walls closing in with each passing minute.Paint peeled from the corners of the ceiling like curling fingers, and the constant hum of generators outside created a soundtrack to my anxiety.This was our third location in as many days—Razor taking no chances after the attack, trusting no one except his innermost circle with our whereabouts.
I caught my breath as Razor's voice came through the speaker, stronger and clearer than the others.Even electronically distorted, there was no mistaking the controlled intensity that had become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat.
"Three attacks in the past week," he was saying, his words measured and precise."Warehouse raided.Golden Apple vandalized.Supply routes compromised.This isn't random.It's coordinated."
My fingers brushed unconsciously across my still-flat stomach as I continued pacing.The suspicion had been growing for days now—the subtle changes in my body, the nausea that came in waves, my heightened sense of smell that made even J.D.'s aftershave unbearable when he stood too close.I hadn't confirmed it yet, hadn't spoken it aloud even to myself.Not with Dante still having nightmares about being taken, not with the club in chaos, not with our lives balanced on a knife's edge.
I reached for the coffee mug on the rickety side table, my hand trembling slightly as I brought it to my lips.The liquid had gone cold, but I sipped it anyway, needing something to do with my hands.Through the speaker, Mustang's voice came through, dismissive and hard-edged.
"Women and kids are collateral.Always have been.Club comes first.That's how we survive."
The mug froze halfway to my lips.Collateral.The word hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.Is that all we were to them?To the brotherhood that had supposedly taken us in?Acceptable losses?My free hand pressed harder against my abdomen, a protective gesture that felt both foreign and instinctual.
Then Razor's voice, cold as steel: "No."The single word followed by what sounded like a fist hitting wood."No more."
I exhaled sharply, not realizing I'd been holding my breath.In the week since the attack, I'd seen a different side of Razor emerging—the calculator giving way to something fiercer, more primal.The man who had married me as part of a calculated arrangement was evolving into something else entirely.Something that scared me as much as it thrilled me.
"You questioning my leadership?"Mustang asked, his voice dripping with dangerous warning.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the stuffy heat of the safehouse.The generators outside skipped a beat, causing the lights to flicker momentarily.In the next room, Dante whimpered in his sleep, and I froze, listening intently until his breathing evened out again.
"That woman and that kid are mine now," Razor's voice came through with such conviction that tears sprang to my eyes."And yes, I'd throw it all away for them."
Mine.The possessive should have bothered me after Tyler's controlling abuse, should have triggered all my warning signals.Instead, it warmed something deep inside me, something that had been cold for too long.The difference was stark and unmistakable—Tyler had claimed me as property; Razor claimed us as family.
When had that happened?When had our convenient arrangement transformed into something that felt like home?Was it when he'd spent hours installing ceiling stars in Dante's room?When he'd taught my son how to skip rocks across the creek behind our first safehouse?Or was it the night we'd both awakened to Dante's screams and reached for him simultaneously, our hands meeting in the darkness with shared purpose?
Through the speaker, I could hear the tension mounting as Razor called for a vote.I moved to the window, pulling back the edge of the curtain just enough to peek at the rain beginning to fall, fat drops hitting the dusty glass like tiny explosions.J.D.remained at his post, hat pulled low, seemingly unbothered by the weather.Beyond him, two more brothers whose names I still couldn't remember maintained the perimeter, their cuts darkening as the rain intensified.
My attention snapped back to the phone as voices began speaking in formal tones—the vote.One by one, names were called, answers recorded.With each "yes" my heart lifted slightly, hope building with dangerous speed.Then Ace's voice, steady and clear: "Majority carries."
I set down the mug with shaking hands, tears flowing freely now.They'd done it.Razor had done it.Challenged the club's very foundation and won.For us.For me and Dante.And possibly for the tiny life that might be growing inside me.
The rain came harder now, drumming against the roof and windows, washing away dust and grime from the glass.A cleansing.A new beginning.I rested my forehead against the cool pane, watching droplets race down the other side, merging and separating in unpredictable patterns.
This was just the beginning, I knew.Mustang wouldn't simply accept defeat.My parents, despite their legal troubles, still had resources and connections that could reach us.Tyler was still out there somewhere, nursing his wounded pride and plotting revenge.The club itself was now divided along lines that hadn't existed a week ago.
But for the first time since they'd taken Dante from my arms, since I'd heard his terrified screams as they'd carried him away, I felt something beyond fear and rage.Something that felt dangerously like hope.
I placed both hands flat against my stomach, a gesture that was becoming increasingly natural."Your daddy's coming home," I whispered, the words barely audible even to myself.Whether I was speaking to Dante sleeping in the next room or to the possibility growing within me, I wasn't entirely sure.
Maybe both.
As the call ended, I wiped my tears and straightened my shoulders.The war was far from over, but we'd won this battle.And for tonight, that would have to be enough.
Razor
I pushed through the chapel doors, the weight of what I'd just done settling across my shoulders like a physical burden.Brothers parted before me, some clapping my back in silent support, others keeping a careful distance as if waiting to see which way the wind would blow.Fifteen years I'd worn this cut, followed orders, calculated risks and rewards with cold precision.Never once had I directly challenged Mustang's authority.Never once had I put anything above club business.But they'd taken my son from his bed.They'd beaten my wife while she fought to protect him.Some lines, once crossed, changed a man forever.
"That took balls," Loch muttered as he fell into step beside me."Big brass ones."
