Page 27 of Hell On Heels
Razor stepped into the man’s path. “Not yet, son.”
Tank frowned. “What?”
Razor handed him a shot with a beer chaser, tapping his bottle against Tank’s. “Wanted to personally congratulate you. It’s an honor to call you brother.”
Tank slammed the shot back before Razor’s words choked him up.
“Don’t make me look like a bitch today, Razor.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, brother.” Razor leaned in close enough for only Tank to hear him. “My room’s available. Grab your woman and go celebrate with her for a little while.” Leaning back, he glanced toward Pepper. She stood off to the side, patiently waiting on her man while the celebration swirled around her.
Razor gave a nod and stepped aside, hoping the couple managed to make it through the crowd before the brothers got ahold of Tank.
Draping an arm over one of the sweeties, Razor let the girl lead him inside. He didn’t miss the half-cocked look Vicious gave him. He wasn’t taking the girl to bed, just to the bar where he intended to throw back a few more shots.
They didn’t get far when Kiki peeled away from his side, heading straight for Player and Joker. She liked being around the pair, and they seemed to prefer her company just as much.
Who was he to care? It wasn’t like he was sleeping with any of the club girls. That was an entanglement he’d learned a long damn time ago he wanted no part of. One crazy pregnancy scare at seventeen had been enough to put club girls permanently on Razor’s no-fly list.
His old man had called it years earlier, warning a sixteen-year-old Razor that the girls hanging around the clubhouse weren’t after him, they wanted the patch on his back.
He’d heeded that warning ever since, and even passed it along to some of the younger brothers as they patched in. Tank, though, had come with an ol’ lady and a kid. And to Razor’s surprise, the man never so much as glanced at another woman during parties, rides, or gatherings. Loyal to his woman. That’s what he was. And one of the reasons Razor respected him.
“You’re looking somber over here all alone.”
Razor glanced over at one of the brothers he hadn’t yet had a chance to reconnect with.
The brother had only been out of prison for a six months. He’d been with the club since he was sixteen, patched in at eighteen, and went down to at nineteen for murder.
“Deep in thought, Preacher.”
Book laughed. He was the chapter’s chaplin, and no one let him forget it. “Well, I’m buyin’ if your drinkin’.”
“Lead the way.”
The two men managed to get inside where the party was in full swing. The music slammed into them, loud and unapologetic. Bodies pressed together as people moved through the room in a steady, chaotic flow.
Every corner pulsed with motion: bikers shoulder to shoulder at the bar, fighting for drinks while the makeshift dance floor was already packed with couples tangled together.
The music was so loud it vibrated through the floor, and the air was already thick with smoke that curled lazily toward the rafters.
Laughter erupted from on of the pool tables, sharp and rowdy, cutting through the noise. It was chaos—all of it wrapped in one relentless celebration.
Half of the attendees probably had no idea why they were celebrating, and didn’t care. They were there for the three B’s: bikes, broads, and beer. And there was plenty of all three to go around.
“Hey, Book. Razor.”
“Wynn.”
“Wynn.”
They both greeted the girl in unison.
“You do that to one another or did Tank fight that hard for his patch?” she asked taking in Razor’s bruised jaw and Book’s black eye.
“Tank,” they both said each chuckling.
“But…” Book said, then glanced over his shoulder to see who was in ear shot. “Teller bit Tank and pulled his hair.”
