Page 8 of Razor’s Redemption

"Nine patched members, three prospects now. President's name is Phoenix. He founded it years ago after leaving another club that went bad. The Iron Phoenix is different. Clean. They protect people, protect the town. No drugs, no trafficking, nothing dirty. Just brotherhood."

"That's why you wanted to join?"

"Yeah. I heard about them when I stopped in Millhaven. Was just supposed to be passing through, but something made me stay. Went to the clubhouse, talked to Phoenix and Judge, he's the VP, told them everything. My record, prison, all of it. Expected them to turn me away."

"But they didn't."

"No. Phoenix asked me what I wanted to become. Not what I'd done or who I was. What I wanted to be." He pauses, fingers tapping against the mug. "Nobody's ever asked me that before."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I wanted to use everything I'd learned to protect people instead of hurt them. That I made a promise to Terry before he died, and I needed to keep it."

There's something raw in his voice when he says Terry's name.

"Who was Terry? It’s the second time you said his name." I ask.

He's quiet for a long moment, staring down at his coffee. I think maybe I've pushed too far, asked something too personal for a conversation between strangers at one in the morning. But then he speaks.

"Terry Hollis. He was older than me, in his fifties. We were cellmates my last year inside." His voice is steady but I can hear the weight underneath. "Prison's a bad place to be alone. Worse when you're young and angry and everyone can see it. Terry saw it in me, I guess. Decided to look out for me anyway."

"What did he do?"

"Taught me to read properly. I could read before, but not well, dropped out of school at fifteen, spent more time on the streets than in classrooms. Terry had this whole library of books under his bunk. Made me read one a week, then talk to him about it." A small, sad smile crosses his face. "Said if I was going to be angry, I should at least be educated about it."

I smile despite myself. "Sounds like a good man."

"He was. Talked me down more than once from doing something stupid that would've added years to my sentence. Reminded me I had a life waiting outside those walls, even if I couldn't see it yet." He pauses. "He got killed six months before I got out. Wrong place, wrong time. Dispute between two guys that had nothing to do with either of us. I held him while he bled out, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it."

My throat tightens. "I'm so sorry."

"Made myself a promise that day," he continues, still not looking at me. "That I'd use everything prison taught me, everything the streets taught me before that, to protect people instead of hurt them. That I'd be the kind of man Terry thought I could be. I owed him that much."

"You're keeping that promise," I whisper. "You kept it tonight."

His eyes finally meet mine, and there's something vulnerable in them that catches me off guard. "Trying to."

The house settles around us, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant creak of old pipes, the soft sound of wind against the windows. It's late enough that the world feels smaller, like nothing exists outside this kitchen.

"What time does your night shift end tomorrow?" he asks suddenly.

I blink at the change in subject. "Um. Eleven PM. I clean offices downtown from seven to eleven, then catch the bus home."

"What if I gave you a ride? Just to play it safe."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to. I want to. After tonight—" He gestures vaguely. "I'd feel better knowing you got home safe."

"That's really sweet, but—"

"No pressure," he says quickly. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I understand. But the offer's there."

I should say no. Should tell him thank you but I've been getting home on my own for six years and I don't need a stranger—ex-con, prospect, whatever he is, inserting himself into my routine just because of one bad night.

But the truth is, I'm terrified of walking home tomorrow. Terrified of that dark stretch near the hardware store, of every shadow that might detach itself and reach for me. And the idea of having someone there, someone who can take down two men in fifteen seconds without breaking a sweat, makes the fear loosen its grip just slightly.

"Okay," I hear myself say. "That would be nice. Thank you."