Page 5 of Raze (Wolf Rider MC Daddies #4)

Nico

My ass is still stinging… a hot, throbbing reminder of Raze’s hand and the confession he spanked out of me.

I’m standing in the Wolf Riders’ clubhouse bar, my jeans and briefs back on but my pride in tatters.

The zip ties are gone, and my wrists are raw, but Raze’s aftercare—gentle words, a steady hand on my shoulder, a bottle of water pressed into my palm as he soothed my ass with cooling gel—left me more shaken than the discipline itself…

The Wolf Rider got what he wanted: names, places, everything I knew about Snake, Tito, and the crew they run with. I spilled it all, every detail about their stash houses, their buyers, even the guy they report to, some shadowy figure they call “the Broker.”

I’m not sure if it’s enough to save my skin, but Raze let me walk out of that interrogation room, so I’m calling it a win. For now.

The bar’s a chaotic mess of noise and smoke, heavy metal blaring from the jukebox, bikers shouting over pool games and shots of whiskey. The neon wolf’s head over the counter pulses like it’s alive, and the air smells like sweat, leather, and booze.

I’m trying to blend in, leaning against a wall near the bar, nursing a beer I didn’t ask for. My .38 is back in my jeans, a sign that Raze doesn’t think I’m out to cause trouble. But even if I was, my gun is no use here.

One wrong move, and I’m done.

There’s no escaping the fact that while Raze seems to think we’re on the same side now, if I step out of line I’m a dead man.

The Wolf Riders are everywhere, their eyes sharp, their hands never far from a weapon. I’m a fish in a shark tank, and every instinct screams to bolt, but my feet stay planted. Something’s keeping me here, and I hate that it’s got Raze’s name written all over it.

Three guys approach me, their vibe different from the rough-edged bikers.

They’re younger, closer to my age, with a lightness that doesn’t match the clubhouse’s grit.

One’s got a grin like he’s up to no good—Dylan, he introduces himself.

Caleb’s taller, a shy smile on his face, and Keegan’s lean, with buzzed hair that shines under the bar lights.

They’re not patched members, but they’re clearly part of this world, their ease in the chaos telling me they belong here…

“You’re Nico, right?” Dylan asks, leaning against the wall beside me, his voice playful. “The new guy who got Raze all worked up? I’m Dylan, this is Keegan and Caleb.”

I stiffen, my grip tightening on the beer bottle.

“Something like that,” I mutter, not sure how much they know—or how much I should say.

Caleb chuckles, nudging Keegan. “Heard you got the full Raze treatment. A spanking by the enforcer? What was that like?”

My face burns, and I take a swig of beer to cover it.

“Let’s just say Raze knows what he’s doing,” I say, keeping my tone light, but the memory of his hand on my bare skin, the sharp sting, the way he called me boy —it’s still too fresh. “Discipline and aftercare. Guy’s got a system.”

I’m trying to sound casual, but my voice cracks just enough to betray me.

I don’t want to let my guard down, not here, not with these guys, but there’s something disarming about their openness, like they’ve been where I am and lived to laugh about it.

“Oh, we get it,” Keegan says, his perfect smile catching the light as he grins. “Our Daddies are Wolf Riders, too. Arch is mine, Clay is Dylan’s, and Caleb’s with Jase. Spankings are basically a rite of passage around here.”

“Yeah,” Dylan adds, smirking. “Clay doesn’t mess around. Last time I mouthed off, I couldn’t sit for a week. But the aftercare?” He winks. “Totally worth it.”

Caleb nods, his cheeks pink. “Jase is the same. All growl, but he’s soft when it counts. You’ll see, Nico. Raze is tough, but he’s got a heart under all that leather.”

I snort, not ready to buy that.

Raze is a wall of muscle and menace, with storm-dark eyes that see right through my bullshit.

The aftercare—his low voice telling me to breathe, his hand steadying me—was just a tactic, right?

To keep me talking. I’ve learned the hard way since childhood that everyone has an angle.

And why should I suddenly believe that Raze could be any different to the rest?

But the way my body reacted, the way I’m still thinking about his touch, says otherwise. I’m in deep, and I need to stay sharp, not get cozy with these guys spinning tales about their biker Daddies…

“Come on,” Keegan says, jerking his head toward a corner of the bar where an Xbox is hooked up to a beat-up TV. “We’re playing Call of Duty . You in? Takes the edge off after a night like yours.”

I hesitate.

Every instinct says to keep my distance, to watch my back.

These guys seem nice, but this is still Wolf Rider territory, and I’m still the guy who got caught with their shit.

My eyes flick to the door, calculating the odds of slipping out. I’ve got my gun, my wits, and a lifetime of running. I could be halfway across town before they notice. But then I think of Raze—his grip on my arm, the heat of him on the bike, the way he said boy like it was a promise.

Running’s the sensible move, the one that’s kept me alive since I was sixteen…

So why the hell am I not moving?

“Alright,” I say, forcing a grin. “But I’m warning you, I’m a beast at Call of Duty .” It’s a lie—I haven’t played in years—but it gets a laugh, and I follow them to the corner, needing the distraction.

The TV’s screen glows, casting flickering lights across their faces as Dylan hands me a controller. For a moment, it’s almost normal, like we’re just four guys messing around, not a hustler and three biker boys in a den of killers.

We’re barely into the first match when a shadow falls over us.

I don’t need to look up to know it’s Raze.

The air shifts, heavy with his presence, and my stomach flips.

He’s standing there, all leather and muscle, his shaved head catching the neon glow, his eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the room.

The controller feels slick in my hands, and I set it down, my heart kicking up.

“Boys,” Raze says, his voice low, rough, cutting through the bar’s noise. “Nico’s got other plans.”

Dylan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue.

Caleb and Keegan exchange glances, like they know something I don’t.

I stand, trying to keep my cool, but my ass still aches, a reminder of how deep I’m in with this guy.

“What’s up?” I ask, aiming for casual, but my voice comes out tight.

Raze doesn’t answer, just jerks his head toward the door. “Move, boy.”

I glance at the boys, who give me small, knowing smiles, like I’m about to learn some secret of their world. I follow Raze, my sneakers scuffing the floor, past the pool table and the bikers who eye me like I’m prey.

Outside, the night air is sharp, the storm clouds thicker, the smell of gasoline stronger. Raze’s Harley waits, black and scarred, and he climbs on, not looking back.

“Get on,” Raze growls, and it’s not a request.

I swing my leg over, settling behind him, and my body betrays me again, pressed against the hard lines of his back. Every muscle, every ridge of him is solid, unyielding, and my hands find his waist, gripping tighter than I mean to.

The engine roars to life, the vibration hitting me like a punch, and I bite my lip to keep from reacting. Raze tells me we’re heading to a meet with my old crew—Snake, Tito, maybe the Broker himself—and I’m supposed to be the bait, the snitch who’ll point them out.

It’s a trap, and I’m the key, but all I can think about is Raze, the heat of him, the way he’s got me caught between running and staying.

The highway blurs past, the wind cutting through my jacket, but it’s not enough to cool the fire in my gut. I’ve run from worse—cops, dealers, foster parents who thought fists were parenting—but this time, the urge to bolt is fighting something stronger.

Raze is a storm, all power and danger, and I’m caught in it, wanting to feel the lightning even if it burns. My hands tighten on his waist, and I swear he leans into it, just a fraction, like he feels it too. My .38 presses against my hip, a reminder I could still run, still fight.

It’s the sensible move, the one I’ve always made.

But there’s something about Raze—his voice, his touch, the way he calls me boy —that makes me think I won’t run. Not this time. Not yet.

We’re miles from the clubhouse when Raze pulls off the highway into a lay-by, the gravel crunching under the tires. The bike’s engine cuts out, and the silence is heavy, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of wind through the trees.

Raze doesn’t move, doesn’t turn, just sits there, his broad shoulders tense.

My hands are still on his waist, and I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact, the heat of him seeping through my fingers. I should be planning my escape, but all I can think about is what’s coming next, what Raze wants, and why the hell I’m still here.

“Please, Raze, you don’t have to do this,” I splutter, suddenly assuming the worst.

It’s a deserted lay-by, it’s dark, no one would know if Raze ended me here and now.

Maybe this was Raze’s plan all along, maybe Clay ordered my execution…

“I’m begging you,” I plead, suddenly flush with panic.

“Don’t worry, you’re good,” Raze says, dismounting from the bike and lifting me off too with a consummate ease, like I’m no heavier than a bag of Doritos. “But I like the sound of you begging me for something…”

With that, Raze pushes me down to my knees and unzips the front of his leather trousers. As his thick, heavy dick flops out, already semi-hard, I can’t help but gasp.

“I… I… you want me to beg ?” I stammer, licking my lips involuntarily, purely on instinct as I sense my pupils dilate in pure lust.

“Beg for Daddy’s cock in your mouth,” Raze growls, taking my ears in his hand and gripping them firmly. “You want to show your loyalty. You do it now. I need to know I can trust you. I need to know that you can be a good boy for me when the shit hits the fan.”

I try to speak but the sight of Raze’s twitching, thick cock is making it hard for me to speak…

“P-p-p-please, D-D-D-Daddy, let me…” I say, struggling to finish the sentence. “Let me suck your big dick. Let me…please… I… need it.”

“You may take my dick in your mouth, boy,” Raze says, his voice low and controlled but a look of animalistic lust in his eyes as I grip the base of his cock with both hands and guide his wide, throbbing head over my wet lips and into my mouth.

“Now don’t stop until you feel my hot cum fill that sassy mouth of yours, you devious little cockslut. ”

Raze is tormenting me, and this gruff, dominant Wolf Rider knows how much I like it.

I feel helpless but to simply gargle and splutter my agreement, do as I’m told, and give my Wolf Rider man precisely what he commands of me.

It doesn’t take long either.

With Raze’s grip moving to my hair, he thrusts and assists my mouth in bobbing and gagging on his length, the sensation of his hot cum erupting in my mouth sending me dizzy.

“ Fuck . Good boy,” Raze grunts, pumping the last of his seed deep inside my mouth. “Now get up and get yourself in the zone. You’re mine now. And your first task is going to be putting your old bosses well and truly out of business.”

I swallow, wipe my mouth, and nod in agreement.

Raze has got me right where he wants me, and he knows it too.

But when he’s got his revenge on Snake and the crew, will he still want me?

Or will my fears about Clay turn out to be more than just paranoid instinct?