Page 6 of Raze (Wolf Rider MC Daddies #4)

Raze

“So this is the place,” I mutter.

“Yup,” Nico replies, his hands still wrapped around my waist as I plant my boots on the ground and turn my motorcycle’s engine off. “This is the place.”

It’s a dive called Marty’s, a shithole on the edge of town where lowlifes like Snake and Tito drink away their bad decisions.

Nico’s intel led us here, his voice cracking in the interrogation room as he spilled everything—names, places, and the big fish, the Broker, the guy pulling the strings on the crew that’s been hitting our shipments.

The boy talked, and it looks like he did in fact tell the truth.

My Harley’s parked in the shadows, engine still warm, and Nico’s beside me, his lean frame tense under his leather jacket.

The night air’s thick with the threat of rain, and my blood’s humming, ready for what’s coming.

I’m the lead enforcer for the Wolf Riders MC, and tonight, I’m here to end this little problem once and for all…

I scan the lot, my eyes catching on a beat-up old Chevy, its paint chipped, one headlight busted.

“That their ride?” I ask, my voice low, rough from the ride and the weight of what’s about to go down.

Nico nods, his blue eyes sharp despite the faint redness around his wrists from the zip ties.

“Yeah. That’s Snake’s car. They’re here.” Nico’s voice is steady, but there’s a tremor beneath it, like he knows how deep he’s in. He’s not wrong. He’s bait in a trap, and I’m the one springing it.

But after that spanking in the clubhouse, the way he broke under my hand, calling me Daddy before sucking my cock, I’m not sure where the line is anymore—between business and something else altogether.

I shrug off my Wolf Rider jacket, the leather heavy with the snarling wolf patch that marks me as a target in a place like this. I’m going in incognito, blending into the crowd of drunks and hustlers.

My .45 is tucked under my shirt, a familiar weight against my hip.

“You wait five minutes,” I tell Nico, my eyes locking onto his. “Then you come in. Walk the room, signal who’s who. Subtle . Point out Snake, Tito, and the Broker. You fuck this up, boy, and we’re both done.”

Nico nods, his jaw tight, but those eyes—defiant, bright, and too damn pretty—hold mine a beat too long.

“Got it,” the boy says, his voice softer now, almost like he’s trying to prove something… to me or himself, I’m not sure.

I should move, get inside, scope the place out.

But something stops me, a pull I can’t shake.

Nico’s standing close, the heat of him cutting through the cool night air, and before I can think better of it, I grab his face, my scarred hands rough against his smooth skin.

I kiss the gorgeous boy, hard and quick, my lips crashing into his. Sparks fly, electric and raw, and for a second, the world narrows to his mouth, the connection between us undeniable by the way he leans into it, just a fraction, before I pull back.

Nico’s eyes are wide, shocked, but there’s a heat there that mirrors the one burning in my chest.

Fuck.

This is real—too real—and it’s gonna complicate everything even more than it already is.

“Stay sharp,” I growl, turning away before I do something even stupider.

I don’t look back as I head for the bar, my boots crunching gravel, my pulse hammering. I’m here to take down the assholes who stole from us, to protect the Wolf Riders’ name, but Nico’s got me twisted up, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

Inside, the bar is a haze of smoke and dim lights, the kind of place where deals go down in the booths and fights spill out into the lot.

The jukebox is blasting some old rock tune, and the air smells like bad intentions and desperation. I slide onto a stool at the bar, ordering a whiskey I don’t plan to drink, my eyes scanning the room.

It’s crowded—truckers, bikers, a few women in tight skirts working the room for tips or trouble.

I clock the exits: front door, back door near the bathrooms, a fire exit that’s probably chained shut.

My hand rests near my gun, ready but calm.

I’m good at this, at blending in, at waiting for the moment to strike.

But as the minutes tick by, a nagging doubt creeps in. What if Nico’s cut and run? He’s a hustler, used to slipping out of tight spots. I left him out there with his .38—potentially my fuck-up for not taking it off him—and he could be halfway across town by now.

Come on, boy.

Don’t let me down.

Don’t make me hunt you down and do what I could have done at the start…

But my fears are unfounded. The door swings open, and there he is, striding in like he owns the place, his leather jacket unzipped, that tight black tee clinging to his frame.

Relief hits me, followed by a pulse of something hotter.

He’s not running. Not yet.

Nico moves through the crowd, casual but deliberate, his eyes flicking over the room. The boy is good, I’ll give him that—subtle, like I told him.

Nico brushes past a table in the corner, three guys hunched over beers, and his hand grazes the back of one’s chair, a quick point. Snake, I’m guessing, skinny with a snake tattoo curling up his neck.

Nico keeps moving, circling toward a booth where two more guys sit, one with a buzz cut—Tito, probably. He taps his nose, a signal so smooth I almost miss it.

Then Nico’s eyes lock on a guy at the bar, older, in a cheap suit, sipping a gin and tonic. Nico mouths the word Broker , and my blood runs cold.

The big boss is here, the one behind the hits on our shipments.

This is our shot.

My hand slides to my .45, the grip familiar, my focus narrowing. I could end it now—one clean shot, the Broker’s down, and the message is sent: don’t fuck with the Wolf Riders. But before I can move, there’s a commotion near the table Nico signaled.

Snake’s on his feet, shoving Nico hard, his voice rising over the music.

“You little shit, you ratted us out!”

Another guy—Tito, maybe—grabs Nico’s arm, and a fist flies, catching Nico in the jaw. The boy stumbles, blood trickling from his lip, and something in me snaps.

I’m off the stool in a heartbeat, my gun out, the bar a blur as I move.

“Back the fuck off!” I roar, firing twice. Snake drops, clutching his shoulder, and the other guy hits the floor, blood pooling from his leg.

The bar erupts—screams, glasses shattering, people diving for cover.

Nico’s on his knees, one hand on his jaw, the other clutching his arm, where blood seeps through his jacket. A blade glints on the floor beside him—a shallow cut, but it’s bleeding bad.

My eyes flick to the bar, and I catch a glimpse of the Broker slipping out the front door, his suit a flash in the neon light.

Fuck .

I missed him. I could still catch him. But…

I hesitate, my gun still raised, torn between chasing the Broker and checking on Nico. The kid’s hurt, his face pale, those blue eyes wide with pain and fear. I curse myself for letting the Broker get away, but Nico’s blood is on the floor, and that hits harder than it should.

I holster my gun and kneel beside him, my hands rough but careful as I check his arm. The cut is superficial, a slash across his forearm, but it’s deep enough to need stitches.

“You okay, boy?” I ask, my voice gruffer than I mean it to be.

Nico nods, wincing, but his eyes meet mine, and there’s that spark again, the one from the kiss outside.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice shaky. “Just… caught me off guard.”

I haul him to his feet, one arm around his waist, and drag him toward the door. The blood is pouring out now—I’ve seen cuts like this turn real bad, real quick. Even if I could chase the Broker down, I’m not risking Nico’s life for it.

The bar’s a mess, bodies on the floor, the bartender yelling about cops.

Snake and Tito are down, groaning, but alive. I don’t care about them. The Broker’s gone, and that’s on me.

I fucked up, let my focus slip because of Nico, and the Wolf Riders are gonna have my ass for it.

Clay and Jase trusted me to handle this, to take out the threat, and I let the big fish slip through my fingers.

My reputation—hard-earned, blood-soaked—is on the line, and I can already hear the whispers: Raze is slipping, too caught up in some kid.

Outside, the air’s cooler, the storm clouds ready to burst.

I get Nico to my bike, his weight leaning into me, his blood staining my hands.

“Hold on,” I say, helping him onto the seat.

The boy is shaky but manages to grip the handlebars, his good arm trembling. I climb on in front, feeling him press against my back, weaker than before but still there, still warm.

The engine roars to life, and I gun it, tearing out of the lot, the bar fading into the distance.

We need to get back to the clubhouse, to Doc, the club’s medic, who can stitch Nico up before he loses too much blood.

This isn’t quite an emergency yet, but I’ve seen enough blade wounds to know that it could become one…

The highway stretches out, dark and endless, the wind sharp against my face. Nico’s hands are loose on my waist, his grip faltering, and I curse under my breath.

“Stay with me, boy,” I growl over my shoulder, and he mumbles something I can’t hear.

My mind’s racing, torn between the job I fucked up and the kid bleeding behind me. That kiss keeps replaying—the way his lips felt, the way he leaned into it, like he wanted it as much as I did. It’s real, this thing between us, and it’s fucking with my head.

I’m the enforcer, the one who gets shit done, but right now, all I can think about is keeping Nico safe.

The clubhouse is twenty miles away, and I push the bike hard, the engine screaming.

The Broker’s out there, probably already planning his next move, and I’m gonna catch hell from Clay for letting him slip.

My reputation’s on the line. I know that.

But as Nico’s hands slip, his body slumping against me, I know I made the right call.

The Broker can wait. Nico can’t.

I just have to hope beyond hope that Clay agrees to let Doc work on a non-Wolf…