6. Aurora

"Yo, bar wench," someone shouts over the music and chaotic noise inside the clubhouse. "Need ‘nother rrrround for the boyssss," he slurs as he lifts an empty beer bottle above his head. Predictably, he proceeds to drop the bottle, letting out a whoop of drunken excitement when it shatters on the ground.

I roll my eyes, hating the nickname. That's what most of the members call me, especially when they're this far into a party. I sigh and pop the tops off of six beer bottles, setting them on a tray and heading toward the table.

"Watch this," one of the guys says.

I barely register his words when he sticks his foot out right in front of where I"m walking. I don"t have time to react before my shins hit his boot. I lurch forward, the tray of beer in my hand tilting to the left and then to the right as I try to regain my balance. My foot slips and I tumble over the outstretched leg, finally letting go of the drink tray so I can catch myself on my hands instead of face-planting into the concrete floor stained with god knows what.

The bottles crash around me as the tray hits me in the head and then clatters to the floor. The table of men roars with laughter, a few other members close by joining in.

I'm on my hands and knees, covered in beer and surrounded by broken glass while disgusting, inebriated men jeer at me. How did my life come to this? The worst part is, this isn't the first time I've been made to look like a fool simply for entertainment.

Hot tears sting the back of my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I won't give them the satisfaction.

I take a moment to gather my wits about me, and then I stand, collecting the fallen tray before walking to the back and grabbing a broom. The sound of broken glass being crunched under heavy boots has me wincing. It's going to be nearly impossible to sweep and mop that area until more people clear out.

Sighing in defeat, I take a second to lean against the back wall and give myself a pep-talk. You can do this. You don't have another choice. What would life be like outside the compound? You have nothing. No skills. No money. Nowhere to go.

Okay, so that wasn't so much of a pep-talk as it was a reminder of why I can't afford to leave or yell at those bastards that I'm a person, too. I'm a human being, worthy of respect. At the very least, I don't deserve to be treated that way.

Like so many nights before, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing all of the negative emotions down, down, down into the dark shadows of my soul. Only, this time, I can't just forget. Instead, an image of Razor fills my mind, the way he kept his eyes trained on me but not in a way that made me feel gross, like when the guys here look at me. No, when Razor's eyes landed on mine, I felt protected.

Angry, frustrated tears burn my eyes thinking about the injustice of it all. I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't choose this life, I just found myself shoved into an impossible situation and now I'm trapped. Like a rat in a cage living a tortured life until it dies.

A tickling sensation drips down my palm, causing me to look down. A thick, dark red line stretches across my palm, no doubt a cut from one of the many shards of glass scattered around the clubhouse floor. I watch the thin line of blood trickle over my light skin, the contrast mesmerizing.

How many times will I have to endure nights like this? Wounds like this? Humiliation like this?

The back door to the kitchen swings open as Brandi, another club bunny, waltzes in wearing a strapless dress that barely covers her butt. She doesn't even see me as she clomps her way to the bar in her six-inch heels, on the hunt for a biker to make her his, if only for a night.

As the rickety screen door slaps against the frame a few times, an impulsive, reckless thought races through my mind. Run. Run. Run far, far away from here. From this life. Run until it hurts. Run until you can't breathe. Then, maybe you'll finally be free.

My feet carry me across the kitchen so quickly and effortlessly I might as well be floating. My mind is still reeling from what's happening, but my body knows exactly what to do. One foot in front of the other, faster, faster, the tread on my old sneakers tearing as I race across the gravel lot, through the uncut grass, then further still, leaping over a pile of logs.

When I land, my right ankle wobbles slightly, but I ignore it and keep going. I scramble up the embankment leading to the ill-kept, rarely-traveled highway on the other side of the compound, my muscles cramping as I gasp for air. The overgrown weeds scratch my legs and arms, but I don't stop. I can't stop now.

A surge of adrenaline and fear washes over my body, pushing me to clear the final row of bushes at the top of the embankment. As I burst through the scraggly branches, my foot catches on a root that's sticking up out of the ground. I throw my arms out in front of me, seeing a flash of concrete and gravel before slamming my eyes shut and preparing for impact.

Only… it never comes.

A hand wraps around my arm and pulls me backward until my back is pressed up against their chest.

"No!" I shout, assuming it's one of the Serpents coming to collect me. "Let me go!" I try throwing my elbow back in hopes of clipping their face or maybe breaking their nose, but the man just holds me still.

"It's me, princess," a familiar voice says calmly.

I stop fighting immediately and go limp in his arms. I don't know why he's here or how he happened to get to me so fast, but right now, I don't care. All that matters is that I have someone here, someone who is on my side. It's been so damn long since I've been able to say that.

Razor gently turns me in his arms so we're face to face. "Aurora," he murmurs, lifting a hand to smooth back my wild hair. "What happened?" His fingers trail down my cheek and across my jaw, those dark brown eyes taking in every inch of my face.

I'm sure I look like a total wreck. Not only do I have leaves and twigs stuck in my hair, but I'm all scratched up and still covered in beer. In short, I feel disgusting, I look even worse, and I have no idea where to go from here.

"I… I… serving beer and then he tripped me… everyone laughed and I… the backdoor was open…" I know I'm not making any sense, but I'm nearly hyperventilating and I'm trying so damn hard to swallow back my tears.

Razor draws me close, not caring about how I smell, the sticky beer, or the scrapes on my face. He folds me into his arms, tucking my head into his chest. For some reason, that caring gesture taps into a deep part of my soul, unlocking the tears I've tried so hard to keep hidden.

"I've got you," Razor murmurs. "I'm right here." One tear falls, then another, until I'm soaking his shirt with every emotion I haven't been allowed to show. "Let it all out," he says softly.

"I can't," I protest weakly. I fist his shirt, not sure if I want to push him away for seeing me like this or pull him closer so I can dissolve into him and have Razor protect me all the time.

His hand covers mine and he gently grazes his thumb over my knuckles until I loosen my grip. "That's it, Aurora," he whispers into the shell of my ear. "Let me hold you. Let me take care of you."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. "Take care… of me?" I ask with a sniffle. I look up for the first time since my embarrassing outburst of tears, and I'm greeted with a softer look than I'm used to from the stoic man I met a few days ago. His brown eyes peer down into mine and I swear he's mending my broken heart with each beat of his own.

"Yes," he answers with a nod. "Come stay with me." I balk at his suggestion, but Razor continues. "You can regroup and figure out what you want out of life."

He seems to have a deep understanding of what I'm going through and the impact of the decision I just made, though I'm not sure how. "But I can't…" I'm not sure what I'm going to say, I just know the offer is too good to be true. How can this ruggedly handsome, secretly hilarious, surprisingly sweet, Greek god of a man want more of me in his life? I'd just be taking up his space and breaking his stuff with my clumsiness.

"You can," he insists. "All you have to do is trust me. Do you trust me, Aurora?"

Espresso-colored eyes stare down at me, searching my soul for the truth. Do I trust him? I've barely spent any time with the man, and yet I can't deny how safe I've always felt in his presence. He's nothing like the men I grew up around, which has to count for something, right?

"I…" Pausing, I look up into Razor's deep brown eyes one last time, knowing this is the moment I give him my heart. "I trust you," I whisper.

"Good," he says right before wrapping me up in his arms again. "That's good, princess. I won't let you down."

It's the second time he's called me princess, and while I'd usually assume it was a sarcastic remark, I like it coming from Razor. He's not malicious or cruel. He saved my life once, and he's about to do it again.

Eventually, we untangle from each other and I wipe the remaining tears from my cheeks.

"Are you okay?!" Razor exclaims, looping his fingers around my right wrist and pulling down so he can look at my hand. I forgot about the initial cut there and must have wiped blood on my face while cleaning away my tears.

"Oh, this is nothing," I tell him as an automatic response.

"You're bleeding," he says flatly. "That's not nothing."

I"m about to tell him I"ve had worse cuts, but Razor turns on his heel and leads me by the arm toward a car I didn"t notice parked across the street from the compound. "Let"s get you bandaged up and then we can discuss the next steps. Can"t concentrate when you"re hurt," he adds as he opens the door for me and clicks my seatbelt in place.

His tone is gruff but his words are impossibly sweet. He wants to take care of me. He"s so invested in my health and comfort, that he can"t even have a discussion knowing I"m in pain.

As Razor leans back and is about to stand and walk around to the other side of the car, I surprise him and myself by kissing his cheek. Razor freezes, then the tips of his ears turn bright red. Is he blushing? Oh, lordy, I'm in trouble. How is this man adorable on top of his crazy sex appeal and perma-scowl?

I'm not sure how he's going to react, but the next second, Razor presses his lips to my forehead. I'm sweaty and gross and smell like stale beer, but he doesn't care.

We stay like that for a few moments, and then Razor closes my door and runs around to the driver"s side before hopping in. I watch the broken-down buildings and faded red farmhouse grow smaller and smaller in the side mirror until the entire compound disappears completely.

I don't know what this next chapter in life will bring, but I hope and pray I'll never be back to the Serpents' clubhouse.