Razor's Edge (Underworld Kings)

When Fox looked at Cherry his eyes seemed to soften and if he didn’t truly care about her, he wouldn’t have taken such a genuine interest in showing up for her or being there when she needed him. I knew he wasn’t with her for a stupid title, he was with her because when she smiled it made him feel like he was more than just a club kid, or the president’s son—it seemed like Cherry really saw him for who he was.

“She’s amazing, Fox. This girl is special, I’m telling you.”

“Right, kid. Like the very first girl you meet is it for you, huh? Did you buy her a ring yet?”

“You’ll believe me when you meet her.”

“So, are you taking her out or what? You need to borrow some wheels or are you taking your bike?”

That was another issue, my father wasn’t like a normal dad. When most kids turned sixteen, if their parents had the means, they bought them a car. But not Tyler Montgomery, his boys got Harley Davidson Motorcycles whether they wanted one or not.

“I’ll show up on the bike. Most of the chicks you date seem to like it so I’m hoping it will work magic for me too. What is it with women and bikes anyway?”

“Chicks dig danger. And dangerous guys even more. They see the Bike and think big, bad, and troubled, and that seems to get their motor running for some reason. We like to fix bikes, women like to fix broken men. If they knew the truth—that bad boys never change—just like Peter Pan, they never grow up, they wouldn’t even look at guys with a bike, trust me.”

“So they want danger for fun, but not to settle down with? Then I’d bring a car if I had one, but I’m shit out of luck. Guess she’ll just have to take me as I am.”

“Or you could walk, she lives across the fucking street, dumbass.”

“Her dad’s a cop.”

“No shit?” Fox suddenly looked interested. “Then she’ll for sure want a bad boy. Those are the ones who want to rebel, preacher’s kids, cop’s kids, it’s like the natural order of things that they’ll be the worst fuck-ups.”

“I’d say we’re both pretty decent men even though we drive bikes.”

Fox smiled at me and slapped me on the back. “You’re as good as it gets, kid. Don’t ever change.”

We were raised in the game and by the president himself. But we had good morals and would never become carbon copies of the MC lifestyle we grew up around—we were better than that.

If anything, we learned how we didn’t want to be from watching our father. And our mom was at least strong enough to instill good values in us. We might have been labeled bad boys, but we weren’t trash. Fox and I had a lot to prove, and I for one hoped that Ellison would see through the reputation and give me a fighting chance.

I looked out my window and wondered if her room faced the street. I also considered what I’d do if she never called, never stopped by, or never gave me a second glance.

When you wanted something bad enough, you could envision it happening. Like the orbit was already played out and you could sit back and watch it make its way down the path, falling right into your lap. I summoned images of me and Ellison as hard as I could. Pictured her holding my hand in the hallway at school, her lips touching mine, her body inviting me in, opening up to me like a flower in bloom. Some people didn’t believe in love at first sight, my brother Fox included. I couldn’t explain what it was about Ellison that called me to her so strongly. I stood there in front of the window with my eyes closed, hands shoved in my pockets, shirtless, clad only in jeans, remembering the taste of her skin on my lips, the perfume of her hair. Ellison Kraft had me under a spell and I didn’t want to break it.

“Cal, get your fucking ass down here and show Bala how to use the Nintendo!” Great, my father and his asshole pledge Bala was exactly how I wanted to be pulled from my fantasy.

I hated my father. I hated all of his fucking friends. I hated that my poor mom and I and even my brother had to cater to them all like we owed them something.

There were always club people hanging around day and night, piss ass drunk, shouting, getting into pointless fights. My dad let them party in our converted basement, the side yard, hell, sometimes they took over the front porch, right where the new cop could see them in all their glory.

I grabbed my t-shirt off the bed and reluctantly pulled it back over my head, stretching the hell out of the neck. I trotted down the stairs to show some grown-ass moron how to turn on the XBox. They were wasted, like usual, all leather and beards, jamming up every corner of the kitchen. They spilled over into the hallway and the front porch was sagging under the weight of those burly mother fuckers filing in the front door.