Razor: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance

T
hey call me Razor
.

6’2, blonde, green-eyed, 185 pounds of pure muscle with an 8-inch cock
—
I pull b*tches like a grandmaster angler.

But laying the pipe isn’t all I do.

I’m a hacker
—
the best there is.

I work the keyboard like a work a woman’s cl*t. Fast and furious.

There’s no code I can’t crack, no problem I can’t hack
—
that is,
until I land myself right in the middle of a murder investigation.

On the run, there’s only one woman that I know I can trust
—
my stepsister Carly.
Tempting as fuck, I’ve had a huge crush on for as long as I can remember, yet I’ve always known she was off limits.

Being around her will only complicate matters, make it harder for me to complete my mission, but I can’t help myself.

With old feelings resurfacing, and a growing need to claim her body as my playground, I’ll have to decide between my freedom or letting her take the edge off of this . . . RAZOR.

“
F
uck yeah
!” I growled as I furiously pounded my keyboard. “I’m in!”

“In what?” asked Bianca, the rich socialite I’d just banged the fuck out of the night before. Her red silk negligee open at the front, she stood off to the side of me, slightly bent forward, her gigantic store-bought tits in my face.

I pushed my hair, which I’d let grow out, back out of my eyes, and regarded the airhead for a moment, my eyes straying down to her enormous rack.

It’d been hard to concentrate hacking into SFPD data bank with that in my face, but they don’t call me Razor for nothing. When it comes to getting the job done, I can hone my concentration with laser-like precision.

Is it even worth telling her?
I wondered.
She won’t understand a thing I say.

I scratched at the fresh stubble on my jaw, wondering what the hell I was doing in a hotel with her in the first place.

W
e’d met
the previous night at a black-tie fundraiser event for a local politician, mayor Bradley James.

I was supposed to be there as an agent for Anonymous, an online hacking group that hid behind anonymity, to find out information involving a murder case.

But when present company approached me, she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Bianca Vanderbilt, or as I’d liked to call her, Vanderslut, was the daughter of a wealthy tycoon. Her father, Eric Vanderbilt, an heir to old money, owned a chain of three-star hotels and had amassed a fortune in real estate on top of it.

At first I’d resisted Bianca’s advances, but when I found out that her father was close to the mayor, I figured what the hell. I could use her to find out more information on the case I was working on.

I spent the entire evening with the socialite on my arm — who proudly paraded me around, introducing me to wealthy acquaintances and associates of her father.

Getting to meet the powerful men and women who basically controlled most of the wealth in the bay area was interesting, and I learned more than a few valuable tidbits of information that would prove useful to Anonymous.

But the prize of the night came when I met Mayor Bradley. He introduced himself with the charismatic charm he was famously known for, speaking about how happy he was with the turn out for the fundraiser.

The
inner city kids
, as he called them, would receive so much help from the donations that came from the black-tie event.

It was hard not to roll my eyes. Everyone knew that most of the money would never make it into the hands that it was intended to help.

But I kept my misgivings to myself. I was there to confirm my suspicions, not lecture on how corrupt politicians and the top one percent were, especially when I was looking one of said corrupt politicians right in the face.

“Mayor Bradley is such a good man,” Bianca purred, squeezing my arm. “He cares about the poor and disadvantaged. I’m so glad we have him as our mayor.”

“That’s right, Bianca,” Bradley agreed, tilting his wineglass toward her in toast and cracking a boyish grin. “And that caring for the people I represent is how I got elected.”

I nearly hurled. But it only got worse from there as the two began talking about Bianca’s childhood.

Mayor Bradley, it seemed, was close to Bianca, fondly reminiscing about how he’d practically watched her grow up before his eyes, and how much of an inspiration she had been in him wanting to have a daughter.

I didn’t miss the way he looked at her, who was at least fifteen years his junior — like he wanted to take her into one of the back rooms and fuck her brains out.

Obviously Mayor Bradley, who was supposedly happily married, had a roaming eye for attractive young women — even women who should have been off limits.

My opportunity to put the Mayor on the spot came when Bianca told him that I had a master’s degree in Information Technology, and that a lot of the big players in Silicon Valley were in bidding wars for my formidable talents.

“Steven here is absolutely amazing,” Bianca boasted, flashing a pretty smile up at me. Fake names did have their uses. “There’s not a major tech company here in the valley that doesn’t want him on their roster.”

It was amazing the kind of bullshit you could get away with if you had enough confidence and someone naïve enough to listen.

“Oh really?” Bradley asked me, flashing me a grin that told me that he loved successful people, because successful meant money. “What brings such a prosperous young fellow like you to this type of event?” He was obviously referring to the age group of most of the attendees, who were mostly middle-aged with money.

Here was my chance.

“I’m here on the behalf of a friend of mine to raise awareness for his sister he lost a while back,” I replied.

Bradley’s boyish grin dimmed somewhat. “That’s awful. What happened?”

I looked the mayor straight in the eye. “She was murdered.”

His fading grin was replaced by a frown. “Oh gosh. I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked at Bianca like he was about to change the subject, but then it seemed he was overwhelmed by a sudden burning curiosity. “What was her name, perchance?” His eyes bore into me with an intense scrutiny that would’ve been unsettling had I not been prepared.

I didn’t miss a beat. “Ashley Collins.”

Bradley, for the most part, kept his composure, but I didn’t miss the momentary flash of panic in his eyes. It was then that I knew, despite all of his charisma and efficaciousness, I was looking into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

“Hey, I’m extremely sorry for cutting the conversation short,” Bradley mumbled suddenly, tearing his eyes away from me, “but I must go find my wife. We’re supposed to be giving a joint speech here soon. It was nice meeting you, Steven.” Bradley nodded quickly at Bianca in parting, “Bianca,” and walked away.

I watched as he swiftly disappeared into the crowd, my suspicions confirmed.

It’s him.

All the information Anonymous had painstakingly compiled on the corrupt official seemed to be true.

There was one drawback to being a public figure — everyone knew where you lived. As an online task force against corruption and injustice everywhere, the local chapter of Anonymous kept watchful tabs on all of the power players in the area.

Unbeknownst to Bradley, Anonymous had kept vigil on all of his business dealings as soon as he was elected, as the office of the mayor was a frequently abused position of power.

It wasn’t long before the hacker group, along with my help, amassed a plethora of information about the handsome young politician.

Bradley, it seemed, always sold himself out to the highest bidder, influencing the city council to vote on propositions that were beneficial to whoever donated the most money to his office.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he took bribes for about almost any issue . . . as long as the dollar amount was right. He was rotten to the core.

Then there were his hobbies . . . golf, art-collecting, buying horses and . . . last but certainly not least, prostitutes. And not just any prostitutes. Bradley liked the young, desperate type — girls that would debase themselves to perfect strangers for a John like Mr. James.

While it’s certainly not my thing, there was nothing wrong with a man who used prostitutes for sex, but Bradley liked to torture, beat and rape them to get his rocks off — or so that’s what the rumors were at Anonymous.

The disgusting behavior was at odds with the way he presented himself to the public — a loving father with the perfect family — a doting wife with two very young children. And he always made sure they were around for any public event for photo opportunities to further enhance the made-up image.

I had to laugh at the hypocrisy.

Family man by day, prostitute beater by night.

And now murderer would be added to his list of titles if I had anything to do with it.

Through a network of contacts, Anonymous learned the mayor was the last one seen with the young Ashley Collins before her death. But you wouldn’t know that from the details that the police released to the public. They claimed that their investigation found that Ashley Collins had likely been killed by someone she owed drug money to, and that they were doing everything in their power to bring her justice.

Except for the fact that they hadn’t pursued new leads in over a month, even vital leads that were given to them by Anonymous tipsters and community task forces.

The whole thing stunk like horse shit and screamed coverup.

Considered one of the most talented groups among hackers, Anonymous selected me to be the one to obtain the evidence the authorities were hiding.

Having nothing better to do and an intense hatred for corrupt politicians, I gladly accepted the task.

“Mayor Bradley is such a good man,” Bianca purred after he disappeared in the crowd. “He’s done so much for this city.”

“A model citizen,” I agreed sarcastically.

A
fter a night
of wild sex with Bianca, I logged into the police station’s evidence database, looking for a needle in a haystack. I had only minutes to find and download video footage from a nearby security cam from the night of the murder — all while having a demanding vixen in my ear.

“It’s so weird. You’re built like Apollo, yet you know all of this computer crap like some nerd,” Bianca purred, leaning into me and running her hands down my chest and my six pack to finally fondle the waistband of my boxers. “With your dashing good looks, you could be a model or even a movie star.”

“Can you not do that,” I muttered irritably, barely paying her an ounce of attention. “I’m doing something important here.”

Why I hadn’t kicked her out after fucking her, I had no idea. She was useful when she was feeding me the information I needed and sucking my cock, but now she was just an unnecessary distraction.

Needing frequent sex was one of my weaknesses, though it was better these days than before. It was always the same with girls like Bianca — I’d fuck their brains out, but then afterward I’d feel completely empty. I suppose I was trying to fill a hole inside of me that could never be filled. There was one girl that I felt could make me whole, but ironically, she was the one girl that I could never have.

“It’s not as important as me,” Bianca pouted, her hands going down further to cup my balls. “Mmm,” she murmured, “nice and full . . . full just for me.”

My dick stiffened in response to her efforts, though I wasn’t turned on in the least. It was just a biological response.

Fuck me.

“Stop!” I commanded. My time was running out and I didn’t have time for this shit.

“No,” Bianca replied defiantly, tightening her grip on my ballsack. She must’ve not known how serious I was, but I couldn’t be bothered to get into a tussle with her. I had mere minutes to locate the footage.

I furiously pounded away at the keyboard, when suddenly I felt my chair going back slightly as Bianca crawled beneath the desk and took my stiff cock out of my boxers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked as panic laced my words. I was so close to finding what I needed.

“So big, veiny and juicy,” she moaned, salivating over my cock.

“Bianca stop —”

My words caught in my throat as her warm wet mouth wrapped around my dick.

Fuck.

I groaned as slurping sounds filled my ears and my concentration slipped.

I knew I should’ve kicked her ass out when I was done with her,
I lamented.

Bianca stopped for a moment to tease the sensitive part of my cockhead with her tongue.

Bitch.

By this time, my hands were slipping away from the keyboard — and so was my chance of getting the footage.

Come on, pull it together,
I urged myself
. I’m fucking Razor. I can do this.

Filling my mind with what was at stake if I didn’t, I was able to hone my focus.

Bianca renewed her efforts as she gripped the base of my cock, squeezing it, while bobbing her head up and down on it with abandon. My eyes nearly rolling in the back of my head, I fought like hell not to lose my concentration. My fingers went to town on the keyboard while Bianca attacked my cock just as fast.

It felt like I was trying to lift a mountain with my mind, trying to focus through the waves of pleasure rolling through my body as I barely hung on.

There!

I found it.

The file was exactly where Anonymous surmised it would be — hidden deep where it would never see the light of day. I started the download to my flash drive.

The progress bar slowly started picking up speed as I typed code to set up a wall to block any prying eyes.

1…

One fourth of the way.

Bianca was acting like she was the cock gobbler, trying her hardest to make me come, gargling and gagging on my cock.

2…

Halfway…

I swear she was trying out for the dick-sucking Olympics, stroking my eight inches with both hands and trying her best to take it all the way down her throat, but failing.