Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

“Damn straight, you are. You’re also still just a kid. You want out, you’re out. But you’re also dealing with my rules, and I don’t think you’ve had that before, so you’d better get used to it.”

Did those words seriously just come out of his mouth? Even Eli looked surprised, but not unhappy. He grumbled, “Great, so I’m here and I’ll still have no decision-making power,” but there was no hiding the expression of relief he wore.

“You’re fifteen. Keep doing what you’re doing—keep making good decisions and you’ll be fine.” He squeezed Eli’s shoulder. “You’re here. You’re only as safe as the decisions you make.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He stared at Cage. “Are you going to be able to do this? Go to war again against Dad and Troy?”

“Are you?”

“Hell, yes,” he whispered.

“Then so am I.”

There were several Vipers guarding the apartment while Cage was at the clubhouse with Preacher. After the previous night, going back there was less of an option, but I was restless.

I heard another Harley approach and I glanced down to see Bear, who was carrying bags of food for the guys.

In a very short period of time, I’d come to anticipate—enjoy—relish—the loud distinctive roar of a Harley and I could differentiate between a single bike and two or even three at this point.

I knew Cage’s bike too. I could pick out its sound above the others. I didn’t tell him that, but it was something I loved knowing.

Was I fooling myself, thinking that Cage and Eli and I could be a family, within the MC’s family?

I took the key to Cage’s private space—he’d shown me where I could find it—and I let myself down the private elevator into his world. Except it felt like our world, our place of secrets. There were times I’d just sit here, watching him for hours, neither of us talking.

I stood inside the garage work space so I could feel close to him. It was locked down, but I should’ve told someone where I was headed. But I couldn’t stay in the bedroom, not when I was on the verge of another panic attack. I needed space, and lots of it. In the middle of Cage’s workshop, I found it.

I ran my hands over an unfinished metal bumper, the coolness of it under my palms enough to soothe me. Ground me, until I swore I could feel Cage’s energy flow from the bike to me.

I’d made it through the hard part tonight. And while that was the truth, how many harder parts did I have to endure?

Was it worth it?

“Cage is,” I whispered, wanting to fold up on the table with his custom parts and sleep. But I was too cold, too wired, too scared to death of my dreams.

Finally, I did drag a blanket around me and curled up on the old couch. I must’ve fallen asleep, despite my reservations, but when I woke, Cage was in the room with me.

Blinking sleepily, I watched him. Bent over the bumper, he was painting the details with a small brush, concentrating so hard he’d sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. He’d tied his hair back with a bandanna and the hard rock music blared into his headphones, so loud the sound escaped. I’d been in here before when he played it out loud, when the music made the whole place seem to shake.

The motorcycle’s base was a deep blue. The streaks of silver and black were scattered and I could only imagine how they’d look as the bike zoomed by.

He looked over at me. Smiled. Took the headphones off, lowered the volume and unplugged them so music filtered through the entire space.

“What was it like, before this war?” I asked.

He didn’t seem surprised by my question, but he put the brush down and came to sit next to me. I shifted to make room, sat up and folded into his arms as he told me, “It’s always been dangerous. That’s the draw. But the Heathens aren’t patrolling Skulls twenty-four/seven.”

“But now that you’re back . . .”

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” He sighed. “We could leave, you know? Me, you, Eli. Go live by Tenn. Go anyplace.”

“What would happen to the town without Vipers?”

“Beyond going to hell with the drugs? Shit, I don’t think many people realize how much real estate we bought when times were bad here. The mayor does. The police do too, which is probably why we don’t get harassed more. But we don’t put people out of business or party in their neighborhoods. And I’d hate to relocate and give up my home. But I would.” He looked at me. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

“With you in his corner? Yes.” That made Cage smile, and I liked making him smile. “I wouldn’t mind being fifteen again and having a do-over.”

“It’s the first time you’ve talked about that without fear in your eyes.”

“Maybe because I just realized I’m getting my do-over right here, right now. You took what was all fucked up and you turned it around so I could heal.” All those years, trying to fuck away the memory. It had never worked, because it hadn’t been with the right person.

Cage made me feel powerful.

Correction: Cage just made me feel.

I stood, walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him. He buried his face in my neck for a moment, murmured, “So fucking soft, Calla.” He licked along my collarbone. Sucked, hard enough to leave a mark. I shuddered, on the brink of orgasm. It would take a single touch from him—the tweak of a nipple, a finger rubbed on my clit, even another hard suck, would slam me over that edge.

As if he knew, he did little more than pull down my sweats and underwear. And then he slid down my body, inserted himself between my thighs and had me put one leg over his shoulder. I was upright only through the combination of sheer will and his strength. And I was under no illusion that it was mainly the latter.

I was half naked. He was dressed, his face buried between my legs as electric currents shot through me, the quickness of the climax unsurprising.

I trembled but his arms were strong around me as he rose and wrapped me around him. I buried my face in his shoulder. “You made me come alive, Cage. You made me really live. And I don’t ever want it to end.”

He tightened his grip. “Good. ’Cause I’m not planning on going anywhere, babe.”

When he’d first come back to the empty apartment, Cage had known exactly where Calla had gone. He’d found her resting so comfortably in the space, and had been ready to pick her up and bring her to bed when he’d seen the sketchbook on the chair, not the table where he’d left it.

It was a new one he’d just bought the day before to start framing out new jobs, since he’d put out the word that he’d be taking orders again. He flipped through to find the first twenty or so pages taken up with sketches and a signature with a jagged E.

At least the old man gave us this. Because their grandfather had been the artist in the family. His father was a good mechanic, but he’d never had the patience for putting together a bike from scratch.

But Eli did, at least from what these drawings indicated. And he had the potential for a talent well beyond Cage’s . . . if he kept practicing.

Cage would gladly make room for another artist in his garage, but what Eli needed wasn’t in this space.

He needs you, Tenn had told him that morning. But Cage had learned that sometimes giving people their freedom to grow was the best gift you could give them.

Cage was dealing with finding Eli a tutor for his GED. He couldn’t enroll him in school without bringing child protective services down on him in some fashion. For the moment, there was a fragile peace and getting the law involved would make it much worse. I understood that, because in this situation Eli would be placed back with the Heathens, or in foster care. I wasn’t sure exactly which would be worse, but Eli threatened to run if CPS got involved.

I was going to hang around the apartment, but Preacher came to pick me up. I was surprised to see him, but when I went to let him in, he shook his head and said, “Let’s take a ride and get something to eat.”

He had his truck, a dark gray Suburban that rumbled as he drove it. We parked in town and walked through to the small restaurant. It was a warm day, so we sat outside. It was the first time I really got to people-watch and I enjoyed it. A couple of other Vipers members came to join us, and there were others going about their business in town.

As the afternoon wore on, I watched the men and women, cognizant of what Cage had told me, that most of the general population didn’t know the contributions Vipers made. But maybe it took an outsider to notice, because I could see easily how the town treated these men, and me by extension, with a mixture of fear and gratitude. I saw it in their eyes—the little boys who watched the leather and Harleys with a gleam of awe as mothers and fathers hurried them by. Fathers, maybe a little more slowly, and I definitely saw some mothers looking over their shoulders.

Everyone has a wild side.

I also saw it in the giggle of older teenage girls as they gazed on the bikers for just a little too long.

The dichotomy was fascinating.

The town definitely knew that Vipers was a big part of their infrastructure.

“Does it bother you?” I asked Preacher after two teenage girls focused on him, giggling and reddening like he was a celebrity, until an older woman sternly shooed them away and glared at Preacher as though he’d encouraged it.

Which, for the record, he hadn’t.

“What? That I’ll never be invited to Sunday dinner?” Preacher asked now. “Fuck ’em. They should be grateful.”