Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

“Maybe you should stay out of it.”

“I can’t, Calla. You invited me into your life—”

“Because you dragged me into yours—”

“And I’m here. I’m not leaving. And that means I have to help you stop fucking hurting yourself over something that was never your fault or Jameson Bradley’s.”

“And I’m here.” I blinked at him.

“And I love you, Calla.”

“Damn you, Cage. Just damn you. Because you know I love you too.”

The next morning, while Calla slept, Preacher came over. He was tense as hell and Cage let him pace for a few minutes before saying, “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got some information. It’s not good.”

“Tell me.”

“The Heathens are planning on taking Eli back with Harris’s support. He’s got a file on us that supposedly has us running meth. And shows you and Tals at the scene of Ned’s murder.”

“All bullshit.”

“Of course. But the Heathens have his full support. We get taken down, they push their meth into Skulls and it’s all over.”

“I’ve got the intel for the RICO case, Preacher. That’ll cause a lot of reasonable doubt.”

“Right. They know that. And they haven’t found the safety-deposit box.”

“And they don’t know for sure if Calla knows about it.”

“I don’t think that matters.”

Preacher was right. All they had to do was take her and they knew Cage would give it up. Or they thought he would. Cage would hunt them down and kill them for touching her—he’d find a way to not let that happen.

By keeping her on lockdown forever?

“Shit,” Cage muttered.

“After I talked to the Heathens, I spoke to Harris.”

“What the fuck?”

“He contacted me. Said he’ll walk away from the Heathens, leave them hanging—and leave Flores hanging—if you let Calla go.”

“What the fuck? Let her go where?”

“Anywhere away from you.”

“Please tell me you got this on tape?”

“You think he’d let that happen? Besides, he didn’t come straight out and say this. It was implied enough that I got it. Guy’s obsessed with her.”

That made sense. Sending her those pictures a couple of times a year ensured she was locked in his prison, unable to even think about trusting another man, thanks to Jeffrey’s reminders. But she had finally broken through and trusted Cage, and Cage wouldn’t let her go. “I hope you’re not asking me to turn her away.”

“Did I fucking say that?” Preacher yelled.

The rage inside of him boiled over quickly, but he forced himself calm so he could plan. “I’ll fix this.”

“I know. But first you have to tell her.”

“Why? So she can feel guilty?”

“Because if she finds out, which she will, she’ll be angry you didn’t trust her enough to make the right choice.”

“What is the right choice, Preach? Because I know what the goddamned right choice is for me.”

“What’s going on?” Calla was standing in the doorway, her eyes still full of sleep.

Preacher looked at Cage and said, “I’ll do this if you want.”

“Do what?” I was instantly on alert. I could feel the tension bleeding off both men. “Did something else happen?”

With a glance at Preacher, Cage told me about Jeffrey’s deal with the Heathens. About what he wanted Cage and Vipers to do with me.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cage growled.

I tugged my arms around myself and nodded. “It’ll be everywhere soon. Why would he want that?” I asked. “It will expose him. That’s the deal he made with my father—if we didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t. The second one of us fucks up that game of chicken, all bets are off.”

“He’s planning on saying that you loved it,” Preacher said flatly.

“What?” Cage asked. Apparently this was the first time he was hearing this too.

Preacher shifted. “He’s got a group of guys who said you begged them to do it. That it was part of a hazing for a secret sorority at the school you went to.”

I ground out, “But I didn’t.”

“I know, Calla.”

It was never going to end. As Cage came to me, I heard Preacher leaving. When the door shut, I said, “He’ll use me against you, so you lost your leverage.”

“I’ll find it again. Don’t you worry about that.”

I wasn’t. What did worry me were Jeffrey Harris’s last words to me, all those years ago in my father’s lawyer’s office. I hadn’t known that Jeffrey would be there, as well as the boys who’d been involved—maybe no one had. And when I froze, he looked at me and mouthed, “We’re not through.”

I knew what that meant. “Take the Heathens down.”

Cage shook his head, ground out, “At your expense? Never.”

“You have to, Cage. There’s nothing more Jeffrey can do to hurt me. It’s done, it’s over.”

“It’s not done until I say so,” Cage said, and I knew better than to contradict him. “He’s not going to keep his word, Calla. Don’t you get that? He’s going to find a way to arrest us, and then he’s going to keep coming after you. And Vipers. It will never end if we give in.”

Cage’s phone rang then, and he looked at the number, frowned and passed me the phone. I saw Bradley Industries and I picked up. “Dad? How did you—?”

My father breathed out a sigh, a surprised one. “Yes, Calla—I called the Vipers clubhouse. After I called a man named Tenn—I traced back the number you called me from. Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to see Cage watching me. “He’s sending me pictures.”

“Who?”

“Jeffrey.”

“Since when?”

“Since a few months after you paid him,” I said quietly. “It never stopped. He’s been doing it since then. And he’s threatening me again. Me and the man who saved me.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“You don’t know—”

“I know exactly where you are now, thanks to Tenn. You’re lucky I haven’t landed a helicopter on the roof of the Vipers clubhouse or Cage’s building,” he said.

I told my father to come to Cage’s apartment instead. Without the helicopter.

He came alone, driving a nondescript rental car, according to Rocco, who met him in the underground garage. The last thing we wanted was for Jeffrey to know Jameson Bradley was in town.

My father stepped into the apartment. I’d only seen him in person once—and that had been a haze. The experience was surreal.

He was my family. Down to the color of our hair. My breath caught, and even though this reunion was happening under the worst of circumstances, I ran to him.

He caught me in his arms with the grace of someone half his age. I’d expected him to be cold and aloof; instead, he was strong and comforting. And when we pulled back, he looked over my shoulder to where Cage was standing.

It was only then that I remembered my anger. “Why didn’t you try harder to see me before this?”

“Calla, I did try—”

“Right. Really hard, I’m sure. Like your helicopter couldn’t have just landed in the bar’s parking lot if you were that desperate to see me.”

“There was a restraining order against me,” he said quietly, and before I could say I didn’t believe him, he took two pieces of paper from his pocket and handed them to me. I grabbed them and read them as best I could, through tears and the shaking of the paper in my trembling fingers.

“I don’t understand—it’s saying that you can’t come near her or me. Because . . .”

“Because she lied,” he said flatly and handed me an envelope. I recognized my mother’s handwriting immediately. “I didn’t know about you until you were fifteen. Inside, is her apology. I never wanted to show you any of this, Calla. I really didn’t. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re in immediate danger and I need you to believe me . . .”

I did.

“We can talk more about this, but there are pressing matters, Calla. I’d like to get you out of here and get you someplace safe.”

“I don’t think so.”

Cage’s voice. As I watched, they stared each other down and I swore I heard music from the O.K. Corral, expected one or both of them to draw at any moment.

Finally Cage said, “You served.”

“Eighty-second Battalion.”

Army. These men were both Army. How did I know so little about my own father? How could Cage know that just from looking at him?

I studied them for a second, noticed they did have the same bearing. Maybe there was some kind of secret way of knowing.

And suddenly, the two men I figured would be enemies had their heads together, talking about making plans. For me.

“First I’d like to talk to Calla a bit, though,” my father said.

“I’ll go grab us some dinner,” Cage agreed. He gave me a kiss before he left, and my father and I sat down and dealt with the topic at hand.

“I wanted to prosecute. Your mother was worried about what it would do to your social status. She wanted that for you, Calla, for right or wrong. I should’ve fought her harder, but she convinced me that a lengthy trial would be too much for you.”

“Wait—you wanted to bring the police in on this?”

“Of course.” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes sad. “I don’t want to do this, play the ‘Disparage Your Mother’ game. She did what she thought was best.”

“She knew I didn’t want any of those trappings.”

“She thought you deserved them.”

“And what did you think?”

“I think that rich, poor and everything in between comes with its own set of problems. But I wanted to strangle that boy with my bare hands,” my father said fiercely. “It was only through the intervention of my friends that I’m not in jail today and I’m still pissed at myself for listening to them. Because sitting in jail, knowing that fucker was dead, would’ve been worth it. But they convinced me that keeping it quiet was the best for you. That something like that could ruin a fifteen-year-old.”