Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

Black leather.

MC patch.

Snake.

I breathed harshly when I saw the scars, bunched like cords along the side of his neck. I didn’t know what would happen when I looked up farther, but I wasn’t worried. I found myself staring at a pair of angry, beautiful eyes, a calm expression that looked fierce because of scars running down the left side of his face and neck. The fresh scars that riddled his cheek did nothing to diminish his handsomeness. If anything, they made him inexorably more sexy.

“Calla.”

The voice was hoarse. Raw. Dangerous.

Calla.

That one word. I’d fallen in love with him when he’d said my name on the phone that very first time. It was him.

Christian Cage Owens.

There were so many emotions flying through me at the moment, they all fought for equal attention. When I opened my mouth, I had no idea what would come out . . .

“I thought you were dead.” Not a bad opening.

“I told you I don’t break promises, sweetheart.”

I’d been led to think he was dead for nearly two months and that’s all he could say? “Alive, and an asshole.”

He gave a clipped nod of his head, but something flickered behind his eyes before they went cold and hard again. “Now that we’ve got that shit out of the way, let’s go.”

In every dream, every fantasy, Cage came back for me, and I went with him without hesitation.

But we were firmly entrenched in reality. “Go? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

If it had gone smoothly, Cage probably would’ve flatlined. Again. Instead, he stared at Calla, knowing there was no way to keep the hunger from his eyes. In his mind, he’d already laid claim to her. She’d given him something to hang on to—a reason to fight, to live, something to come back to. He’d come back for her because she’d reminded him that there was always a reason to keep fighting.

He’d rehearsed what he was going to say to her the entire ride here.

Hey, I didn’t die. Good to meet you.

Thanks for taking one for the team.

I hope you had unlimited cell phone minutes.

Because really, what did you say to someone after she offered to help you and, in return, you fucked up her entire life? Calla Benson had a bounty on her head, because the Heathen chapter up in New York knew she’d worked for Bernie. And they knew she was missing. And even if she’d run away for reasons entirely unrelated to his shit, the Heathens would be looking for her, just in case.

He had a bounty on his head too, but that was nothing new—he’d been born with it in place.

And since he still hadn’t known what to say, he’d almost turned back. As it was, he’d been avoiding Tenn for weeks. Talon too. And Preacher, even though he and Tals had visited him in the hospital, had known he wasn’t dead even before Tenn did. As soon as Cage had pulled through, they’d all walked out and now he was left with finding a way to make amends to all of them.

But Calla was first on the list. Preacher was going to kill him anyway, so what the hell difference did it make?

Calla.

She was gorgeous. He’d had beautiful women before, but Calla Benson was in an entirely different league. He’d researched her as soon as he could sit up. And he hadn’t been prepared to play bad boy from the other side of the tracks to her “I’m a rich girl pretending to be something I’m not” act.

Although maybe it wasn’t an act.

He stilled as she stared at him. The stare was expected; the softness in her eyes while she did so, not as much. He ignored that part, though, even turned his head so she could get a full look at the scars. They were barely healed, ugly as fuck—and he didn’t give a shit. His heart was still beating.

Because of the pretty, cool blond in front of him. She’d turned from soft to goddamned angry in an instant, and if looks could kill, he’d be a goner. “You’re still pissed.”

“You think?” She wasn’t scared of him. She was angry . . . because he’d hung up the phone. Because he wouldn’t let her help. Because he hadn’t gotten in touch and because Tenn had kept his secret, knowing she’d be pissed at him for it.

There were a lot of pissed-off people circling him. And here he was, prepared to add another one to the already long list. “Calla—”

“Don’t.” She took a step back. Watched him, like she was trying to take it all in. He stayed in place for her inspection, watched her watching him. Jesus, he was naked under that gaze, and somehow she didn’t goddamned know it. Yet.

Cage continued to stare at me. His stance was aggressively, blatantly sexual. All anyone would have to do was look at him to know he’d know exactly what to do with a woman in bed.

When I didn’t say anything, he walked toward me. He moved like a predator, smooth and silent, with more than a hint of danger. Big, strong, graceful. He moved like a motorcycle, sleek, fast, nimble, able to take corners on the fly.

Economy of movement while watching everything without seeming to, and missing nothing. I was vibrating. The need to reach out and touch him was overwhelming, and so I did—ran my fingers along his bare wrist. His skin was warm under my fingertips. Solid. Alive.

Most definitely alive.

Which was good, because now I was going to kill him. Unless Tenn beat me to the punch.

As if reading my mind, he said, “You can’t be angry at me for keeping a promise.”

The anger and fear that had lodged itself in the back of my mind came out swinging. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t even know me.”

“I know more about you than most, though, Calla.”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

He was enjoying this too much and I hated the way my body tugged to his. Traitorous bitch. I moved away from him quickly and grabbed the nearest thing I could reach—a glass—and threw it at him. He ducked, it shattered and then I heard a resounding “What the fuck is going on out here?”

Tenn entered, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweats, and he was looking at me, but only for a second. Then he turned his head to Cage. “Four in the fucking morning?”

Cage shrugged, his big shoulders moving fluidly. “Yeah, like you’ve got a nine-to-five thing happening here.”

“Such an asshole,” Tenn muttered, and I pretty much vacillated between agreeing and throwing myself at Cage.

I settled for getting mad at Tenn instead, because it was painfully obvious that Tenn wasn’t surprised to see Cage alive and kicking. “You knew and you didn’t say anything.” When he didn’t respond, I had my answer. The sense of betrayal overshadowed everything Tenn had done for me. “Bastards. Both of you.”

“Calla—” Cage said.

“You two belong together,” I told him.

“I don’t swing that way,” Cage said seriously.

“Impossible. Completely impossible,” I muttered.

“And here I thought you’d be happy to find me alive” was Cage’s answer.

I whirled to face him. “I’d have been happier not to have mourned you. Do you have any idea what that’s been like for me?”

Cage glanced over at Tenn and, yes, I could see he knew all about how goddamned hard it’d been. His expression was guarded. I turned back and focused on Tenn too, because neither of them was getting off the hook. “You knew what I was going through and you let me.”

Tenn looked pained. “I won’t make excuses for what I did. You came here for help. Help’s what I gave you,” he said firmly, and then he softened. “There was shit to figure out, Calla.”

“There’s always shit to figure out. You let me think he was dead.”

“That was for your own good. And it’s this asshole’s goddamned fault.” Tenn pointed at Cage, who shrugged apologetically. Tenn went to smack him in the back of the head, but Cage ducked in time.

Ducked, and still defended Tenn, telling me, “It’s not his fault.”

I refused to let Tenn off the hook, mainly because it meant dealing with Cage. “If he knew you were alive and didn’t tell me—”

“You think it was easy, letting you cry yourself to sleep every night?” Tenn announced, and that hung in the air between us. “And you—” He pointed to Cage. “Don’t get a big head over that.”

I stared at Cage, watching Tenn’s words register on his face. Then he relaxed again and said, “As much as I’d love to let you two kiss and make up, I’ve got to get Calla out of here.”

He took what seemed like a single stride over to me, and before I could move he had a hand on my arm, his grip on my biceps gentle but unmoving.

If the electricity that sparked between us was any indication of what could happen if I was alone with him again, I was in trouble. And as much as I didn’t want to know that right now, attempting to jerk away from his touch would only prove that I couldn’t. I was tired of proving my inadequacies, tired of always knowing that the other shoe always dropped. “You ruined my life. And you scared me. Anything else you’d like to do while you have the floor?”

“Your life sounded pretty busted before I came into it,” he said. And as much as the truth hurt, I hated him for being right.

“So did yours,” I shot back.

“You’re right. You gave me something to fight for, Calla. Something—someone—to come back to.”

“This is crazy. You don’t even know me.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I hung up. I know what you’ve been through—I know it’s my goddamned fault, so I’ve got to make it right.”

“You made me mourn you.”

“So, what—I don’t know you, but you knew me enough to mourn me?” he asked.