Vipers Run (20 page)

There would be too many questions at the ER, and although I didn't want to be at the clubhouse, I knew it was the best place to be. Because the police would come here soon, and they'd see what happened to me. They'd put two and two together, but I wouldn't admit to anything, because no matter what I said, it would indict the man I loved.

Holly helped me shower, got me dressed and settled me onto the couch. She gave me something to calm my nerves and wrapped me in blankets. I couldn't stop shaking, and I knew I was in a little bit of shock, but that would wear off when I saw Cage come in, safe and sound.

After an hour, Cage came in. He kissed me, then went to shower, as did Rocco. When he came back to me, he was dressed in clean clothes. We
were all sitting there watching a movie when the police cars came to the clubhouse, with Officer Flores coming to check on me.

I was bruised, but calm. I told her that someone dragged me into the woods and tried to assault me, but Holly scared them off. And no, neither of us knew who it was.

Preacher and Rally and Tals came in then, all of them looking clean and fresh . . . and reeking of booze. Flores eyed them suspiciously.

“Detective Flores,” Preacher boomed. “Nice of you to join us.”

“I was just leaving. I suppose you have alibis.”

“About six of them,” Preacher agreed.

Flores rolled her eyes.

When she left, I fell asleep in Cage's arms. When I awoke, we were all there, in the same spot—Tals and Preacher and Rocco and Eli and Holly—collapsed on the couches, with other members of the MC watching over us from various corners of the clubhouse.

Yes, this place could end up feeling like home after all.

* * *

Detective Flores came back to the clubhouse in the morning. I was sitting outside drinking coffee when she sat down next to me. I tensed,
because she had to know what had happened by now.

“Agent Jeffrey Harris is missing.”

“Really?” I sipped my coffee. “That's a shame.”

“It seems like he went crazy, murdered about six men from the Heathens MC in cold blood. Word on the street was that he'd agreed to help them move their drugs, but then he'd turned on them.”

“Sounds like there's no harm, no foul, then.”

“By all accounts, Jeffrey Harris was a decorated agent,” Officer Flores told me. “I haven't been able to find evidence to the contrary.”

I wanted to scream to tell her exactly what he'd done to me. “I'm sure he's got friends who vouch for that.”

“Many of them,” she agreed. “Several of whom tell a very interesting story about a time at a party when a young girl tried to get him in trouble.”

“Really?” I shifted.

“They wouldn't give a name,” she continued. “But there was talk of some pictures. Like the pictures I found in your brother's possession the night he died.”

I stared straight ahead. “I don't know what you want me to say.”

“Are you all right, Calla?”

I turned to her. “I am now. So you'll excuse me, Detective Flores, if the line between the good guys and the bad guys is pretty much goddamned blurred for me.”

She nodded. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“No offense, but I hope I never will.”

She gave me a small smile before disappearing around the corner.

I rested for a week before I went stir-crazy. Cage was with me the majority of the time, but today he had things to do. He didn't specify what things, but I assumed it had to do with cementing Eli's place with him.

Eli's mom was scared of retaliation. Cage made sure she was hidden until he could figure out the next steps. I knew Cage's sister also wanted to come back to Skulls too.

Eli and I went down to the shop next door to grab a quick soup and sandwich. Rocco was waiting outside. Eli had been drawing and I'd been lounging on the couch watching a movie, so I was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. Eli wore jeans and a T-shirt, and without the leather vest, he looked younger.

He went to grab sodas and I prepared to order.
The woman behind the counter eyeballed me, saying, “You're a new one.”

I raised a brow but didn't say anything beyond, “I'll have a number two on white bread and a number four on a roll, please. And two tomato soups.”

She rolled her eyes and put the soup into take-out containers, made the sandwiches in front of me, muttering all the while.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

She shoved the wrapped sandwiches at me, then put the containers up behind it. “You're one of theirs.”

I didn't say anything. Eli came up next to me and I swore I heard a mini Cage-like growl. The woman froze, stared at him.

“Can I just pay?” I asked.

“Fine,” she said. When I handed her a twenty, she said, “I've gotta grab change in the back.”

“Are you okay?” Eli asked.

“Fine.” And I was. I was also tired and stressed and still very worried about him and Cage and waiting for the other shoe to drop but . . .

She stormed out of the back and punched the register keys. She handed me change and shoved the food into a bag and Eli took it for me.

I didn't know what she was so angry about. I was the one who should be angry, since she was
talking about a revolving door with the Vipers and their women. But that was in the past . . .

“She didn't come back with change.”

“What?” Eli asked.

“She said she had to go to the back to get change. But she came back and used the register.” My last words were drowned out by the roar of motorcycles. Eli pushed me behind him and Rocco was coming toward us as a big guy got out of a van.

He had a Heathen patch—and a gun trained on me—and with his free hand, he pointed between Eli and the van, saying, “Come with us and no one gets hurt, Eli.”

“Eli, don't you dare go with him!” I called, but it was too late. Eli was at the door of the van and the gun was no longer pointed in my direction.

“He's the president of the founding Heathen chapter,” Rocco told me, holding my shoulder like he was worried I'd try to run and grab Eli.

The president looked at Eli, then at Rocco. “Tell Cage to call me. The kid'll be fine until then.”

* * *

Of course, it couldn't be over as easily as cutting his father and oldest brother out of his life forever. Eli was still at risk, because even though the feds and ATF were all over that particular
Heathens chapter, there were still others to answer to, including the main chapter. The original.

Cage took Tals with him to the bank where the box was being kept. They took it to a different bank, used a different code to lock it up tight.

“That takes care of Calla's involvement at least,” Cage said.

“You're not that naive,” Tals told him. And no, Cage wasn't. But they all knew that having anyone they loved in their lives made them vulnerable.

He was willing to take that chance, if she was.

“What? Rocco, slow the fuck down,” Tals was saying into his phone. Then he paled. “Okay. Got it.”

He hung up and said, “Cory's got Eli. Took him and said you need to call him.”

Two hours later, we sat in front of Cory, the president of the original Heathens chapter, who told Cage, “You sold out your family. And Eli's still a probie, which means he's still Heathen property and you're no longer a Heathen.”

“My family patched Eli in. He's fifteen. They tattooed him. He's not just a goddamned probie,” Cage growled. “You think that shit's cool, maybe you deserve to be taken down too.”

“Way to stay cool, Cage,” Tals said through
clenched teeth. “We're going to die if you're not careful.”

“Your friend's the smart one,” Cory said.

“First time anyone's ever accused him of brains,” Cage said. “And I wouldn't count on us being the ones to die.”

Tals put his head in his hands and groaned. “We have RICO evidence against all of you. We'll leave it alone if you give us Eli and leave Vipers the fuck alone.”

“I never agreed to that,” Cage said.

“But you're agreeing to get us dead,” Tals shot back.

Cory studied us carefully. Tals slid the key to the safety-deposit box across the table. “Only copy of the key and the tapes.”

“You could've used these against all of us—been rid of us once and for all.”

“I'd like to believe one bad bunch didn't spoil all of you.”

“Been watching this war for years, son.” Cory was pushing sixty. “Tough choice.”

“No, it wasn't,” Cage told him.

“Get Eli's tattoo covered.” Cory took the key and stood, knocked on the door. Eli came in, looking nervous but none the worse for wear.

Cage and Tals guided Eli out of the building
where Cory held the meeting—a neutral place, except it included a ring of Heathens. But none of them were familiar faces, which made Cage breathe a sigh of relief.

Once they'd driven far enough away to consider themselves safe, Cage growled to Tals, “I can't believe you did that—just handed over the tapes.”

“You wanted to.”

“I was about to, but you wouldn't shut up.”

“Can't believe I made a copy of the tapes either,” Tals told him.

“When?” Cage demanded, and when Tals shrugged, Cage sighed. “You got the numbers from Calla.”

“She didn't think you should ever give up all your evidence. But the fact that you were willing to, for family? That says it all.”

“We can remove it, but it'll hurt. It'll never be completely gone,” Cage told Eli honestly. “Or you can cover it with another tattoo.”

“Either way, there's always going to be a reminder,” Eli said. “But maybe some things you shouldn't forget, if they bring you to better things.”

“So fucking smart for fifteen. So much smarter than me.”

“I . . . ah, speaking of smart,” Calla started. “My dad and I might've done something. See, there's this school for artists in Manhattan . . .”

Eli's eyes lit up.

“And we showed them your drawings,” she continued. “It's midsemester, but they'll make an exception.”

“Wait a minute—is the only reason I got in because of your dad?”

“It didn't hurt, but, Eli, they wouldn't take you if you didn't have the talent.” She turned to Cage. “I don't want him to leave here—but he doesn't want this life.”

Cage stared between Eli and Calla. “Calla, your dad can keep an eye on him?”

“He's already got his guest suite set up. For you and your mom,” she said to Eli.

“I see no reason the kid shouldn't get a shot,” Cage said, putting his arm around Calla.

“Wait till I tell Mom!” Eli said. He gave Calla a hug, then Cage, then went to make the call.

“I can't believe you did that.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. Not at all. Jesus, Calla . . .”

* * *

Cage was staring at me, his eyes dark with lust when he said my name.

“I'm here, Cage. You're not getting rid of me.”

“And here I thought you were getting ready to run,” he admitted. “And I couldn't blame you. You've gone through hell. And while this part's over . . . there's still a dangerous world out there for us. You could go to your dad's. Start over.”

“I did start over. Especially once I realized that you really wanted me here. That we belonged together.”

“I sense a ‘but
.
'”

And there was. I didn't want to sound ungrateful but . . . “You have your thing, Cage. I don't have mine.”

“I'm your thing.”

“You know what I mean. I can't sit around all day waiting for you. Helping out at the tattoo shop and the bar here and there is fine and all, but . . .”

“Why rush it?”

I waved my arms. “You were born with this.”

“Sometimes you're born with it. Sometimes you stumble into it.”

“Supposed I never find it?”

“Suppose you do?” he countered. “Being with me won't stop that, will it?”

“No, it won't. But I have a plan.”

He smiled. “Bet you do.”

“Amelia said Preacher promised to find her someone to manage the bar, that her role was just temporary.”

“Here we go,” he muttered.

“So I was thinking, with the experience I have, maybe Preacher would hire me.”

“That's really what you want to do?”

“For right now, yes. From there, I'll figure it out.”

He sighed. Stared up at the ceiling. “Okay, fine. And Preacher said yes when I asked him.”

“What? Cage, there you go, doing that protection thing again!”

“Damned straight. Learn to love it.”

“I do. I love it. And you.”

Cage's expression softened. “I've loved you from that phone call, babe.”

I stood and moved to sit in Cage's lap, asking, “Who are you, Christian Cage Owens?”

“Just a broken guy, Calla. One you shouldn't be forced to stay with.”

“No one's been forcing me for a while,” I told him.

“I worry, Calla. I really fucking worry that this life is too violent for you.”

“Soft with steel underneath, remember?” I wasn't teasing with those words.

“You'll never get used to it.”

“So you're not?”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Then how do you do it?”

“I got better at dealing with it.”

“Then so will I.”

Cage fisted a hand on the table. “You shouldn't have to, dammit. You should be—”

“I want to stay here with you.
Want
—not have to. Because someone needs to protect you.” I ran my open hand over his fist and he laughed then, a look of disbelief, but ultimately he looked
pleased. His hand unfisted and he slid his palm against mine.

He stopped laughing when he saw I wasn't. Then he said, “Okay, yeah, Calla. You're right. You have to stay and protect me.”

It was my turn to laugh, which he quickly muffled with a kiss, a kiss that did that
Bang—you're naked
thing that seemed to happen around him. Because I belonged in this world—and I belonged with Cage. I also belonged to him, but the best part was that Cage also belonged to
me.