Vipers Run (4 page)

I went to the room I'd been staying in, flopped on the bed and stared at the Army picture for the umpteenth time.

The way his head was turned made it impossible to see his face. Had he done that purposely? I traced the profile. Tenn was laughing—so whatever Cage was saying to him was funny. Cage had been funny, even in his distress.

But Cage hadn't been in touch with Tenn, and I was trying so hard to believe Cage's promise, but for me, cold, hard truths were easier to deal with. Typically, truths and promises were so far apart they weren't even in the same universe.

Jeffrey Harris promised me things. At fifteen, I'd been naive enough to believe them. I believed it when my mom told me that I could fit in with the rich people at the boarding school—that I deserved that. I believed both Mom and Grams when they told me I was different. There was no more believing in promises that ripped my heart out . . . until Christian Cage Owens came along and did so.

Damn him. Because as several more weeks
went by, the seeds of doubt snuck in, no matter how hard I shoved them aside. It brought up the biggest issue I had.

What was I going to do? Were the police looking for me? I didn't think so. Bernie had left no information on me anywhere, had paid me in cash. Simply because of the nature of his business, he would make enemies. He hadn't wanted me to get mixed up in anything.

“Bernie,”
I whispered. He'd been so good to me and I hadn't been able to help him, or anyone, including myself.

But all that had to change, starting now. Because although Tenn was entertaining—and honestly, so was the porn—I was getting antsy.

I stayed in his loft, which was separate from the house/studio on the same property. We were far enough away from the general population of the small town and I didn't exactly walk in on porn shoots. But I was aware that it was happening around me—and that all these men around me were feeling damned happy most of the time. I wanted that for me.

Most days, I'd join whoever was at the big breakfast table instead of coming down when no one was there. Tenn treated it like it wasn't a big deal at all, and whatever guys were there at the time all followed suit. Tenn poured me juice,
Eddie shared a plate of pancakes with me, I ate and listened to everyone talk and laugh about their night and the day's shoots ahead.

It was good to be among the living.

One morning, Tenn hung around after the men split. We had more coffee, made small talk, and finally Tenn told me, “Sometimes, no news is good news.”

I wasn't sure he believed that—not fully, because he seemed to be mourning Cage too. He was quiet a lot of the time, and Kev, the young guy I'd seen writing in the notebook, told me that Tenn was too quiet. That this wasn't like him. Which made my heart even heavier.

Instead of retreading old ground, I said, “I need a job,” and when he paled, I quickly added, “Not one of yours.”

“Good, because that's not happening.” He gave a smile. “I can show you how to work a camera.”

I opened my mouth but “no” didn't come out. But really, filming gay porn—and really, many of the guys weren't gay at all—wasn't anyone's life's goal, was it? Even Tenn had a side business. “I've got to find myself.”

Tenn rolled his eyes. “I didn't realize you were lost.”

“You specialize in that.”

He sobered and nodded in concession. “You hide it better than most. Or maybe you're not as lost as you think you are.”

I swallowed the last of my coffee. “It's just . . . you've been really good to me.”

“I sense a ‘but.'”

“I can't stay here forever.”

I waited for the lecture about the dangers, about how I had no money, no job or car, but it never came.

Instead, he checked his watch. “I don't think we've hit forever yet, Calla. Not even close.”

My eyes opened sometime after four that morning. I woke restless as anything and I wasn't sure why. I tried to read a little, but I couldn't concentrate. I gave up, went to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth and figured I was up for good. Maybe I'd go watch some mindless infomercials or Bravo reruns of
Real Housewives
.

But as soon as I walked into the living room, my nerve endings tingled, like they were foretelling something of great importance. I looked around the now quiet first floor, a sense of impending change heightening my awareness, and I simply waited.

He stepped out of the shadows and I knew better than to be afraid. Not for my life at least—though I don't know how I knew. I just did, with
the same amount of certainty that I knew that the moon was still there, even if I couldn't see it through the clouds.

His walk was silent, even along a hardwood floor that squeaked under the best conditions, and despite his heavy black motorcycle boots. Because I'd dragged my eyes down there first, certain that once he caught my gaze in his, I'd never escape.

I tracked up his legs, clad in faded jeans that were especially worn in the crotch area—deliciously so—and up his broad chest to his shoulders. He wore a black T-shirt stretched across his chest, along with a black leather vest with a snake patch on the front.

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.

I blinked, because . . .
yes
.

“You really didn't fucking believe me,” he murmured. “I couldn't call—”

“Maybe not at first. But then it became more of a—you
wouldn't
call, right?” When he didn't argue, I asked, “After you recovered, you had time to call. But you didn't. You considered breaking your promise, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

I wasn't surprised he didn't deny it. I didn't know much, but I did know that the man in front of me was a straight shooter. And that he smelled so good I wanted to lean in and lick his neck. “Why?”

“Too many reasons to go into.”

“Just because you were alive didn't mean that you'd end up coming for me,” I whispered.

“I said I would.”

“I don't count on promises.”

“You need to start with mine,” he said firmly.

“You need to start doing a lot of things,” Tenn said pointedly to Cage, who I swore growled. “That shit doesn't scare me.”

“You know it should,” Cage told Tenn pointedly. “Calla, we're out of here.”

“I don't know if I'm leaving with you.”

“You don't know if you're leaving with me,” he repeated, like disagreeing with him was such a rare occurrence that he didn't recognize it. Or acknowledge it.

“I think she's still in the anger part of the grieving process,” Tenn offered.

“I'm not dead,” Cage said through clenched teeth.

“She thought you were,” Tenn shot back.

“So yeah, that's why I'm not sure if I'm going with you,” I said.

“While she's deciding, you can make some shit up to me,” Tenn said, and by the look on Cage's face, I could tell he knew what the favor was, and he didn't look happy about it, to say the least.

“Don't start, man.”

“You started it.”

“Could've called to check,” Cage said quietly, moving slightly away from me. He still held my arm while going chest to chest with Tenn, who growled, “I did. Would've expected to hear from you at some point. So you want to take her out of here without her consent, you're going up against me.”

“I'm not leaving without her.”

His words echoed—a threat and a promise. My mouth went dry. He was so damned male. Completely untamed. He looked like he'd been born on a bike, his motion fluid as he swung a jean-clad leg over and revved up.

“Then it looks like you'll have some time to do that favor you owe me while you try to convince both me and Calla that she should leave here with you,” Tenn said steadily.

Cage stiffened next to me, the frustration coming off him in waves. “Now is not the time, Tennessee.”

But Tenn looked both unimpressed at Cage's
using his full name and also pissed as hell. “I thought you were dead, fuckwad—even after Tals knew you were alive, you made him lie to me. So go play nice for the camera. Lucky that's all you've got to do.”

Cage let go of me and walked away cursing. I stared after him for a long moment before turning back to Tenn.

Tenn, who shoved a camera into my hand. “Put it on the tripod. Get everything except his face. From here up.” He put a hand on the middle of his nose. “Make sure the sound's on too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanted a job? You got it.”