Vipers Run (8 page)

Which was why everything about Calla concerned him. More often than not, the old ladies of the clubs had grown up around the MC, and if they didn't, they were well enough versed in the ways of club life. The real version, not the romanticized one.

And then there were the MC groupies. The mamas. Similar to the women who looked for soldiers to marry. They knew what soldiers were capable of, and they knew that the job involved more than wearing a uniform.

Calla knew more than most civilians, unfortunately because of what he'd put her through already. But once that situation was over . . . no matter how hard it was for him, he was going to have to give her the choice to walk or push her out the door.

He knew he was trouble, more than any one woman should have to deal with. He also had an
expiration date—if his family had anything to say about it. By running off on his own to get Calla, he knew he might be cutting himself off from the only family who'd ever given a shit about him.

But for now it seemed they were standing by him. He'd go back to Skulls and take whatever he had coming to him.

It was almost time to head to the Vipers MC, and I felt like mourning that. At the cabin, for a little while, at least, we were just Calla and Cage, no pasts, only present. Even though we were both wanted, we were also hidden from the world. We had each other all to ourselves.

Until Tals showed up to rip the curtain away and drag us back to reality.

“Did you ever just want to escape everything? Escape who you are, who you're supposed to be? Run from the expectations until you know what you expect from yourself?” I asked Cage now.

He gave a small smile, almost rueful. “I know a little something about all that.”

As foolish as it may sound, this cabin was our literal escape. Maybe a little too literal for my tastes, but now that the imminent threat of
danger had passed, it was just us. And I didn't want to argue or worry anymore.

I just
wanted
. “So we're going to Skulls Creek.”

“I don't know if I'm welcome there anymore. But for you, I'm willing to try.”

“Suppose they don't welcome you?” I didn't know much about MCs, but what little I did convinced me that the Vipers wouldn't just wave and let Cage walk off into the night.

“We'll be okay, Calla. They're good people.”

I ran my hands over the tattoo on his biceps, the viper curled around the knife, the grim reaper skull with the not so grim smile, like he held the secrets of the world. I sighed. “I don't want to leave this place.”

“No one does.”

“Then maybe the MC should move here.”

“Wouldn't be special anymore. Besides, who's got that many secrets?”

“You'd be surprised,” I murmured, and he smiled a little.

“You're going to let me in on all of them, you know. You've already started. No going back now, no matter how hard you try.”

And did I really want to go back? My future was scary as anything, but that future promised me a life.

“So what does the MC do for you?”

“We watch out for each other. Help through hard times. Keep the town safe. Drink, fight, tattoo, screw. And ride.” He smiled at “ride.”

“You're dangerous.”

“If you're the wrong person, yes.” He shrugged. “No different than any family.”

“Any gang or mafia family.”

“We're a club, Calla,” he said seriously, before pulling me closer. I escaped his grasp, though, and sank to my knees in front of him.

He ran a hand through my hair as I knelt between his legs. I'd never wanted to do that for anyone else in my twenty-three years.

Ran a hand along his thigh, his muscles tensing under my palms.

I wanted to make him lose it. Completely, one hundred percent lose it. He'd nearly done so at Tenn's, but now that we were alone, would he let the facade drop more? Or was this him?

No, it couldn't be. I had walls high enough for armed guards, so I could recognize similar boundaries.

I unzipped his jeans and tugged them down. He shifted to help me, and ran my finger over the head of his cock, avoiding the piercing for the moment.

“Yeah.” He smiled as I looked up at him. I tongued the piercing and he hissed with pleasure, and then I took him into my mouth.

His entire body tensed and he groaned my name as he bucked his hips up into me. I took him in again and again, sucking harder as he got more frantic. Until finally he tugged at me, saying, “Fuck, Calla . . . need to be inside of you when I come.”

Reluctantly, I rose and stripped as he watched. And then he picked me up and flipped me to the couch bed and covered me.

I was simply greedy for him—there was no other way to put it. I needed him to be mine, all mine—and the feeling seemed to be mutual, judging by the way he held me down and nipped along my tender flesh. Marking me.

“Harder,” I told him. “I want to see marks there.”

He stared down at me, his eyes blazing with lust. “You're trying to kill me, Calla.”

“Why would I do that? You couldn't fuck me then.”

He groaned and slid halfway down my body. He licked my cleft as I watched, unable to do more than grasp the sheets and pant. Between my legs was a pulse of pleasure. And then he licked his way back up my body, driving into me,
hard and fast, like he couldn't wait any longer. I knew I couldn't.

I buried my nose in his hair, the crook of his neck, and hung on while he took me. He was so completely, intensely male, and right at this moment he
was
one hundred percent mine.

How he could so quickly demolish all the heavy walls I'd built around me—around my heart—I didn't know. The tears that ran down my face did nothing to diminish the ferocity of my orgasm. And even as my core convulsed, I wanted more.

It was a beautiful, brutal race to orgasm for both of us. My climax was a quivering, heated roll of delight as it uncoiled, rushing through me.

* * *

Affection was the most painful thing of all—the most dangerous too—because it dug into Cage's heart and lied to him, told him everything would be all right.

She was afraid of it too, maybe as much as she was of him. She didn't trust it, or him, or her feelings.

But goddamn, they made each other feel. He was all revved up and so was she. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shone, and even with the death-defying race, this experience had proven something. They were both alive.

Did anything else really matter
now?

The long ride chilled Cage out for a while, mainly because it was uneventful. No Heathens to be found. Their MC was several hours away from Skulls Creek, in the opposite direction of Havoc. There were other MCs and gangs along the way that were friendlies with Vipers and just as many that weren't. But the friendlies would let them know the second they spotted a stray Heathen, because if there was one thing Heathens didn't do, it was stealth. They were proud to let you know they were coming for you.
They valued brute force, and their numbers had grown.

Once he passed the familiar sign for Skulls Creek, his unease grew. Tals had trailed him for the ride, and dawn broke as they pulled through the main strip of town. Store owners were just
starting their day. Some waved, others ignored—business as usual in the town.

And the prodigal son returns.

He could practically feel Preacher's reprimand from here.

Behind him, Calla held fast, although her grip got easier the longer they rode, and the trip was nothing like the chase the night before. Still, she was as tense as he was, and nothing he could say would make it better.

He'd gone rogue from the Vipers six months earlier. He'd lied, said it was because his sister needed him, but Marielle was safe and sound, in sunny Florida (which she hated), and he was tearing up the strip between the Vipers and the Heathens, looking for any intel that would fry those motherfuckers.

And, oh, he'd found it all right. Way more than he'd bargained for, and he'd laid his life on the line. If he didn't see it through, then people died for nothing. And no one who'd ever helped him would die for nothing.

He pulled into the long driveway and parked behind Vipers clubhouse. As he helped Calla off the back, Tals was already headed inside, clapping a hand to Cage's shoulder as he went.

Calla stood next to him as he surveyed the
place. Had he been expecting a change? Did he think he'd feel differently, coming back?

“Are you all right?” she asked now. He slung an arm across her shoulder protectively and nodded. They walked toward the back door together.

He didn't know how she'd feel about Vipers. He'd lived this life for so long that he barely noticed it, but he was trying to see it from Calla's point of view.

It was big and loud and clean . . . it looked masculine and lived-in. It was a safe place. A party place. His home, his family. There was more sex happening here than he'd ever imagined. Sex and violence and guns and love. And that was what he'd grown up with, until the drugs had taken over the Heathens, and his mother.

Preacher was watching him carefully from the moment they entered. Preach was forty—but had acted more like a father even though he was only ten years older than Cage. Mainly because Cage had been only ten when he'd stumbled into Vipers at midnight, a refuge from the Heathens. And Vipers had circled him, because you didn't just get a present like that from a rival gang and do nothing, no matter how old the kid. Especially a boy.

Preacher made sure they'd done nothing. And then he'd abolished any kind of revenge exacted
on children for any MC. And he'd kicked guys out of the club for doing so over the years.

That was all because of Cage. So for him to see the betrayal on Preach's face now . . . Well, fuck . . .

“There's nothing you can say to make it better.”

With a starter like that, where the hell was Cage supposed to go?

“I'm guessing you're not welcome?” Calla asked him, the uncertainty in her voice making him hold her hand tighter.

“I'll let Preacher be the judge of that,” Cage said.

“You're damned straight, Cage. I'm the goddamned judge, jury and executioner,” Preacher growled. “And who the hell is she?”

Preacher knew exactly who Calla was and why she was there, care of Tals, but that didn't mean Preacher wasn't going to enjoy the hell out of Cage's discomfort.

“Calla's staying here. With me. Until I can figure out a way to get the Heathens off her back.”

Calla stiffened beside him, especially when Preacher said, “You didn't even ask if you were invited back inside, Cage.”

“Didn't think I had to.”

“Well, you fucking do.”

He wasn't scared of Preach, not like he'd been
that first night, ten years old and fucking terrified. But anything had been better than staying with the Heathens. Anything had been better than watching his mother burn down their house because she was high.

Anything was better than another goddamned beating because he'd flushed her drugs down the toilet, and any others he'd found in the clubhouse.

“Hey, Tals? Come show Calla where she can catch a breather for a few minutes,” Preacher called, and Tals came out of the back.

“It's okay—he'll grab you something to eat. You can hang out in my space and I'll be there soon,” Cage assured her. Bent down to kiss her cheek.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she told him.

He should've known better than to think that the same woman who'd argued with him when he'd been almost dying would go down easy now.

* * *

I knew I should be afraid, but I was really tired of men ordering me around. With Cage, it was different, though. I knew he was trying to keep me safe and away from the impending argument with Preacher, but I wasn't having it.

Preacher studied me for a long moment, not saying a word. Maybe I was supposed to look
away or kowtow or something, but I thought about how, somewhere over the last forty-eight hours, I'd begun to admit that I could believe in his promises.

I didn't walk away from a guy like that, especially not when he might be in trouble. “He saved me,” I told Preacher firmly.

“He got you in trouble in the first place,” Preacher pointed out.

“Men get women in trouble all the time. Most of them don't bother to make good on it.”

Preacher frowned and I swore I heard Tals chuckle. Cage just watched me, like I was a ticking time bomb, especially when Preacher came closer.

He ran a finger across my jawline. I had to admit, he was sexy as anything, even with the shaved head, except I wasn't used to being treated like I was best in show. Before I could react, Cage growled and Tals said, “Down, boy,” except I wasn't sure which one of them he was referring to.

I don't think they knew either, but Cage ground out, “Keep your fucking hands off her. She's with me.”

Preacher looked over my shoulder at him. “You claim her?”

“Damned straight.”

Preacher took a couple of steps back, and I breathed, just a little. “Calla, this is my house. Go
with Tals, get some food and let me talk to this asshole alone.”

I sensed that arguing would just make things worse between the men, but at least some understanding had been reached—he acknowledged me, used my name. And so, with a squeeze of Cage's hand, I followed Tals.

At first glance, the clubhouse reminded me a little of the dorms in my first boarding school. The community room was packed with furniture and a bar, and I could look down a hallway to see all the rooms spreading off from it. There was a staircase at the end of the hall too.

And it was pretty quiet in here, save for a couple of bikers who played pool, beers balanced on the edge of the table. They looked up to acknowledge Cage, and one of them whistled as he stared.

“Calla, that's Cage's place—bathroom's in there too. I'll make some breakfast—come meet me out here when you're done.” Tals directed me into an unlocked room, and I closed the door behind me, sagged against it and simply breathed.

The dynamics would continue to shift now that we were at Vipers. I'd known that. But it was a huge change. I went from being his focus to being left alone, told to stay put. And I didn't know what else to do but listen to him. To all of them.

It was day one here. I was already freaking out. I'd been brought into another world where I didn't belong, where I needed to figure out how to pretend to get along. No matter what, my past was always in my way.

Speaking of pasts, I tried to get a sense of what Cage's life was like here before he'd left Vipers . . . maybe even before the Army. His room was scattered with pictures—of him with Tals and the others, leaning on his bike . . . partying. A couple of him in uniform. There were some clothes in the drawers. A bed. The sheets looked clean, but I'm sure if it could talk . . . I'd want it to shut up.

As well as I felt I knew him, there were whole sections of his life that were missing. I'd have to cobble together puzzle pieces.

My mind was spinning from exhaustion but I was too wired to even try to sleep. It was light out now, had barely been so when Cage's bike drove past the sign for Skulls Creek. Tals had been slightly behind us and to our right, and they'd ridden in this synchronized formation for the past four hours. I'd been hypnotized by most of it, once we'd gotten on the smooth highway roads. In the dark, Cage went fast and I'd tried to settle my nerves by concentrating on the feel of the bike under me, and how this was something Cage loved. He had to in order to be a part of an
MC. And even though I had been only on the second ride of my life, I could easily understand the headiness of the freedom of the open road.

* * *

“Just because Tals came around doesn't mean the other guys will,” Preacher started out.

Cage stared at him steadily. “Guessing that includes you?”

“I am so not in the mood for your shit today.” Preacher ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “You didn't ask permission to go rogue.”

“I knew you'd say no,” Cage countered.

“I should beat your ass,” Preacher muttered. But he knew—Preacher always knew why Cage did the things he did. “None of what happened the night you came home from the Army was your fault.”

“Keep trying to tell me that,” Cage said quietly.

Preacher tried a different tactic. “How's Marielle?”

“She's okay. But she wants to come here.”

“Not raisin' your whole fuckin' family, Cage.”

“Didn't ask you to, Preach. So fuck off.” He slammed the nearest wall with a fist, several times—mainly because it felt goddamned good to hit something—until Preacher said, “Stop.”

His voice was sharp and calming, like he knew
where Cage was headed. “You're having the nightmares again.”

Cage shrugged as he shook out his hand. “They always come back. Not a surprise.”

“They're back because of what you're doing, trying to win a one-man war against the Heathens.”

“Like I have a choice.”

“'Course you do,” Preach growled.

“Not getting Vipers involved in a war. They stay out of Skulls, it's not your problem.”

“But they're not,” Preacher said with an uncharacteristic quiet that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Come again?”

“You heard me, Cage. They're pushing back. They've been selling about an hour away from here, thinking we won't get word. Using skinheads to push their agenda when the local law won't fold.”

Shit. Cage ran a hand through his hair, missing the length it was before he'd asked the nurses in the hospital to cut it all. They'd had to shave a part of it to stitch him, and he'd been only too happy to start over. He felt for the familiar leather thong he'd always tied it back with, still in his pocket. He always tied it back when Vipers went to war. And he'd nearly missed the first battle. “Now what?”

“You and me, we're taking a little joyride in the
next couple of days. I've got something to show you.” Preacher stared at me. “Calla stays here while we're gone. That shit can't be a problem.”

“She gets it.”

“Does she really?”

If she didn't, she would soon. And by then, it might be too late for both of them. “I don't think we'll stay here tonight, though.”

“I think your apartment's best,” Preacher agreed. “But the pleasure of your goddamned company is requested at the bar this evening.”

It wasn't a mere invitation, and Cage nodded his assent at the directive. Preacher dismissed him with a wave of a hand, and normally any authority doing so would rankle him. But it had always been different with Preach.

Cage wandered toward the back to where Tals was cooking breakfast. His friend glanced over his shoulder. “Might want to check on your girl—she locked herself in your room.”

“Windows are barred.”

Tals grinned. “Things are that bad you think she'd try to escape from you? Brother, what're you doing wrong?”

“Fuck off, Tals.”

Tals leaned against the counter as he flipped pancakes with his usual array of chocolate chips in them.

“Gonna tell me to fuck off when I've got the information you asked for?”

“That fast?”

“I'm that good. Thought we'd take a road trip later on.”

“How far?”

“Closer than you'd think. I talked to Bear and Rocco. They'll stay outside your apartment for you to keep watch over Calla.”

At least two more club members were willing to not give him shit about leaving the MC high and dry. He sighed in relief. “You don't have to go with me.”

“Of course I do—I'm the only one who can keep you from getting into deeper trouble.”

“You really believe your own shit.” He pointed directly at Tals. “And you're not stealing any cars along the way.”

Tals shrugged. “They jump out at me. Make it so easy.”

Cage rolled his eyes but smiled internally. It was good to be back where he was understood, no matter how angry Preach and the others might be at him. And they were, for sure, but Calla was safe here until he figured out the meaning of the intel he'd gained.