Viper: A Dark Alpha Motorcycle Club Romance (Road Kill MC Book 8)

by Marata Eros

  “I know what property is,” Candice says and turns to me.

  Don't. I have time to think before she says it.

  “I'm nobody's.”

  I read the pain in her eyes from those words before she masks it with uglier ones.

  “Not yours. Not any man's. Ever.”

  My gut feels like it’s been kicked, and all I can manage is neutrality because I just laid it all out on the fucking line in front of my men. For her.

  And she doesn't look so lily white.

  “So if you don't want to be Viper's property, you're free game, sister,” Lariat grins, standing. “You're just a woman with more mystery than truth. All of it black as tar.”

  “Yeah,” Storm says, a broad grin spreading across his angry face.

  Her words are still stabbing at me like sucking little wounds, beginning to bleed me like happy leeches.

  Candice Arlington would rather be beaten to death by a bunch of bikers than show a bit of softness. But I saw what she tried to hide.

  Her silent call for help.

  She doesn't even know she threw out the SOS. Just did it desperately, like a Hail Mary.

  And I caught the signal. Because I was looking for it.

  She's never had anyone really throw down for her before. And I'm not talking MC life. I'm talking someone having her back. It's clear to me.

  And I'm not taking no for an answer. Candice Arlington is mine. Even if she doesn't know it. Even if she doesn't want it. Even though I didn't realize, until that very moment that I wasn't ever going to let go.

  Candice backs away from me, hands loose, breathing even.

  She's ready to fight them all.

  All fourteen of them. Pride and surprise wells inside me. Something fashioned this slip of a woman into hard lines even though she was soft against me.

  And I want that again. And again. More than I want anything else.

  Even more than the club.

  That's where I've really fucked up.

  “Anybody touches her, and I'll kill you,” I say. “No questions asked.”

  The men look at me. Take my measure. Understand that I'm as serious as a heart attack. “I'd never hurt another man's property.” My gaze sweeps the room. “And I expect you to protect Candice.”

  “Fuck.” Noose swipes a hand over his tightly bound hair, “You're not fucking around.”

  I shake my head. “Were you with Rose? Did you with Rose?”

  Noose blows out two rings in a row. “Hell no. Got after anything and anyone who thought to even breathe around her. That woman owns every chamber of my heart. I'd fucking bleed for her.”

  That should make the men laugh. Prompt smart comments.

  No one says anything.

  Probably because there are a few brothers who have the same disease of the heart.

  Like the terminal case I just caught.

  Chapter 17

  Puck

  Wearing a gun at each hip, I feel like one of those old-fashioned gunslingers.

  Can't blow my cover to Road Kill MC.

  My bike is warm and hard between my thighs. The comforting rumble is an abiding white noise and vibration I never want to give up.

  In a lot of ways, I'm more biker than cop now.

  That’s another excellent reason why Candi and I need to give up our careers. Neither of us know who we are anymore.

  Can't find ourselves.

  I knew where Candi's place was because we have trackers on each other's cars. Hers wasn't engaged, so now I'm relegated to using the shitty intel from Dagger that will hopefully lead me to my sister.

  Otherwise, it'd be a deathtrap to show up at a rival biker's club unannounced.

  I'll be announcing all right.

  Hell, I'm not supposed to know the location. I'm taking such a large risk by walking into this club that I don't want to think about it too closely.

  Doesn't matter anyway. Only Candi's welfare does.

  Rolling up the freshly asphalted drive toward Road Kill MC, I wind to the top.

  I back into an empty stall at one end of a gleaming row of bikes. It’s the easiest position to scream out of if I need to. My eyes sweep the structure with nothing more than a cursory glance.

  I might have admired the building if I weren’t so fucked up in the head about Candi. Right now, everything I take in is more about taking note of entrances and exits. Can I get out if she's there?

  If Candi is here—by some miracle, does she have a weapon?

  I swing my leg over my bike seat and straighten my spine as I walk toward the entrance. We'll find out.

  A prospect is just coming around from the back—probably taking a leak in the dense forest that encroaches the rehabbed building from every side—and spots me.

  There is a moment of comedic pause before he sees the Chaos Riders cut I’m wearing.

  His face shows every emotion right before he kind of goes bat shit.

  His hand rises to his mouth, ready to do a sharp whistle.

  I pull my gun and shoot his foot.

  I'm committed.

  He drops to the ground, holding the injured foot, and for a moment, I feel bad about it. Then I remember that nobody and nothing matters but my sister.

  He opens his mouth to scream, and I say, “Don't make a noise.”

  I'm the only cavalry Candi has, and I'm not going to let Fucknuts here wreck it.

  I bet her only fed contact is trying to raise alarm bells over her missing the meeting. But they'll be too late.

  Leaving the prospect moaning on the ground, I hit the lever on the door and give it a yank.

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  A numbered pad softly glows to the right of the door.

  “Number?” I bark at him.

  The kid's probably pushing twenty-one.

  He flips me the bird.

  I move the gun so the barrel is the only thing filling his vision, and he rattles off the number.

  I punch it in with my free hand while keeping the weapon rock steady. With a chime and a sigh, the bolt gives, and I throw open the door.

  Turning to the writhing prospect on the ground, I say, “You're never going to patch in, numb nuts.”

  I show him my back and walk through the threshold, letting the door close behind me with a slam.

  As I anticipated, the place is booming with loud music, effectively having muffled the gunfire.

  Several things happen at once.

  Two prospects get a load of my cut, which I make no attempt to hide, and start shouting.

  I lift the gun and that's a better message than my one word.

  “Quiet,” I say in the loudest voice I dare. It carries.

  A couple of kids cower way at the back of the building by an attractive Nordic-looking blonde.

  Calem Oscar is one of the children.

  My heartbeats pound against the inside of my ribcage. Maybe—just maybe—if the child is here, Candi is too.

  I stride over to them, waving my gun like a flag at any male who draws nearer.

  “Don't get clever,” I say, cruising through the center of the building and casting the net of my vision wide, taking in what it can.

  The blonde puts the two older kids behind her and shields a baby with her hand. “Please…” Big crocodile tears crawl down her face. “Please don't hurt my baby,” she whispers.

  “Not here for that,” I reply, then my eyes find Calem.

  His gaze moves over my arm, then he asks uncertainly, “Puck?”

  I look down where his eyes just were and see my old tattoo of a hockey stick and puck. I nod. “Yes.”

  He comes out from behind the young woman with the baby and holds out his hand. His eyes flick to the gun then back to my face.

  “Hang on to a beltloop, Calem.”

  Doing it without question, he asks, “Are we going to save Miss Candi?”

  My face snaps to his for a moment, then I'm back to wondering what Road Kill rider is going to launch on me while we're di
scussing shit. “Where is she?”

  He tugs me in the direction of an unmarked door at the back.

  Good place for church. A smart move for anyone thinking to invade the club. Labeling the door “church” would just be inviting a mass killing if someone with hostile intent showed up during church.

  They would just bust in and spray bullets. Take out the entire club hierarchy in a few seconds.

  The Chaos Riders clubhouse has a similar door, which is soundproofed. I can't be sure Road Kill's is, but I'm betting on it.

  I turn, grabbing Calem, and spread the range of the gun outward.

  Several men had creeped up behind us.

  They raise their hands as we back slowly toward the door.

  The blonde hides an older kid underneath a table then crawls underneath herself with the toe-headed baby. Tears streak her face and what little make-up she was wearing is gone, leaving her face pinched and pale.

  If my sister's life wasn't at stake, I would feel like a dick for scaring an innocent.

  I keep moving until I feel the knob beneath my hand. I turn and push it open at the same time, slamming the thing against the wall in case someone's tucked behind the door.

  They’re already shouting, or they would have heard my entry and been more prepared.

  The door starts to come back, and I kick it shut, sliding the latch by feel as I sweep Calem behind and against me.

  A body lands on it in the next second, but they can't get in. It's just me and the Road Kill MC men.

  My breath is one searing mass inside my lungs. Burning me up as my eyes search the room.

  Then I see Candice.

  And she sees me.

  The look in her eyes—there will be no forgetting it as long as I draw air.

  Relief.

  Love.

  And the best part: an expectation met.

  Standing tears cloud her jewel-like eyes. And I know right then that Candi understood—down to her marrow—that I would come for her.

  “What the fuck?” a big guy with kinky red hair roars, his eyes wildly roaming over me, the kid, and the gun. Then he launches himself across the table… and into the pathway of my gun.

  The gunshot is loud in the small space, making a dull thud when the bullet plugs the guy playing Superman right in the thigh.

  Calem screams, high and piteous.

  Fuck.

  I lift the barrel higher, swinging the end at all comers while a blossom of blood sprouts from the guy's leg. He howls, clutching at his thigh.

  “Stay put, fellas.”

  “Puck?” Viper says. He’s king shit of Road Kill MC, and for being a gunrunner, he’s probably not a half-bad guy.

  Can't help my eyes going to Snare, Noose, and Wring—who know I'm a cop.

  Will they reveal that fact now?

  What will I do if they do?

  Fuck it. Don’t care. I look at Candi again. “Give me Candi.”

  My stare is unwavering, and I lift my left arm, wrapping my left hand around the gun and letting my right fall to my side. Can't hold it up forever.

  Thank God that the only thing the old man ever gave me was true ambidexterity. Because, God knows, there wasn't anything else but daily terror with a healthy dose of guilt.

  Viper pulls my sister behind him and crosses his arms. “No.”

  What the fuck? Surprised by that answer, I almost lower my gun.

  Time slows. I force myself to take in everything happening in the room. The big guy on top of the table, bleeding and writhing.

  Wring's got a bandage on his arm, but what looks like teeth marks peek out at the edge.

  Flicking my eyes to my sister, I snort. “Your work?”

  Her eyes crawl over Wring's arm, and she nods.

  “Give me the girl, or I start shooting brothers one at a time.” I lift my chin. “Head shots.”

  I'm sorry that Calem would witness what I might have to do, but things just got real.

  Noose's eyes widen. These guys aren’t sure who's side I'm on or if I'm even the cop they knew me to be a couple years back. Sometimes I wonder that myself. When it comes to Candi, I'll do a hell of a lot.

  “Fuck, you're goddamned dead,” a rider I don't know says.

  Eventually.

  “I let the blonde live,” I quirk my eyebrows, giving Wring my full attention.

  I saw her cut before she got under that table. She’s his property, and I know exactly what an MC man feels for that.

  He flips a blade ceaselessly, a vein presenting itself in the middle of his forehead. Wring takes a step forward, but Snare, the one with the twisted scar on his face, holds him back. “If you touched my property, I will kill you, slow.”

  I would do a lot to get my sister back. I've already done things I'm not proud of to protect her—as she has for me. But I do draw the line somewhere.

  One of these fuckers, or more than one, hurt Candi. She's injured—I can tell by the stiff way she's holding herself, the hand she's laid on her ribs without even realizing it, and the tightening of her eyes when she takes a breath.

  I shake my head, but my voice holds the soft menace of my intent. “I don't hurt women or children—unlike some fuckers.”

  Wring shifts his weight. “Arlington's giving kids to pervs. She's part of a kiddie-trafficking ring in our territory.”

  “Unacceptable,” Noose says, folding his arms across a chest any gym rat would envy.

  The big guy on the table groans, trying to stop the flow of blood and making a huge mess in the process.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Noose jerks his face back. “I know who you are, Puck—and I gotta say—you're not making even a little bit of sense. And by the way, shooting up brothers is a good way to die.”

  “I'll die later. Could've gone wild out there. Your shitty prospect coughed up your code after I shot his foot.” I nod at their looks of combined disbelief and anger. “My advice? Don't patch that fucker.”

  My eyes move to my sister. “Candi, come on.”

  She moves out from behind Viper, who looks like he does serious gym time too.

  He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Don't go with him.”

  Turning to him, she does something that almost makes me drop the gun for a second time in the space of five minutes. Rising on tiptoe, she holds both sides of his face. “Forget me.” She wraps her arms around his neck, and I barely hear the next part. “Thank you.”

  He snaps his arms around her. “I threw down for you.”

  Holy fucking shit. No way.

  “I know.” She sinks to her flat feet, extracting herself from his embrace as she backs away. “We're together.” Her palm waffles between me and her as Calem's small hand clings to the bottom of my cut.

  “What?” he asks in a low voice of clear shock, then eyes like blue glaciers fix on me.

  What the fuck happened with the prez of Road Kill MC in the last twenty-four hours? From the look of it—a goddamned lot.

  And none of it good.

  Damn. Candi just tossed me under the bus. Of course, every male in the room is going to think we're together together.

  “Did he hurt you?” I ask her as she makes her way to me with agonizing slowness.

  Her body tenses. “Viper?” she asks, staring at him as she walks backward toward Calem and me. “No. Never.”

  The way she says it has my grip tightening on my weapon.

  “Then why the fuck are you crying like he did?”

  Because I know my sister's voice when she's upset, when it's so loaded down with tears that it sounds like a river of grief without an end.

  I fucking know that like taking my own breath.

  Viper makes a move to close that distance she's gained.

  I raise my weapon and give it a nod.

  He stalls.

  “Don't hurt him, Puck,” Candi says, reading everything just from Viper's expression.

  I want to. God knows, anyone who's been involved with my sister and returned her
to me injured sort of deserves to die. I don't even know if my curiosity over what's happened is enough for me to want them to live long enough to get the answers I so desperately want.

  When Candi's backed up against my chest, I lean over and, without taking my eyes off the men, kiss the top of her head.

  Can she feel my abject terror at thinking I'd never see her again?

  Yeah.

  She reaches behind herself and squeezes my weaponless arm.

  “Let's go,” she whispers.

  “You'll be hearing from me,” Viper says. He says it for my benefit, but his eyes are on Candi.

  I shake my head. “No, you'll be hearing from us.”

  “I'm so sorry, Viper,” Candi says with a hitch in her voice.

  Viper's eyes narrow on me with a promise. Then I lead Candi and Calem out the way I came in, flanked by MC riders who want me dead.

  And from what I can see, they would kill Candi too. All except one man.

  And he's the most dangerous of them all.

  Chapter 18

  Candice

  Calem rides between me and Puck, and every time I turn my head, I'm sure I hear the rumble of bikes chasing us down.

  But it's just my overactive imagination. The only thing chasing us is the wind at the sides of Puck's bike. Calem wears a kid-sized half helmet, and Puck always carries a spare. Leave it to him for preparedness.

  Even though we have everything to keep us safe, there's something inherently unsafe about our passage, exposed and vulnerable, riding on a motorcycle with only the rush of air cushioning our bodies.

  I know Puck will take us to his place.

  Like me, he has two addresses. One for the Chaos bikers and one for just him. I know he's staged his “public” place for the bikers who hang out there.

  For times like now, when we really need to have two residences, it’s perfect, though we never could have dreamed of this particular contingency.

  Plus, my private space is compromised because someone followed me, and I was clearly too shaken to notice.

  Technically, I know where Puck lives—and we promised each other we'd quit the life, go somewhere quiet, and find significant others to share our lives with.

  And the only way we can emotionally let go now is to see this handoff through, to get closer.

  The precious cargo between us will have to be a part of it. The longer I have Calem, the less I want him to play a role, though I know he must for this loop to close.