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

by Marata Eros

  Well, fuck him.

  “Let's go,” Noose says. And the intensity of his comment has me looking at him.

  I sharpen right up on his subtle tell and turn to Mover. “Fine. But just so you know—this isn't over. We're not over.” I fling an index finger between us.

  Mover stands and extends his hand, ignoring my threat. “I would do anything to take back the wrongs I vested upon you, Vince.”

  I would too.

  Hard to erase our history. But I can't keep blaming him for Colleen's death—or our missed time. Someday, I'll have to learn to forgive.

  That will have to be later, though. I've got property to find, protect, and claim. Whether Candice knows it or not.

  I don't drop something that is important to me. Ever. No shirking of duty. No ignoring a second chance. No matter how remote.

  And haven't I heard that tune somewhere before? Colleen wasn't easy. But she was the best complication of love I've ever known.

  Easy doesn't mean real.

  Noose and I cruise out of there like our asses are on fire.

  He claps my shoulder as I'm getting on my ride and we've made distance from the Chaos club's door.

  “What is it?” I ask. I know he has something. I saw it back when we were having the little convo with Dagger and Thom.

  He grins like that cat that just swallowed an obese canary. “Got trackers on every brother's bike.”

  It's a safety thing. If someone tries to fuck up one of our own, we can locate them. Nothing more.

  Until now.

  Of course, it's part of Noose's job within Road Kill to secure just that exact flavor of shit. And it takes about four point two seconds for me to put together that he knows where Storm is.

  That means we know where Candice and Calem are too. Storm must have been tailing her.

  The relief is so powerful, I almost feel like I'm going to puke. A wave of lightheadedness sweeps through me.

  “You okay? Kinda paled-out there, hoss,” Noose says, a frown forming between his eyes.

  “No,” I admit in a rough exhale. “I just thought we were fucked, that there was no hope of finding her. Felt like my guts were scooped out.”

  “Maybe she's okay,” Noose says.

  I shake my head. “Too many variables. Fucking Puck. Storm, for shit's sake. They don't know what Candice is, and she'll die keeping the secret. She almost did with us. Hell, she might become a mule for real.”

  “We can't have that,” Noose says, lighting up while his free hand digs around in the small gear bag hanging between his handlebars. Extracting a black device that's about the size of a half-sandwich, he flicks on a small stem, and lights flicker on.

  Shooting out a smoke ring, he points his cigarette at the flashing lights on the device. “Active cruisers.” He points to ones that are lit but not flashing. “Inactive.”

  Five are blinking.

  I scrub my palm over my face. “Who's fucking who's?”

  “Settle, chief.” Noose runs down the flashers and stops on the very last light. “Got ʼem in order of patch in. Keeps it straight for me.”

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask in clipped monosyllables.

  “Unforgettable. Know that fucking place anywhere.” He taps the top of his head, and a long ash falls like gray snow to the ground between us.

  I feel one eyebrow shoot up. I'll explode if he doesn't tell me before my next breath.

  “Scenic Park.”

  My breath wheezes out of me. Guess that makes sense. They always handoff in parks. First Gasworks. Now Scenic.

  “Let's ride,” I say, whipping my leg over the seat and starting it with a roar and kick of throttle.

  Noose tosses the device into his satchel and hops on his ride. Then we ride out of Chaos territory like a couple of bats out of hell.

  Chapter 22

  Viper

  Noose pulls into the parking lot of a park I've been to maybe twice.

  Growing up in Kent, a kid could actually bike to this spot and not get creamed. Hell, my much-older brother rode his bike down Benson on the east hill and would hardly see a car in those days.

  That was back when, though.

  When kids drank out of the garden hose and rode in the backs of pickups and Moms relied solely on their own arms stretched across the front seat as seatbelts. Shit's changed.

  Sliding off my bike, I drop the short distance to the ground and take in the surroundings.

  Noose turns off his engine and gimps over, grabbing a cig. He crams it into his craw and lights it in one practiced motion.

  “Fucking Storm is FBI,” I say.

  “Yup.”

  Smoke curls around his head, giving him the appearance of having horns before it floats away.

  “Thought you were supposed to vet that shit?”

  Noose smirks. “Never saw it.” He shoots a ring into the late-day sunlight. “Never thought to look for it, either. Knock my ass over with a feather. That fucking handy revelation sucked.”

  “He's fucking crazy too and a woman hater.”

  “Bad combo,” Noose agrees and holds up the transmitter with his free hand, showing a blinking light.

  The light snuffs out as I look. “Got lucky that he was still firing off a signal until we got here.”

  Surveying the landscape, I don't see a soul. My eyes take in the nearly empty parking lot. No cars are around.

  Where the fuck is Candice?

  “You packing?” I ask Noose without taking my eyes off the environment. I expect the worst and hope for the best. That phrase my old man taught me is the truest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.

  “Ropes.”

  I roll my eyes. I have a gun and a knife.

  “It's all I need at the moment, and you, hoss—you've got hardware?”

  I nod. We're covered. “Where do we start?” I swipe a hand over my hair. “Fuck, this is frustrating.”

  “For starters, let's get the fuck outta the open. You know this, but your head is so far up your ass you can't think it through.”

  “Asshole.” I stab a finger in his direction. “That's why you're here.”

  I scan the park again.

  “Ah-huh,” Noose grunts.

  I swing my head back to face him.

  He shrugs. “Let's go.” He jerks his jaw toward where a narrow asphalt running path begins, meandering through a dense copse of trees.

  I don't like it. Of course, I'm not much for being out here in the middle of everything. Too much open space. Just like Noose said—anyone could fucking nail us.

  And the place is supposedly lousy with cops and feds.

  “Hate being out in the open,” Noose comments again, echoing my thoughts like telepathy.

  “Yeah.”

  We get to the path, Noose having a slight limp that keeps him slower. “As long as we don't do anything, the feds can't get us for anything.”

  Noose cocks his head, giving me a sideways look through a veil of smoke. “We're here to observe, chief?”

  “Depends.”

  He chuckles. “That's what I figured. Damn, it's hard to be right all the time.”

  “How's your knee?” I ask him as he does the stiff limp beside me.

  “Fucked up. But…” He takes a last drag on his smoke and tosses it on the ground, where it smolders until he crushes it with his uninjured leg, twisting his boot on the dying ember. “It's not my clutch leg.”

  “Lucky break.”

  His face smooths to neutral. “I can still knot somebody.”

  We exchange a somber look.

  “Yeah,” I agree softly. “Yeah, you can.”

  We continue down the path, hoping for a needle in a haystack. A hot, mysterious, damsel-in-distress needle.

  A low, throaty shout sounds just beyond our location.

  Noose tenses.

  I run toward that sound, adrenaline pouring through me like an open faucet.

  Candice.

  It sounds so much like the noises she made when
we were sexing each other up. I would know it anywhere. But this one is filled with fear instead of heat.

  Weird how the two sounds are so similar.

  A sharp whistle from behind me lets me know Noose can't run.

  Wants me to hold on.

  Can't.

  I round the corner. A large tree swoops in a twist, reaching across the path, the leaves appear like green fingers extended toward me.

  Dappled light filters across the dark path, jumping as the figures come into view, and I skid to a stop.

  A man about ten years older than me, dressed in a suit, holds a gun at Candice with this left hand, arm extended, while Calem cowers behind her.

  What the fuck is this?

  Puck walks toward the guy holding the gun as another man writhes on the ground, moaning and bleeding.

  Fuck this. I walk straight for Candice.

  The guy with the gun flicks his eyes to me. “Stay where you are, or I blow her head off.”

  Puck and I stop our forward momentum.

  Candice's eyes are on me, silently pleading for me to go, telling me she doesn't need saving. It's like she's speaking to me without a word crossing her lips.

  Telepathy again, but this time it's painful, etching itself into my brain.

  Her need. Her fear.

  Noose comes up behind me, smelling of engine oil, cigarettes, and the indefinable smell I associate with him.

  “Prick,” he mutters at me.

  “William, Candice, and the boy are coming with me.” The man's eyes are the same color as Candice's, glowing like soft twin suns in the murky gloom of the deep woods.

  That's when I know.

  He's got to be her dad—looks just like her, and the age is right.

  So why is Dear Old Dad holding a gun on his daughter? Why is there some guy on the ground who just got his clock cleaned?

  And where is the fucking law?

  Lots of unanswered questions. But I don't need the answers now. I just need Candice. Away from here and protected.

  “I don't care about him.” I fling a thumb at Puck. He took Candice, so maybe he's turned bad. He can be out of the immediate equation. I'm fine with that.

  Then there's Storm lurking around somewhere. My eyes find Candice again. She's worth it. “I want Candice and the kid.”

  The man smiles, and the ghost of Candice haunts his face. It's fucking eerie. “Have you had her?” His voice carries but the question is asked in a low tone.

  Not enough. I could have her every day for the rest of my life, and it would never be enough.

  His eyes hold mine. “My sweet Candi,” he adds.

  What. The. Fuck? My head whips in her direction.

  Large tears roll down her cheeks. Guilt, terror, and rage trail down her face like wet traffic to leak off her jaw. Her knuckles bleed white where she grips Calem's T-shirt.

  Slowly, I turn back to the dad. “Why don't you fuck off,” I tell the guy. “Give me the girl and the kid, and we'll be out of here.”

  He keeps me and Puck in his sights, but the smug smile that climbs his face is all for me. “I take what's mine, biker dredge.”

  “Sounds like somebody needs an attitude adjustment,” Noose says.

  “Be that as it may,” he returns instantly, “I am the one with my weapon trained on my whore of a daughter.”

  Candice flinches at “whore.”

  And… he just admitted what their connection is.

  I know whores. Hell, I've fucked enough. Candice Arlington is a lot of things, but whore wouldn't be anything I'd connect with her.

  “Candi, come, or I'll shoot this derelict who seems so intent on taking you from your daddy.”

  “Keep your fucking hands off her.” Puck speaks up for the first time, hands fisting at his sides.

  He never even looked my way when I showed up. His eyes were on the man with the weapon.

  With the power.

  “Oh, I don't think so, William. Candi and I will be getting deliciously reacquainted.”

  Candice mewls, fear and loathing racing over every inch of her body.

  “Where are the feds and cops?” Noose asks for my ears only.

  Yes, exactly. I give a small shake of my head.

  Candice begins walking toward him, and each step she takes is filled with reluctant dread.

  “Don't go to him,” I say in low command.

  She shakes her head. “He'll kill you.”

  I step forward.

  Her father clicks the hammer back. “If I can't have tasty Candi, no one can.” His smile is lecherous. “Come to Daddy, precious.”

  Candice makes a sound out of her throat, so soft I strain to hear it.

  Whimpering.

  Calem follows as if in the middle of a nightmare, face pale, both hands wrapped around Candi’s. But Candice lets go of his small hands when she gets within range of her father.

  He points the gun at her chest.

  “Get down on your knees.”

  No.

  “Fuck,” Noose whispers in revulsion.

  “No,” she answers, voice filled with fury.

  He turns the gun from her to Calem.

  Puck takes a step.

  “Don't,” he says, giving the weapon a boost, and it nods at the boy.

  Noose and I inch forward. It's damn hard to keep this many people at bay with one weapon. He's only got two eyes.

  Without warning, Candice steps into the weapon’s line of fire, slapping her hand into the barrel, and it goes skyward as she plunges the knuckles of her other hand into the man’s throat.

  A ragged cough escapes as he collapses to his knees, surprise widening those striking eyes.

  Then Puck is there, taking him down, and Candice kicks the gun away as Calem starts crying.

  Puck starts to beat the father.

  Leaving him to it, I jog to where Candice stands. Ignoring the bleeding guy on the ground and Puck, I grab her carefully and draw her against me. “Thought I'd lost you,” I say against her temple.

  My heart beats heavy in my chest, like it weighs a thousand pounds.

  Then Candice slides her arms around my waist, and she hangs on.

  Feels right. Perfect.

  Right now, everything I just went through has been worth it for this moment in her arms.

  “Step away from Arlington.”

  Storm.

  We turn. Storm stands there, wearing SWAT-type gear, just like the two obvious feds alongside him.

  I can't believe I never saw it before. Saw the crazy but never saw the law.

  His eyes move to Candice, face somber. “I'm sorry about the rib.”

  Candice takes a shaky breath, eyes widening at the sight of Storm in law enforcement gear with two agents by his side; apparently putting together his involvement for the first time. “It's okay. I lived.”

  I take a step back from her. “You know Storm?”

  She shakes her head. “Don't say anything more, Viper—please.” Her eyes move to Puck.

  When we turn to look at him, he's still beating the fuck out of her dad.

  “No!” Candice screams, tearing out of my grip and running to Puck. “Don't! We finally have him, Puck!”

  Noose drawls, “You're not gonna have much. He's tenderized meat at this stage.”

  Blood drips from Puck's knuckles as he stands, and Candice launches herself at him, nearly tipping him over. “Don't. I love you, but don't. Let justice be served.”

  Puck steadies, then hugs her tight against him. “He's never touching you again.”

  She nods against his chest. “I know.”

  Never touching her again.

  His words echo inside my skull.

  I look at the man lying on the ground, practically taking a dirt nap, and want to stomp him into the ground myself.

  I must make some move toward him because Noose has suddenly captured my arm.

  “Don't.” His gray eyes clash with mine. “She's with Puck.” His eyebrows slowly rise. “Didn't you
hear her?”

  I did. Just don't want to listen. Puck. Something tears inside me. For a woman I've known for less than two days.

  I sort of stagger backward, taking in the scene of Puck and Candice embracing over a father who apparently molested her when she should have been protected instead.

  A man who wanted her again. The man responsible for the kiddie ring?

  Storm moves in, giving hand signals to the other feds, and a group of suits suddenly appear, swarming the barely breathing sack-of-shit dad.

  When they have him trussed like a turkey, along with the other guy who someone beat to fuck, Candice walks over to me, Calem close by her side.

  Puck watches her movements with an expression I can't quite read. There's possession in his eyes, along with something else.

  I stop looking at him and look at Candice. Randomly, I notice she's got sweet butt clothes on. They don't look like her.

  I swallow some fucked-up emotion like it’s a ball gag.

  “So now you know,” she says softly.

  Not just that she's a fed, but the other childhood horrors. And that she was playing me. She was with Puck all along.

  I don't understand her angle, but the destruction of me—that's real—thorough.

  I had a normal childhood filled with home-cooked meals, an American flag that flew from the front porch, and a dad that kicked my ass only when I needed it.

  I have no frame of reference for being a helpless girl fighting off her father.

  I look at her worthless dad again, half-conscious and in cuffs. And I have the same urge again to do what Puck did—and more.

  She glances at Noose, and he puts his palms up, limping back a few paces, giving us the illusion of privacy.

  “I know,” I concede. There's so much more I want to say, but don't. Too much audience.

  Too much pride.

  “Thank you, Viper.”

  For what? For hurting her? Fucking her?

  I shut my eyes so I can't see her anymore.

  Is she thanking me for maybe loving her? Because that's what a rider does when he throws down for a female. It's not just about fucking.

  It's not simple.

  Like I always told the crew, real pussy is a complicated thing.

  And it seems like complicated pussy is the only thing a man wants for the long term. Figures.