Viper's Kiss

by London Casey

  “I had chicken,” Blaine said.

  “You serve spoiled food?” Jett asked.

  “When you cook it,” Angelo said, “the bad stuff dies. It never goes bad…”

  Jett backed up. He looked at Blaine and saw his face turning white.

  “Oh man,” Blaine said. “No…”

  Before Jett could say another word, Blaine started to throw up. He launched his food right at Angelo, hitting him in the legs and covering his feet and the raw chicken on the floor.

  Jett reached for the door and opened it.

  Blaine let out a growling sound and threw up a little more.

  “It looks better now than it did when Stacey brought it from the kitchen,” Jace said.

  Jett laughed.

  Blaine grabbed his stomach and dry heaved. “Fuck you, man.”

  “I think we’re done here,” Jett said. He looked at Angelo. “Clean it up, Angelo. All of it. Next time we come back here… it won’t be nice. And it won’t be fucking puke on your clothes either.”

  Jett left the fridge area and spotted Stacey. She looked at him and smiled. He gave a nod. Part of him still thought about running right through her. He imagined her tight and wild.

  “That was fucking gross,” Jace said.

  “Yeah,” Jett said. “I’m out of here.”

  “Where to?” Jett asked.

  Blaine cut between them and put his arms around them. “Let’s go get a fucking drink.”

  “Before that, you need a breath mint,” Jett said.

  He looked for Stacey again, but she was gone.

  Fuck, what a crazy day.

  But at least I’m alive…

  two.

  Drinking at the clubhouse had its own appeal. It was a lot like drinking with business partners or something. Always waiting for someone to talk about a deal, a war, a fight, a gun, something. Miller and Gaige had given Jett a key to a room at the clubhouse, but he had yet to use it. He was close enough just by wearing the goddamn patch and pulling the trigger on his gun when needed. Not that he didn’t love the guys or anything, but sometimes it was nice to be at a bar outside the clubhouse.

  Blaine and Jace were shooting pool against two guys, four women looking on. They were betting fifty bucks a game, but Jett knew that the women were the real prize. For Jett, he just sat at the bar, beer and whiskey in hand, listening to a rambling broadcast of a fucking hockey game. He didn’t give a shit about sports. Or anything for that matter. Jett had grown up rough and tough, his mother kidnapped and murdered when he was just seven years old. And it always seemed on those sevens bad shit happened. On his seventeenth birthday, he was on the streets, living alone, and found out that his father was the one who kidnapped and killed his mother. That began a long quest to find his father and all the backdoor dealings of organized crime that had been going on around Jett.

  During a drunken stupor at twenty, Jett actually got into a fist fight with Miller. From what Jett could remember about that night, he did get Miller with a few really good shots to the face, but Miller was sober and his sober fists prevailed. When Jett woke the following morning, there was a note literally pinned to his stomach.

  Nice fight. Let’s talk.

  He met up with Miller and that began his life with Back Down Devil MC.

  “Can I get you another one?” the bartender asked.

  Jett gave a nod. “Sure thing.”

  The bartender was cute as anything. Tall, skinny, a beautiful chest. Hair pulled back tight and a little butterfly tattoo on her left wrist. Something about that little tattoo drove Jett wild.

  Fuck.

  It had been a month since he last had a decent fuck. It was with someone he thought to be a girlfriend. But Ada wasn’t quite that. She was a stripper whore who loved cock and coke. She ended up getting killed ten miles south of Frelen. There was an open murder investigation, but something about it all just bothered the shit out of Jett.

  With a fresh beer in front of him, the cute as hell bartender lingered. “Why aren’t you playing pool with your friends?”

  “Because I have something better to look at right here,” Jett said.

  “Hanging around until closing?” she asked.

  “Two in the morning? Beautiful, that’s when I start living. I rise when the sun sets and watch the sun rise every morning.”

  “I’d like to watch a sunrise with you.”

  Jett grinned. “Trust me, beautiful, you spend a night with me, the last thing you’re going to give a shit about is the sunrise.”

  “Good thing,” she said, leaning over the bar a little more. “Because there’s only one thing I want to see rising before my eyes…”

  Jett squeezed the glass of whiskey so tight he thought it was going to break.

  He started to stand, ready to pound the whiskey and then take the bartender somewhere - bathroom, back room, break room - and then pound her. Then he heard the familiar snapping sound of a pool stick breaking and turned his head just in time to see someone cracking a stick over Blaine’s back.

  “Oh, fuck,” Jett said.

  He moved from the bar to help out.

  When someone attacked someone in Back Down Devil MC there was no need to ask questions. Right or wrong didn’t fucking matter. Nobody touched the MC. Nobody.

  The other guy saw Jett coming and turned, lifting the pool stick. “Come on, asshole. Come on.”

  So that’s what Jett did. He lunged over the pool table, clearing it, and tackling the other guy to the ground.

  Didn’t expect that, did you?

  Jett then used his elbows and pounded at the guy’s face a few times. He rolled off the guy and stood up, reaching back for a pool stick of his own. Blaine was getting back to his feet, and Jace was wrapped with some asshole in a black t-shirt and tattoos.

  The place was bustling with screams, yells, and people trying to break up the fighting.

  Jett poked the first guy in the back of the head with his pool stick. The guy turned and showed the cracked stub of his stick.

  “Broke your stick,” Jett said and smiled.

  “You fuckers…”

  Jett smacked the guy in the face with the pool stick. The guy screamed like a girl. Jett broke the stick over his knee and then stabbed the guy in the shoulder with the broken end. That quickly ended the fight. Well, that and the fact that Blaine had taken out his gun.

  People liked the fighting but not the intense violence.

  Bunch of pussies.

  Jett kicked the second guy in the ribs and left him on the ground.

  “Okay then,” Jett said. “I think we’re good here.”

  “Get the fuck out!” the cute as hell bartender yelled from behind the bar. “I’m calling the police!”

  “Bitch,” Jett said.

  Jace touched his lip and was bleeding. Blaine stretched his back and kept his gun handy. Jett walked around the pool table and made a line for the door. The three of them left the bar and went around to the side of the building where they had parked their rides.

  “That was fun,” Blaine said.

  “Remind me to never go out for a drink again,” Jace said. “Fucking hell.”

  “What happened?” Jett asked.

  “Blaine started to finger that guy’s girlfriend,” Jace said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “What?” Blaine asked. “She showed me her pussy. What was I supposed to do? She kept flashing it when I was taking my shots. So I told her if she did it again I was going to jam my fingers up her. She did it again. So I walked up to her and told her to do it again. She did it. I took two fingers and felt her out. Wet and loose. I rammed two fingers up her and she cried out. Then her boyfriend got pissed and smacked me with a pool stick.”

  Jett shook his head. Here he was, in deep thought about life and all that bullshit, and Blaine was fingering some chick and starting a fight. It pissed him off, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The fight had happened and they were going to just cruise back to th
e clubhouse and finish up the night. There was plenty of whiskey, beer, and relievers to take care of anything the guys needed. Jett figured maybe tonight was the right time now. Grab two or three of the hottest and sluttiest relievers hanging around and let them go to town on him. Or better yet, have Blaine pull his strings with all the strippers he knew in Frelen.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” Jace said. “Fuck this scene, man. I’m done with all that right now. We’re better off all together in case we get attacked again.”

  Jett froze and looked over his shoulder. “What the fuck is going to come of that mess? I feel like we’re chasing our tails.”

  “Maybe we are, bro,” Jace said. “But it’s bad. Erik almost died. You see his face? He’s going to be fucked up for the rest of his life. And that’s scary, man. He’s a loose canon as it is.”

  “Hey, speaking of loose canons,” Blaine said. “My cock is a little full right now from touching that chick in there. Can we ride? I need to let one go.”

  “Fucking hell, man,” Jett said.

  They kept walking, and it took all of a second for Jett to realize there was something on his motorcycle.

  As he got closer…

  Fuck, not something. Someone.

  “There’s a drunk chick on your ride,” Jace said.

  “How the fuck did you get this lucky?” Blaine asked.

  The chick was literally right over the seat. Just dangling there. Feet almost touching the ground on one side, fingertips almost touching on the other. Her shirt was pulled up a little, showing some skin. She wore some tight jeans and had a nice little curvy ass.

  Jett approached and smacked at her hip. “Hey, beautiful, wake the fuck up. This ain’t your ride.”

  “She could be my ride,” Blaine said.

  “Hey!” Jett yelled. He smacked her ass. “Wake the fuck up!”

  The woman didn’t move.

  “Christ,” Jace said. “How drunk is she? Is she fucking dead?”

  Jett felt his heart drop. That’s all he needed right now. Some chick dead on his ride. He rushed to the other side of the motorcycle and moved her hair out of the way. Dark, dirty blonde hair that was thick. Just the kind Jett liked. Her eyes were definitely shut. He stuck two fingers to her neck - nice, soft skin… - and felt for a pulse.

  “She’s alive,” he said. “Pulse is fine.”

  Her heart was beating like normal. Not fast, not weak.

  Jett crouched down and kept the chick’s hair out of her face. He stroked her cheek with a little more care than he wanted to give her.

  “Hey,” he said. “Wake up. Come on. You have no clue where you are right now. Don’t make me call the…”

  There was a siren in the distance.

  “Oh, fuck,” Blaine said. “That bitch of a bartender called the police for real.”

  “Fuck,” Jace said. “We have to ride.”

  “What the fuck do I do?” Jett asked. “Just throw her to the ground?”

  “What’s the difference?” Jace asked. “She’s drunk. She’ll sleep it off and wake up when she feels it. Or the cops will find her. Don’t get involved.”

  Jett grabbed the woman by the jaw and shook her. “Hey! Cops are coming! Wake the fuck up!”

  The chick didn’t move. Completely lifeless… except for the normal heartbeat.

  “This is fucked,” Jett growled. “Just what we fucking need right now.”

  The sirens started to close in.

  “They’re coming,” Blaine said. “Chief will get pissed if we’re here hanging around at a scene.”

  “Fine,” Jett said.

  He grabbed the woman under her armpits. He told himself not to think of how close his hands were to her tits. That would be so fucking wrong to do. That was Blaine’s territory, sleeping chicks and all. Not Jett. They needed to be fucking awake and somewhat coherent.

  Jett pulled the chick from his ride and lifted her up. He then slowly spun her to put her on the ground on her back. He knew he would need to turn her head in case she threw up, or else she’d choke on her own vomit. But as he laid her down, he looked at her stomach and let out a groan.

  “Blood,” he said. “Fuck, man, fuck.”

  “Christ,” Jace said. “She’s stabbed…”

  The sirens were even closer.

  “What the fuck do we do now?” Blaine asked.

  Jett had two options. He could put the chick down and leave her be. Hope she wouldn’t bleed out and die. (Run the risk of having his fingerprints on her and having this mess somehow get tied back to him.) Or he could somehow prop her up on his motorcycle and get her to the clubhouse.

  Nice guy or dick guy.

  “Fuck,” he yelled. “We have to get her to the clubhouse. Just to check her. Make sure she’s going to live. Then we can drop her off at a hospital or something. I don’t know. I can’t leave her like this.”

  “You’re in love with her already,” Blaine said and laughed.

  “Help me figure this out,” Jett growled.

  He stuck two fingers to her neck again and checked her pulse. Still good. Still strong.

  The chick started to stir a little and Jett put his lips to her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, beautiful. I’m trying to save you. I need you to fight and ride with me on my motorcycle.”

  Her lips fluttered for a second and that was it. She didn’t move again. She didn’t turn her head again. But her pulse was still there.

  “We have to hurry,” Jett said. “She’s fucking bleeding out.”

  Just what I need… some bitch to die in my arms.

  three.

  *ONE HOUR EARLIER*

  Lena took the knife from the butcher’s block and turned, swinging it in the air.

  I can do this. I can survive this. I can…

  She dropped the knife. It landed, pointed down, in the cheap, linoleum floor, an inch from her big toe. She looked at the chipped orange nail polish on her toe and the knife.

  Her hands were shaking already.

  “Lena?” a voice called out.

  “Hold on…”

  “Dear, what is… oh, my…”

  “It’s okay, Annie,” Lena said.

  Annie looked at the knife and then Lena. “Did you cut yourself, dear?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Lena said. She held up her hands and showed them to Annie. “See? All good. I just… my hand must have been wet. The knife slid out and hit the floor.”

  Annie touched her cheek and then touched the cross around her neck. “Well thank the Lord you didn’t cut yourself. Or drop the knife on your foot. Oh, dear, that would have…”

  “It’s okay,” Lena said. “I’ll be right in, okay?”

  “Okay,” Annie said. “Yell if you need my help.”

  Annie shuffled away and Lena let out a needed sigh. She helped poor Annie a few times a week because everything was connected within the family. That’s how Victor had put it a long time ago. When the family needs something, we take care of it.

  That was a time when Lena maybe liked Victor. Okay, fine, maybe there was love. A flicker of love between them. Just because there was something about Victor and the power he had. Stupid money and stupid power. Men flaunting that shit like it mattered and woman dumb like Lena falling for it. The same vicious cycle over and over.

  What had started as a fun little date, turned into a second and third date, turned into Lena spending a weekend in a hotel room with Victor. She eventually was let into his violent world. He told Lena he was doing it because he loved her, because he wanted her to see what it was like to be him. In truth, Victor showed her violence to keep her tame. To make it so she couldn’t leave him because the violence would then turn to her. Victor was handsome in a clean cut way. He had manipulative eyes and a manipulative smile, but worse than that, his heart was the most manipulative thing about him. There was no such thing as emotion. He just ran with his environment and came out alive. Because if it all fell apart, he would bring out the muscle. And not his own, which he
didn’t have much of. Victor’s muscle was in the form of weapons, or thug bullies, that wore suits. The guys were massive and they’d always take their suit jackets off before hurting someone. Under the suit jackets they wore guns and sleeveless shirts.

  The sight was terrifying.

  But it all had gone too far.

  Too fucking far…

  Lena crouched and pulled the knife out of the floor. She stood back up and held it tight in her hand. She pictured Victor in front of her. Eye level with her. He was short, but that didn’t matter. It never mattered. But it was… weird. Lena always pictured cuddling up to someone bigger than her. Strength, calmness, love. Everything in silence. That’s where the power came from.

  Not this life.

  She stabbed the air and licked her dry lips. She wondered just what she would have stabbed on Victor. Knowing her luck and worry, she’d end up cutting his arm or something. And then he’d kill her. Without hesitation.

  Lena knew too much.

  And after what she had found out…

  “Lisa?” a weak voice called. “Oh, my, it hurts!”

  Lena put the knife down. She rushed from the small kitchen, through the small dining room, to find poor Annie standing next to her old green recliner chair cradling her left hand. There were tears in her aged blue eyes.

  “Lisa… I’ve been calling for you…”

  Lena had long gotten used to Annie calling her the wrong name. It was all just part of Annie’s life now. She was old, confused, and was just enjoying what time she had left in this world. The woman had a rainbow array of pills that needed to be taken throughout the day, with times of clarity that were beautiful and sharp, and other times of anger and confusion that broke Lena’s heart.

  “What’s wrong, Annie?”

  “You made the coffee too hot.”

  Lena saw the coffee mug tipped to the side on the tray next to the chair. The coffee had been there for hours now. It was impossible to be hot, but Lena knew not to argue with Annie. She approached the woman carefully and asked to see her hand.

  Annie had long and crooked fingers. Lena knew they had to have once been long and slender fingers. Beautiful fingers on a beautiful woman.