Viper (NSB Book 3)

by Alyson Santos

  “Two.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Three, actually.”

  I roll my eyes, and she grins before growing serious. “You’re hoping she forgives you and believes you’ve changed?”

  I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I’m not sure I have changed. Just because I can admit when I screwed up doesn’t mean I won’t do it again. I’m never going to be the saint.”

  “Okay.” She stares me down and rises from the table. “The thing is not everyone needs a saint, Wes Alton.” She’s on her way toward her room before I can respond.

  ∞∞∞

  I wake to pounding blood, excruciating pleasure. A wet dream? No, hot pressure controls my body. Dissolves me into my mattress. Oh god. My groan is cut off with a tongue, determined lips. Fingers push down my hips and clench.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp. I’m her friend. I need to stop this. I… ah.

  “Just this one time, I promise,” she breathes. I feel her nakedness. She didn’t invade my sleep to negotiate.

  “Hannah, come on. You’re upset, you—”

  “Now’s your chance to say no. Tell me to leave.”

  She’s doing everything in her power to make sure I don’t.

  My body is trained for this. My brain, not so much. When her mouth attacks me again, reason loses the rest of its weak protests. Some distant siren screams through the background. Regret. Guilt. Pain. But not yet. Tomorrow’s poison. Right now it’s skin and heat and pulsating need as she slides over me.

  “What about…”

  “Here. Found this. Your place is stocked.” I barely hear the tear of packaging. “Damn, Wes. Are you always ready?”

  I know, worst time for irony, but there’s a definite smirk before she consumes me again. Hard this time. Deeper, her own moans make me crazy.

  “I want you to own me like the others,” she gasps, and that siren screams, radiates through every cell corrupted in ecstasy.

  “You’re not the others, Han. You’re…” There are no dirty words. There are no words at all for this. Just. Her. Hannah Drake. The only woman in the world I should not be fucking.

  ∞∞∞

  She drops beside me, sucking in air while I’m still trying to process what just happened.

  I almost choke at the gloss in her eyes when I dare a look. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit!

  “Hannah, I…”

  “Don’t,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one using you. So, thank you.”

  Nope, does nothing for my guilt.

  I throw an arm over my face and struggle to catch my breath.

  “Why did you do that?” I hate that it comes out gravelly, but what the hell? I’m desperate for something to make sense for once in my fucked up life.

  “I know. I just… had to feel something good.”

  I scrub my face, confused, horrified, and charged enough for another round. “You quit your life, didn’t you? You’re dark again.”

  I know I’m right when her glare shoots at me.

  “If I wanted a lecture about being a massive disappointment to the universe I would’ve gone home.”

  “I’m not judging you. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on. You show up at my place ready to move in and then throw yourself at me while I’m sleeping. Don’t you think I have the right to a couple questions?”

  She sighs and shoves small fists into her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just…” She turns away and the tears are audible now. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Aw, Han…” She clings to the arm I wrap around her shoulder, and I gather her against me. “Hey, I get it. You know I do. You’re my viper, remember?”

  Her nod grazes my chest, and I hold tighter as she breaks down. I don’t have any more ideas as she cries, and I let her sobs weaken into the barest of breaths. Just when I think she’s finally asleep, she grips my hand with a new intensity.

  “I need you to kick the world’s ass for me while I hide. That’s why I came to you. I need you to be my viper.”

  6: QUITTING

  I know the script.

  Things should be awkward the next day. I should find mascara-stained eyes blinking with hope inches from my face as I wake. Or in the bathroom trying to clear any evidence of sleep. Maybe struggling with the zipper of a dress or searching for missing accessories. But no. None of that. In fact, I don’t find Hannah at all until I move toward the kitchen and pass her mop of hair secured above the neckline of my t-shirt.

  “Morning,” Hannah tosses over her shoulder from the couch, then raises a bowl to invite me to my own cereal for breakfast.

  “Morning. You sleep okay?” I help myself to coffee she’s already made and study her from the kitchen as she watches some sports recap. That shirt doesn’t look nearly as good on me.

  “I guess. Well, no, but whatever.” She turns back to her show, and I listen to the crunch of whatever treasure she found in my cabinets. I didn’t even know I had cereal. Maybe I don’t. It’s Hannah Drake so normal rules don’t apply.

  “Hey, Han. About what happened—”

  “Geoffrey kicked me out.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs, and I join her on the couch. Her gaze still rests on the TV screen, but her eyes aren’t watching. “Whatever. Boyfriends suck.”

  “What happened?”

  “He ‘doesn’t know who I am anymore.’ How lame is that? Three years together, and I get tossed aside with a line from a soap opera. At least pick a better cliché. Do you think he could be a long-lost brother who’s just returned from some exploration of the Amazon? Ew, I’ve slept with him. Gross.”

  Yeah, I kind of smile at that. Such a smartass. “Do you actually think Geoffrey would survive a day in the Amazon? The guy carries a messenger bag to get coffee.”

  “Hmm. Good point. Can’t believe I actually thought he was the one.”

  “Really? Wow.”

  Tears accompany this shrug, and I know she’s more wounded than she’s letting on.

  “Hannah, come on. It’s me. I’m the last person anyone you care about wants to gossip with.”

  She swats at her eyes. “Another good point. Who’s the lawyer here? Oh wait, there are none in this room.”

  I pull her hand from her face. “Were you fired?”

  “I quit.”

  “Quit? Why?”

  “I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore. I never wanted to be a lawyer. I knew I could be and it would make everyone proud and make my life important…”

  She stops. I wonder if that’s the first time she’s heard that out loud.

  “So don’t be a lawyer.”

  Her gaze crashes into mine. “Right,” she scoffs. “It’s that easy.”

  “It is.”

  “For you.”

  I let her accusation settle between us before she huffs an apology. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair. You gave up everything to follow your dreams.”

  “It sounds so poetic when you say it like that. I just remember years of fucking pain.”

  She absorbs something from my confession with closed eyes. “I just want to disappear, Wes. I don’t want to do it anymore. I can’t.”

  “Do what?”

  “Never mind. Can we just chill for a while?”

  My phone goes off before I can weigh in on her request. Shit.

  “Are you going to answer that?”

  “No. I’ll call her back.”

  “Seriously, Wes. I came here to escape my life, not invade yours. Go take care of your business. I want to see how the Leafs did last night.”

  It still feels wrong as I push myself up from the couch and brace for the call, but Hannah’s clearly done with me for now. Besides, I’ve ignored the last two already.

  “Wes! Where have you been? You haven’t responded to any of my texts either.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been busy.” I haven’t thought about Mirand
a since Hannah showed up at my door. “How’s…” I have no idea where she is.

  “New York is great.”

  “Great.”

  “Wish you were here though. There’s this amazing restaurant we found last night that you would love. I know how you like a good burger.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We should go when I get back. A weekend trip?”

  “Miranda…” We are not together.

  “It’s the strangest thing. I’ve heard probably three Tracing Holland songs since I left. I so wish I’d had the chance to see you play. Maybe one day, eh? How’s all of that going?”

  Bitch. I swallow my anger. “Fine. We had dinner the other night.” It’s a fact no one can argue.

  “Oh yeah?”

  Is she actually disappointed?

  “Yes. Look, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” My dining room. “Talk later?”

  “Of course, babe. I have to prepare for a meeting anyway. I’m sorry I won’t be there for our first Christmas together. I would have loved to meet your family.”

  I don’t even know how to respond to that. “Don’t worry about it. I probably won’t be seeing them.” My stomach hurts just thinking about that disaster.

  “Really?”

  “Miranda, I’ve told you. I’m not on good terms with them. I have nothing to do with my father’s company, and I never will. They’ve practically disowned me.”

  “I know, babe. Don’t get upset.”

  I don’t do much to block my irritated sigh.

  “Have a great day. Miss you.”

  “Enjoy New York.”

  I mutter a curse as I glare at my phone.

  “Wes, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask if you were seeing anyone.”

  ∞∞∞

  I can’t stand the genuine remorse on Hannah’s face. I also have no clue how to explain Miranda.

  “I’m not really. It’s complicated.”

  She nods and looks as tortured as I feel. “Are you going to tell her about last night?”

  I’d laugh but that reaction would be even harder to explain. “No. Of course not.”

  “I’m sorry for making you cheat on your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “The woman you’re dating then.”

  “I’m not dating her.”

  “The woman you’re sleeping with?”

  Well… “It’s complicated.”

  She sighs, and I don’t miss the darkness that washes over her face. It’s not for me. I’m afraid it’s not even for Miranda. “I’m going to go take a nap.”

  That makes perfect sense to her at ten in the morning.

  “Han, you okay?”

  “Fine. Just tired. I didn’t sleep last night.” It would be a funny joke if the humor was in her eyes too.

  “Han…” I get nothing else as she disappears into the guest room.

  ∞∞∞

  I try to think of a time in my life when I’ve had more people pissed at me at once.

  There was the night I skipped Dad’s annual show-off-his-perfect-family-to-the-board party to play a show with Holland when I was eighteen. I was homeless for four days because of that. Three furious faces that I remember, but only because I’m counting the entire Alton Media board of directors as one.

  There was the time I took Hannah to get her tattoo when she turned eighteen and my guy was willing to work on her. Six, I think? That’s up there.

  When Holland and I got engaged: four. When we broke up: two. My parents were insulted. Pretty sure hers threw a non-engagement party.

  Now? “Now” wins. My list is “one” of people who aren’t pissed at me. Although Hannah’s been in her room since Miranda’s phone call, so I’m not entirely positive about that. Wait, she seduced me while I was asleep. I’m standing by one.

  “Hannah?” I knock for the fifth time since she ran off. Still no response, and I finish the journey to my room for the night.

  I’ve seen Hannah Drake dark before. She always had an edge, a melancholy cloud to her existence that used to express itself in some incredible art she believed in. She designed her own ink, and even Matt, my artist who brought it to life, was impressed. The viper slithers from her hip to her shoulder, dormant in its aggression, but eyes wild and ready for violence.

  “Vipers are badass,” Hannah explained to Holland and me. “They seem lazy and slow, and then bam! Surprise strike out of nowhere. And they can measure their venom too. Did you know that? Yep, they control how much they want to release into their prey.”

  For a long time Hannah was just Holland’s quiet, sarcastic, artsy sister. Then she stopped being sarcastic. Then she stopped being artsy. Then she just stopped being during her second year of university. I’ll never forget Holland’s long, frantic calls with her family during that time. We were on tour and it killed her that she couldn’t not-help at home instead of not-help on our bus. That part I didn’t get.

  Thanks to the push of the love surrounding her, Hannah found pros who could help. Their collective efforts helped her piece her life back together in time to graduate with an impressive transcript and solid plan that made her family and therapist happy. She was happy too, I’m sure. And I was happy she was happy, but even happier Holland could breathe again. The plan didn’t make sense to me, but it was none of my business.

  But the thing with depression is it seems lazy and slow, and then bam! Surprise strike out of nowhere.

  7: BROTHERS

  My tenant has emerged from hiding the following morning. Her hair is even wet enough to suggest a shower.

  “Morning,” I say.

  “Morning.”

  “I’m heading to the gym. You want to come?”

  “To watch you work out? No thanks.”

  “They have more than one machine at the gym. It’s one of those fancy ones with several.”

  I finally get a lip quirk. “Does it have a water cooler?”

  “Hot and cold spouts.”

  “Who wants hot water at the gym?”

  “Fancy people.”

  Another twist, and I return it. “I’ll bring food back.”

  ∞∞∞

  Miranda calls again while I’m on the treadmill. I guess this is going to be a daily thing. At least Hannah is spared from this one.

  “You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m at the gym.”

  “Oh, I see. Pinot Noir or Pinot Grigio?”

  “I’m not a big wine drinker.”

  “Oh, right. I want to grab something for us at Duty Free on my way back. Whisky, eh?”

  I have to keep the panic in my blood out of my voice as I respond with, “I thought you were going to be gone for a couple of weeks.”

  “I am. I just like to plan. You know that. It’s sweet that you miss me though.”

  I can’t tell if she’s joking. What if she’s not? “Hey, I don’t want to let my heart rate drop. Call you later?” I hope no one else heard that. I’m cool with Miranda’s disgust, but I like this gym because it’s not stocked with asshats who say shit like that.

  “Oh, sure. If I don’t answer it’s because I’m with clients. Just leave me a message.”

  “Sounds good.”

  So I just have to make sure I call when she’s with clients.

  ∞∞∞

  I’m still not used to finding Hannah Drake on my couch when I walk in the door. She offers a casual “hey” that I answer with a nod.

  “So this is your life now? Cereal and daytime TV?” I ask.

  “You said you’d bring food back.”

  I hold up the bag. “But you have to move your ass from the couch to the table to get it.”

  She must expend most of her energy on the eye roll, because her walk across the living room appears to be excruciating.

  “I don’t remember you being so bossy.”

  “Really? I don’t remember you loving judge shows.”

  There’s the grin as she takes the chair across from
me. I arrange the food containers between us.

  “Hope you like Indian.”

  “Love it.”

  I’m skeptical when she frowns.

  “I have to go get my stuff from Geoff today.” Her announcement comes with a stab at her food that almost makes me fear for the guy.

  “Okay. I can go with you.”

  “No. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

  Right.

  “Have you told your family at least? They have to know you broke up with him by now.”

  “I told them I need some time to sort things out and I’m staying with a friend.”

  “A friend,” I snicker.

  “You’re not exactly their favorite person.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m no one’s favorite person.” It comes out on its own. I add a laugh to correct the error, but her eyes still shoot to mine.

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Hey, pass the naan?”

  She holds the foil package out of reach, searching my face for the angst she won’t find. Not if I can help it.

  “It’s all an act, isn’t it?” she says.

  “Hannah, come on. Seriously?”

  “This alpha-bad-boy-I-don’t-give-a-shit thing. It’s an act.”

  “I was making a joke.” I was, and I’m so not interested in this conversation.

  “I see. So are you ever going to actually be real with anyone?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You really want to take me on in the who-needs-psycho-therapy-more debate?” God, I’m such an ass.

  Her frown lets me know she agrees.

  “Nice. That’s great, Wes. Sorry for fucking caring about you.” She slings the bread at me and stalks off to her room.

  ∞∞∞

  My shower is long. I can tell by the cloud of steam obscuring the room that I’m escaping. Reality? Her? I don’t know but there’s a reason I don’t do relationships anymore. Hannah thinks she uncovered some deep, dark, pain of isolation when all she touched was the very reason I avoid this shit. We were happy with a few containers of Indian food and lame movies. Throw in expectations, though, and lunch take-out becomes daytime drama.