Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

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.