Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

“But they’re not,” Preacher said with an uncharacteristic quiet that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Come again?”

“You heard me, Cage. They’re pushing back. They’ve been selling about an hour away from here, thinking we won’t get word. Using skinheads to push their agenda when the local law won’t fold.”

Shit. Cage ran a hand through his hair, missing the length it was before he’d asked the nurses in the hospital to cut it all. They’d had to shave a part of it to stitch him, and he’d been only too happy to start over. He felt for the familiar leather thong he’d always tied it back with, still in his pocket. He always tied it back when Vipers went to war. And he’d nearly missed the first battle. “Now what?”

“You and me, we’re taking a little joyride in the next couple of days. I’ve got something to show you.” Preacher stared at me. “Calla stays here while we’re gone. That shit can’t be a problem.”

“She gets it.”

“Does she really?”

If she didn’t, she would soon. And by then, it might be too late for both of them. “I don’t think we’ll stay here tonight, though.”

“I think your apartment’s best,” Preacher agreed. “But the pleasure of your goddamned company is requested at the bar this evening.”

It wasn’t a mere invitation, and Cage nodded his assent at the directive. Preacher dismissed him with a wave of a hand, and normally any authority doing so would rankle him. But it had always been different with Preach.

Cage wandered toward the back to where Tals was cooking breakfast. His friend glanced over his shoulder. “Might want to check on your girl—she locked herself in your room.”

“Windows are barred.”

Tals grinned. “Things are that bad you think she’d try to escape from you? Brother, what’re you doing wrong?”

“Fuck off, Tals.”

Tals leaned against the counter as he flipped pancakes with his usual array of chocolate chips in them.

“Gonna tell me to fuck off when I’ve got the information you asked for?”

“That fast?”

“I’m that good. Thought we’d take a road trip later on.”

“How far?”

“Closer than you’d think. I talked to Bear and Rocco. They’ll stay outside your apartment for you to keep watch over Calla.”

At least two more club members were willing to not give him shit about leaving the MC high and dry. He sighed in relief. “You don’t have to go with me.”

“Of course I do—I’m the only one who can keep you from getting into deeper trouble.”

“You really believe your own shit.” He pointed directly at Tals. “And you’re not stealing any cars along the way.”

Tals shrugged. “They jump out at me. Make it so easy.”

Cage rolled his eyes but smiled internally. It was good to be back where he was understood, no matter how angry Preach and the others might be at him. And they were, for sure, but Calla was safe here until he figured out the meaning of the intel he’d gained.

After we ate, Cage and I took another ride through town. I’d never been down this far south, and even though we didn’t stop, I knew this place was different. For one thing, I was used to states with a faster feel, where you didn’t slow down until forced to. Which was typically never. Even in Connecticut, where my schools were, there was a feeling of elegant intensity. Like it was preparing us to head back into New York and her frantic pace.

Here, things sprawled with a quiet dignity that made it seem almost offensive to rush. There was more land, more room to just slow down and breathe.

Skulls Creek was along a river, the main drag making it appear more small town than the moderate-sized city it actually was. The busier section, with the big office buildings and the more commercial restaurants and shops, was on the north side. The Vipers’ influence was most strongly felt on the original strip near town hall, where residents seemed to be used to the roar of Harleys. I suspected it worked that way because the clubhouse was actually pretty far removed from either section of town, tucked away from prying eyes and curious teens.

“Vipers own this block?”

“Preach bought real estate back when a lot of this place crashed. Got in cheap and made a killing. We fixed the buildings up, rented the shops and now this place looks like it did way back when.”

It had a small-town feel, where everyone looked out for everyone, but was big enough that you could get lost if you needed to. The town was a municipality that appeared to be thriving. Lots of cars and foot traffic. Stores were open, pretty. Clean.

If this was what having an MC in your town meant, I guessed that very few complained.

“So the MC is good for the town,” I said, once we’d parked behind a building along the outskirts.

“We are. Most of the time. It’s a balancing act. Vipers keep drugs out. They’d ruin this place. We’ve seen it happen to other nearby cities.”

It seemed as though he’d seen it firsthand, up close and personal. Again, I was frustrated at his refusal to share, but I was hoping that the further he let me into his world, the more he’d reveal.

Granted, I hadn’t revealed a lot either, but he knew the basics. And for me, that was enough to make my gut tighten just thinking about what might happen if I had to reveal everything. “How did Vipers start, anyway?”

“There were four original members,” he explained as he used his keys to let us into the locked building. There was an alarm too, and he locked up, realarmed and got us into the large service elevator. He hit the button for the sixth floor, which was the top floor. “They came back here after Vietnam, kind of all fucked up, and they built the club from the ground up. Bought the block of run-down stores and apartments and the big lot on the corner, and built their clubhouse and the place for them to fix their bikes. It wasn’t ever open to the public, just a place for club members to fix their bikes and cars. The clubhouse was where the guys lived for a while.”

“Are any of their sons still with the club?”

“Rally’s a great-grandkid of an original.”

“So why isn’t he in charge?”

“That’s a long, boring story.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

He let me off the elevator first, then pointed to the lone door in the hallway.

“This whole floor is yours?”

“Yeah. Preacher’s big on investments in real estate. It’s way too big for one person.” He unlocked the door and motioned me in first. There was an alarm buzzing too, and I guessed better safe than sorry. And I was feeling safer the deeper I went, like those Russian dolls where each doll was protectively encased in another and another. All the layers helped.

I looked around his apartment. It was sprawling and mostly empty, with floor-to-ceiling windows. I could see the view of the river all the way down. On the other end, there was a locked door that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t explain what it was, and I didn’t ask. I went to the window, where I could see the river instead. I could see the clubhouse if I strained a little.

Finally, I turned back to him. He stood in the middle of the place, looking around like he didn’t own it.

“You don’t spend a lot of time here.”

“I don’t spend a lot of time in any one place, no,” he agreed.

The walls were bare, a soft beige. The floor was a gorgeous dark stained wood and there were two leather couches and various kitchen appliances. A big mattress and box spring on the floor in the bedroom. And wooden blinds. “It’s a great place.”

“You’ll be hanging out at the clubhouse most of the time, so don’t get used to it.”