Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

Great. Because even though it had been fine that morning, there was something about it that made me uneasy. I couldn’t put my finger on it, though, and I didn’t want to make a big deal of it right off the bat. Going up against Preacher had been enough for one day.

I crossed my arms and sat on one of the couches, watched him rifling through some bags on the floor. He pulled out clothes and stuffed them in a bag. “A couple of the women will go shopping for you, okay? I think it’s better if you stay with club company for the moment, until I make sure this shit with the Heathens isn’t entangling you in it.”

“Sounds good. So where do you spend time, besides at the clubhouse?” Because that room hadn’t looked very lived-in either. Cage was slipping away already and we’d barely been in Skulls for two hours. The whole broken-promises thing was starting to tug hard at me, and I didn’t want to go to that dark place again. “I mean, I know you were in the Army with Bernie. And Tenn. And Tals.”

“Yeah, I was. Tenn and Tals got out before me.”

He had a faraway look in his eyes. I wanted to know how long he’d been out, how long he’d been a part of the MC. Instead, I asked, “What have you been doing since you got out of the Army?”

What have you been doing since you got out of the Army?

It shouldn’t have been a hard question to answer. He’d been in for a tour, and then his inactive reserve status hadn’t lasted long. He and Tals had gone back in—Tenn joined them for six months. But then Cage had volunteered to stay active until his eight years were up. Tals and Tenn went back on reserve, and as of eight months before, they were all out.

The fact that he couldn’t answer Calla’s question alerted him to the fact that, for the last six months, his sole focus had been revenge. He’d never outgrown it, and while there was nothing inherently wrong with that stance, it was dangerously close to the blood-for-blood mentality of the Heathens. And he was tired of blood for blood.

That was the reason he’d gone into the Army in the first place. He’d skated the edge of insanity that went along with vengeance for so long that he’d started hating himself. The Army gave him what he needed, worked his mind as well as his body.

But when Preacher told him things had gotten worse with the Heathens, the choice was made. Drugs were pushing in closer, and as much as law enforcement didn’t want to need the Vipers MC, the officers and the mayor realized that, without them, they’d lose their stronghold completely in the war against a meth invasion. Meth brought more dangerous MCs to town—not that the Vipers weren’t dangerous themselves, but they simply couched it better—and meth also brought the skinheads. And nobody wanted those guys in their backyards.

The Vipers were an insular crew. Occasionally, they’d take in a rogue, but more often than not it was a member’s brother or cousin or son. It added to the family mentality.

Tenn hadn’t wanted anything to do with the MC, but because of Tals, he’d be protected anyway. The guys who worked for Tenn would be too intimidated if they’d known just how close their boss was to a one-percenter MC, but, for the most part, the MC respected the fact that Tenn could kick the majority of their asses enough to not give a shit that he was running a gay porn Web site . . . or that he was gay himself.

“I’ve been doing MC business,” he told her finally, ignoring what looked like betrayal in her gaze. Betrayal or hurt at being shut out. “You all right to stay here while I go do a few things? I won’t be more than a couple of hours. I’ve got a few guys who live in the building keeping an eye out. The whole thing’s locked up tight and their numbers are right by the phone. They won’t leave the building without checking with me first.”

“You’ve got guards on me now?”

“Yes.”

He’d been conscious of the fact that she was the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country, and could probably compete for that title worldwide. Calla hadn’t grown up with her dad, but Cage had been right about the look of a rich girl. He could spot them a mile away, and more often than not they meant trouble.

“Okay, then.” She glanced toward the bed. “I haven’t slept in days. Not much, anyway.”

“We’re making an appearance at the bar tonight, so catch some shut-eye while you can.”

“Are you going anyplace I should be worried about?” she asked, and when Cage didn’t answer, she sighed. “Forget it. Just be careful.”

He would.

Ned’s place was a dump of a motel that sat in front of a flophouse, about thirty miles from Skulls, right beyond the mountains, where people were sparse and land was abundant. Why he’d come here, and why he was hovering so close to Calla, had been Tals’s main concern for getting Cage out here so quickly. They’d discussed it briefly when they’d made a pit stop to grab food and take a piss, but Cage needed to keep going, to see the motherfucker instead of talking about him.

Cage had also checked in on Calla, through Rocco.

“I just texted her to check on things. She’s okay,” Rocco assured him. And then he hung up, pocketed the phone and realized Tals was staring at him. “What?”

“You got it bad, brother.”

“Problem with that?”

“Depends on how far it takes you from the club. You made a commitment to Vipers first.”

He had. And the MC had saved his ass in more ways than one. But he’d be damned if he’d let it get in the way of a life with Calla. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing the past six months, jackoff?”

Tals held up his hands. “Just trying to get the love dust out of your eyes and your mind focused on the fight.”

“Never left,” he growled. “Let’s just find this asshole.”

“What’s the plan when we do find him? Threaten? Because I think we need to bring him back with us and let Calla deal with him,” Tals said. “Women need that kind of closure.”

Cage eyed him. “Who are you and what have you done with Talon, the bastard?”

“Someone left an old chick magazine in the john. There was nothing else to do.” Tals shrugged unapologetically. “Well, after I beat off.”

And then Tals was back, just like that. “I don’t think Calla wants him anywhere near her. Which is why I don’t want him to see our cuts.”

Tals reluctantly peeled his cut off and stored it in the back of the van, as did Cage. Ned would probably know they were MC members, because from what little Cage had found out about the guy, he wasn’t stupid.

He and Tals had been breaking into places unnoticed since they were small. The Army had continued to hone their covert skills, and with the amount of drugged-out people wandering the area, they probably could’ve walked naked through the outside hallways of the motel and no one would’ve noticed.

“Jesus Christ,” Tals muttered as they stepped over a woman who was passed out by a doorway. She was skeletal—looked to be in her fifties, but Cage would bet anything she was in her twenties.

“Fucking meth,” Cage replied, sliding into Ned’s locked room using a magnetized-strip card he’d grabbed off someone he’d passed in the hallway. The people staying here were all too stoned to realize there was one card that opened every room.

Once inside, with Tals standing guard, Cage systematically went through Ned’s things. He found nothing of interest, beyond some stubbed-out joints. If he was taking anything harder, there wasn’t evidence of it.

“Anything?” Tals asked as he came out.

“No, but he’s here. Found a take-out box with his name on it.”