Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

“Think?”

“He told me he was dying.” A few tears ran down my cheeks but I refused to break down. Because Cage had promised, although I couldn’t tell the man in front of me that.

“How do you know him?”

“I . . . didn’t.” I stared at him, waiting for him to tell me that I shouldn’t cry over someone I didn’t know. Instead, he turned around and spit out a string of curses, many of which I’d never heard before. I tried to commit some of them to memory, but he was muttering now, pacing a little, throwing his hands in the air as if having a conversation with an invisible someone in the room.

Then he turned back, poured a glass of whiskey instead of water and said, “Drink this.”

This time, I did. “I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Tenn.”

“Ten like the number?”

“Two n ’s. Short for Tennessee.”

“Were you born there?”

“Nope. In Tallahassee.” He shrugged when I frowned. “My mom was what they call confused. My dad was what you’d call a convict.”

The whiskey mixed with the antianxiety pill I’d taken earlier was making it impossible to keep my eyes open. I didn’t bother trying, but I wasn’t wholly passed out either. At least I don’t think I was, because I was aware of Tenn’s conversation . . .

“No powder residue on her hands or the gun. What the fuck is happening, Tals? . . .What do you mean, you’ll come get her? No way am I exposing her to Vipers. She’s already had a panic attack. You try to bring her into the MC, you’re not going to like what happens.” A pause and then, “No, asshole, she’s not another stray. And maybe I can remind you that you were a stray? Yeah, well, fuck you too.”

I jerked my head at the harsh growl in Tenn’s voice. Then I heard, “Calla said Cage was dying. I haven’t heard from the fucker in months and now he’s dead?”

“You think I shot Bernie.”

At the sound of my voice, he froze, then turned. “I’ll call you back. We are not done.”

When he hung up, he shoved the phone into his pocket. “That was my brother. He’s a dick sometimes.”

I knew the feeling, so I simply nodded. But I could never talk about Ned with the affection that Tenn did for his brother, no matter the names he’d called him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sweetheart, you knocked on my front door holding Bernie’s gun, you showed up in his car and you were panicked.”

“Have you heard from him?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and lay down for a while, ’cause you look like hell.”

I stared at him and he broke into a faint grin. I decided I liked him. I even let him help me up and into a room down the hall. He pointed to the bathroom, said, “I’m guessing you don’t have any clothes with you.”

I shook my head, determined not to cry again. At least not in front of him.

“We’ll figure it out, Calla.”

When he left, I went into the bathroom and stripped down. I’d been battered. I’d been through an inner war that I’d waged and I didn’t know if I was winning or losing, but I was definitely on the edge of one or the other.

I stood under the warm spray of the shower and let it rain down on me. My tears mingled with the water; the sounds hid my sobs. It was because of Bernie, because of what I’d lost in the past already, and it was for sure because of Christian Cage Owens.

I’d asked him the impossible and he’d promised it to me. Promised. Was I a fool to believe him? Because I felt like I’d be a fool not to.

Tenn had laid out some clothes for me—shorts and a T-shirt and socks. Brand-new underwear. Tenn was prepared, and I began to wonder how many people in trouble Bernie sent his way. And how most of them were men.

There was also more tea, with whiskey on the side, plus a plate of cookies. Despite my misery, my stomach rumbled. I nibbled on a cookie, sipped the tea after forgoing the liquor, as I looked around the softly lit room.

I noticed it then, propped in the chair across the room. The picture I’d taken from Bernie’s office. I went to it, picked it up and studied it as I padded back to the bed.

“You okay, Calla?”

I glanced up to see Tenn in the doorway. “I’m not sure.”

“I left the door open in case you had another panic attack.”

I believed him. “You were talking to someone named Eddie earlier.”

“Yeah, he works for me. I sent him and the others away, though. It’s just us.”

“Okay.” I stared down at the throw rug, noting how it contrasted with the dark floors, then looked at the picture again.

“That feels like a lifetime ago,” Tenn said, and when I looked up he was checking out the picture.

“Was Cage in the Army with you and Bernie?”

He tilted his head. Didn’t answer.

I still believed that “C. Owens” was Cage. “I told Cage something and he said . . . he said he was coming back for me. He promised. And I hate him for that, because everyone always breaks their promises.”

I said it so fast that I thought maybe Tenn didn’t even understand. Even though I knew what I said, I was confused, and unwilling to tell Tenn what exactly I’d told Cage.

He didn’t ask anything else and his expression softened. “You can stay here.”

I was already planted against the pillows, planning on doing just that. “I sound ridiculous, I realize.”

Tenn shook his head. “You don’t. What Cage told you isn’t ridiculous—not if you know him. Sounds like you do.”

I couldn’t deny that, but I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed the whole thing up.

And for the next couple of weeks (and I only knew the length of time when I’d come out the other end of the tunnel) I stayed in bed. Cried. Slept. Dreamed of a dark-haired man with rough hands and a rougher voice telling me he’d protect me.

Even as I mourned him, mourned my other life, mourned everything I’d lost, I held on to Cage’s promise. I didn’t care if that was stupid, because not only was it all I had, but it was all I wanted.

I’d slept around to get rid of the ghosts of my past, but I’d never felt anything remotely like I did with Cage just talking to me. His voice did more to me than any man’s hands ever had.

It was impossible to fall in love with someone from a ten-minute phone call. Impossible to fall in love with a man who’d been dying as we spoke.

Impossible.

Somehow, I’d managed the impossible.

Those full two weeks later, I got out of bed only when Tenn threatened to forcibly shower me. After a turn under the warm water, I did feel better. And then Tenn lured me out into the open with the smell of food, the bastard. Normally, he’d bring it right into my room, but today he was Mister Tough Love.

I went out into the living room with my hair still wet and found a couple of guys there. They didn’t pay me much attention, but they weren’t rude or anything. I continued along until I found Tenn in the kitchen.

There was a tall, slim boy there too. Maybe seventeen or so, I guessed, and he was sitting alone at the table, writing in a notebook. Whether he noticed me or not, or if he was so absorbed in the writing, he didn’t let on.

“Sit.” Tenn pointed to the enormous helpings of eggs and bacon and pancakes he’d put on two plates, all for me. And then he pushed a big cup of coffee in front of me.

“I feel like you’re going to give me bad news.”

“I am. No more sleeping for weeks.”

“Yeah, I got that message.”

Tenn leaned against the counter and glanced out at the small crowd in the other room. I took those few moments to really study him.

He was tall. Rangy. But somehow I knew he could be deceptively agile if needed. The young man got up and wandered away, muttering to himself.