My Inked Neighbor (Summit Hill Vipers: Mayhem Makers)

Chapter 3 Xiara

T he next week passes without incident. I don’t see Murder again. He doesn’t show up at the gas station, and I’m hopeful he’s forgotten all about me. Work resumes its boring and tedious schedule, and I try to forget the dangerous biker who pushed me against a glass display case and left his marks on my skin.

It’s a cool, misty morning as I step onto my front porch the following day, sinking onto the swing my father installed for my mother over a decade earlier. It’s white and sturdy, but the chains still squeak on occasion. The sound brings back thoughts of my parents and a simpler time when I didn’t have to work and sacrifice, earning a wage to put food on the table and pay the bills without help. My mother’s laughter is a distant twinkle riding on the crisp wind that sweeps over me. I tug the blanket tighter around my waist and resume a gentle, consistent sway as the swing rocks.

My fingers wrap around my mug of hot tea, slightly sweetened with honey. A fresh slice of lemon floats along the top, and if I ever thought of heaven, it would have to be something as simple and nostalgic as this moment. I sip from the cup, listening to Xaden putter around inside the house.

It’s one of those mornings when I wake up and think nothing has changed. For a few seconds, it’s like my dad is making pancakes, and my mom is squeezing juice from fresh oranges. When I realize it’s a false hope, it’s like a knife in the chest.

Five years later, I still think of my mother’s final words and the promise I made to watch over Xaden. Every morning and night, I check on my brother as she used to do, ensuring he’s comfortable and safe. It’s a habit I can’t break.

Maybe a part of me is still that scared teen, wondering how I’ll ever manage to care for myself and my brother. It’s not easy, and there are days I want to quit my job, move away, and do something wild. That rebellious streak inside me is hard to ignore sometimes. I’m not resentful, but giving up my twenties to raise my brother is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I wonder what I’m missing out on when I see my peers partying, going to college, and living without many responsibilities.

But that isn’t my life. Dwelling on it only makes me feel guilty for wanting more than what I have. The definition of an ungrateful heart, or so my mother used to say. I just need to get through a few more years, and once Xaden graduates from high school, I’ll be on my own when he goes off to some amazing university on a football scholarship. Stay positive, Xiara.

When I hear the rumble of a motorcycle engine, I can’t stop my reaction. Scanning the street, I stiffen as I see a lone rider moving toward my house. It can’t be Murder. Right?

I remind myself there’s no way he knows where I live , draining the last of the tea in my cup before setting it aside. He never returned to the gas station.

I’m tense as I watch the motorcycle glide to a stop and turn onto my neighbor’s driveway. I can tell by the rider’s physique that he’s not Murder. That’s confirmed when the stranger shuts off his engine, kicks down the stand, and rises off the seat. He’s broader in the shoulders, and when he lifts his helmet, I see short dark hair instead of shaggy blond. The height is similar, and I can’t stop staring at this new biker with his leather jacket, dark denim that hugs his ass, and sunglasses that partially disguise his features.

I’ve never seen this man before, and I wonder how he knows my neighbor. Margaret, or Mags as everyone knows her, has lived in the same house for several decades. She’s a pillar of the community and participates in every function possible, from bake sales to holiday parades. Mags always has a smile ready and a kind word for everyone she meets.

Until her recent health scare, I’ve never seen her leave her house for more than a few days. She doesn’t travel often and prefers her plants and kitties. I’ve known her my entire life. Last week, she had a mild heart attack, which required her to be admitted. She’s going to be staying in the hospital as they run more tests and consider surgery to repair one of her valves. When I offered to take care of her cats and watch her house, she said she had it covered. I’m guessing she meant the biker.

Interesting.

He doesn’t see me as he saunters toward the door, uses a key, and enters the house. I wonder how long he’ll stay there. Just the afternoon? Overnight?

Since it’s my day off, I head inside and clean while Xaden is at school. There’s not much mess since I stay on top of things, and it’s only the two of us. I decide to cook a roast and add veggies, seasonings, and beef broth before placing on the lid and leaving it to cook all afternoon. It’s one of Xaden’s favorite meals, and I know he’ll enjoy it. I whip up a batch of brownies for dessert and leave them to cool on the stove, glancing at the clock in the kitchen. It’s only ten in the morning.

I’m already bored.

That’s the weird thing about my life now. I used to sit for hours with a magazine or a drawing pad. I’d create outfits and designs, imagining my own runway show and all the paparazzi excited to attend. That was before my parents died and left me and Xaden alone. My life is so different that I can’t imagine being that idle. It makes me antsy thinking of it.

I should go back to school. I keep considering it. But it’s been so long now that I lost my scholarship, and the idea of going into debt to finish my degree seems foolish. I need to make money, not dig myself deeper in the hole. Besides, it’s less available time spent with my brother, and I won’t do that to him. He needs me. If I have a busy class schedule, I won’t have the time to cook, clean, or beat him at Call of Duty on his Xbox.

Priorities, right?

Later that afternoon, I settle on the swing again, leaning back against the striped pillows I bought that match the teal of the cushions. Flowers bloom in big pots and several decorative planters and fill the space with bright pops of color. I close my eyes and inhale, catching the fragrance and fresh scent that reminds me it’s spring. Soon, it’ll be summer.

For now, the slight coolness of the breeze keeps me from overheating as I drape my lap with a light blanket and open my book, enjoying the quiet as I begin to read. I’m so engrossed in my story that it takes a few seconds to pull me away when I hear a loud bang next door. My gaze tears from the page to the house in my direct line of sight. The garage door is open, and I see the tall, dark-haired biker tinkering under the hood of Mags’s old car. He tosses a wrench on a nearby bench and curses. I can hear him mumbling, but I don’t know what he’s saying.

It doesn’t matter. My serenity is broken.

Annoyed, I slap my book shut and glare at the guy who remains oblivious to my presence.

This is going to be a long day.

MY EYES SLOWLY OPEN , and I groan, wondering why I’m awake. It’s late out. I can tell as sleep is blinked from my eyes since I’m facing my window. The blinds are closed, but there’s an inch gap at the bottom, revealing the dark sky beyond. I stifle a yawn and close my eyes, hoping to fall asleep again before my brain decides to wake up. Once that happens, it’s terribly hard to relax since everything I need to do starts piling up, and then my mind becomes too loud to rest.

I’m halfway into a new dream when I hear music outside my room. It’s loud enough to rattle the picture of my parents on my bedroom wall, and I’m instantly irritated. Xaden knows I have to get up early for work. It’s inventory week, which means I’m obligated to show up at five in the morning and start counting boxes of products in the stock room. I reminded my brother before I went to bed.

So this? Blaring his Spotify playlist while he’s gaming? He’s going to get an ear full.

I groan as I slide from my bed and reach for my silky robe. It’s too warm upstairs for anything heavier. That’s why I’m only sleeping in a tank top and underwear. I’m mumbling under my breath as I tie the satin belt around my waist, yanking on my doorknob. It takes ten steps to reach Xaden’s door. When I lift my hand to bang on the surface, I realize the noise isn’t coming from his room.

It’s outside .

Frowning, I open his door and peek in, noticing the headset he’s wearing. My brother can’t hear shit with the volume cranked up like that. He’s playing a game and glued to the monitor, unaware of the music that seems louder in my hallway. I shut his door with a soft click and stomp to the stairs, rush down, and stop as I reach the kitchen. The only light source comes from the water dispenser on the fridge and the twinkling fairy lights strung up along the perimeter of the room. I can see clearly enough to walk to the window, staring out into Mags’s yard.

Blinking in surprise, I find about a dozen men wearing leather vests and a handful of women. There’re a couple of big barrels crackling with fire while smoke rises into the night sky. I shake my head as I see the dark-haired biker staying at the house. He’s got his arm around a blonde wearing a bra and a miniskirt. Even from here, I can see she’s wearing too much makeup. Mr. Broad Shoulders and Dark Tattoos, as I decide to refer to him, leans down and whispers something in the blonde’s ear that makes her laugh.

I swear every cliché about motorcycle clubs is visible as my shoulders tense, and I narrow my eyes. Loud guitars and pounding drums accompany a throaty growl, attempting to sing lyrics. It’s awful. I can see the bottles of beer and hard liquor passing around as people mingle. Too many of them smoke to keep count as multiple cherries burn in the low light. A couple is making out against the side of the house, and the guy lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he starts fucking her where everyone can see. A few of the guys whistle.

You’ve got to be kidding me. My inked neighbor is throwing a goddamn party.

In Mags’s house. What. The. Fuck.

This isn’t okay. Not only do I have to get up in a few hours for work, but this is my sweet neighbor’s house with her flowers and kitties and vanilla candles. Not a biker clubhouse.

I don’t think about what I’m doing before I yank open my door and rush down the porch stairs, nearly flying across the grass in my bare feet as I head toward the asshole responsible for my misery. He doesn’t notice me at first, but when a few bikers see me heading their way with a snarl on my lips, one of them elbows Mr. Broad Shoulders and he lifts his head from the blonde’s neck.

His eyes widen before he drops his arm from his companion and takes a step in my direction. A grin appears on his lips as he assesses me from head to toe, taking in every inch of my body before dragging his gaze to mine.

I fold my arms across my chest as I glare at him. “I’ve got to be at work at five. Your music just woke me up.”

His palms lift as he moves closer. “Babe, if I knew I was interrupting your sleep, I would have canceled the party.”

A guy with a long, reddish-blond beard stands to his left. “Who’s your neighbor?”

“Good question. What’s your name, Beautiful?”

Murder called me the same thing. I flinch with the memory, and Mr. Broad Shoulders notices.

“Get the music turned down, Cash.”

“You got it, Bullseye.”

He leaves us as I swallow hard, noticing the patches on the leather vest in front of me. Mr. Broad Shoulders is Bullseye, and he’s an enforcer, whatever that means. I can’t think of anything but trouble. It’s a logical conclusion after the bikers I met the day Murder showed up at the gas station.

“You’re a biker,” I whisper, realizing I’m outside, alone, and with a group of men who might take advantage of that. Of course, I already knew Bullseye rode a Harley. But before now, he wore a leather jacket and not a vest with patches.

This isn’t good.

“Yeah, Beautiful, I am. You okay?”

Why is he asking me that? My stomach churns. A cold wind sweeps over me, and I shiver. My mouth is dry, and I can’t seem to think beyond a moment of sheer panic. My chest feels so tight that I wonder if I’m breathing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I feel lightheaded. My vision swims as I blink, stumbling as I turn, nearly falling to my knees in a rush to return to my house.

It takes a few seconds for me to comprehend that I haven’t hit the ground. I’m being lifted as Bullseye picks me up, bridal style, and strides toward my porch. He doesn’t say a word until he places me on the swing, backing up to reach for the blanket I keep folded on the seat. The soft material is draped over me as his brows furrow with what appears to be concern.

Am I living in an alternate universe? This seems surreal.

“Hey, Gorgeous, you need to breathe.” He drops into a nearby wicker chair. “Try to focus on the air going in and out of your lungs. Nice and slow. Steady.”

I do as he says, feeling the tightness in my chest begin to release.

“Good girl.”

I don’t reply but relax against the cushions.

“I’ve been in situations before where I’ve seen someone panic. It comes on fast.” He shrugs. “Thought you could use a little help.”

“Thanks.”

His hand rubs along the back of his neck as he stares, dropping as a smile twitches the corners of his lips. “So, what’s your name? Never got an answer.”

“Xiara.”

Inside the house, I hear Xaden searching for a snack in the kitchen. I hope he doesn’t open the door.

“Exotic name,” Bullseye muses. “It suits you.”

I have no idea how to reply to that. I also don’t know what I’m doing on my porch with him. A part of me wants to see the back of his vest because I’m afraid he’s a Crimson Heretic. If that’s true, I just gave Murder a reason to come here.

Shit! I rise off the swing so fast Bullseye copies me, scanning the yard and street.

“What is it?”

“Your vest,” I manage to whisper. “What’s on the back?”

He turns around without hesitation. “Vipers. Summit Hill Vipers.”

My breath leaves my lungs with a whoosh as relief courses through my veins. He’s not a member of Murder’s club. Good. But that doesn’t mean he’s not trouble. I’m betting Bullseye is just as wild as any other biker. The party at Mags’s house proves it.

“You’re quiet, Xiara,” Bullseye points out as he turns and faces me. “I’m gettin’ the feeling you’ve met a few bikers in the past.”

I don’t confirm or deny it.

“Scared you too.”

Again, I stay quiet.

“Damn, Beautiful. Not all of us are the same.”

I want to believe him, but when I hear a gunshot, a scream, and sirens in the distance, I know I can’t afford to trust him. Xaden’s safety trumps everything.

“You need to go.”

He cracks his neck and moves to the stairs, ticking his chin my way. “I’m goin’. For now.”

I watch him stride across the lawn and rejoin the party before entering my house, locking the door, and ensuring Xaden is back upstairs. When I peek out the window, I see Bullseye staring as if he can see me. It’s only then that I glance down, noticing I don’t have a bra on, and it’s cold. My nipples pebble as I rub the skin on my arms. I’m nearly naked. My bare stomach and boyshorts don’t hide much. It doesn’t help that my silky robe has come untied and hangs at my hips.

Bullseye saw a lot more than I realized.