The Vipers and Their Venom (Verona Falls University #4)

1. Vani

1

VANI

D id he see me come this way?

I duck down the side alley between the bar and the chain link fencing that divides the piece of scrubland that’s used as an unofficial parking lot.

Rows of Harley Davidson motorcycles, their chrome glinting under the moonlight, are lined up. Mine stands out, the gorgeous red appearing almost black in the night. There are no CCTV cameras down this way—not that anyone would dare touch the bikes. They belong to the Jackal Riders MC—one of the most feared biker gangs in the entire United States. The gang my dad, Jack ‘The Blood’ McGrath, runs.

I scurry down the alley and glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, in the light from the streetlamp in front of the bar, the dark shape of a man blocks the way. Adrenaline spikes through my veins and my heart slams against the inside of my ribcage. Instinct tells me to run back into the bar, but I have to go through with this if I’ve got any chance of finding her.

Through the walls of the bar come the drums, guitar riffs, and the high-pitched male voice of the singer of the cover band doing eighties rock songs—Metallica, Whitesnake, and Guns N’ Roses. They’re actually not bad, and, while I prefer emo bands from the early 2000s, like Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance, I’ve been enjoying listening to them.

Maybe I should have just stayed inside, but I need this to happen. If it doesn’t happen tonight, I’m going to miss my opportunity.

The music and voices grow louder momentarily as the front door to the bar opens and closes again, probably someone stepping out to have a smoke. I could scream—probably should scream—but not yet.

A male voice with a Southern accent follows me down the alleyway. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

I snatch a breath and force myself to say, “I didn’t want us to be seen.”

In fact, the opposite is true. I made sure several of my father’s men saw me as I slipped out the front of the bar, this asshole in my wake.

He gets closer, shortening the space between us. A beard covers half his face. It stops at the base of his throat and has a couple of metal beads on the ends, like he thinks he’s a fucking Viking or something. Over a band t-shirt, he’s wearing a leather vest, the name of the MC club he belongs to written across it. They’re from the west coast, and they’re here to make a deal to move gear across the country for us.

He’s also wearing a one percent patch.

“I saw you making eyes at me across the bar, little girl,” he hisses. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

As I turned nineteen only a couple of weeks ago, I’m not, but this bar is basically my home. I grew up within its walls, and no one is going to be stupid enough to question Jack-the-Blood on his parenting skills. Of course, this asshole is from out of town, and while he knows exactly who Jack is, he clearly has no idea who I am.

I lift my chin. “I’m plenty old enough. Are you man enough for me, though? That’s what I’m wondering.”

I press my spine to the chain link fencing as he stalks closer. He stops in front of me. He towers over my five-feet-two frame.

“You want to find out what kind of man I am?”

He grabs his crotch to make his point, and his gaze runs down my body, taking in my ripped jeans and black tank top. A leather cuff around my wrist hides only part of the tattoos running up my right arm in a sleeve.

He gives a lavish grin. “Tits like those should be covered up in public, or you’re going to get unwanted attention. Or was that exactly what you were after when you were making eyes at me across the bar?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, you don’t. Giving me ‘come to bed’ eyes and biting your lower lip. Don’t act like lil’ miss innocent.”

He’s right, I had been making eyes at him. I know what’s coming, or at least I hope I do, so I almost feel sorry for the guy…almost.

I force myself to hold his gaze. “I never said I was innocent.”

His tongue sneaks out of his mouth and wets his lower lip. “I bet you’re not. Little club slut, huh? I do like ’em a little chubby. You sure do fill out them jeans.” He chuckles. “Fill out pretty much everything else you’re wearing, too.” To prove his point, he reaches around and grabs my ass and gives it a squeeze.

Alcohol wafts over me. He’s been eating onions at some point today, too, and it’s impossible to hide my disgust. I imagine it’s written all over my face.

“Hey!” I protest.

But he’s not done.

He grabs a handful of my long dark curls and yanks my head back to get a better look at my face. “Pretty, but you’d be hotter if you lost a few pounds. There’s thick, and then there’s just plain fat.”

His words sting, but while I may be curvy, I know full well he’d fuck me if I give him half the chance.

It takes everything I have not to knee him in the balls. I’m gambling on the hope that my dad will notice I’m missing any minute now, and he’ll ask around and someone will have seen me coming this way. I’ll fight this asshole, if I have to, but first I need this to get worse before it gets better.

I throw an insult as ammunition against his cruel words.

“I’ve been with guys like you before. You only go for younger girls because you hope we won’t have enough experience to recognize your dick for the micro-penis it actually is.” To demonstrate my point, I cock my pinkie finger and give it a wiggle.

His jaw drops. “You bitch.”

“What did you—” I start, but his hand around my throat cuts off my words.

“Shut up, slut.”

His grip on my neck frightens me. He hasn’t cut the air off from my lungs completely, but he’s definitely narrowed my airway. My breath seems to whistle down my throat, and I lift my hands to claw at his arm.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding under there,” he says and uses his other hand to tear down the front of my tank top.

Fucking asshole.

I lift my booted foot and stomp down on the top of his. He lets out a yell of shock, anger, and pain, and releases my neck.

Please come. Please come now, I pray to myself.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarls.

He lunges for me again, but I manage to duck under his arm and slip past him. I think I’m home and dry, but, with a speed that’s surprising for a man of his size, he lashes out with the back of his hand. He catches me around the mouth, sending my head rocking backward. I let out a cry and stumble back, fall over my own feet, and land heavily on the ground.

The metallic tang of blood is on my tongue.

He’s on me in an instant, pressing me into the dirt and gravel. His hands are all over me, grabbing at my exposed breasts and trying to undo my jeans. I cry out and try to fight back, but although I might be curvy, I’m also short, and he probably has a hundred pounds on me.

The music gets louder again. Either someone else has come out, or whoever had exited the building before has gone back inside.

This is all going horribly wrong. It occurs to me that I have made a terrible mistake. This plan was not a good one, and I’m going to pay for it.

An angry male voice cuts through our fight. “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

It’s followed by the thud of two sets of footsteps running toward me. I want to cry in relief.

I recognize Big Mike, one of the club’s Sergeants at Arms, and Smokie Saul—named on account of the fact he always has an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Big Mike hauls the man off me.

My attacker lets out a yell of annoyance at the interruption. “This ain’t none of your business, dude.”

Mike’s balled fist connects with the man’s nose, and the crunch is sickening. I cover my mouth and scramble back, trying to create space. I don’t want to end up covered in his blood, though I already felt some drops hit me.

The man barely has time to recover or attempt to swing back when he receives a punch to the gut. He doubles over, bringing his already bloodied face lower, and a knee to the face sends him flying.

I wince. I almost feel bad for the guy. Clearly, he was a complete asshole, but I am the reason he’s ended up in this alley, having the shit beaten out of him by two of my father’s club members.

A booted foot connects with his back, and he lets out a grunt of pain. It’s followed by another and another, and, at some point, the man goes silent, and I turn away.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

My father’s voice.

I got my diminutive height from my mom’s side. My dad is six-feet-two and a solid wall of muscle. He might be in his late forties now, but that doesn’t stop him from lifting some seriously heavy weights at the gym. He knows he needs to be big and strong if he’s to be feared by other rival gangs, and also by anyone in his own club who might start getting stupid ideas about taking over. That he’s utterly ruthless and doesn’t hesitate to clip someone if they do him wrong also helps.

Big Mike shakes his head. “This asshole was assaulting your daughter. We caught him in the act.”

His expression darkens with fury. My dad is the overprotective type. More than overprotective. He doesn’t even let the other club members look at me. They have to avert their eyes when I walk past. Half the time, I feel utterly invisible.

“He did what? Clip the fucker.” He turns his attention to me. “You okay, Vani?”

I blink back tears and sniff. “Yeah, I think so.”

Dad grits his teeth. “How did he think he was going to get away with this?”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t his head he was thinking with,” Big Mike says. “Don’t worry, he’s not going to be hurting anyone again.”

My dad helps me to my feet and pulls me in for a hug. I allow myself to be held. I’m shaking from the adrenaline.

“Let’s get you back inside,” he says.

I let him guide me back into the bar, where he takes me into the office at the rear. He pulls a chair out for me, and I drop into it. I’m aware of my torn shirt, and I pull the material over the top of my bra, suddenly self-conscious. My lip is throbbing and feels too fat for my face.

The cover band is still playing, the musicians and most of the customers completely unaware of the dead body lying in the alleyway just outside.

“Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He shakes his head and drags his hand through his hair. “I know you think I go overboard, but this is exactly the sort of thing I’ve been fearful of, Ivani. Just the thought of him touching my baby girl makes me want to have him killed all over again. How could something like this happen?”

His gaze lands on my torn shirt and the spots of blood on my skin—though the blood isn’t mine. He balls his fists, his shoulders bunched.

“What do you expect, Dad?” I say with a deliberate lower lip tremble. “I’m always around these guys. You might have rules in place for how the club members treat me, but when people come in from out of town, they’re not going to know who I am. Something like this was going to happen eventually, and it’ll probably happen again.”

He glowers, a muscle beneath his eye ticking. “People should have enough fucking respect for me to know not to lay a finger on you.”

“Dad, people know who you are, and they do respect you,” because they’re fucking terrified of you , I don’t add, "but you have to realize they don’t know who I am. Maybe when I was a little girl, it was obvious I’m your daughter, but now I just look like one of the other ol’ ladies or sweet butts who hang around this place.”

Horror crosses his face as it dawns on him that I’m right. I’m not a little girl anymore, and I’m bound to attract the attention of the kind of men who spend time in the clubhouse.

He grinds his teeth. “I’ll put a couple of my best guys on you. Make sure you’re not bothered by anyone again.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What? For the rest of my life? How’s that going to work, Dad? I would like an actual life one day. Besides, isn’t it pretty much already destined that I’m going to end up as part of the club? I guess I’m just going to end up marrying one of the club members and having babies one day.” I purposefully make myself sound resigned at the prospect.

The horror on his expression deepens. “Fuck that. You’re smart, Vani. I don’t want you marrying one of these assholes.”

I quirk a wry smile. “Like Mom did, you mean.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah, like your mom did, God bless her soul.”

Mom’s been dead six months now. It was an accident. A guy on a motorcycle drove straight into her when she was just minding her own business outside of the clubhouse. The man driving the bike had a heart attack. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but Dad still blames himself for Mom even being there when it happened. The doctors thought she was going to live, but, after a week in the hospital, she got sepsis, and her body was too weak to fight anymore. Losing her broke both our hearts.

“I don’t want you to end up like your mom. She deserved better, too.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dad. I’m surrounded by bikes and bikers. It’s not like I can avoid them. I mean, if you let me go to college…”

His lips pinch. “What, where we can keep even less of an eye on you? Not happening, kiddo.”

I bite my lower lip. “What if the place was miles away from anywhere? Somewhere…discreet.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I found this place. It’s called Verona Falls University. You won’t find it on any of the regular prospectuses. It’s exclusive.”

A couple of lines appear between his brows. “How did you find out about it, then?”

“Through a friend of a friend,” I lie. “I’d never have found out about the place otherwise.”

“Verona Falls, huh?” he says.

“It’s in the Adirondack Mountains,” I continue in a rush. “So there’s no chance I could get in any trouble all the way out there.”

He gives a derisive laugh. “You think I don’t know how much trouble kids get up to on campus? Don’t need to be elsewhere, honey. College boys are the worst.”

“Worse than bikers?” I throw back. “Worse than the man who just attacked me out there? I doubt it.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head.

I sense him wavering and forge on. “You said yourself that I’m smart, Dad. I deserve the chance to get a degree. You know I do.”

He doesn’t want me becoming a biker’s ol’ lady, getting knocked up, and most likely cheated on. I’ve been managing the accounts at the bar since I was thirteen years old. Admittedly, most of it has been creative accounting, finding ways we can launder money from other less legal sources through the bar, but I’m still talented at what I do.

He rubs his finger across his lips. “I don’t know…”

“Or I could end up with one of the guys like the one Big Mike just beat up? I guess that would be preferable to you than me going to college and getting a math degree and ending up with a law-abiding job?” I hang my head. “I suppose I could go to the local university and still live here like we’ve discussed, but it would be hard to study with how noisy it gets around here, plus then there’s all the…distractions.”

I don’t need to elaborate further to make him understand I’m talking about all the men.

“Verona Falls is super strict.” I’m not lying. Some of the well-guarded prospectus reads like something out of the Victorian era. “I think it will be safer than anywhere else.”

He growls, but his meaty shoulders slump. “Fine. Let me investigate the place. If there’s any possibility they won’t be able to keep you safe, then it’s going to be a hard no from me. Got it?”

I grin. “Yes, Dad.”

He nods at me to say the conversation is done, and I head out of the room and up to bed, my body aching, and my mind filled with the images of what just went down. I had a plan, but that plan got a man killed. I just have to hope it wasn’t in vain.

It takes another twenty-four hours before Dad comes back to me with a decision. He punches into the office, the door flying open.

In that time, I’ve been working on accounts and managed to keep my head down and not get into any more trouble. How long that will last, though, is anyone’s guess, especially if my dad agrees to what I want. There’s a reason I want to go to Verona Falls, and a reason I put myself in such a precarious position.

Mom had told me something before she died.

I remember the moment she told me the truth with painful clarity. How she’d been lying in the hospital bed, and her eyelids had fluttered open. She’d clasped my hand and told me there was something she needed to say. “You have a sister, Vani, a baby I was forced to give up before I’d even met your dad. The baby’s father, Jarl Olsen, was a bad man—a terrible man. He did things to me…” Her eyelids had fluttered shut again, as though she was in pain, though I didn’t know if it was from her current injuries or the recollection of what had happened to her.

“He found out I was pregnant, and after she was born, took her from me. I had no choice but to let her go. He said if I didn’t, he would kill her, and I believed him. He said he’d bash her tiny head in with a rock rather than let me keep her. He didn’t want me. I was just a toy to him. But he wasn’t going to allow me to keep the child either. The baby was his property.”

“Why didn’t you tell Dad?” I’d asked. “He would have gotten your baby back for you.”

She’d shaken her head. “Vani, when men like Olsen and your father go to war, there are no winners. There would have been so much bloodshed, it was unthinkable. And the first person Olsen would have killed was the child.” She twisted her face away from me. “But also, I was ashamed. Ashamed of what that man did to me, but also ashamed that I let my own daughter go so easily. What would your father have thought of me? It’s the reason I haven’t told anyone until now, but I couldn’t take this to my grave.”

I’d jerked back at her words and my eyes had filled with tears. “You’re not going to die, Mom. You’re going to be just fine.” I’d squeezed her fingers, and she gave me a weak, tired smile.

“Sure, baby. Sure.”

But I didn’t believe her. She’d told me this because she knew she was going to die.

“There’s something else,” Mom continued. “The baby was only two years older than you, Vani, and all of the Olsen family send their offspring to the same private college. It’s called Verona Falls. If you’ll find your sister anywhere, it’ll be there.”

The news I had a sister had been like a cross between a gut punch and being told about a lottery win. I’d always wanted a sister—had yearned for it when I was growing up. I’d even played pretend, like my make-believe sister was an imaginary friend. Now I know the truth, it makes me wonder if subconsciously I’d picked up on something. Had the universe been trying to point me in the right direction all this time?

But Mom hadn’t finished. “You must never tell your father the truth, Vani, or there will be bloodshed.” Her fingers tightened around mine and she stared into my eyes, trying to impart to me the importance of what she was saying. “And you must never, ever contact Jarl Olsen, no matter what. He must never find out that you are mine, and that you know the truth. Promise me, Vani. He does terrible things. I had no idea of his depravity when I met him. Don’t ever mention his name or ask after your sister openly.”

I’d nodded. “I promise.” Then I’d thought of something and licked my lower lip before asking, “What is her name?”

Mom had sunk back against the pillow. “Reagan. Her name is Reagan.”

Now I stare up at Dad expectantly. My stomach is churning. This is it; either I get to find my sister, or I spend the next few years here, stuck in this club and going nowhere.

“Okay, you have a deal.”

I swallow, hopeful but still wary. “A deal?”

“You can go to Verona Falls and get your degree.”

I leap from my seat and throw my arms around his thick neck. “Thank you so much, Dad. You’re the best.”

This was what I’d wanted all along. It’s a physical struggle not to clap and jump up and down with joy, but I must act calm. Inside, I’m dancing. My plan has worked. Perhaps I can finally meet my sister.

He untangles himself from me so he can look me in the eye. “But in return, you have to promise me that you won’t get into any trouble. The first sniff of it, and you’ll be straight out of there.”

“I promise, Dad. No trouble.”

I grin at him. I’ve always been an excellent liar.