2. Viper
VIPER
T he woman in my clubhouse didn't belong here. Dressed in cardigan and with a death grip on that purse, everything about her screamed suburban mom in the wrong place. But the fear radiating off her—that belonged. That cut through everything else. One look sent my boys filing out without argument.
"Now." I leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Someone's got you scared enough to walk into an MC clubhouse. Start from the beginning."
She perched on the edge of my couch like she might bolt any second, fingers twisting in her lap. "My ex-husband. He's... he hurts people. Hurt me. And today he sent texts saying he knows where we are. Where my daughter goes to school."
Harrison Clarke. The name burned into my brain, already marked for destruction.
"He filed papers claiming abandonment. Says I'm unstable, that I kidnapped his daughter." Her laugh came out sharp, bitter. "The courts see a respected attorney versus a waitress who keeps running. Who do you think they believe?"
Forty-two years I'd lived without this feeling. This recognition that slammed through me like a sledgehammer to the chest. My brothers talked about it—that moment when you just know. Always figured they were full of shit or I was too far gone, married to the club too young to want anything else.
But this terrified woman with honey-colored hair falling out of her ponytail, shadows under tired eyes, soft curves hidden under sensible clothes—she changed everything in a heartbeat.
"How old's your girl?"
"Six. Her name's Izzy." Her whole face transformed when she said the kid's name.
Fierce protectiveness mixed with exhaustion.
"She's finally sleeping through the night again.
Finally made a friend at school. I can't... I can't run again.
But I only have eight hundred dollars saved, and I know protection isn't free?—"
"Stop." The idea of her trying to pay for safety made my chest tight. "We'll handle it."
She blinked. "Just like that? You don't even know me."
I'd been watching her for weeks. The new rental on Maple with the broken porch rail. The woman who changed her locks the first night, who jumped at shadows but still showed up for double shifts at Bea's. The way she counted tips twice before putting them away, planning every penny. I’d seen it for myself, and besides it’s a small town.
You can’t do shit here without someone knowing about it.
"Know enough. You're staying in that rental on Maple, right? The blue house with the broken porch rail?"
She went rigid. Too much information, too revealing. But fuck it.
"How did you?—"
"Small town. We pay attention to newcomers, especially single mothers who change their locks the first night and jump when doors slam." I pulled out my phone. "Blade, need you at the clubhouse. Bring Wraith."
I hung up without waiting for response. My brothers knew that tone.
"I can set up a payment plan. Fifty dollars a week, maybe seventy-five if I pick up more shifts?—"
"Your money's no good here."
"I don't understand."
How to explain that she'd walked in and fundamentally rearranged my entire universe? That I'd burn down the world before letting anyone hurt her or her kid?
"You walked in here asking for help. We protect what's ours. End of discussion."
"But I'm not yours?—"
"Aren't you?"
The question hung heavy between us. Her lips parted, breath catching. The attraction hit both ways, even if she wasn't ready to acknowledge it.
Blade and Wraith burst through the door, saving her from responding.
"Blade, Wraith, this is Tara." Brief introductions, professional, though every instinct screamed to stake my claim. "Her ex is making threats. Lawyer from Milwaukee named Harrison Clarke. Find out everything about him."
"On it." Wraith already had his phone out. "Social media?"
"I deleted everything months ago. He used to track my posts."
"Smart," Blade approved, and she stood a little straighter.
"Later. I'm taking her home. Wraith, I want everything by tonight. Blade, put the word out. Anyone sees a suit sniffing around asking questions, I hear about it immediately."
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. "You coming?"
"I have my car?—"
"Leave it. You're riding with me."
Primitive, probably inappropriate given her situation, but I needed her on my bike. Needed her pressed against me, arms wrapped tight, trusting me to keep her safe.
"I don't have a helmet."
My mouth twitched. Safety first, even when her world was falling apart. "Got a spare."
Outside, the spare helmet from my saddlebag fit perfectly—the one I'd bought months ago, telling myself it was practical, lying that I hadn't imagined giving a pretty woman a ride.
"Ever ridden before?"
"No."
Fresh terror flickered across her face. Different terror. This I could work with.
"When we lean, you lean. Don't fight it. And hold on tight."
I mounted up and waited. She stood frozen in her pencil skirt and sensible shoes, clearly calculating logistics. Finally, she moved and climbed on behind me.
"Arms around me."
Her hands settled tentatively on my waist.
"Tara. I said hold on tight."
The engine roared to life, vibration traveling through both of us.
She pressed fully against my back, arms wrapped around my middle, soft curves molded to me.
Ten minutes of sweet torture, her body warm against mine, her breath through my shirt.
When we reached her driveway, letting her go took actual effort.
"This the place?"
She stared at the rental with obvious embarrassment. Peeling paint, broken rail, overgrown yard.
"It's temporary."
"It's shelter." I helped her dismount, hands spanning her waist. Soft, curvy, real. Nothing like the club girls who threw themselves at us.
I walked the perimeter—windows, doors, sight lines. The back door lock was pathetic. Tomorrow we'd fix that.
"Tomorrow, we install real security. Tonight, someone will be watching the house."
"That's not necessary?—"
"Which part of 'we protect what's ours' didn't you understand?"
Heat flashed in her expression before she shut it down. The school bus rumbled down the street, saving her from responding.
A tiny blonde tornado bounced off the bus, backpack huge on her small frame. She saw me and froze.
"Mama?"
"It's okay, baby. This is Mr. Viper. He's... a friend."
The kid studied me from behind her mother's legs. "He's big."
I crouched down, making myself smaller. Kids either loved me or ran screaming. This one had probably seen enough from her father to fear large men.
"You must be Izzy. Your mom tells me you're six."
She nodded solemnly. "Six and three quarters."
"That's a very important age. I bet you're in first grade."
"Ms. Patterson's class." She edged out slightly. “Are you a biker?”
"I am."
"Like in the books? With the loud motorcycles?"
"Exactly like that."
She considered this. "Can I see your motorcycle?"
Smart kid, asking permission. "If your mom says it's okay."
She turned to Tara. Mother and daughter, under my protection now whether they knew it or not.
"From the sidewalk. No touching," Tara agreed.
I walked with Izzy to my bike, answering her rapid-fire questions. Bright kid, curious, not as broken as she could've been. Her mother had protected her well.
"What's that?" She pointed at my cut.
"Shows I'm part of a club."
"Like a uniform?"
"Exactly like a uniform."
"Mama wears a uniform at the diner. Do you have a job?"
"I fix motorcycles."
"That's cool." She looked at her mom. "Isn't that cool, Mama?"
The gratitude in Tara's expression, the surprise that her daughter was talking to a strange man without fear—worth every violent thing I'd ever done if it meant keeping that look on her face.
I mounted up, giving Izzy a two-finger salute that made her giggle. "Someone will be by later to check the locks. Answer the door."
The ride back to the clubhouse gave me time to think. To plan. Harrison Clarke had made a fatal mistake coming after them. He just didn't know it yet.
Wraith had progressed to his laptop I noticed when I walked in. He was about the only member of the club that knew how to work the damn things.
"Harrison Clarke, thirty-eight, senior partner at Clarke, Morris, and Associates. Specializes in criminal defense, lots of organized crime connections. Divorced, filed eight months ago citing abandonment." He looked up. "She filed first. Three police reports for domestic violence, all dropped."
My hands clenched. "What else?"
"Money. Lots of it. Some doesn't track to legitimate sources. His client list includes two Milwaukee MCs, some Russians, handful of dealers he's kept out of prison."
"Find me leverage."
"Already on it. His finances are too clean. Nobody's that clean without hiding something dirty."
"Find it."
Blade leaned against the wall. "She's the one from the diner? The one you've been watching?"
No point denying it. These were my brothers.
"She's under my protection now."
"She know what that means?"
"She will."
Wolf walked in, grinning. "About fucking time you found an old lady."
"She doesn't know that yet."
"She will," Blade echoed. "Once you've gone all caveman protective, they figure it out quick."
"Phoenix, Tank," I called out. "First watch. Her place on Maple. Stay invisible but stay close."
They appeared in the doorway, nodding.
"If anyone shows up?"
"Call me first. Then handle it."
My phone buzzed after they left. Unknown number.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Brennan? This is Harrison Clarke. I believe you met my wife today. I have someone watching her every move now I know where she is.“
The balls on this fucker. "Ex-wife."
"Not yet. The divorce isn't final. I heard she came to you for... protection. I'd like to discuss compensating you for your trouble."
"Not interested."
"Everyone has a price, Mr. Brennan. I'm prepared to offer?—"
"I said not interested."
Silence stretched. "I have connections with several MCs. This doesn't have to get complicated."
"You're right. It doesn't. Stay away from Tara and Izzy."
"They're my family?—"
"Not anymore." I hung up.
Wraith glanced up. "Want me to trace that?"
"No need. He'll show himself soon enough." A cold smile stretched across my face. "And when he does, we'll be ready."
The fucker had no idea what he'd started. But he'd learn. They always did.