5. Tara
TARA
T he morning after Viper spent the night—after tea parties and promises that made my chest tight—Harrison walked into Bea's Diner.
Lunch rush chaos covered his entrance at first. I balanced three plates of the daily special, dodging Maxine with her coffee pot, when the bell chimed. That particular sound shouldn't have mattered. But my body knew before my brain caught up, spine going rigid, plates rattling against each other.
Harrison stood in the doorway. Armani suit despite Montana heat, that practiced courthouse smile already in place.
"Hello, wife."
The plates would have shattered if Buck hadn't lunged from his stool to steady them.
Every conversation in the diner stopped. Forks suspended midair, coffee cooling in cups, the entire town holding its breath.
"Get out." My voice came out stronger than my shaking hands suggested.
"Such fire now." Harrison moved into the diner, marking territory with each step. "Your biker gave you a backbone? How delightfully trashy."
Behind the counter, Bea's hand found her phone. Not for 911—for Viper.
"We need to discuss custody arrangements." Papers appeared from his briefcase with courtroom precision. "Emergency filing citing abandonment, parental alienation, child endangerment."
Surveillance photos scattered across the counter. Me wrapped around Viper on his bike. Him leaving my house at dawn. Izzy on his shoulders, laughing.
"You've been watching us."
"Documenting your unfit behavior." His assessment swept down my body with practiced disgust. "Though what did I expect? You always were weak.
The door exploded inward.
Viper filled the frame, Wolf and Blade flanking him. The temperature plummeted despite the noon heat. Violence radiated from every line of his body, but when his gaze found me, something else flared there too. Possession. Pride. Pure, burning want.
My reaction was immediate and wrong. Pulse hammering, skin flushing, that familiar ache blooming low in my belly. This man was about to destroy my ex-husband, and all I could think about was how his hands had felt on me.
"You're in my seat."
Harrison turned from the counter, oblivious to danger. "Mr. Brennan. Perfect timing." More papers appeared. "Cease and desist order. Come within fifty feet of my wife or daughter?—"
Viper moved faster than thought. One second Harrison was mid-sentence, the next he was dragged across the counter, papers flying like snow.
"Outside. Now."
"This is assault! Everyone here witnessed?—"
"Funny thing about Pike Creek." Viper's hand shifted to Harrison's throat. Not squeezing. Yet. "Folks develop selective blindness."
The entire diner turned away. Studying napkins, fascinated by ceiling tiles, deeply invested in empty plates. Even Bea had her back turned, suddenly overwhelmed by the cash register.
Viper hauled Harrison toward the door. My feet followed without permission.
The alley reeked of old grease and summer garbage. Harrison was already on the ground, Armani jacket torn, perfect hair destroyed. Blood trickled from his mouth, but still he talked.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with. I have connections—judges who owe me, cops on payroll, other MCs?—"
Viper's fist connected with Harrison's jaw. The crack echoed off brick walls.
"That's for every time you told her she wasn't enough."
Another hit, ribs this time. Harrison curled inward, whimpering.
"That's for making her afraid."
"She's nothing special." Harrison spat blood, still trying for control. “She’s a suburban piece of trash. You'll get bored when the novelty wears off?—"
The next hit came from Wolf, dropping Harrison back to his knees.
"Respect. Learn it."
Viper crouched down, voice conversational. "Wraith."
Wraith appeared by Vipers side. "Seventeen transfers from your client trust to shell companies. Three witnesses who conveniently died before testifying. The Milwaukee DA would find this fascinating."
Harrison went white beneath the blood.
"Sign the divorce papers tonight," Viper continued. "Full custody to Tara. Or your partners get an email about missing client funds."
He stood, wiping Harrison's blood on his jeans. The casual violence, the absolute control—heat spiraled through me, wrong and undeniable.
Sheriff Jenkins's cruiser pulled into the lot. Blade hauled Harrison upright, shoving him toward a rental car.
"Airport. Now. We'll be watching."
Harrison fumbled for keys with shaking hands. His gaze found mine through the windshield—real fear there now, bone-deep and permanent.
He drove away with his tires screeching round the corner out of the parking lot.
Jenkins strolled over, taking in the scene. "Trouble?"
"Car trouble," Viper said. "We helped him out."
Jenkins glanced at me, waiting.
"Car trouble," I confirmed.
Jenkins's jaw clenched, his badge catching sunlight as he turned away. "Goddamn Pike Creek. One of these days, someone in this town is going to actually tell me the truth." He yanked his cruiser door open. "But not today, apparently."
The alley went quiet. Viper turned to me, and whatever he saw in my expression made his nostrils flare.
"You're turned on."
Heat flooded my face. "I shouldn't be?—"
"But you are." He backed me against the brick wall, caging me in. "Watching me defend you. Protect what's mine."
His mouth crashed into mine, copper and violence on his tongue. I opened immediately, hands fisting in his cut, pulling him closer. The kiss was brutal, claiming, his hand tangling in my hair to angle my head exactly where he wanted it.
"Inside," Bea's voice cut through. "Both of you. Now."
Back in the diner, she handed me my purse. "Take the rest of the day. Tomorrow too. Paid leave."
The ride home on Viper's bike was torture. Every vibration, every turn that pressed me fighter against him, his body solid and hot between my thighs. His brothers followed but peeled off one by one with knowing looks.
Inside my house, the door barely closed before he pressed me against it.
"Izzy doesn't get home for four hours," he said against my throat, teeth grazing the spot that made me shiver.
"Then why are we still dressed?"
He pulled back to look at me, something raw in his expression. "You sure? After what you just saw?—"
"After watching you fight for me? Bleed for me?" I pulled his head down, speaking against his mouth. "I've never wanted anything more."
He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me down the hall. In the bedroom, he set me on my feet, hands already working at my uniform buttons.
"Been thinking about this all morning," he admitted, pushing the polyester off my shoulders. "How you'd look spread out on these sheets. How you'd sound when I made you come again."
"Just once?"
His laugh was dark, promising. "Oh, sweetheart. Once was never going to be enough."
My bra disappeared, his mouth immediately finding my breast. I arched into him, hands fumbling with his belt, needing skin against skin. He helped, stripping efficiently until we were both bare.
"Look at you." His hands mapped my curves, worshipping every soft place Harrison had criticized. "Perfect. Every fucking inch."
He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed, lowering me down and following. His weight pressed me into the mattress, solid and safe and overwhelming in the best way. His mouth traveled down my throat, across my collarbone, taking his time like we had forever instead of stolen afternoon hours.
When he reached my belly, he pressed kisses to each stretch mark, murmuring praise that undid years of criticism. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading them wide, and the look on his face—pure hunger, absolute need—made me feel like a goddess.
"Could live between these thighs," he said, then proved it with his mouth.
The first touch of his tongue made me buck off the bed. He held me steady, finding exactly the right pressure, the perfect rhythm. My hands tangled in his hair as he worked me methodically toward the edge, then eased back, keeping me suspended.
"Please—"
"Not yet." He slid two fingers inside, curling just right. "Want you desperate for it. Want you to remember this every time you doubt how fucking perfect you are."
He built me up again, slower this time, until I was shaking, begging, promising anything if he'd just let me?—
The orgasm hit like a lightning strike, back bowing off the bed, his name breaking from my throat. He worked me through it, then started building again before I'd fully recovered.
The second one rolled through me slower but deeper, leaving me boneless and panting. He kissed his way back up my body, settling between my thighs.
"Ready?"
"If you don't get inside me right now, I might actually die."
He pushed in slow, steady, until he was fully seated. We both groaned at the sensation—him thick and hard inside me, stretching me perfectly.
"Fuck." His forehead pressed to mine. "You feel incredible."
He started to move, long steady strokes that had me wrapping my legs around him, trying to take him deeper. His control never wavered, keeping that same maddening pace even when I raked my nails down his back.
"Harder," I demanded.
"No." He caught my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand. "Going to take my time. Make you feel every inch."
And he did. Kept that steady, devastating rhythm until I was mindless with need, until my whole world narrowed to where we were joined, to the friction and fullness and the way he looked at me like I was everything.
"That's it," he encouraged when I started to tighten around him. "Come for me again. Let me feel it."
His free hand found where we were joined, thumb circling, and that was all it took. The third orgasm destroyed me, so intense I might have blacked out for a second. He followed immediately, my name rough in his throat as he came.
We stayed tangled together, both breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. His weight on me felt perfect, grounding, safe.
"You okay?" He lifted his head to study my face.
"Better than okay." I traced the edge of a tattoo on his chest. "Though I might need a nap before Izzy gets home."
"Mmm." He rolled us sideways, keeping me close. "Twenty minutes. Then round two."
"Round two?"
"Sweetheart, we have three hours." His hand curved over my hip possessively. "I plan to use every minute."
He did.
By the time Izzy's bus rumbled down the street, I was thoroughly debauched, deliciously sore, and wearing the biggest smile of my life. Viper had replaced his clothes but his hair was still messed from my hands, and there was a bite mark on his throat that his collar couldn't quite hide.
"Mama!" Izzy bounced through the door, then stopped. "Mr. Viper! Are you staying for dinner?"
"If that's okay with your mom."
She looked between us, six-year-old intuition picking up something. "Are you Mama's boyfriend now?"
Viper glanced at me, eyebrow raised, leaving the answer to me.
"Yeah, baby. He is."
Her squeal could probably be heard three counties over. "Does this mean we get to ride on your motorcycle more?"
"Anytime you want, princess."
As I watched my daughter chatter excitedly about motorcycles while Viper helped her with her backpack, something settled in my chest. This morning I'd been terrified. This afternoon I'd watched my ex-husband get what he deserved. And now...
Now I was free. Really, truly free.
Harrison was handled. The papers would be signed. The threat was over.
And I had this—a man who'd fight the world for us, a daughter who felt safe enough to trust again, and a future that finally looked bright.