6. Viper
Morning light filtered through Tara's bedroom curtains, painting gold stripes across her bare shoulder. She lay curled against me, one hand splayed across my chest, breathing deep and even. Peaceful. No more jumping at shadows, no more planning escape routes.
Yesterday I'd broken her ex-husband's nose and probably two ribs. Today she woke up free.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Wraith's text was short: Papers signed. Full custody to Tara. Harrison's plane left Milwaukee for Miami. Won't be back.
I set the phone down carefully, not wanting to wake her yet. Let her have a few more minutes of peace before the world came rushing back.
She stirred anyway, those warm eyes blinking open. The smile that spread across her face when she saw me—fuck, I'd burn down cities to keep that smile there.
"Morning." Her voice was rough with sleep and last night's activities. After dinner, after Izzy was asleep, I'd taken my time showing her exactly how a man should worship the woman he loved.
"Morning, sweetheart. Got news."
The smile faltered. "Harrison?"
"Signed everything. Full custody. He's gone."
She sat up, sheet pooling at her waist, all those incredible curves on display. The morning light loved her skin, highlighting every dip and swell I'd mapped with my mouth hours ago.
"Really? It's over?"
"It's over."
The sob that escaped her was half relief, half disbelief. I pulled her against me, her tears hot on my chest. Forty-two years I'd lived without this—without someone who mattered more than the club, more than myself. Now I couldn't imagine going back.
"Mama?" Izzy's voice from the doorway. "Why are you crying?"
Tara wiped her face quickly. "Happy tears, baby. Just happy tears."
Izzy climbed onto the bed, settling between us like she belonged there. Because she did.
"Is it about Daddy? Lucy's mom said he went away."
Small towns. News traveled faster than light.
"Yeah, princess. He's gone. Won't bother you or your mom again."
She studied me with those serious eyes. "Did you make him go away?"
No point lying to kids. They always knew anyway. "Your mom and I did, yeah."
"Good." She snuggled against my side, casual as breathing. "Can we have pancakes?"
Just like that. Six-year-old problems, six-year-old solutions. Bad man gone? Great, what's for breakfast?
An hour later, I stood at Tara's stove flipping pancakes while she showered. Izzy sat at the table, coloring and chattering about school. Domestic as hell, and I loved every second of it.
"Mr. Viper?" Izzy's voice went quiet. "Are you gonna live here now?"
I set the spatula down, giving her my full attention. "Would that be okay with you?"
She chewed her lip, considering. "Would you fix more stuff? The bathroom door sticks."
"I could fix everything that's broken."
"And make pancakes?"
"Every Saturday."
"And keep the bad people away?"
My chest went tight. This little girl, asking for so little. Safety. Pancakes. Someone to fix the door.
"Always, princess. Nobody's ever going to hurt you or your mom again."
She went back to coloring, satisfied. "Okay. You can live here."
Tara emerged from the hallway, hair damp, wearing one of my t-shirts that hit mid-thigh.
The look on her face said she'd heard everything.
But more than that, the way that shirt clung to her damp skin, the way her nipples pressed against the thin fabric—morning shower and my clothes was a combination designed to kill me.
Later, after breakfast, after Izzy had run outside to test her newly-fixed bike again, Tara pressed me against the kitchen counter.
"You want to move in? Really?"
"Want more than that." I pulled the small leather patch from my pocket. Property of Viper, Pike Creek Riders MC. "Want you wearing this. Want everyone knowing you're mine."
Her fingers traced the lettering. In the MC world, a property patch meant everything. Protection. Belonging. Family.
"I was married before. It didn't exactly?—"
"This is different." I cupped her face, making sure she heard every word. "This isn't papers and legal bullshit. This is me choosing you every day. This is the club having your back always. This is Izzy growing up with twenty uncles who'd die before letting anyone hurt her."
"That's a lot of uncles."
"She'll be the most protected kid in Montana."
Tara's fingers curled around the patch. "How does this work? Do I sew it on something?"
"Leather jacket. I'll get you one. But you can wear it however you want. Some old ladies wear them on vests, some on bags. Point is everyone knows."
"Old lady?"
"MC term for—" I stopped, realizing how it sounded. "Means you're mine. Means you matter. Means you're family."
She stretched up on her toes, pressing her mouth to mine. The kiss was soft, sweet, nothing like yesterday's desperate heat but somehow more intense.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll wear your patch. Be your old lady." Her smile turned wicked. "But you're fixing that bathroom door today."
The next two weeks passed in a blur of ordinary perfection.
I moved my stuff in gradually—clothes, tools, bike parts that drove Tara crazy but she tolerated because they came with me.
The brothers helped repair everything broken in the rental—porch rail, back door, leaky roof.
Made it a real home instead of a waystation.
Word spread through Pike Creek like wildfire. Viper Brennan, eternal bachelor, shacked up with the single mom from the diner. Playing daddy to a six-year-old. Domestic as a golden retriever.
Let them talk. They didn't understand what it was like to find your whole world in a terrified woman asking for protection.
To discover that everything you thought you wanted was nothing compared to breakfast chaos and bedtime stories and the weight of someone who trusted you completely sleeping in your arms.
"You've gone soft," Wolf said one afternoon at the clubhouse.
"Fuck off."
"Seriously. Yesterday you stopped a church run to help the kid with her bike chain."
"So?"
"So you're whipped. Completely fucking whipped." He grinned. "Looks good on you, brother."
He was right. I was completely gone for both of them. Izzy had me wrapped around her tiny finger, and Tara owned me body and soul. For the first time in my life, I had something to lose.
Made me dangerous in a whole new way.
Three weeks after Harrison left town, I took my girls to the park. Normal Saturday afternoon stuff—pushing Izzy on the swings, catching her at the bottom of the slide, pretending to be a monster while she shrieked with laughter.
Tara sat on a bench, wearing her new leather jacket despite the warm afternoon. My patch prominent on the back. Property of Viper. Some people stared. Let them. The whole town would know soon enough—Tara Clarke was taken, protected, mine.
"Higher!" Izzy demanded from the swing.
"Any higher and you'll launch into orbit, princess."
"That would be cool!"
I pushed her higher, her delighted squeals carrying across the park. Other families were scattered around—normal people doing normal things. Three months ago, I'd have never pictured myself here. Would have laughed at the idea.
"Viper!" Phoenix called out, approaching with Tank and Wraith. "Didn't expect to see you at the kiddie park."
"His natural habitat now," Tank teased.
Izzy jumped off the swing at the top of its arc, giving me a minor heart attack before landing in the sand. "Mr. Phoenix! Mr. Tank! Mr. Wraith! Watch what I can do!"
She proceeded to demonstrate her monkey bar skills while three dangerous bikers cheered her on like she was performing at the Olympics.
"Your old lady looks good in leather," Phoenix commented quietly, nodding toward Tara.
"Yeah, she does."
"Harrison's staying gone. Wraith's got eyes on him—moved his practice to Florida, telling everyone he wanted a fresh start."
"Good."
"She happy?"
Tara laughed at something Tank said to Izzy, her whole face bright with it. No shadows in those eyes anymore, no tension in her shoulders. The woman who'd walked into my clubhouse terrified and desperate was gone, replaced by this confident beauty who wore my patch like armor.
"Yeah. She's happy."
"What about you?"
Three months ago, happiness meant a successful run, a good party, my brothers safe. Now it meant breakfast chaos and bedtime stories and the way Tara came apart under my hands. It meant Izzy asking me to check for monsters and Tara wearing my patch and having something worth protecting.
"Never better."
The sun was starting to set, painting everything gold. Izzy had moved to the jungle gym, Tara spotting her from below. I joined them, lifting Izzy onto my shoulders when she got tired.
"Ready to head home?" Tara asked.
Home. Not her place or the rental. Home.
"Yeah. Let's go home."
We walked back slowly, Izzy on my shoulders playing with my hair, Tara's hand in mine. Normal. Domestic. Everything I never knew I needed.
That night, after Izzy was asleep, after I'd fixed the bathroom door and two other things Tara had added to my list, she stood in our bedroom wearing nothing but my patch on a chain around her neck.
"Is this okay?" she asked. "For around the house?"
I crossed the room in two strides, lifting her against the wall. Her legs wrapped around me immediately, and the feel of her—soft, warm, mine—short-circuited my brain.
"More than okay."
"Good." Her hips rolled against me, and I was lost. "Because I had some ideas about how to thank you for all that repair work."
She slid down my body slowly, deliberately, until she was on her knees. The sight of her there, wearing nothing but my patch, looking up at me with heat in her eyes—I gripped the wall to keep from grabbing her.
"Tara—"
"Shh." Her hands worked my belt, my zipper, freeing me with practiced ease. "My turn to worship you."
Her mouth was hot, wet, devastating. She took her time, using everything she'd learned about what destroyed me. Her hand wrapped around the base, working in rhythm with her mouth, and my vision went white at the edges.
"Fuck, sweetheart?—"
She hummed around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. One hand gripped her hair, not controlling, just needing the connection. She looked up at me through her lashes, and the sight—those perfect lips wrapped around me, my patch gleaming at her throat—nearly ended me.
"Not like this," I managed, pulling her up. "Need to be inside you."
She laughed, breathless and wanting. "Then take me to bed."
I lifted her, carrying her to our bed, laying her out like she was precious. Because she was. The most precious thing in my world.
"Love me," she whispered.
I did. Slow and thorough, making her come twice before I finally let myself follow. Afterward, tangled in sheets that smelled like both of us, she traced the club tattoo over my heart.
"No regrets?" she asked. "Trading your bachelor life for this?"
"This was never a trade." I caught her hand, pressed it flat against the ink. "This was finding what I didn't know I was looking for."
"That's cheesy."
"That's truth."
She kissed me, slow and deep and full of promise.
"I love you," she whispered against my mouth. The first time she'd said it.
"About fucking time." I rolled her under me, looking down at this woman who'd changed everything. "I love you too. You and Izzy both. My girls."
"Your old lady and your princess?"
"My everything."
Monday morning, I sat in my usual booth at Bea's, watching Tara work the breakfast rush. She moved differently now—confident, easy, smiling. That soft sway to her hips that said she knew I was watching and liked it.
"You did good," Bea said, refilling my coffee. "That girl needed someone like you."
"I needed her more."
"I know." She patted my shoulder. "Whole town knows. Viper Brennan, domesticated at last."
"Not domesticated. Just focused on what matters."
Harrison Clarke had thought he owned her. Thought fear and legal threats meant possession.
He'd learned different.
Tara was mine now—not through fear or force, but through choice. Through pancake mornings and motorcycle rides and the patch she wore with pride. Through Izzy calling me when she had nightmares and Tara reaching for me in her sleep.
I'd spent forty-two years married to the club, thinking that was enough.
I'd been wrong.
This was enough. This was everything.
My old lady. My princess. My home.