Chapter Four
Viper hadn’t planned on trouble that morning. He’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling of the cheap motel room, waiting for sleep that never came. The air reeked of old cigarettes and mildew, but that wasn’t what kept him awake.
It was the same damn thing that always did. The noise in his head that never really stopped. The ghosts. The faces. The echoes of places he’d rather forget.
So when he finally stepped out into the early light, he just wanted coffee and quiet. Nothing more. He didn’t get either. The first thing he saw was the girl, back stiff and her eyes wide.
He recognized that look instantly. The kind of fear that came from knowing you were trapped and outnumbered. Two men flanked her, both wearing patches he knew too well. The Blood Vultures MC.
Viper’s gut tightened.
He hadn’t had to deal with those bastards in a while, but their reputation preceded them. Bullies, traffickers, snakes hiding behind colors they didn’t deserve. Right now, they were cornering a girl who couldn’t have been more than her early twenties.
He took a step closer, scanning the situation like muscle memory. The first guy was stocky, in his late thirties, with a busted nose that hadn’t healed right. He was talking loud, throwing his weight around. The other hung back a bit, bigger, meaner-looking, but quieter. Watching and waiting.
The girl’s shoulders were shaking, but her chin was lifted like she was daring them to make the next move. Brave, but terrified.
Then she spun and ran straight into him.
She hit his chest hard enough that he caught her without thinking, steadying her before she could stumble. She smelled like soap and rain and something faintly sweet beneath the fear. For half a second, she looked up at him, and everything around them went still.
Christ.
He didn’t know her. Had never seen her before in his life. However, the flash of panic on her face, and the defiance in her gorgeous blue eyes hit him harder than he expected.
Then one of the bikers shouted, telling Viper she was coming with them.
Viper turned slowly, his grip loosening but not disappearing. His voice was calm, measured. The tone he used before bullets started flying.
“Didn’t look like she wanted to.”
The bigger of the two snorted. “Ain’t your concern, brother.”
“I’m not your brother,” Viper said. “And she don’t look like she agrees.”
That earned him a sneer. “The hell do you care? Devil’s Crown ain’t got nothin’ to do with this.”
Viper didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He saw the way the girl flinched when the men stepped closer, how her hand twitched toward her pocket like she might be carrying something for defense but didn’t dare use it. That was enough.
He moved before he even realized he was doing it.
Jax reached for her first, a hand snapping around her wrist. “Don’t make this harder, sweetheart.”
That was as far as he got. Viper grabbed the biker’s wrist and twisted hard. There was a crack, a muffled curse, and the man dropped fast. The other one lunged forward with a growl, a flash of silver in his hand. A knife.
Viper shoved the young woman behind him.
“Stay down.” The words were more command than request.
The biker with the knife swung wide, the move sloppy. Viper sidestepped easily, the blade whistling past his ribs.
He drove his elbow into the biker’s throat, cutting off the man’s snarl mid-breath, then followed it with a sharp jab to the gut. It was military precision, fast, brutal, and efficient. The biker folded, gasping, but Viper didn’t stop there.
A knee to the face sent him sprawling. By then, the first biker had recovered enough to come at him again. Fury twisted his face, and he clutched his wrist with his good hand.
“You’re dead, bastard!” he yelled.
Viper turned to meet him, expression unreadable. “Get in line.”
He ducked under the punch, landed one of his own square in the biker’s ribs. The sound of breaking bone was sharp, final. Another blow to the jaw and the man went down hard, out cold before he hit the gravel.
The whole thing lasted less than a minute.
When it was done, both men were sprawled on the ground, groaning or silent. The motel clerk had vanished somewhere inside, probably calling the cops or pretending not to see a thing.
Viper stood over them, chest heaving once, twice, before he forced the air out slowly. He unclenched his fists and steadied his pulse.
Then he turned back to the girl. She hadn’t run.
She was pressed against the wall, eyes huge, breathing hard. The morning light caught in her dark brown hair, which looked tangled from sleep and wind.
It made her look softer than she probably wanted to be seen. There was dirt on her jeans, a small rip near the knee, and the backpack at her feet looked ready to burst from overuse.
She looked like hell, but she was still standing. A fighter. Viper liked fighters.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Y-yeah.” Her voice was shaky.
He believed her about as much as he believed his own lies.
Viper glanced down at the two men again. “You know them?”
Her jaw tightened. “They work for my father.”
“Your old man run with the Vultures?”
Her silence was all the answer he needed.
He let out a slow whistle. “Well, that explains the attitude.”
She bristled at that, crossing her arms. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
“No,” he said, shrugging, “but you sure as hell needed it.”
Her glare sharpened. “I could’ve handled it.”
“Yeah?” He nodded toward Jax, still groaning on the ground. “Looked like you were doin’ real fine a minute ago.”
That earned him a muttered curse. But behind the spark in her eyes, he saw something else. There was fear, exhaustion, and desperation. He’d seen that look before.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “You got somewhere to go?”
She hesitated, glancing at the duffel at her feet. “Does it matter?”
“Depends,” he said. “If those bastards were after you here, they’ll be after you wherever you’re headed.”
Her throat worked. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sure,” Viper said quietly. “’Cause that went great five minutes ago.”
She shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. For some reason, it made his lips twitch. He hadn’t smiled in weeks. Maybe months.
She didn’t notice. She was already bending to grab her bag, movements quick and jerky, like she didn’t want him seeing how much her hands were shaking.
Viper didn’t move to stop her. He just stood there, watching, thinking.
He’d come here to clear his head. To forget for a few hours that he was Vice President of a club that seemed to no longer need him. That he was still a soldier underneath the leather. That some nights, he woke up tasting sand and blood and guilt.
Now? He was looking at a girl who shouldn’t have been anywhere near this kind of life. She was too young and scared.
Still, there was something in her that snagged his attention. The way she squared her shoulders even when she was terrified. The way her eyes dared him to underestimate her.
She reminded him of himself.
He sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “Listen. I ain’t lookin’ to get involved, but those Vulture pricks don’t take no for an answer. You stay here, they’ll be back.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Good.” He jerked his chin toward the lot. “Then you better get movin’.”
She slung her bag over her shoulder, but instead of leaving, she hesitated. Her gaze flicked to the men again, then back to him.
“You’re with the Devil’s Crown, right?”
“Last I checked.”
Her brow furrowed. “You and the Vultures—”
“Don’t get along,” he finished for her. “Understatement of the year.”
“So helping me means—”
He cut her off. “Means I saw two assholes hassling a woman who didn’t want it. That’s all.”
She studied him for a moment longer, searching for something in his face. He didn’t know what she found, but whatever it was made her exhale shakily.
“Thank you,” she said finally, so softly he almost missed it. “I didn’t catch your name.”
He gave a short nod. “Viper and don’t mention it.”
“I’m Mara. Thanks for the assist, Viper,” she said.
Then she walked off, her steps quick. Mara darted her gaze toward the parking lot like she was afraid of looking back.
Viper stood there long after she disappeared down the road, the sound of her boots fading under the distant roar of a passing truck.
He looked down at the Vultures one last time. Viper should’ve walked away. He should’ve gotten on his bike, finished his ride, forgotten the whole damn thing, but he didn’t.
Instead, he crouched down, grabbed one of the bikers’ wallets, and flipped it open. Inside was a folded photo. It was creased, smudged, but clear enough. It was the girl. Mara.
Now he knew this wasn’t random. They’d been tracking her and they’d been willing to drag her back by force. He stared at the picture for a long moment, tightening his jaw.
Then he shoved it into his pocket. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was out of curiosity or something else.
All he knew was that she didn’t fit the mold of the people he usually crossed paths with. If the Vultures wanted her that bad, there was more to her story than she was letting on.
He straightened, wiping the blood off his knuckles with a rag from his back pocket.
“Guess I’m not getting a quiet morning after all,” he muttered.
He swung a leg over his Harley, the seat creaking under his weight, leather cool against his palms as he gripped the handlebars. The familiar vibration of the engine settled deep in his bones.
Usually, the rumble helped quiet the noise in his head. The ghosts, the memories, the restlessness that clung like smoke. Not this time.
Because when he blinked, he didn’t see the road in front of him. He saw her.
The girl with the wild hair and those stubborn, ocean-blue eyes that had looked at him like she was seeing straight through the cut, the scars, the years of violence he wore like armor.
Hell if he knew what to make of that.
Viper wasn’t a man who wondered about women after a first meeting. He didn’t wonder about anyone, period. He took what he wanted, walked away before morning, and didn’t look back. It was easier that way, but she was sticking in his head like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.
Maybe it was the way she’d looked as she stood there, small but refusing to cower. Or maybe it was how she’d still managed to glare at him after he’d saved her ass. Like she didn’t want saving and she hated needing anyone.
He understood that. Too damn well.
Viper revved the throttle once, twice, trying to drown the thought, but it didn’t help. He glanced in his side mirror, half-expecting her to reappear, running for whatever life she had left. The motel was empty now, the sun cutting sharp across the parking lot.
She was gone. Good. That’s what he told himself, anyway.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the folded photo he’d taken from the Vulture’s wallet. Her hair was pulled back, her smile uncertain, like whoever took it caught her off guard.
What the hell was she doing mixed up with the Vultures? And why the hell did they want her bad enough to chase her into another club’s backyard?
Questions he didn’t need. Questions that burned anyway.
Viper crumpled the photo in his fist, meaning to toss it, but his hand didn’t move. He should ride back to the clubhouse. Check in with King, maybe help with the new shipment coming in from Arizona. Do his job. Keep his head down.
But he didn’t start the engine. Not yet. Instead, he sat there with the morning sun glinting off his handlebars, jaw clenched, heart doing that strange uneven thing it hadn’t done in a long damn time.
It wasn’t attraction, he told himself. Couldn’t be. He’d had plenty of women. Easy company, no strings, no reason to remember their names. He knew what attraction felt like. Fast, sharp, over before sunrise. This wasn’t that. This felt ... different. Unwanted.
Mara was a complete stranger, but the thought of her walking off alone with the Vultures prowling nearby left a knot in his gut he couldn’t untangle.
That confused the hell out of him.
He didn’t care about strays. He didn’t save people. He’d stopped trying to do that a long time ago, back when saving one meant losing five.
Mara’s face kept flashing behind his eyes. He drew in a slow breath, the air sharp and dry in his lungs.
“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s not your problem.”
Still, he didn’t start the bike. He hovered his thumb over the ignition, hesitation burning through him like a live wire.
He told himself he’d just make a loop around the area. Just to be sure those Vulture bastards didn’t crawl back out of whatever ditch he’d left them in. That was all.
Protect the territory. Keep things quiet. Nothing more.
As he turned the bike toward the road that wound past the diner, he couldn’t help glancing east, the direction she’d gone.
He hated that he noticed the small details. The sway of her hair when she moved, the bruise forming on her wrist from where that asshole grabbed her, the way her hands had trembled, but her spine had stayed straight.
He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. At least, that’s what he kept repeating as he pulled out of the lot and into the sun.