Chapter 6 - Viper
I watch Amy disappear down the hallway with Evelyn and Kelly, my eyes lingering longer than they should. When she's finally out of sight, I drag a hand down my face and exhale slowly. Fuck.
What is it about this woman? She's bruised and broken, just escaped captivity, and I'm already—what? Interested? Attracted? Both feel inadequate to describe the pull I feel toward her.
"You going to stand there all day looking like a lovesick teenager, or you joining us for a drink?" Ghost's voice breaks through my thoughts.
I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his face. The asshole.
"Shut up," I mutter, following him to the bar where the rest of the crew is already gathering. After a mission like today's, we need to decompress, to wash away the adrenaline and violence with whiskey and brotherhood.
Reaper is behind the bar, pouring shots for everyone. His face is grim but satisfied, the look of a man who's closed a chapter on something ugly. He slides a shot my way as I take a seat.
"To ending that piece of shit," he says, raising his glass.
We all echo the sentiment and knock back our drinks. The whiskey burns a familiar path down my throat, warming my chest.
"His face when you pulled that trigger," Wilder chuckles darkly. "Priceless."
"Should've made it slower," Ghost mutters. "After what they did to those girls."
My mind flashes to Amy's bruised face, her split lip, the way she held herself to protect her cracked ribs. Anger flares hot in my gut.
"Mike got what he deserved," I say, my voice harder than intended.
The guys exchange glances.
"Speaking of the girls," Ace says, pouring himself another shot, "that older one—Amy—she seems... interesting. Feisty like Venom likes."
My head snaps up, and I fix him with a stare that makes him raise his hands defensively.
"Just an observation, brother," he says, trying to suppress a smile. "Didn't realize you'd already staked a claim."
"I haven't staked anything," I growl, but my tone says otherwise.
Reaper stares at me with that penetrating gaze that misses nothing. "Be careful there, Viper. She's been through hell. Not exactly in the right headspace for whatever you might be thinking."
I know he's right, which only irritates me more. "I'm not thinking anything," I lie. "Just want to make sure she's safe after what they put her through."
"Uh-huh," Blade says, unconvinced. "Like I'm just concerned for Kelly's safety."
"Different situation," I argue. "Kelly wasn't beaten half to death."
"True," Blade concedes. "But trauma is trauma. And those girls have had more than their share."
The conversation shifts to the raid itself, everyone recounting their part in the assault on the compound.
I contribute when necessary, but my mind keeps drifting back to Amy.
To the fierce defiance in her eyes even with Mike's gun at her head.
To how she drove her elbow into his ribs the moment I created an opening.
Fighter's instinct. Survivor's instinct.
Two hours and several drinks later, the clubhouse has settled into its usual evening rhythm. Music plays from the jukebox, a few of the guys shoot pool, and the atmosphere has lightened considerably. A successful mission tends to do that. Reminds us why we do what we do.
I slip away from the main room, telling myself I'm just checking the perimeter like we always do after an operation.
But my feet carry me toward the east wing where Evelyn took the Stone sisters.
I'm not planning to disturb Amy. She needs rest more than anything, but something in me needs to know she's okay.
The hallway is quiet, dimly lit by walls that cast long shadows.
I'm about to turn back, feeling like an idiot for even coming this way, when a door opens further down the corridor.
Amy steps out, wearing a borrowed t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh and a pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist. Her hair is damp from a shower, her face freshly washed, making the bruises stand out even more starkly against her pale skin.
She startles when she sees me, then relaxes. "Viper."
Just my name on her lips does something to me. I'm in fucking trouble.
"Sorry," I say, keeping my voice low. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't." She leans against the doorframe, and I can tell she's trying to hide how much pain she's in. "I was just looking for the kitchen. Evelyn said there would be food..."
"I can show you," I offer, perhaps too quickly. "Or bring something to your room if you're not up for walking."
She straightens, pride evident in the set of her jaw. "I can walk. Just... slowly."
I nod, respecting her need for independence after being powerless for so long. "Kitchen's this way."
We walk side by side down the hallway. I resist the urge to offer my arm, knowing instinctively she'd reject it. This woman needs to do things on her own terms now.
"You and your sister settling in okay?" I ask.
A small smile touches her lips. "Yes. She's with Blade. Apparently, that's all the settling in she needs."
There's no judgment in her tone, just a hint of bewilderment.
"And that doesn't bother you? Her getting involved with one of us so quickly?"
Amy considers this for a moment. "Kelly's always been a good judge of character. Better than me, obviously." Bitterness edges into her voice. "If she trusts Blade, there must be something worth trusting."
We reach the kitchen, a large, surprisingly well-equipped space. The clubhouse might look rough from the outside, but we take care of our own here.
"What are you hungry for?" I ask, opening the refrigerator. "We've got leftover chili, sandwich stuff, I could cook eggs..."
"Sandwich is fine," she says, easing herself onto a stool at the counter. "I can make it myself, though. You don't have to wait on me."
I ignore her protest and start pulling out bread, deli meat, and cheese. "Let me do this. You've had a shit day."
She watches me work, her hazel eyes tracking my movements. There's something cautious in her gaze, like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
"Why were you in that hallway?" she finally asks. "The east wing is far from the main room."
Perceptive. I consider lying, then decide against it. She's had enough bullshit for one lifetime.
"Wanted to make sure you were okay," I admit, spreading mayo on the bread. "Not planning to bother you. Just... checking."
"Checking on me specifically, or just general security rounds?"
I look up, meeting her gaze directly. "You specifically."
"Why?"
"Good question," I say, focusing on finishing her sandwich. "I've been asking myself the same thing."
She doesn't push further, and I appreciate that. I slide the plate in front of her.
"Thank you," she says, taking a small bite. Her stomach growls loudly after the first taste, and she suddenly seems to realize how hungry she actually is. She takes larger bites, eating with the intensity of someone who hasn't had a proper meal in days. Which, I realize, she probably hasn't.
I make a second sandwich while she devours the first, placing it on her plate without comment when she finishes. She flashes me a grateful look and starts on the second one, slower this time.
"Your ribs okay?" I ask, noticing how she shifts uncomfortably on the stool.
"Been better," she admits. "But I've had worse too."
That catches my attention. "Before the Vultures MC?"
She nods, taking a sip of water. "Foster care wasn't always... kind. Especially when Kelly and I got separated. Some homes were good, others..." She trails off, and I fill in the blanks.
"That why you're so protective of her? Because you couldn't always be there?"
Amy's expression softens. "She's all I have.
All I've ever really had. Our parents dumped us at different orphanages when I was seven and she was five.
Took me six months to find her. After that, I promised myself I'd always keep her safe.
" She laughs bitterly. "Did a great job of that, didn't I?
Leading her straight to the Vultures MC. "
"You survived," I say firmly. "Both of you. That counts for a lot."
"Did you kill Charles?”
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Reaper did."
"And you? Have you killed people?"
I consider lying, sugarcoating it, but again decide she deserves honesty. "Yes."
She nods, absorbing this. "Does it get easier?"
"No," I confess. "And it shouldn't. The day it gets easy is the day you become something you can't come back from."
"But you don't regret it."
"Not when it's necessary. Not when it's to protect people who can't protect themselves." I lean against the counter, watching her. "The world isn't black and white, Amy. Sometimes the worst things are done by men with badges, and sometimes the right thing is done by men with cuts."
She finishes her sandwich, considering my words. "What did you do before all this?" she asks suddenly. "Before the MC."
The question catches me off guard. No one asks about our pasts here. It's an unwritten rule. What matters is who we are now, not who we were before the club.
"Worked with my hands," I say vaguely. "Always been good with machines."
"That explains the bikes," she says. "Kelly mentioned you take care of everyone's motorcycles."
I nod, relieved she doesn't push further. My past—my father's murder, my abandoned dreams—isn't something I talk about. Ever. "Been doing it since I joined. Comes naturally."
She takes her pain pill, washing it down with the last of her water. When she tries to stand, she winces, her hand going to her ribs.
"Let me help you back to your room," I say, moving around the counter. This time I don't ask, just offer my arm.
After a moment's hesitation, she takes it, allowing me to support some of her weight as we walk. She's warm against my side, and despite the bruises, despite everything, I find myself wanting to pull her closer.
Dangerous thoughts.
When we reach her door, she releases my arm and turns to face me. "Thank you. For the sandwich and... everything else."
"No problem." I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "Try to get some sleep. Things will look clearer in the morning."
She smiles faintly. "Will they? Nothing's felt clear to me in months."
"It will," I promise, though I have no right to make such guarantees. "And if you need anything during the night, anything at all, I'm in the third room on the left in the west wing."
She nods, her hand on the doorknob. "Goodnight, Viper."
"Goodnight, Amy."
She slips into her room, and I stand there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at her closed door. What the fuck is happening to me? I've never reacted to a woman like this before, especially not one I just met, and definitely not one in her situation.
I shake my head and turn away, heading back toward the main room where I can hear the guys still drinking and talking. But I know I won't be joining them tonight. My mind is too full of hazel eyes and quiet strength, of a woman who endured hell and somehow kept her humanity intact.
I need to get my head straight. Amy needs safety and healing, not some biker with blood on his hands developing feelings for her. Whatever this pull is between us, I need to keep it in check, at least until she's had time to recover, to decide what she really wants.
After all, the last thing she needs is another man making choices for her.