That pulls me up short. “How?”
“I find out what I need to.”
Right. He said my name when he knocked.
Before I can ask more questions, a knock hits the door.
Lighter than his. Just a normal knock.
I freeze.
He doesn’t.
Two strides and he’s there, hand on the knob, shoulders squared. One step from violence and already choosing it.
“Wait,” I say, breath catching. “It’s probably—”
Too late.
He rips the door open.
Mr. Borden stands there holding my borrowed suitcase, wearing the kind of neighborly smile that saysthanks for the favor.
He doesn’t get a word out.
Viper grabs him by the jacket, drags him inside, and slams him against the wall so hard the drywall cracks.
“You did that to her?”
The voice is cold. Lethal.
Borden’s face goes white. “What—no—what are you talking about—?”
I shove forward, heart pounding. “Stop! He didn’t do anything.He didn’t touch me!”
Viper doesn’t let go.
His arm’s braced across Borden’s chest like a steel bar, knuckles white, rage coiled in his spine.
“What’s he doing here?”
“He borrowed the suitcase last week,” I snap. “Took a weekend trip with his daughter. That’s it.”
Borden’s hands go up, fast. “Just bringing it back. That’s all. I swear, I wasn’t— I didn’t— Jesus, man.”
A long, brutal second.
Then Viper steps back. Jaw tight. Eyes darker than before.
Borden stumbles out, practically gasping. “All good. Totally fine. I’m good, you’re good, we’re—good.”
He doesn’t walk away.
Heflees.
I slam the door. Lock it.
When I turn around, the biker’s still standing in the center of the room, fists clenched, breathing like he's trying to leash something back inside.
