He reached out, brushing his fingers along her hair, careful not to wake her.He should’ve felt guilty.He should’ve been worried about what came next.His own club, the Vultures, or the Serpents.However, all he could think about was the way she’d looked at him like he was worth something more than his scars.
He’d told himself he didn’t need anyone.That love, softness, any of that, wasn’t for men like him.Now, though, with Mara asleep beside him, he wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Eight
Viper stood just insidethe doorway of King’s office, shoving his hands deep in his jeans pockets.For a moment, he watched the smoke from King’s cigar curl through the air like a warning.
“Close the door,” King ordered..
Viper did as told, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should’ve.He’d been through enough of these talks to know the tone already.Something was wrong, definitely wrong.The clubhouse was quiet today, but the tension under the silence ran thick.
King leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight.He fixed his cold and sharp gaze on Viper.“You know why you’re here,” King began.
Viper didn’t answer.He just crossed his arms, waiting.King always liked to circle his prey before taking a bite.
King tapped ash into a tray shaped like a bullet casing.“Word on the street says the Blood Vultures and Iron Serpents are asking questions.Offering cash.Big cash,” King said.
Viper’s jaw tightened.He didn’t ask who they were after, because he already knew.
King studied him for a beat, his stare weighing heavy.“They’re looking for that girl you’ve been keeping in your room,” King said.
“Mara.”Viper reminded him.
“Yeah.Mara.”King flicked the end of his cigar, the ember glowing red.“And they’re not just curious, Viper.They’ve put a bounty on her.Ten grand, maybe more.Every lowlife and prospect in the tri-state’s gonna start sniffing around.”
Viper clenched his jaw.“You sure it’s not just talk?”
“Wish I was,” King said.“I got it from Rooster, over in Nomads.He heard it from one of the Vultures himself.She’s wanted alive.That kind of phrasing means they want to make an example out of her.”
Viper didn’t move, but something in him went cold.The air in the room seemed to press tighter.Alive.That meant questions, torture probably.
King let the silence stretch, the faint hum of a bike revving outside filtering through the walls.Then he sighed and leaned forward, elbows braced on the scarred wood desk.
“She’s a problem, brother.A liability,” King told him.
Viper’s head snapped up.“She’s under my protection,” Viper reminded him.
