Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

“How do you even know who I am?” I asked.

“I have my sources,” she said, and I swore Cage growled next to me.

Was that source the Heathens? What the hell? “Can you tell me what you came here to say?”

Flores motioned to Cage. “We’d like to speak to her alone.”

“I’d like a lot of goddamned things, but that’s not happening,” he replied.

Preacher hadn’t made a move to leave either.

I put my hands under my thighs, because I wasn’t sure if they’d stop shaking or not.

Flores continued paging through her pad, no doubt trying to see how nervous I’d get while I was waiting. Bernie used to say that the most nervous people were often the most innocent. If that was the case, I was the most innocent person ever.

“Miss Benson, where were you on Wednesday night?”

“I was out with Cage.”

Flores’s gaze never left mine. “Where was that?”

“The bar—Wally’s.”

“Ah, the MC bar. Let me guess—you’ve got an alibi all night.”

She was being so sarcastic and Cage’s tone matched hers when he said, “That’s right.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“Why don’t you check with the owner?” Cage suggested. “She was at the door.”

“Why can’t Miss Benson answer the question?” Flores shot back.

Instinctively, I knew I was supposed to lie. Because we’d gotten there late. Because of the fight. Because I didn’t go home with Cage and there were hours unaccounted for. “We got there around eight. We left after ten. Maybe eleven.”

“And then?”

The MC must’ve been rubbing off on me, because I relaxed, glanced up at Cage and smiled. “We took a ride. And there were no witnesses to that.”

Flores’s expression grew tight, even more so when Cage said, “I’m sure we could find someone, babe. You were pretty loud.”

I bit back a laugh, because I really didn’t want to piss off the police. “What happened Wednesday night?”

Flores flipped her pad closed. “We’ll be checking your alibi with the bartenders, of course.”

My alibi? I went to say something but Cage’s stony look stopped me.

Flores smiled and then said to Preacher, “Why don’t you show me around your chop shop?”

“Shop’s not open to the public. Just where we fix our bikes, Detective,” Preacher said easily.

“I’ve never bought that bullshit, Preacher.”

Preacher shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. But all these bikes? They’re my club members’.”

“Your gang members’ bikes.”

“We’re not a gang. We’re a club. And I don’t see you producing a search warrant.” Preacher was unruffled, and I guessed this happened pretty regularly. Because even I didn’t believe what Preacher was selling, but I had to admit, there was zero hard, cold evidence to prove the existence of a chop shop. “If we’re done here, you’re interrupting a family barbecue.”

She snorted, and her partner, who’d been silent until then, simply said, “We’ll be back.”

“You always fucking are,” Cage muttered.

I let them walk away, waited for Cage to sit next to me. Waited for him to say something about my alibi, the fact that I’d lied to the police for him. But he didn’t.

Instead, he said, “They always hassle us.”

I glanced at him and his expression was guarded still. “I take it you don’t like the police.”

“I like them well enough when they’re not bothering us because of our club association,” he said. “The old detectives . . . they were good to us. My record’s clean, Calla. I even had to prove myself when I enlisted, because of my MC status, and the cop who vouched for me was a former gang member from LA turned police officer.”

“What did you do in the Army?”

He grinned a little. “I learned how to build bombs, but I can also disable them.”

“There’s a metaphor there.”

He relaxed against me. “I thought Flores might be asking questions about your brother,” he admitted.

I tensed up. “What about him?”

“I went to pay him a visit the night she’s talking about. He wasn’t there. I went back last night. Place looked like it’d been cleaned up—although his stuff’s still there. I figured maybe someone took care of him already, which is no loss to you.”

It wasn’t, but the fact that Detective Flores was sniffing around wasn’t good. “How did you know where to find him?”

Cage didn’t answer me. Wouldn’t or couldn’t—I guessed it didn’t matter. But my head started to throb a little bit. The party moved inside the clubhouse and I noticed that moms were taking their kids home. The majority of the women who stayed were old ladies, but there were a few mamas there with the single guys, as Amelia had pointed them out to me. They were nice enough, once they knew I was with Cage, but I knew not to trust them.

“Can we get out of here?” I asked him now.

“Sure. My jacket’s inside. Come on.”

I had to use the bathroom anyway, so I followed him in. He stopped to talk to Preacher for a second and I continued walking toward the bar area so I could go through to his room. My mind was swirling. I was thinking about Ned, wondering if I could have a normal life here. I couldn’t say yes completely, no matter how well the past week had gone. But I was trusting Cage more and more each day, so I’d been willing to make it work.

I was so focused on getting to Cage’s that I almost missed it. I’m not sure how, since there were wolf whistles and cheering, and when I stopped dead in my tracks, Cage nearly ran me over.

“Babe, what?” He put his hands on my shoulders but I was immovable, staring at the scene in front of me. I’d seen men and women looking like they were going at it in the bar, but this was different.

There was a woman—one of the young mamas that Amelia had warned me about—sitting on the pool table, her legs spread, and a man kneeling with his head between them. People watched and cheered as she cried out.

“S’all right, babe. Slim just got out of the Navy. Six months on a sub,” Cage explained. And that was fine—I could understand, even deal with it. But not the way the other men eyed her, men I’d sat and talked with. They were getting closer, a few with their hands on their crotches.

“What’s going to happen to her?” I asked.

“Whatever Slim wants,” he answered back.

“He’d share her?”

“She’s not his old lady. She knew what she was in for.”

“Jesus, Cage.” I turned and tried to push past him. His grip was like iron. I tried one of the moves on him that I’d learned living with Tenn, and he practically howled but wouldn’t let go of me. “Goddammit, he said that would work on anyone.”

“Anyone but me, Calla. Why don’t you believe me when I tell you I’m not letting you go?”

He didn’t seem to care that we were in public, and no one cared that I was actively fighting him. We were in the clubhouse and this was expected even and, for the most part, ignored by the other men unless there was a gang bang involved . . .

I stopped. Pulled away. Twisted in his arms and he was backing away, his hands out.

Trigger much, Calla?

“Please . . . I have to get out of here.” I heard the woman’s cries now—of pleasure, it seemed, but the crowd was chanting and I couldn’t watch, couldn’t be here.

“Calla—”

“What if that was me!” I yelled finally, and he froze against me. Then he picked me up and carried me out of there, out into the parking lot. He didn’t say a word, just strapped the helmet on me, climbed onto the bike and waited for me to do the same. And then he drove away from the madness happening inside Vipers and he took me to his apartment.

He carried me from the bike into the building. Wouldn’t let me go in the elevator. He talked to me like I was a wounded animal, telling me I was safe, and I let him, because I was still shaking from being in that crowd. I clung to him, feeling stupid. Vulnerable. There was no way I could survive in this world.

It wasn’t until we were upstairs and I was huddled on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, that I focused on his worried green eyes.

“I didn’t realize, Calla.”

“How would you have?”

“You told me that a guy hurt you. I should’ve known . . .”

Honestly, I should’ve known too. But the way Cage treated me, the fact that he’d stripped down first and bared himself to me, had stopped all the familiar feelings of dread. Because he turned me on more than any man I’d ever met. The connection that solidified during our first phone call had never weakened.

But I’d avoided talking about this subject—and he hadn’t mentioned it except to tell me he hadn’t forgotten his promise.

But this morning, while I was answering Tenn’s e-mail, another, all too familiar one popped up. I didn’t want to open it, but I had to. I always had to, just to check. Somehow, I felt as if Jeffrey knew, that he was tracking whether or not I opened them, and if I didn’t, something worse would happen than just being sent a picture.

After I’d glanced through the pictures, I’d immediately gone into the bathroom and gotten sick. I’d shut the computer down and didn’t even think about it again. Until now. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You don’t have to go to the clubhouse anymore.”

“That’s not going to work. That’s your home, Cage.”

“You’re my home,” he said fiercely; then his tone quieted. “Babe, come on. Deep breaths, then talk to me.”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“Maybe not right now. But I’ll be strong enough for both of us.” God, that soothed me almost immediately. But I still remained on mute, and he continued trying. “Calla, come on, just talk to me. Lay it all out, because—fuck, I can’t help you with anything if you keep me in the dark.”

“I don’t want you to know things. I don’t like what you know already.”

His voice lowered to a dangerous octave. “What the fuck happened to you, Calla?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

“You’re lying. And I’m the guy. I’m supposed to say everything’s fine. You’re not.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not like other women.”

“No, you’re not. And that’s why I’m here with you. You’re not getting rid of me, so it’s either tell me now or I’ll start digging.”

“Don’t you dare. You bastard . . . you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I would, if it meant getting to the bottom of all this shit.”

The glint in his eye meant business. I knew he had the will and the means to try, but what was buried by Jameson Bradley was intended to stay that way. I couldn’t let Cage dig. Which meant . . . I’d have to tell him the truth.

I curled up into myself—I didn’t want him touching me when I told him what happened, and even though he didn’t look happy about it, he seemed to instinctively understand. He sat next to me, giving me plenty of space.

I took a breath and looked at him, saying, “I was fifteen and he was seventeen. He’d been my boyfriend for a couple of months. And it started out consensual.”

“Didn’t stay that way.”

“No. I mean, we had sex. I was drunk but I didn’t say no. I thought . . . I thought he loved me. Fifteen and stupid, but I wouldn’t have been the first girl to sleep with the wrong guy. But while I was passed out . . . I don’t remember what happened but when I woke up, I was in his dorm suite. They’d drawn on me,” I said, my voice hollow, my body numb. “I woke up covered in black and green permanent Magic Marker, on my body and my face. I was naked. I was bleeding between my legs. And I was all alone in his room.”

I didn’t want to go on, not after seeing the anger in Cage’s eyes. But he put a hand over mine and didn’t say a word.

I took a deep breath. “My phone rang. I picked it up and it was Jeffrey. He told me to check my pictures and I did. Me, naked, with guys’ naked bodies around me. No faces, though. It didn’t make sense until I realized that he’d let the guys watch us having sex, and then he’d let them jerk off on me, draw on me and take pictures of it for keepsakes. And he told me, ‘Last night was great, honey. Anytime you want to do it again . . .’”

Cage let go of my hand and I didn’t look at him. Not until I heard something smash and I turned to see he’d thrown the coffee table against the wall, letting it shatter into a thousand pieces. There was a dent in the wall.

He was taking all the anger for me so I could remain calm.

I don’t know if I was the first—or the only—girl he’d done that to. I suspected not. I could still see the goddamned pictures when I closed my eyes, so right then I kept my eyes wide open. “I want to get over it. I need to. But I haven’t found the right guy to make me forget. I hadn’t . . . until you.”