Viper (Hell's Handlers MC 9)

Viper wasn’t ready to see the humor in any of this.

Sarge rubbed a hand over his bald scalp. “Anyway, the Scoundrels weren’t as stupid as we always claimed they were. They’d been expecting that shit and were prepared as fuck for an overt attack. Turned the tables on Fox and killed all but a few low-level Tribe guys who scattered into the wind. The entire fucking club is gone. Man, that is some good fucking news. I need to get this shit done so I can find someone to fuck. I’m feeling so damn good, I’m hard.”

Yes, a huge weight had just been lifted now that they no longer had to fear the Tribe finding them, but fuck; everyone he’d considered family until recently had been wiped out in one fell swoop.

That fucked with a man’s head. His heart too.

But there was one thing he couldn’t deny was fantastic news. Cassie no longer had to fear being recaptured. Returning to Washington could pose some level of threat, but not a terrible amount. The scumbag who had her kidnapped originally was still out there and might recognize her, but he was fucking low hanging fruit. He worked for the Tribe and had been paid. He’d move on to the next order and forget about Cassie all together. In reality, chances were high she could return home and be safe.

She no longer needed his protection, which meant she had no reason to stay with him.

“Hey!” Sarge’s shout had him jerking back to reality. “You’ve been staring at that bucket for six fucking minutes.”

With a shake of his head, Viper took a step closer to the bike he’d been cleaning when Sarge rode up. “Sorry. Just…processing.”

From his crouched position, Sarge cocked his head and nodded. “Go,” he said. “I got this shit. My mouth that got us in this anyway.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. You’re head’s already with your woman.” He rolled his eyes. “Go be with her. Deal with your shit.”

Finally, Viper felt a grin curl his lips. Sarge could be a surly fucker, but he was still a brother and there when it counted. “Thanks, brother,” Viper said as he walked over and clapped Sarge on the shoulder. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get a blow job out of the deal and give me the play by play for my spank bank. We’ll call it even.”

That would never happen, but Viper chuckled as he jogged toward his bike.

Fifteen minutes later, he was charging up the stairs to his third floor apartment. He ripped the door open to find Cassie rolling paint up and down the far wall of their small den. She had her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and one of his T-shirts covering her top. Her head moved, bopping to whatever music came from the Walkman clipped on the waistband of electric blue leggings.

Viper folded his arms and leaned against the open door to the apartment just as she began to belt out the chorus to some awful pop song. For a moment, he let everything aside from Cassie fade into the background and enjoyed the sight of his woman shaking her pert ass and butchering Janet Jackson’s words.

She spun, arms up, mouth open, and screamed so loud, his ears rang. “Holy shit, Viper! You gave me a heart attack.” With the headphones still on, she spoke far louder than necessary. “Jesus.” One hand pressed to her chest, she used the other to yank the headphones off her ears. “Oh, my God, you scared me.” Her face pulled into a frown. “You can’t possibly be done yet. Did Cutter change his mind?”

Shaking his head, he pushed off the wall and strode to her. When he was close enough to touch her, he placed his hands on her hips. She had a streak of white paint along her cheek and a few in her hair, and his T-shirt was pretty much ruined. She was goddammed adorable.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, rubbing her finger on the crease between his eyebrows. “Just say it. You’re starting to freak me out.”

“The Devil’s Tribe MC is gone.”

“What?” she asked on a gasp.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “They were massacred in an attack against the Scoundrels MC. They’re all gone. We don’t have to worry about anyone coming after us.”

“Oh, Viper,” she said, immediately wrapping her arms around him. “Your father?”

He shook his head against hers.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Baby, you don’t have to say that. You can’t possibly mean it. Not after what they did to you.”

Her arms only squeezed him tighter as he lifted his head and stared at the blank white wall she’d been painting. It was a bit like their future. Wide open, waiting for some decoration, a plan, a theme.

Unless she decided to go somewhere else.

“Of course I mean it, Viper. You can’t choose your blood, and Fox was yours. The club was your family for your entire life. You had no idea what was happening beneath the surface. Of course I’m sorry it went down this way. That they’re all gone. That they betrayed you in the first place. You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything.”