Outlaw's Salvation (A Viper’s Bite MC Novel Book 2): A Bad Boy MC Romance (Viper's Bite MC)

by Lena Bourne

  And there will be consequences.

  I repack my gun and gear, then rush down the wooden staircase to the beach. I should be panicking, should be worried about those consequences, but instead I’m just happy, relieved I failed to kill that guy. So I’ll worry later, when I have real cause to.

  My elation is pretty much gone by the time I reach the end of the beach and climb up the cliff to get back to the road. I’m right at the beginning of the plateau, the road winding down into darkness. The muffled hiss of the waves hitting the sandy shore, my own hard breathing, and the dry grass swishing in the wind are the only sounds around me. The target’s bodyguard’s haven’t come searching for me yet, and they probably won’t.

  I make the call. Don’t think, just dial.

  “Is it done?” the man on the other line asks in heavily accented Spanish.

  “No,” I say. “I had to abort.”

  The line goes very quiet. He’s put me on hold, and I’m getting nervous.

  “Are you at the pick up spot?” the man suddenly asks.

  “Yes, just about. I’m at the top of the main road.”

  “Wait there,” he says and then the line goes dead.

  I focus on nothing but the rustling grasses, the soft whooshes of the waves hitting the beach, think of nothing, as I wait.

  Eventually I hear a car approaching, its headlights off. I wave it down, get in when it stops. The Henchman is in the back and the whole car smells of the whiskey on his breath, reminding me how much I need a drink too.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “I missed. It was bound to happen eventually.” I’ve killed fifty people for them in the last year. This is the first time I failed. If he won’t see that fact, I’ll clarify it for him. But for now I’m happy to let him connect those dots on his own.

  “How?”

  “It’s like I told you before,” I say. “ I need to do this my way. I need time to prep, scope out the target, and decide on the best place to carry out the job. There was too much wind tonight. I didn’t have a good vantage point, because this area is too flat, and it was too dark.”

  And I really didn’t want to kill that guy. But all I just told him is true too.

  He leans back in his seat and pulls a cigar from his pocket, then lights it in silence. I open my window. I could never stand cigar smoke, especially not this sweet smelling kind that reminds me of rotting fruit. But I can see why his underlings fear him so much. He’s just sitting there puffing on his cigar like my failure doesn’t bother him in the slightest, but I can clearly feel the malice underneath his cool and composed demeanor. I don’t get nervous easily, but I am right now, so bad my palms are sweaty. I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants. This could be my last car ride, and he doesn’t even have to say it for me to know. I’ll put up a fight, won’t go down easy, but it might not be enough.

  “Fine,” he finally breaks the silence just as the town lights come into view in the distance. “It will be done as you wish from now on. But we do not tolerate failure. The next job is a success, or our contract is terminated.”

  He means I’m terminated. But at least I’m off the hook now.

  “This man,” he says. “The one you failed to kill tonight. You will kill him for us soon.”

  “Fine. But I’ll need a car too. For getting around,” I say, hoping this job will take awhile. The guy will lay low for some time now, I’m sure of it, and after that I can stretch it out even more with my preparations.

  “You will get one,” The Henchman says then goes back to puffing on his cigar.

  We’re almost at my apartment building, and we don’t speak for the rest of the way.

  It’s almost four AM when they drop me off, and the apartment is quiet, but not dark. Sam left on all the lights in the living room and the kitchen. Was she scared? Maybe, but she’s sleeping in the bedroom, wearing a tiny silk nighty that leaves little to the imagination. She even changed the linens, and tidied up the bedroom. It smells of roses, and nothing in my apartment smells good, so it must be coming from her. I missed having a woman around this place. I want to climb into bed and wake her, slip off that nighty and get another taste of her, do all those things I fantasized about to her. But it’d be just for tonight, maybe the rest of the week. There’s no future in it. And she deserves a future.

  So I just get the bottle of tequila we didn’t finish the other night and sit in a chair by the window to drink and watch her sleep. She’s laying on her side, hugging the comforter, one of her long, smooth legs resting atop it, the nighty barely covering her butt. Her skin glimmers in the moonlight, her face soft and relaxed, different than it is during the day, but just as gorgeous. She looks younger, more carefree when she sleeps. During the day, she’s always a little wary. Like a doe, always looking out for danger. Even when she’s playing the sweet dumb woman, which she certainly is not. And I don’t want her to be. She’s like a comet lighting the night sky. A tempest that should be allowed to rage. And as soon as I start thinking this way, I know I’ve had too much to drink. But I don’t stop.

  I don’t lay down beside her until it’s already light out, and I’m numb enough from the drink to know I won’t touch her. Though the urge is still there, still strong despite my drunkenness. It’s been there since the moment I first kissed her, and it might actually never go away. And that probably means something. But I’ll worry about it when I’m sober.

  Chapter Nine

  SAMANTHA

  I stayed up waiting for Brett until almost two AM. And even then I just went to lie down on the bed, not intending to fall asleep. I didn’t even take a sleeping pill, sure he’d come home any minute. But I fell asleep anyway and didn’t even hear him come in, let alone get in bed beside me.

  It’s almost six in the afternoon now, and he’s still sleeping. I’ve been up since ten. First I sat around in my baby doll for a couple of hours, hoping he’d wake up, see me and forget about being respectful. That’s not what I’m after. I want a hard cock attached to a man who knows how to use it. Brett can. No sense denying that. And his tongue and fingers aren’t too shabby either.

  But he just slept and slept. So finally I changed into my bathing suit. The brand new thong one I got at the mall in San Diego before coming here. He wouldn’t be able to respect me in that, I’m sure. And I’d still be wearing it now, but I started to feel silly just sitting around waiting for a guy to wake up, so I could seduce him. So I changed into my tank and shorts.

  I’ve been trying to reach Tara all day and most of last night. But neither her nor Tommy have returned my calls. I hope she’s alright, but I’m trying not to panic. Maybe Tommy just lied to me about her being sick to get me on board with his plan of having Brett watch over me.

  To pass the time, and because I was starving, I made some bread rolls using the flour, yeast and oil I found in the cupboard. They came out OK, considering the ingredients were all out of date, and I already ate half of them,

  The shadows are lengthening outside now. If Brett doesn’t get up soon, I’m gonna go wake him. I’m sick of staring at the bare, peeling walls of his apartment, which needs a thorough clean. Not sure even that will help though. There’s black rot attacking most of the walls, and scrub as I might, I couldn’t get all the stains off the kitchen counter. This place needs some hardcore bleach, but all I had to work with was a dusty, sticky half a bottle of dishwashing detergent.

  A thumping sound comes from the bedroom and a moment later, I hear the bathroom door slam shut. Finally. He drank at least one whole bottle of tequila and a six-pack last night. I know, because I took the empty bottles down to the trash this morning. And he did it in the bedroom, watching me sleep. I hope he at least wanted to wake me, seeing as he didn’t. And I also hope he’s slept the alcohol off by now.

  “Good morning,” I say leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom as he emerges from the bathroom in just his boxers, which don’t hide much. His eyes are slits, but I still feel his gaze like a sun beam
passing from my bare feet up to my lips, making them tingle. He grunts something incoherent in response, which I assume is a greeting, then stomps back to the bed and falls down on it, the springs groaning like they’re about to break.

  “Here, have a roll,” I say, siting down on the bed beside him and holding the plate up to his nose. “They’re still warm, but just barely.”

  He lifts his head about an inch from the pillow, squints at the plate then up at me. “Where’d they come from?”

  His voice is still gruff and thick, but at least I can understand what he’s saying now.

  “I made them. I got hungry, and you just wouldn’t wake up,” I say. “They’d be even better with some butter or jam, but everything in your fridge was either green or black and none of it was supposed to be those colors.”

  After I cleared all that and took it down to the trash, I spend at least two hours sitting on the bed beside him, admiring the curves of the muscles on his broad back and his huge arms, resisting the urge to touch. But I don’t mention that. Or how much I wanted to run my fingers through his curly hair, the softness of which I remember just as clearly as the orgasms he gave me. Maybe even more clearly.

  He grabs a roll and takes a bite, and I stop myself just in time before telling him not to get crumbs all over the bed.

  “This is good,” he mumbles with his mouth full. “Can you cook other things too?”

  His eyes are open all the way now, smiling at me like they always do, and there’s no doubt in my mind what he’s actually referring to.

  “You clean pretty well too. I think you’re a keeper,” he adds, grinning, cinching the certainty in my mind.

  And my whole tirade about not wanting to even talk about the R-word is right at the tip of my tongue. But why ruin the moment? Why not take it up a notch instead?

  “There’s other domestic tasks I perform very well too,” I muse, trailing my fingernail down the hard muscles of his arm. “Even better than cooking and cleaning. In fact, it’s the only thing I truly excel at.”

  I’m barely touching him, but I feel him tense, and his eyes flash with such lewd desire I’m certain he’ll pounce on me right now. My lips part slightly on their own, expecting his hungry kiss. But he gets it under control, I literally see the desire melt away from his eyes, replaced by that infuriatingly soft velvetiness that I like even more.

  “That’s not the only thing you’re good for,” he says, pops the rest of the roll in his mouth and chews it loudly.

  And I’m sure he’s just trying to rile me up, but he sounded so sure, and he said something no one’s ever said to me. Even if they did, I wouldn’t believe them. But I want to believe him. Because somehow it’s the one thing I always wanted to hear, only I didn’t even know that until he just said it, and it’s all so shocking and bewildering that I can’t find a reply.

  “Go get ready now. I’ll take you out to dinner,” he says and lies back down.

  “Hey, don’t go back to sleep.” I nudge his side, which hardly gives way at all. I want the weight of his hard bulging muscles pressing me down into the mattress, I want him kissing me until I’m breathless, I want his cock inside me, making me come over and over. I don’t want a dinner date.

  “I might as well,” he mumbles, burying his face in the pillow. “You girls always take forever to get dressed.”

  I want him to come take a shower with me, I want him to watch me get dressed. Instead he’s laying there like a log, his even breaths filling the room again. I know he wants me. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. And he knows I want it too. So why is he standing his ground so firmly on this respect thing? Does he actually want me to ask for it? Beg?

  The thought sends a chill down my spine. I don’t beg. I wasn’t made that way. Yet they forced me to do it, so many times, so many clients. For a hellishly long while, those were the only kinds of dates I was sent on. That’s what finally broke me. Not the gang rapes in a dark smelly room, not the slow fucks with a knife to my throat Shade was so fond of. It was being tied up and whipped, made to beg for it to end so the pain would stop. So no, I won’t beg. If he wants me, I’m his. Because he’s the first guy who’s made me enjoy sex the way I used to before all that happened. Maybe even more than I used to. But I will not.

  And I won’t think about all that crap either. It’s behind me. Done and forgotten. Almost. Nearly there.

  The setting sun outside is coloring the whole horizon a bright orange, reminding me that I’m finally free again. I’m even no longer confined to my condo with an array of bodyguards, whose only practical function was reminding me of being held captive.

  So I go shower alone, and I will take a long time to get ready, because I have all the time in the world again. And I want to look pretty.

  He’s no longer in bed when I emerge from the bathroom. Once I finish getting dressed, I find him out on the balcony staring off at the horizon. I opted for my red dress that’s not as tight as my other ones. It’s a lot like the modest dresses from the fifties, but has a low cut v-shaped neckline that comes down almost to my waist. It flares out over my hips and thighs, so it’s not completely slutty, and the color goes great with my newly dyed black hair.

  “The sunset is gorgeous tonight,” I say, because it really is. Purple has joined the orange now and the streaks are running together in a braid that could never be replicated again, not even by nature.

  He turns slowly, his eyes widening as he takes me in, and I feel his desire like a knife piercing my belly, the blood pooling warm in my groin.

  I’m expecting him to fall on me, for dinner to be postponed, but once again he steels himself. This time I feel the effort like it’s my own. Why is he being so damn stubborn about this?

  “Well, I’m ready. What about you?” I say, sitting in one of the plastic lawn chairs on the balcony and crossing my legs, giving him a good view since he likes them so much. I should’ve worn something tighter, maybe, but judging from the sharp, predatory desire in his eyes now, I don’t really have to.

  “I’ll take a shower then we can go,” he says, and rushes into the apartment like he needs to get away from me or he’ll regret it like some love-struck teenager. And I kind of enjoy having this effect on him, as frustrating as it is.

  The sun hasn’t even finished setting by the time he returns, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that is just the perfect level of tight on him. It shows off his huge arms and chest, the V of his torso, but leaves just enough to the imagination.

  “Let’s go,” he says, holding the balcony door open for me, then shutting it so firmly the glass rattles after I brush against him as I enter the room. But I’m not even trying to seduce him right now. I just want to get closer to him. Feel his hard body next to mine, sense his heat and his strength. My pussy and my belly are both tingling with butterflies, and my desire for him makes it hard to draw a full breath. He smells great too, the musky cologne he’s wearing not quite masking his natural, earthy scent. There’s entirely too much space between us and it’s time that was remedied.

  “Can we take your bike?” I ask leaning my head back and looking up at him.

  The smile playing on his lips is faint, barely visible, and it’s filled with more emotion that I can name. But regret is one of them.

  “Come on, it’ll b fun,” I urge, since he’s not saying anything. “I wore this dress specially so we could, because everything else I own would ride up too high.”

  Not that it’d be a bad thing, if the fire in his eyes right now is anything to go by.

  “Sure, why not?” he says and strides over to the kitchen, grabs a set of keys from one of the drawers.

  He leads the way out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the garage below the building where my car is still parked. I don’t see a motorcycle anywhere, but he walks off into a corner at the very end of the space, pulling on a black tarp that comes off in a cloud of dust. The last rays of light filtering through the narrow wraparound windows near the
ceiling hit the handlebars of his Harley. The silver reflects the orange and purple of the sunset perfectly amid the dust settling around us like snow.

  It’s hard to read his expression as he gazes at it, but it’s definitely wistful. The moment lasts for a long time, feels like hours, but I don’t say anything to shorten it, since this is his moment and I understand that implicitly. He finally grips the handlebars, the muscles in his forearms bulging and coiling as he wheels the bike away from the wall and towards me.

  “It’s been awhile since you rode it, hasn’t it?” I ask, a feeling of kindness and concern washing over me for some reason.

  “Yeah, it has,” he says and gets on, his body molding with the machine like it’s a part of him. The sight drives the concern and kindness way to the back of my mind, which is very quickly filling with an uncontrollable desire to be pressed up against him on the back.

  He’s giving me an appraising head to toe look, which is filled with want, but not entirely.

  “You should be wearing a jacket,” he finally says.

  I shake my head and smile, edging closer to the bike. “I’ll just lean against you for warmth.”

  He chuckles at that, jerking his head to the back, his eyes not leaving my body and letting me know he can’t wait for me to do just that. “Hop on.”

  I’ve never actually been on the back of a Harley before, but his body is steady as a rock as I grab his shoulders while I climb on. There’s no chance of losing my balance, not while I have him to lean on.

  The leather of the seat is cold and hard against my thighs, yet it feels right, just perfect all the same. I wrap my arms around his waist once I’m on, cinch my thighs around his, and just generally get as close to his body as I can. I need to, and it’s not for safety. He tenses, but then I feel him relax as he starts the engine. The whole bike comes alive like a bear woken from its winter slumber ready to finally enjoy spring. The vibrations of the engine as he eases out of the garage, are coursing through my entire body, filtering through the seat beneath me, entering me though his rock hard body, shaking things loose, readying them to be blown away in the wind as we hit the road.