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

by Lena Bourne

  Sam’s naked and pressed very close to me. Her warmth is filtering into me, filling me with energy and life that no amount of blood loss can kill off. I’ll just keep my eyes closed for a few more minutes and enjoy it, before I start worrying about all the shit we’re in now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  SAMANTHA

  Brett’s sleeping, but I’m wide awake. He needs to go to a hospital. And we need to get off this beach before they track us down. And even though I’d love to lean on him, let him find the solution to this, wake him so he’ll tell me what to do, I know I can’t. I need to figure out what to do next on my own. He needs me now, just as I needed him when those bastards grabbed me.

  After an hour or so of laying against him I get up and return to the bike, search the bags for something to cover him with. But I took the blanket he had in there for our road trip up to the apartment to wash. All I find is a whole arsenal of weapons and bullets, and something black, wrapped tightly in discolored plastic, which I can only assume was a snack a long time ago. I toss it into the bushes.

  Then, all the way at the bottom I find his cut. He didn’t throw it away, and I’m unbelievably glad to see the skull and snakes logo, my hatred for it finally buried forever. I return to the beach and cover him with it the best I can, then take his shirt and my dress to the water. The skin on my fingers is all puckered and raw by the time I finally manage to scrub out the worst of the blood stains.

  The wind’s still blowing and I make a makeshift clothes-drying rack near the fire. Only it’s not a fire anymore, it’s just glowing embers. I messed up, I should’ve kept it going. But I let it die while I washed the clothes.

  I try to mimic what he did, adding dried twigs to the embers, trying to light them with the matches. But I’ve never built a fire in my life. It looked so effortless when he did it, but now there’s only two matches left in the box, and the fire is completely out.

  We’re not staying here long anyway. And if all the gangsters in Mexico are looking for us, then we’ll have to go back to the US. I know he’s wanted there, but I also know US law enforcement is completely inept. Especially when it comes to crossing the state line. I went missing in Nevada, but since I’m a California resident it took them weeks to even start searching for me anywhere other than LA. That’s also why it makes no sense for me to testify at Shade’s trial. I’ll just be exposing myself for revenge. Especially since I know where the bodies are buried.

  Shade dragged me out into the desert on that night right in the beginning, after I unsuccessfully tried to run away. Showed me the final resting place of other women who’d defied him, showed me where I’d end up if I ever tried to run again. He even dug one up, and her blackened corpse still features prominently in my nightmares. I don’t think he’ll get more than ten to fifteen years for the trafficking charge even if I testify. And then he’ll come after me, make good on his promise.

  I need to get us back to the US. Then my dad will protect Brett. He knows people. High up people who can make whatever charges Brett’s facing go away. Judges and police commissioners. But first I need my car.

  My purse stayed behind at the club when they grabbed me, but I find Brett’s phone in his pocket and dig it out.

  After I was freed, I spent hours memorizing important phone numbers of friends and family. I didn’t know any number by heart when I was taken, not even Tara’s. And I’m convinced it would’ve helped me escape if I had. Instead of calling 911 and dealing with the operator, or even worse, a recording, as happened that night when I tried to run, I could’ve called Tara. I could’ve maybe even done that from a client’s phone. Then she’d send the cops to save me.

  Abby’s number is not one of the ones I frantically memorized, since I only met her a couple of months ago. But I know that the first three digits of her number are the same as mine, and the last ones are something crazy simple. Like 1212.

  I dial that, but it’s not the right one. I continue dialing all possible variations of those four numbers, but none of them get me Abby on the phone. Dawn is breaking and I’m numb from the cold, my fingers stiff as I actually write out all the possible number combinations in the sand, and dial them all again.

  “Hello,” Abby’s shaky voice finally greets me when I’m just about ready to give up.

  “Abby, it’s Samantha!” I practically yell. “I need my car back right now.”

  “Samantha? What happened?” she says breathlessly. “They said you were abducted, are you OK? Cops have been questioning everyone at the hotel all night. There was shooting, and one guy is dead, and—“

  “I’m fine, but I need my car. And bring my suitcase too, if you can. I’ll send you my location.”

  Years of online dating and getting random guys to come to me in the middle of the night have prepared me for this. At least that was good for something, because the only other thing all those one-night stands were good for was to bury my soul even deeper under the blackness.

  “I don’t know,” Abby says. “Just call the cops, they’ll take care of you.”

  Yeah, right.

  “The cops are working for the people who tried to abduct me,” I say. “I can’t go to the cops.”

  I have to explain it all in even more detail, before she finally understands. “Fine, OK, I’ll bring you your car.”

  I send her the coordinates as soon as I hang up. Then I put on my still damp dress and climb up the steep incline to the dirt road. Brett’s still sleeping, but his breathing is even and his pulse is steady and strong. I don’t know how I’ll get him back up the cliff, but I will. And the painkillers I have in my suitcase will help too.

  The sun’s not yet rising, so it’s very dark along the path, and the grasses all around me are hissing in the wind, making my heart race, and my fear rise to the point of nausea. But I just keep walking, and eventually I reach the road. I crouch down in the tall grass, the hissing even louder now that I’m right in the middle of it. But being scared is not an option right now. I’ll freak out when Brett is safe. When we’re both safe. No cars pass, and I hear none approaching. And I have no idea what I’ll do if Abby fails to show.

  It feels like hours have passed since I came to the roadside, and the sun is already rising behind my back, but the wind is still chilling me to the bone in my damp dress.

  Cars and trucks are passing regularly to and fro on the road now, probably full of people going to work. But none of them are my black Lexus.

  A black car appears in the distance, and I nearly jump out from my hiding place before thinking better of it. And I’m glad for that moment of clarity, because as I peak out above the grasses I’m hiding in, I see it’s a black Mercedes with tinted windows, much like the one they stuffed me into last night. But it just goes right past me at speed, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. I press my body even tighter against the rocky ground after that, my heart beating painfully in my chest.

  When I look again, another black car is approaching, going much slower. And this one is my Lexus.

  I jump out from my hiding spot and run right into the middle of the road, waving my arms like a mad woman. Abby veers off the road to avoid hitting me, the cloud of dust and debris flying everywhere momentarily hiding the car from view. I run towards it anyway, covering my mouth against the dust.

  “What’s going on, Sam?” she asks breathlessly as she opens the door, her hand shaking on the handle. I jump in the passenger side without replying.

  “Drive that way,” I say pointing in the direction of the cliffs. “Did someone follow you?”

  I look back as I ask it. I wasn’t very careful when I ran out into the road, and that was dumb, but there are only trucks and normal cars passing now, and no black Mercs following us.

  She drives off without needing to be told twice, but the going’s bumpy, since she still hasn’t come to the dirt road.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asks frantically after we hit a particularly vicious bump.

  “My boyfriend’s do
wn on the beach,” I tell her. “We just have to get him and then I’m off home.”

  Her eyes are red rimmed like she hasn’t slept much, and I smell alcohol on her breath. “Did someone really grab you last night?”

  There’s real feeling in her voice. She knows what that’s like. I heard her entire story during a group therapy session, which is where we met, and it’s not that much different than mine.

  “Yeah, stop right here,” I say and point to a spot next to Brett’s bike. “If my boyfriend hadn’t come after me, I’d probably be getting raped somewhere as we speak.”

  My voice’s shaky as I say it despite the softness filling my chest because I called Brett “my boyfriend” twice now, and really, really meant it. But it might still happen exactly like that, if I don’t hurry and get us away from here.

  Abby doesn’t ask any more questions as she follows me down the steep path to the beach. But she gasps once she sees Brett and his bandages, and the goodly amount of the blood he lost last night, which the sand has not quite soaked up yet.

  “Is he dead?” she whispers.

  “No,” I tell her.

  But then I can’t wake him, no matter how hard I shake him, or how loudly I yell his name. I’m screaming and hitting his arm, start laughing hysterically when his eyes finally flutter open.

  He mumbles something, trying to focus his eyes on me, but failing. We have no time to talk anyway. I’m on my feet in a flash, grabbing his arm and trying to lift him too. “Come on, Brett. Get up. We have to leave. Now. I got us a ride.”

  But I can’t move him, not even a little bit.

  “Come on, Brett! Stand up!” I say louder, then yell over my shoulder, “Abby, help me!”

  He still can’t focus his eyes on me as she takes his other arm. We both heave, and he tries to help and get his legs under him but it’s slow going, feels like hours before he’s finally upright. I grab his wet shirt, and leave the knife and everything else.

  Then somehow, by the grace of God Almighty it seems, we manage to get him up the cliff and onto the field. He’s standing on his own, but I’m still holding onto his arm, unable to let go, as I try to lead him to my car.

  “I can walk on my own,” he says hoarsely, wriggling his arm out of my grasp. I’d rather not let him go, but I want to respect his wishes so I release him. “We can take the bike.”

  He’s breathing hard, and his face is as pale as snow despite his tan. I’m certain he can’t drive the bike.

  “Let’s take my car now. We’ll come back for your bike,” I tell him as softly as I can in my nervous panic.

  He looks at it again and then nods sadly. “I guess you’re right.”

  I run to the car, open the back door for him. “Here, Brett. You can rest on the way.”

  He’s still looking at his bike.

  “We should hide it,” he says and takes a few steps towards it. I run to reach it first, looking around for a good hiding spot.

  He points to the dried wall of bushes that it’s parked behind. “Let’s get it in there. That’ll do.”

  I grip the handle bars of the bike, all the power and freedom that suffused me on our rides together coming back, warming me, giving me hope for the first time since last night, since forever maybe. But I can hardly move it.

  He reaches me, places his hands next to mine on the handles, and together we manage to move the bike. He grabs the saddlebags, and I help him carry them back to the car. Abby’s staring at us like we’re ghosts when we return, but she doesn’t say anything, just gets in the passenger seat.

  We put the saddlebags in the trunk, and then I try to help Brett put on the damp t-shirt.

  “You’re really set on babying me today,” he says, smiling at me, but not letting me dress him.

  “Yes, Brett, I’m gonna take care of you, so just let me,” I counter going for a chiding, motherly tone, but it comes out soft and caring. He smiles wider then lets me pull his t-shirt carefully over his bandages.

  I drive fast, let Abby out at the gas station at the edge of town. That’s as close to the center of town as I’m willing to go, and she puts up no argument whatsoever. I ask her not to tell anyone about what happened, and she assures me she won’t. The way she runs to the cab she called to meet her there, tells me she’s telling the truth, that she’s just glad to be rid of us.

  “I’ll see you back home,” I yell after her, but she just waves over her shoulder before hopping in the cab and slamming the door shut. I’ll probably never see her again.

  As soon as Abby’s gone, I search my suitcase for the pills, then get back in the car.

  “Here, take a couple of these,” I say, holding the pill bottle out to him. “But first tell me how to get to the highway.”

  “What are those?” he asks, squinting at me through the rearview mirror.

  “Sleeping pills,” I tell him. “I thought I had some painkillers left too, but these should do the trick just fine.”

  “I should probably stay alert. And I should get the guns from the back.”

  “You should rest some more,” I counter. “I’ll wake you, if there’s a problem, these pills aren’t that strong.”

  He finally takes the bottle from my hand, squinting at the label.

  “Tell me how to get to the highway now,” I say to forestall any more arguments from him. “And put on that clean t-shirt I got you.”

  I picked it up while I was getting water and food at the gas station. It’s crisp and white, says Viva la Mexico on it in multicolored letters, which he just scoffs at. “You couldn’t get me one of the ones with the bull?”

  “This was the only one they had in 3XL,” I say. I’m hoping it’ll be large enough to cover the blood stain on his jeans. And I can’t believe we’re having this discussion at all. “Just put it on. Do you need help?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Sam, I can dress myself. You just drive.”

  He guides me through the turns, until the large green highway signs come into view. “Head towards Juarez,” he says. “Don’t go too fast or too slow. And don’t stop for anyone. I’m gonna rest now, but wake me in about an hour.”

  He opens one of the bottles of water I also got at the gas station and drinks about half of it in one long gulp, then practically inhales three candy bars.

  “The pill?” I ask, eying him through the rearview mirror.

  He gives me a bemused sort of look like I should stop fussing. But that’s not gonna happen. “There’s no sense in you being in pain.”

  “I want to stay alert,” he says.

  “Then just take one, they don’t make you drowsy, and a guy your size would probably need at least three for the full effect.”

  “What are you? A pharmacist?” he asks, but he’s fiddling with the pill bottle, so I think I got him pretty much convinced.

  I smile back at him. “I’ve been self-medicating for years, so I know my dosages.”

  That finally convinces him, and he pops a pill, chases it down with another long swig of water. Then he closes his eyes.

  I keep going in the direction of Juarez until his breathing evens out. And then I turn towards the US border.

  Chapter Seventeen

  SAMANTHA

  The midday sun is reflecting off the stark white border crossing buildings as I inch forward in the long line of cars entering the US. My heart’s thumping in my throat and my temples, and my palms are so sweaty I keep having to wipe them on my jean shorts and tight tank I changed into on the way. The latter is already damp because of it. I also did my hair and makeup, and if the neck line of my tank was any lower, my nipples would be showing. Brett is still asleep in the back seat. Not surprising, since I covered the 60 miles to this border crossing in less than forty-five minutes. That’s fast even for me, and I like to step on the gas.

  But now it’s time to become the woman no man can resist again. Because the border patrol officers are peering into every car, and I’m sure they’ll check mine too. But I have my passport, and I fou
nd Brett’s Veteran’s ID card and his driver’s license in his wallet. Hopefully that’ll be enough to get us across. I did the best I could covering the bruises on my face with makeup, but some of the red and blue is still showing through around my left eye. I’m wearing my big sunglasses, which I hope the officer doesn’t ask me to take off. Because my left eye is also completely bloodshot, and that might raise some questions.

  We’re almost at the crossing. I wipe my hands on my shirt one last time and roll down the window. The officer waiting to inspect my documents is in his twenties and all muscle. His stance changes as he notices me, his chest puffing out and the muscles in his arms bulging out even more than they already were.

  “Hello, Miss,” he says. “Your documents, please.”

  I hand them to him, smiling my well-practiced half smile, which is just inviting enough, but not overmuch. He’s inspecting the documents very thoroughly, and my heart starts hammering in my throat before I notice he’s actually doing that as an excuse to stare at my boobs. He finally manages to peel his eyes away from my chest to inspect the rest of the car.

  “That’s my cousin in the back,” I explain without being asked. “He had a little too much to drink last night.”

  The guy glances at Brett’s ID, looks at me like he’s trying to see my eyes through the sunglasses, then returns the documents and waves me through. “Have a safe trip, Samantha.”