Viper (NSB Book 3)

by Alyson Santos

  But why you? It’s all over their faces. Why Wes Alton? Why did Hannah go to the one man who keeps disrupting their close, happy family?

  “Hannah is strong. She’s just figuring some things out,” I say, folding my hands on the table.

  “And you think you’re the person to be guiding her through this?” Annie’s voice is little more than a whisper.

  This one hurts because there’s no anger in her tone. No resentment, just the love of a mother who desperately wants her daughter back.

  I can’t speak. I don’t have an answer that will work for this conversation. I’m not right for this. God, I know I’m not.

  “She doesn’t want to put you through it all again.” It’s not an answer, and only hurts them more. I can’t even look at their faces now.

  “She’s our daughter, Wes. Please, send her home.”

  A server slows his approach, probably sensing his intrusion. He’s going to get water while we decide, he tells us with an awkward smile.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. Washroom,” I add, taking advantage of the opportunity for escape. My lungs are heavy, my brain overwhelmed with the encounter.

  They nod slowly, and I have to swallow the emotion as Annie’s head finds James’ shoulder when I look back. He whispers something against her hair and deposits a kiss.

  I splash cold water on my face, and watch my eyes glisten from the drops. Hazel irises almost glow beneath the sheen, making me look like a different man. A person who might actually care about someone more than himself. Someone who can make a good decision. A selfless one. Beads form in the corners of my eyes and slide down my cheeks. Is this what I’d look like if I cried?

  I wipe my sleeve across my face and lean into my reflection. Fuck it.

  ∞∞∞

  I return from the washroom resolved. I’ve been fighting on the wrong side, and Hannah’s war is too important for me to be selfish.

  “We ordered a sampler platter. Hope that’s okay,” Annie says when I return to my seat.

  “Sounds great.” I won’t be here to sample food anyway. I take my napkin and ask the Drakes for a pen. I expect their confused expressions but remain silent as Annie searches her purse. She hands me one, and I scribble a name on the napkin. After scrolling through my phone, I add a phone number beside it.

  They’re still staring at me when I look up and slide the napkin across the table. “I’m sending Hannah home. You’re right. She needs you more than she needs what I bring to her life. She’s going to hate me for it, so all I ask is that you make sure she keeps up with the new therapist we found. She has a standing appointment at 10am on Fridays.”

  Annie’s eyes soften as they connect with mine.

  “Thank you, Wes.”

  I offer a stiff smile and leave before they can see my eyes.

  ∞∞∞

  Hannah glances over from the couch when I enter. “That was quick. How’d it go?”

  “Really well. Pack up your stuff. You’re going home.”

  “Hilarious.” Her amusement fades as she reads my face. “Wait, what?”

  “Hannah, you’re going home to your family. You need to be with them right now.”

  “What are you talking about?” She’s on her feet now, following me through the condo toward her room.

  I grab her suitcase and throw it open on the bed.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” She clutches my arm as I reach for a drawer.

  “You’re going home.”

  “What the hell? What did they say to you? I don’t want to go home!”

  I stop and spin toward her. “Nothing except show me how much they love you. How much they are going to be exactly what you need right now.”

  “I thought we agreed you are what I need,” she snaps, yanking a handful of clothing out of the suitcase.

  I narrow my eyes and shove more back in. “No, we’ve been pretending I’m what you need because it’s what we want.” I hold her arms in a loose grip. “Hannah, we both know this was temporary. I will stand by you through the rest of it, but not alone. I will not be your excuse to disappear.”

  Her eyes darken. “This is bullshit.”

  “And non-negotiable.”

  Vipers measure their venom too. Yep, they control how much they want to release into their prey.

  Letting her go will fucking gut me.

  ∞∞∞

  Hannah’s protests fade into somber acceptance as we pack her belongings. Once they’re secured and ready for transport, she casts a last scan of her hiding place. I let her process the moment in silence. I hope she sees it for what it’s been—a cave, not a hospital.

  We move her stuff to the lobby and get a cab. After loading the trunk, I slide into the seat beside her.

  “We’re doing the right thing.” I tuck my arm around her shoulders. She burrows against me, and I stare past her at the tall buildings.

  “I hate you.”

  “I know.” I kiss her hair.

  “What about our music?”

  “What about it?”

  She adjusts against me, and I meet her look with a smile.

  “Wait, you want to keep writing together?”

  “Of course.” I pull back so I can cup her face. “I’m not leaving you, Hannah. I’m forcing you to accept as much love and support as you can get right now.”

  She plants a light kiss on my lips, then snickers. “That’s so not an alpha line.”

  “No? What if I say it with your hand on my—”

  “Shut up!” She laughs, and slaps my arm away.

  ∞∞∞

  Two figures burst from the porch at the approach of our cab, and Hannah’s hard expression melts at the sight of her parents. It’s a strange feeling being on the side of a right decision for once. I tell her to go while I take care of the fare and luggage.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, then ventures from the cab toward her parents’ waiting arms. I’m paralyzed as I watch her folded in love, tears streaming down three faces.

  “Hey, man. You good?” the driver interrupts. I clear my throat and count out some bills. “You need change?”

  “Keep it. Can you wait for a second?”

  I exit and stand by the trunk. We remove the bags, and I start transferring them to their new home. Three sets of eyes remember me at the same time, and I manage a hard swallow. “Where should I put these?”

  “On the porch is fine,” James says.

  I stack them by the railing, onstage again beneath their stares. With a grim twist of the lips, I pass their cluster of affection, this time with nothing to distract me.

  “Wes, wait!” The voice calling me back is more mature and tremulous than Hannah’s. I turn just in time to receive a tight hug from Annie. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she says against my chest.

  I clench my jaw. “No problem.”

  15: GAMING

  I can’t go back to an empty condo after dropping Hannah off, so I do something I haven’t done in months. Not all disasters are accidents. Some I just invite.

  The Leafs have a three-day break, so I take a chance that rightwing Dany Carle will answer his phone.

  “Dude! Where ya been?”

  I cringe and separate the phone from my ear at the voice exploding through the receiver. “Touring, then dealing with some shit. You in town?”

  “Until Sunday, why?”

  “Want to hit a club or something?”

  “For sure. Me and some of the guys are on our way to Harem, then maybe Sultana. You in?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Hell yeah! Hey, Meyers. Alton’s joining us tonight.”

  “Nice! Tell him he’s paying.”

  Yep, exactly what I don’t need and exactly what I want.

  ∞∞∞

  Strip clubs aren’t my typical scene, and I haven’t been to Harem in over a year. Seems irrational to pay women to remove their clothes when you have a line of volunteers. But tonight isn’t about my brain, so I shut of
f all avenues to its whining the moment the bouncer waves me in.

  “Carle here yet?” I ask him.

  “Yeah. Brought the whole team tonight.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  The vibe is different than I remember. Or maybe I’m just more forgiving tonight. This place is definitely more 1800’s burlesque club than seedy strip joint. I suppose that makes sense since no guest leaves with less than three zeros on their bill.

  It’s not hard to find half of a professional hockey team. My grin is unavoidable when an entire section of the venue erupts at my arrival.

  I’m greeted with a slew of punches, backslaps, and what the fuck mans. Dany clears a spot beside him.

  I throw back the shot he shoves at me. “Fuck, yeah,” I say, slamming the glass down.

  He laughs and signals for another round. “Glad you came out, man.”

  “Thanks. Nice win last night.”

  “Damn straight. Heard you played our house on your last tour.”

  “We did. I made sure to jack off in your locker before the show.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh shit, Damiana is up. Check this out.”

  I do. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my mind chooses that moment to flood me with images of an ex-lawyer on my couch in baggy sweats. Hair twisted up and falling over itself, wry smirk blasting the idiots on my TV screen. She’s the type of woman who’d march into a strip club with me and conquer this table of testosterone. It kills me that she’s the only person who doesn’t see that.

  I gladly accept another shot.

  Damiana spots our table and tosses plenty of extra attention our way throughout the performance. Her tips tonight will buy her a decent used car. Dany seems to think he’ll be the one driving it. To be fair, history has taught him he’s often the one guy a stripper actually does want to take home.

  “That ass, though,” he hums, smacking my arm.

  “It’s her paycheck, dude.”

  “Yeah, but… Shit, she’s coming over.”

  Our table shrank as the guys were peeled off for more expensive investments. It leaves little competition for Dany, and based on the layout of our corner, that competition is basically me.

  “Dany Carle,” she purrs, running a pink nail over his jaw. “I’ve missed you.”

  Her gaze travels to me, perfect eyebrows arching to remind me she owns these tables and everyone in them.

  “This is my friend, Wes,” Dany says. “Wes—”

  “Damiana,” she interrupts, attention locking on me. “You a hockey player too, Wes?”

  “No.”

  “He’s a musician,” Dany adds.

  “Really? A famous one?”

  I grin in spite of myself. “Nah, not really. Just a few gigs here and there.”

  “Fucking liar,” Dany smirks. “Is that your new game, Alton? False modesty?”

  I make some lame crack about him being the “player” and feel the intensity change in Damiana’s stare.

  “Hold on. Wes. Alton. Tracing Holland?”

  I lock my gaze with hers in confirmation. Dark red lips curve into an enticing smile.

  “Dany, how dare you not bring Wes by before now.”

  Dany rolls his eyes. “He’s been on tour. Wait, why are we talking about this?”

  She giggles and scoots past me to reach Dany. Yes, that move was for me as much as him when that perfect ass lands inches from my face.

  “You ready for more?” she directs to my friend. Her hands slide up his arms and latch around his neck. He lets her tug him up from the booth and sends me a bold grin. Dany Carle is known for his appreciation of women and their admiration of him.

  And suddenly, I’m alone. The few players left acknowledge me from the other side of the table, but I don’t know them well enough to have an interest in conversation. My gaze flickers back to the stage again.

  I wonder about Hannah, how she’s settling into her parents’ care. It has to be hard for someone as independent as she is. I can’t imagine doing the same thing. Then again, my parents would never let me through the door with anything resembling a suitcase.

  A gorgeous blonde hates that I’m alone and offers her companionship. I thank her and send her on her way. A few other offers don’t tempt me either, and finally I’m starting to regret this after all. I glance at my phone and actually consider checking up on Hannah. From a strip club, you idiot. I put my phone away and turn to shots instead. Most of the latest round has been neglected, and I horde several to my section of the table. Three? Four? I lose track because I’ve had at least that many already. The burn starts to feel really fucking good, and the best part? My brain finally does what it promised hours ago—absolutely nothing.

  I have to piss and push myself up in an aggressive burst that leaves the room a wavy blur. Shit. Gotta love how you’re always more drunk standing than sitting. I use the table to settle the floor and finally start maneuvering toward the washrooms. I can’t tell if I’m handling my stagger well. I’m a practiced drinker, so I’m hoping my skill is hiding the fact that I’m wasted.

  I’m confident I’m headed in the right direction until a tug on my jeans alters my course. Soon I’m moving down a dim hallway toward a private room.

  “Wes Alton.” My name slips past too-full lips resting dangerously close to my neck. “I’ve been waiting for your turn.”

  I blink to clear the image of Damiana’s dark hair and eager eyes.

  “Where’s Dany?” I ask, scanning the room.

  “Not here.”

  I shake my head but soon find myself anchored to a couch by bare thighs. “Okay, I think—” She shushes me—actually shushes me!—with fingers on my lips. The other hand presses down my torso and discovers my natural reaction to any beautiful woman when I’m hammered. Her hand starts an intoxicating rhythm, and the spinning room adds streaks of bright sparks. I grab her wrist but can’t get my brain to decide between shoving it away or guiding it.

  Walking cliché, Wes Alton, soothing his pain with alcohol and strippers. That was my sober brain.

  She must sense her new advantage because suddenly rules are breaking right along with my will. Her teeth sink into my lip just hard enough to earn a groan when her grip slides past my open zipper. Expert hands tighten and release. Expert lips suck and invite.

  “You want to let me call the shots? I’ll take care of you, baby.”

  My abs contract at her tongue traveling over the dense muscle. It feels so damn good with the matching rhythm of pressure on my dick—and expensive.

  You’re paying for sex now?

  Dammit, it’s a practical decision.

  I straighten, resting unsteady hands on her shoulders. “Thanks. You’re a beautiful girl,” I mutter. With a gentle push I separate her from my body. It takes more effort to remove my drunk ass from the couch.

  Unaccustomed to rejection, she launches into a tirade instead of making another attempt. I’m grateful for her pride. I just need… to find a door. The walls swirl and climb at impossible angles. The smell of expensive perfumes grind my stomach into a pool of nausea. My pocket starts to buzz, and I almost lose my balance. I steady myself against the wall before pulling out my phone and squinting at the text. The sober half of my brain can’t interpret the words, but the drunk half starts inching to the door again at their command. Dany. Sultana. Where the hell am I? people want to know according to letters on my screen.

  Damiana is rationalizing my bizarre rejection in a distant world behind me. According to her testimony, I’m the first drunk patron to haunt this establishment which is why I’m turning her down. I ignore her because she seems like an okay girl, and I don’t give a damn. I just want to go home. Plus, I still have to piss. I fumble with the lock, the handle, and finally lurch into the dark hallway. My legs start moving again, carrying me… away. Somewhere. Washroom. Three wrong turns later, I finally find sinks and stalls. And Dany.

  “There you are! Dude, bus is leaving. Let’s go.”

&nb
sp; I grunt. “Give me a sec.”

  “Yeah, like, exactly a second.” His warning look slides to the door. “Guys are already loaded. Loaded.” He belts a laugh at his own pun.

  “You’re an artist. I’ll be right out.”

  I’m rinsing soap off my hands when the door swings open to expose a tree trunk of a man in a black t-shirt. He zeros in on me and crowds way too close for comfort.

  “Need something?”

  “Yeah. The money you owe Damiana for your private dance.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me. Go take care of your tab.”

  “Okay, I don’t know what she told you but—”

  “She didn’t have to tell me anything. I saw you go in with her. I saw you come out. Pay. Your. Tab.”

  We confront each other in the alien washroom lighting. This isn’t the first time I’ve stared down a precipice of violence in a public restroom. Images of my clash with Luke Craven come barreling back. I was the asshole wearing black in that one. Then again, he was too when he had his hands all over Holland in a public place where rumors could have wrecked her.

  “You want a broken nose?” he asks.

  Kind of, but then, suddenly I don’t care. This whole night is about not giving a shit. Besides, it would piss Dany off if I make them wait any longer. My fist releases at my side. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  His stance shifts with an unsteady nod. I’m sure he didn’t expect this to go down without blood. I certainly didn’t and take some solace in the fact that at least I still look like a dude who wants to kick someone’s ass.

  I have no interest in another encounter with Damiana, so I leave a stack of bills and an explanation with the hostess. The bouncer glowers at me from his perch beside the stage, and I toss over a taunting thumbs-up. Even new Wes can’t totally walk away from an encounter without a fuck-you. His thick chest puffs through a too-tight shirt but he doesn’t move toward me. I’m kind of disappointed, regretting the lack of bloodshed.