Page 7 of Viper's Single Mom
"No need. He'll show himself soon enough." A cold smile stretched across my face. "And when he does, we'll be ready."
The fucker had no idea what he'd started. But he'd learn. They always did.
CHAPTER 3
TARA
The breakfast rush at Bea's moved differently when a six-foot-two biker MC president sat at the corner booth like a guardian gargoyle.
Viper had arrived at seven sharp, leather cut over a black henley, taking the booth that gave him sight lines to both entrances and the kitchen. He'd ordered coffee—black—and hadn't moved in three hours except to track my movements around the diner.
"That your new boyfriend?" Maxine, one of the other waitresses, whispered as we passed at the coffee station. "Because damn, honey."
"He's not my—" I stopped. What was he? Protector? Bodyguard I couldn't afford? The man who'd invaded my dreams last night with phantom sensations of solid muscle beneath my hands?
"Sure he's not." Maxine smirked. "That's why he looks ready to murder any man who gets within three feet of you."
She wasn't wrong. When Tom Bradley had reached out to steady me after I'd stumbled with a full tray, Viper's entire body had coiled like a spring. Tom had yanked his hand back like he'd touched a live wire.
"Order up!" Bea called.
I grabbed the plates, hyperaware of Viper's attention as I delivered breakfast to table four. Every move I made, he catalogued. Every customer I served, he assessed. The weight of his focus made my skin prickle with something that wasn't quite fear anymore.
The bell above the door chimed. A man in a suit walked in, and my stomach dropped before logic kicked in—wrong build, wrong walk. Not Harrison. Just another traveling salesman looking for eggs and weak coffee.
But Viper had already shifted, hand moving to his hip where I suspected he kept a weapon. His gaze tracked the stranger to a seat at the counter, not relaxing until the man opened a newspaper and ignored everyone.
"Your watchdog's making customers nervous," Bea said when I picked up my next order. But her tone held approval. "About time someone looked after you properly."
Three months of working here, and I'd never told her about Harrison. Never explained the jumpy behavior or the dark circles or why I'd changed my locks twice. But Bea knew anyway. Small towns had their own kind of magic.
"Table six needs a refill," she added, then lower, "His cup's been empty for twenty minutes."
Table six. Viper's booth.
I grabbed the coffee pot, willing my hands steady. He watched me approach with an intensity that made walking feel complicated.
"More coffee?"
"Thanks." His voice rumbled through me, setting off reactions I'd thought Harrison had killed.
I leaned in to pour, catching leather and motor oil and something woodsy that made me want to burrow closer. The coffee pot trembled.
"Easy." His hand covered mine on the handle, steadying it. Heat spread from his touch, warming something frozen inside me. "I've got you."
Three words. That's all. But they unwound something that had been knotted in my chest since yesterday's texts. Maybe since long before that.
"I don't need a babysitter," I whispered, though my hand stayed under his.
"No. You need protection until we handle your problem." His thumb brushed my knuckles before releasing my hand. "My job to make sure you get it."
"I can't pay?—"
"We covered this. My protection, my rules." He leaned back, but his presence still surrounded me. "What time you done?"
"Two."
"I'll be here."
