Page 15 of Viper's Salvation
I shake my head and turn away, heading back toward the main room where I can hear the guys still drinking and talking. But I know I won't be joining them tonight. My mind is too full of hazel eyes and quiet strength, of a woman who endured hell and somehow kept her humanity intact.
I need to get my head straight. Amy needs safety and healing, not some biker with blood on his hands developing feelings for her. Whatever this pull is between us, I need to keep it in check, at least until she's had time to recover, to decide what she really wants.
After all, the last thing she needs is another man making choices for her.
Chapter 7 - Amy
I wake up with my own scream trapped in my throat, sheets twisted around my body like ropes. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead and neck.
In my nightmare, Mike wasn't dead. He was standing over me, gun pressed against my temple, laughing as he pulled the trigger. Only instead of dying, I kept feeling the pain, over and over, unable to escape.
"Fuck," I whisper to the dark room, my heart still racing like I've run a marathon.
The digital clock on the nightstand reads 9:03 AM. I'm surprised I slept this long, though "slept" might be generous considering how many times I jolted awake throughout the night, convinced I was back in that room at the compound.
I ease myself out of bed, wincing as my ribs protest. The pain pills wore off hours ago, but I'm hesitant to take more. I've never liked the fuzzy feeling of medication, the sense of not being fully in control.
The bathroom is also surprisingly nice for a biker clubhouse. Clean white tiles, a large shower, plush towels. I strip off my sweat-soaked t-shirt and underwear, catching sight of myself in the mirror. Jesus. The bruises look even worse than yesterday, a watercolor of purples, blues, and sickly yellows spreading across my torso. My face isn't much better, though the swelling around my eye has gone down slightly.
I step under the hot shower spray, letting the water beat down on my sore muscles. It hurts and feels amazing at the same time, like pressing on a bruise. I stand there longer than necessary, trying to wash away not just the sweat but the lingering feel ofMike's hands, the smell of the compound, the fear that's become so familiar I barely recognize it as fear anymore.
When I finally emerge, pink-skinned and wrapped in a towel, I feel marginally more human. I find clean clothes laid out on a chair. Not mine, but close enough to my size. Someone must have brought them in while I slept. The thought of a stranger entering my room should disturb me, but oddly, it doesn't. Maybe I'm too exhausted to care, or maybe this place already feels safer than anywhere I've been in years.
I dress slowly, careful of my ribs. Jeans that are a bit loose but wearable with a belt, a soft gray t-shirt, and a blue flannel button-up that I leave open. No bra, but honestly, with these ribs, that's a blessing. I run a brush through my damp hair and stare at myself in the mirror again.
I look like shit, but a more put-together version of shit than yesterday. Progress, I guess.
The clubhouse is buzzing with activity when I venture out of my room. Voices carry from the main area—laughing, talking, the occasional shout. It sounds almost... festive. Not what I expected from a group of hardened bikers the day after a deadly raid.
I follow the noise, pausing at the entrance to the main room. It's packed. All the bikers from yesterday plus several women I haven't met. Kelly sits perched on Blade's lap by the pool table, looking more relaxed than I've seen her in years. Evelyn stands near Reaper, his arm casually draped around her shoulders. There's a young woman, maybe 19 or 20, next to Wilder, and a pretty pregnant girl leaning against Ace. Most surprising is Ghost, the intimidating VP, sitting on a couch with a young boy climbing all over him while a pretty woman watches fondly.
The conversation lulls as I enter, and Kelly immediately untangles herself from Blade and rushes over.
"Amy! You're finally up!" She hugs me gently, mindful of my injuries. "How are you feeling? Any better?"
"I'm okay," I lie automatically. "Better."
"Good, because we're going on an adventure," she says, linking her arm through mine and leading me further into the room. "Evelyn and Emma had this amazing idea for a picnic at the lake today. Everyone's going!"
"A picnic?" I repeat, bewildered. These people just finished a war yesterday and now they're planning a day at the lake?
"To celebrate," Kelly explains. "The end of the Vultures MC, our freedom... life in general."
"Come sit," she says, leading me to an empty chair at the table. "Evelyn's making enough pancakes to feed an army."
"More like feeding a bunch of men with the appetites of teenage boys," Evelyn calls over her shoulder with a smile.
"Don't let her fool you," Reaper says, pressing a kiss to the top of Evelyn's head. "She's made three batches already and eaten half of one herself."
"I'm a growing girl," she retorts, elbowing him playfully.
The intimacy between them is so at odds with the dangerous aura Reaper projects that it throws me for a loop. The same goes for the rest of the room. Deadly men and the women who clearly adore them, all acting like one big, rowdy family.
"You must be Amy," the young woman next to Wilder says. "I'm Emma. Reaper's daughter." She reaches across the table to offer her hand, which I shake automatically. "Sorry I wasn't around yesterday when you arrived. I was at Wilder's place, waiting for everything with the Vultures MC to be over."
"Nice to meet you," I manage, still trying to process the fact that the MC president has a daughter who looks like she could be in a college brochure.
"Emma's studying to be an FBI agent," Kelly adds, clearly enjoying my surprise.
