Page 19 of Viper's Salvation
"Why would you do that? Help me?"
"Because you survived something most people wouldn't. Because you did it with your spirit intact. Because people like you—survivors—deserve a fucking break for once."
His intensity catches me off guard. There's something personal in it, something that makes me wonder what battles he's fought, what losses he's survived.
"Is that why you joined the MC?" I ask quietly. "Looking for a break?"
Chapter 8 - Viper
Her question hits like a sucker punch, direct and unexpected. Is that why I joined the MC? Looking for a break?
No one asks about our pasts here. It's an unspoken rule of the club. But something about Amy's direct gaze makes me want to answer honestly.
"No," I say finally. "Not a break. Justice."
She waits, those hazel eyes steady on mine, patient in a way that invites confession. Fuck, those eyes could pull secrets from a dead man.
I look out across the lake, buying time, wondering how much to share. The sun glints off the water, turning it into a mirror of fractured light. Behind us, laughter erupts from the horseshoe pit where Ace has apparently made a spectacular shot.
"My father owned a small repair shop," I say, the words feeling strange in my mouth after so many years of silence. "Fixed everything from lawn mowers to motorcycles. Taught me everything I know about engines." I pause, swallowing against the familiar tightness in my throat. "Three men robbed his shop six years ago. Shot him point-blank when he couldn't open the safe fast enough."
Amy's hand moves to cover mine on the dock, her touch light but grounding.
"Police investigation went nowhere," I continue. "Too many unsolved cases, not enough resources. Just another statistic." My jaw clenches at the memory of the detective's empty promises, the fading interest as weeks passed with no leads. "I was working on my engineering degree then. Dropped out, moved back home to take care of my mother and the shop."
"I'm sorry," Amy says softly, and unlike when most people say it, I believe she means it.
I shrug, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. "Started looking into it myself. Asking questions around town. Got nowhere until Reaper and the club rolled through one night, stopped at the bar where I was drinking."
The memory is still vivid. Reaper in his prime, commanding the room without saying a word, Ghost at his side looking menacing as fuck. Me, drunk and angry, picking a fight with a guy twice my size who happened to be a friend of theirs.
"Impressed them with my fighting skills, I guess. Or my stupidity." I smile wryly. "Reaper pulled me aside afterward, asked why I had such a death wish. I told him about my father. Turned out they had information on the crew responsible. Same guys had been hitting small businesses across three counties."
Amy's eyes widen. "So, the club helped you find them?"
"Better than that. They helped me end them." I meet her gaze directly, not softening the truth. "Three bullets for three killers. Clean. Final. More mercy than they showed my dad."
I expect her to pull away, to recoil at this confession of premeditated murder. Instead, her fingers tighten slightly over mine.
"Did it help?" she asks. "Killing them?"
It's not the question I expected. Not "How could you?" or "Wasn't that wrong?" but a practical inquiry about the result. This woman continues to surprise me.
"Not like I thought it would," I admit. "Didn't bring him back. Didn't erase what happened. But it closed a door that needed closing." I turn my hand beneath hers, our palms meeting. "After that, I joined the club. Found a purpose bigger than revenge."
"Protecting people," she says, understanding dawning in her eyes.
I nod. "My father couldn't be saved, but others could. People like you and Kelly. Like Evelyn. Like Debbie and Tyler."
She looks across the picnic area where Ghost is pushing Tyler on a swing Ace rigged from a tree branch, Debbie watching from a nearby blanket.
"All of them have stories like mine?" she asks.
"Not exactly the same, but similar themes. The women found protection with us. The men found purpose, brotherhood."
"And you?" Her eyes return to mine. "What did you find besides purpose?"
"Belonging," I say simply. "A place where the darkness inside me makes sense."
