Page 9 of Viper's Salvation
I climb on behind him. My thighs bracket his, my chest pressed against his back, my arms with nowhere to go but around his waist. He's lean but solid, all muscle beneath my hands.
The engine roars to life between my legs, and holy shit, the vibration goes through my entire body. It's terrifying and thrilling all at once, like nothing I've ever felt before.
"Ready?" he asks over his shoulder.
I tighten my grip around his waist in answer. Viper kicks the stand and follows the others, our little convoy of outlaws speeding away from the burning compound and the wailing sirens.
The wind slams into us as we pick up speed, forcing me to plaster myself against Viper's back. Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the uncertainty—there's something stupidly freeing about this. Racing away from captivity with my arms wrapped around a dangerous man, the world blurring into streaks of color around us.
We stick to back roads, avoiding highways where cops might set up roadblocks. The powerful engine thrums between my thighs, sending weird sensations through my beaten-up body. Not exactly pleasure, but definitely not pain. Something new, something waking up.
I lose track of time. The world narrows down to Viper's breathing against my arms and the changing landscape around us. Eventually, the bikes slow down, turning onto a hidden road that winds through thick trees before opening up to a sprawling property surrounded by a tall fence.
A sign at the gate reads "OUTLAW ORDER MC". Armed guys stand guard, nodding at Reaper as he leads us through. On the other side is what looks like their own little compound, a big main building with smaller ones scattered around it, all built solid from concrete and wood. Men and a few women stop what they're doing to watch us roll in.
The bikes circle up in front of the main building. When the engines cut off, the quiet hits me like a slap.
"Welcome to the clubhouse," Viper says, pulling off his helmet. "You'll be safe here."
Safe. Such a simple word for something that feels like a distant memory.
I slide off the bike awkwardly, my muscles stiff from the ride and my injuries screaming at me. Viper dismounts with easy grace, then offers his hand to steady me. I take it without thinking, surprised by how natural it feels.
Kelly rushes over and throws her arms around me so hard I can't help but wince.
"Sorry," she mumbles, loosening her grip but not letting go. "I just kept thinking something would happen, that I'd lose you again."
"I'm here," I tell her, hugging her back despite my protesting ribs. "We both are."
A young woman walks over carrying a medical kit. She can't be much older than Kelly, maybe early twenties, but her eyes look like they've seen some shit.
"I'm Evelyn," she says with a gentle smile. "Let's get you inside and check out those injuries."
I glance at Kelly, who nods. "She helped me when I first got here too."
Evelyn leads us into the clubhouse while the men huddle outside. The inside surprises me. It's clean and well-kept, with worn but comfortable furniture, pool tables, a fully stocked bar, and motorcycle stuff on the walls. Masculine, but not gross or threatening.
She takes us to a back room set up like a mini clinic.
"We keep this ready," she explains, gesturing for me to sit on the exam table. "Hospitals ask too many questions."
As Evelyn cleans the cuts on my face, I study her. There's something in her eyes I recognize. The look of someone who's seen how ugly people can be and lived to tell about it.
"You were one of them," I say quietly. "Before. Like us."
She doesn't stop working, but her eyes meet mine steadily. "Yeah. Reaper rescued me. I was being auctioned off." She says it matter-of-factly, no self-pity. "The club raided the place and killed everyone involved."
"And now you're with him? The president?" I can't hide my surprise. She's barely older than me, and Reaper's obviously in his forties.
A small smile tugs at her lips. "It happened fast. Sometimes the person you least expect turns out to be exactly who you need." She dabs antiseptic on a deep cut, making me hiss. "Sorry. This one needs stitches."
Kelly hovers nearby, worrying her bottom lip. "How bad is she?"
"I've seen worse," Evelyn says honestly. "Two, maybe three cracked ribs. Lots of bruising. The cut on your cheekbone needs stitches, and we should watch for concussion with that swelling around your eye." She looks at me directly. "I have to ask. Did they sexually assault you?"
Kelly gasps at the bluntness, but I appreciate Evelyn cutting through the bullshit.
"No," I answer. "Mike wanted to, but Charles was saving me for something... worse. Some kind of 'lesson' for Kelly's escape that he wanted to deliver personally." I swallow hard. "They were keeping me 'presentable' until the swelling went down."
