Page 13 of Viper's Salvation
The hallway is quiet, dimly lit by walls that cast long shadows. I'm about to turn back, feeling like an idiot for even coming this way, when a door opens further down the corridor. Amy steps out, wearing a borrowed t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh and a pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist. Her hair is damp from a shower, her face freshly washed, making the bruises stand out even more starkly against her pale skin.
She startles when she sees me, then relaxes. "Viper."
Just my name on her lips does something to me. I'm in fucking trouble.
"Sorry," I say, keeping my voice low. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't." She leans against the doorframe, and I can tell she's trying to hide how much pain she's in. "I was just looking for the kitchen. Evelyn said there would be food..."
"I can show you," I offer, perhaps too quickly. "Or bring something to your room if you're not up for walking."
She straightens, pride evident in the set of her jaw. "I can walk. Just... slowly."
I nod, respecting her need for independence after being powerless for so long. "Kitchen's this way."
We walk side by side down the hallway. I resist the urge to offer my arm, knowing instinctively she'd reject it. This woman needs to do things on her own terms now.
"You and your sister settling in okay?" I ask.
A small smile touches her lips. "Yes. She's with Blade. Apparently, that's all the settling in she needs."
There's no judgment in her tone, just a hint of bewilderment.
"And that doesn't bother you? Her getting involved with one of us so quickly?"
Amy considers this for a moment. "Kelly's always been a good judge of character. Better than me, obviously." Bitterness edges into her voice. "If she trusts Blade, there must be something worth trusting."
We reach the kitchen, a large, surprisingly well-equipped space. The clubhouse might look rough from the outside, but we take care of our own here.
"What are you hungry for?" I ask, opening the refrigerator. "We've got leftover chili, sandwich stuff, I could cook eggs..."
"Sandwich is fine," she says, easing herself onto a stool at the counter. "I can make it myself, though. You don't have to wait on me."
I ignore her protest and start pulling out bread, deli meat, and cheese. "Let me do this. You've had a shit day."
She watches me work, her hazel eyes tracking my movements. There's something cautious in her gaze, like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
"Why were you in that hallway?" she finally asks. "The east wing is far from the main room."
Perceptive. I consider lying, then decide against it. She's had enough bullshit for one lifetime.
"Wanted to make sure you were okay," I admit, spreading mayo on the bread. "Not planning to bother you. Just... checking."
"Checking on me specifically, or just general security rounds?"
I look up, meeting her gaze directly. "You specifically."
"Why?"
"Good question," I say, focusing on finishing her sandwich. "I've been asking myself the same thing."
She doesn't push further, and I appreciate that. I slide the plate in front of her.
"Thank you," she says, taking a small bite. Her stomach growls loudly after the first taste, and she suddenly seems to realize how hungry she actually is. She takes larger bites, eating with the intensity of someone who hasn't had a proper meal in days. Which, I realize, she probably hasn't.
I make a second sandwich while she devours the first, placing it on her plate without comment when she finishes. She flashes me a grateful look and starts on the second one, slower this time.
"Your ribs okay?" I ask, noticing how she shifts uncomfortably on the stool.
