Page 11 of Unbound By You (The Viper’s MC #1)

HARLOW

T he keypad on the front door lights up as I type the passcode in before pushing the door open as quietly as I can manage with the squeaky hinge we keep meaning to oil. Lexi’s car is still parked in her spot, but when I strain my ears, I don’t hear her up and about.

I wonder if she called in and is still sleeping off what has to be a brutal hangover. I can’t blame her. Even a flawless application with a pound of expensive foundation wouldn’t be able to cover up the proof of what happened to her last night.

Dropping my helmet on the hall table, I toe off my boots and head straight for my room. I don’t make it three feet before a throat clears in the kitchen.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in, or was it a bear? You look like shit. What the hell happened to you?” Lexi asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, a steaming mug clutched between her hands.

“Long, wild night. You know how it goes. I’m going to go change,” I throw out without pausing for her to get a better look.

But my best friend has zero boundaries and trails behind, plopping onto my bed as I strip off Silas's hoodie and throw it onto my chair, as far away from her as possible.

“So, are you going to spill about last night?” she asks, eyes sparkling.

I ignore her and continue digging through the pile of clean clothes—that keeps migrating from one surface to another—looking for one of my old tank tops.

Lex is the type to share every little unwanted detail about her sex life with me, even against my will, but I never reciprocate. If I magically changed my M.O., how exactly would I even begin to talk about the fucked-up sex torture I went through at the hands of her older brother?

I think it’s best just to keep quiet.

“Jesus, girl, you really do look like you were mauled by a wild animal,” she says, gawking as she takes in my chest and stomach before I can pull my shirt all the way down.

Fucking Silas and his goddamn markings.

“Like I said, wild night,” I play off, dropping her a wink.

Her intense stare roams across every inch of my skin like she doesn’t believe a word out of my mouth, but she’s not going to call me on my shit. She eventually shrugs and goes back to enjoying what’s left of the rich hazelnut coffee we both love.

“Forget about me. How are you doing? You called in?”

“I didn’t want to deal with Bethany May making a scene.

I took a day off for a family emergency.

Hopefully, by the end, it won’t look so bad.

” Her fingers reach up and press into the bruise around her eye, causing her to flinch against the pressure.

“I just can’t believe he hasn’t even tried to text me.

There was nothing from him when I woke up this morning.

Not that I’m complaining,” she placates when my head whips up from my computer in her direction.

“I’m done with that asshole. He can go be someone else’s rich daddy’s boy problem. ”

Thank God, it sounds like I don’t have to worry about her trying to track him down. Hopefully, it stays that way, and she doesn’t backpedal in a few days when she starts feeling lonely.

“Well, I have some work to do right now, but do you feel like going out tonight? Celebrate your newfound freedom?”

“How about a movie and girls’ night at home? We can do our nails, pop on some face masks, and share a bottle of cheap wine. I’m not quite ready to jump back into the dating scene. Plus, look at me.” She motions to her face, where the deep purple bruise is on full display.

“Beautiful as ever,” I remind her. “You got a deal. Do you want to get everything ready while I handle this? And order some food? I’m starving. I should only be an hour.”

“You got it,” she says, hopping up from the bed and heading out. “Hey, Lo.” She pauses at the door, looking back at me. “Thanks for being there for me last night, but we’re going to talk about whatever the fuck that was between you and my brother.”

“Nothing happened,” I groan, falling back against the mattress.

“Right…” she draws out, laughing her way down the hallway.

She’s not going to let it go. Maybe I can pass it off as a moment of weakness or a little too much whiskey, even though I only had a single solidarity shot.

The vibrating against my thigh quells my planning. Drawing it from my pocket, I check to see who’s reaching out.

Ready for round two yet?

Sorry, who is this?

Nice try, wildcat. Should I send pictures as proof, so you know exactly who I am? Maybe I should just text them right on over to Lexi and break the news to your BFF.

Fuck right on off, Silas. And why the actual FUCK do you have a picture of me!

You just looked too damn good passed out naked in my bed last night.

Delete them now, or I swear to God I’m going to choke you until I watch the life drain from your eyes.

Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby. It sounds to me like you’re absolutely ready for that second round.

We’re done here. Stop texting me. I’m working.

See you later, baby.

Exiting from the obnoxious text thread, I click on Pierce’s contact.

We square?

The white bubbles pop up immediately. Out of business, my ass.

Paid in full. Account closed.

My phone leaves my hands and crashes against the wall before I can register the consequences of doing so. I didn’t want to believe it. Silas has fucked me over royally.

I’ve used the guys since day one, so I didn’t have to get in any deeper with Macon. He offers every time. I know he has the contacts to deal with the clean-up from the jobs I handle, but then that leads to owing him on top of the bullshit he holds over me.

I need to win them back or learn how to dispose of my work on my own.

But what am I supposed to do? Go to the library and check out books on dismemberment and acid ratios.

That’d be no better than googling the shit on my computer.

If I had Branson’s skills, I could enter the dark web and find a new contact to hire.

But with what money? The guys are cut-rate because of our history.

A professional would just open a whole new avenue for disaster.

Fuck me sideways.

It is what it is. I don’t need a solution right this second. Maybe by the time my next job rolls around, the guys won’t have a stick up their asses—shit, more like a leather biker boot.

Thinking about my next job on the horizon has me groaning up at the ceiling. I can’t delay my visit with Mom any longer. Tomorrow, I’ll have to suck it up and trek across town to Macon’s obnoxious estate.

I’d love to blow it off, but the bi-weekly drop-ins are the only time I check up on her in person. Text updates from her nurse don’t give me the same reassurance that he’s keeping up his side of the bargain as setting eyes on her does.

Mom might have decided to throw away our relationship years ago when she married the monster. Still, since the symptoms started and the doctors diagnosed her with early-onset Alzheimer’s, she rarely remembers what caused the rift between us.

The only reason I came back to face him again was her diagnosis. She wanted to make amends before it was too late. But that meant giving in to his twisted demands to see my mother before she became a shell of the woman I remembered.

And it’s that little fact that keeps me showing up at the house of the man who tried to charm his way through grooming me as a teenager right under her nose.

He took the opportunity that fell into his lap and dragged me onto the dark and depraved merry-go-round that is my life now. I’m still fighting years later to find my way off.

Her health has declined so much in the last six months that she rarely recognizes me at all when I stop by to visit.

You’d think I could step away now. Let her live out her life with the abusive man she chose over her daughter with the full-time care his dirty money pays for.

But I can’t. She’s the only family I have left in this world.

I’ve been clinging to that, dreading and dreaming of the day she’ll be gone, and we’ll both finally be free.

I shake off the overwhelming gloom hanging around my neck. Fuck work. I need a girls’ night in now, too.