Page 19 of Unbound By You (The Viper’s MC #1)
SILAS
H arlow’s wild mane covers her face and most of my chest. She smells like sex, with the slightest leftover hint of my shower products.
I make a mental note to order her coconut shampoo.
Her soft snores blow the strands back and forth, and I get lost in its rhythm.
Last night was a success in pushing her over the edge.
I don’t know if it was the orgasms, the weed, or if my words finally penetrated that thick skull of hers.
We got distracted, and there’s still a lot between us that needs to be said. We need to take this to the club. It’s not just about protecting Harlow anymore. There’s someone in our business, and they’re too close for my liking.
My guys were clear from that ambush, or so I thought.
We got the tip from a prospect who heard it from his brother in lockup.
He knew sharing it with us would give him a leg up in getting invited into the club.
Everything seemed good on our end. The tip panned out, and we were in and out with the goods before anyone came along the highway.
The product sits safely tucked away in one of our stash houses several towns over.
Now that I know someone had eyes on us that night, I’m glad Chopper’s too paranoid to keep any merch remotely close to the compound.
“Why are you thinking so loud?” Harlow groans, voice raspy with sleep.
She flips her dark mess of hair out of the way and shifts to rest her forearms under her chin on my chest. An afternoon sunbeam sneaks through the partially closed curtains and glints off the gold band on her finger.
There was no doubt in my mind that she’d still give me her body after everything I pulled.
We have an undeniable electric attraction that sparks as soon as we’re within feet of each other.
She’s a woman who’s not shy when it comes to sex, and it wouldn’t shock me if sex is the part she’s used to going after, the part she’s good at.
But the other stuff. The commitment, the devotion, the protection, all of that is the part I knew I’d have to, and will likely always have to, fight her on.
So, after she stomped out of my room and the crash and thuds of shit being thrown about in the living room started, I knew I needed to pull my mother’s ring out of the safe. It’s been sitting there for years, waiting for the moment we had last night.
Her bright, mossy eyes still full of sleep, search my face, and I remember she asked me a question.
“We should get up soon. I think it’s time you meet the rest of my family.”
“Uhh, I’ve met your entire family, Si,” she says with a quirked eyebrow, probably confused.
“My real family, wife.”
T he dry weather and absence of humidity in the air make it feel like fall instead of second summer.
We ride separately to the compound. I wanted Harlow on the back of my bike, but she was having none of it.
Especially after one of my boys was the last to ride her bike here from Macon’s.
I conceded, and she trailed after me the entire ride here.
As we pull into the gravel lot beside the main building, the hair on the back of my neck stands.
It’s dead, but that’s not unusual at three in the afternoon.
The rumble of our bikes quiets, and the whirl of traffic from the highway can be heard between the chirps of happy birds in the surrounding trees.
“So, this is it, huh?” Harlow asks, climbing off and popping her helmet onto her seat.
I scan the perimeter off in the distance. Nothing seems amiss. There’s no one hanging around or cars parked along the main street out front, yet that creeping sensation up my spine doesn’t stop.
I snatch Harlow’s hand and drag her toward the front door. Her grumbles of protest don’t stop until we’re through the metal gated door, and she finally yanks free from my hold.
“What the fuck, Si?”
I reach behind my back for my piece and hold my finger to my lips. It’s one thing for it to be quiet out front, but there’s always something making noise inside. It shouldn't be silent between the kitchen, the main room, and the bedrooms. The walls are too thin for that.
Harlow takes my lead, casually flinging her switchblade open as if it’s an extension of her fingers.
She fists the back of my shirt and lets me lead the way, keeping her steps silent across the cement floors.
When we round the corner down the first hall, I see the door to Pres’s office is wide open.
To anyone else, this wouldn’t mean shit, but I know that man keeps that place his haven, and no one’s allowed in without his knowledge.
My finger rests heavily against the trigger, ready to pull quickly if needed. When we step into the doorway, my blood turns to ice. Pres is slumped over his desk, blood seeping into the keyboard, and a mess of paperwork scattered about.
“Fuck,” the whispered word leaves my mouth, and Harlow presses in closer to see around my shoulder that’s blocking her view.
She lets out a low hum but says nothing.
She just grips my arm, returning my attention to the potential danger we’re in.
She drags me away from the view that will be imprinted on my memory for the rest of my life.
There’s nothing I can do for him now. He’s gone.
What matters is the rest of the compound.
We need to clear it, room by room. Where there’s one body, there are bound to be more.
We sweep the ground floor hallway and find two more of my brothers. One lies in bed. His arm outstretched toward the nightstand, fingers inches from the pistol that could’ve saved him. The other is in the meeting room, slumped over our club-crested table.
My blood’s no longer cold. It boils knowing this was a hit.
A quiet, fast hit that only a trained group could pull off.
I don’t want to take Harlow down to the basement floor with me when I know Pierce and Branson’s rooms are down there along with my workspace and another few members, but I’m not about to leave her up here alone.
The lights are cut, and the stairs would be a death trap if I didn’t know the space between each, like the back of my hand. Harlow doesn’t, though, and she misses the last one, crashing into my back. I reach behind me and steady her before we repeat the same process as upstairs.
My workroom is empty, which isn’t surprising since I have to unlock it with the key I always keep with me. The rest of the bedrooms are empty, too, but we still have the last one on the left.
I shake the anxious buzz from my fingers and twist the knob slowly, trying to delay what I know is likely behind this cheap piece of plywood. His usual heady music doesn’t pump through the surround sound speakers. The only hum comes from the computers under his desk.
That’s where my eyes immediately draw and take in the dark puddle under the computer chair. I freeze in the doorway, blocking Harlow from entering, but she fights past me, rushing to his side.
Spinning the chair only confirms what I’d anticipated.
His face is no longer recognizable from the bullet to the back of his head.
But there’s no doubt it’s him. Harlow jumps back, avoiding the mess.
I’m on her instantly, expecting a full-on meltdown, but she shoots her hand out, pushing against my chest to keep me at arm’s length as she pulls her phone from her back pocket.
“Baby, we gotta go,” I say, reaching for her again to drag her away from Branson.
Her index finger pops up, refusing my attempt to take control. The whir of the computer fan becomes background noise to the quiet space as Harlow brings the phone to her ear.
“I want a meeting with him.”
The reply must come, but it’s garbled and undetectable, with the blood pounding in my ears loud enough to form its own beat.
“Tonight. Nine pm. Make it happen, Macon,” she spits and hangs up.
“I need to stop by Lexi’s, and then you’re going to finally realize that the man you think you’re going to deal with on your own just took out part of your club without a care in the fucking world.”
She shoves past me, heading out into the dark hallway, before calling over her shoulder, “Welcome to my world, husband.”