Page 22 of Unbound By You (The Viper’s MC #1)

HARLOW

S ilas hasn’t checked in once since I left the compound.

That can only mean one thing—it’s a complete shit show over there after what we walked in on this afternoon.

I don’t know their exact protocols for handling something like that, but I’d bet good money they’re holding a meeting to figure out their next move.

I need to get the hell out of here before he shows up and spots me.

Lexi lounges on the second-hand couch in my studio apartment, absently scrolling through her phone.

She always questioned why I was constantly strapped for cash, even though I was supposedly working full-time.

This little piece of run-down paradise is the main reason.

There’s nothing fancy about it, just a tiny unit on the opposite side of town where the houses are falling apart and the corner stores double as hotspots for dealers and working girls.

Not exactly prime real estate, but it’s the perfect place to lay low when shit hits the fan.

The first thing I did when I got this place was install a security system.

The small camera hidden in the hallway helps me keep an eye on who comes and goes.

But cameras won’t do much good if someone actually shows up.

With that in mind, I grab a pistol from my bag and drop it onto the coffee table.

It’s cluttered with takeout boxes and half-eaten pastries from the grocery store's bakery section.

“You still know how to shoot, right?” I ask, eyeing her as she shifts on the couch. Her dad used to take us to the range a few times a year when we were kids, but that was a long time ago. I never let the skill die after living with a man like Macon.

Lexi glances at the gun, then back at me, her expression hesitant. “Uhh… it’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure the mechanics are still the same.”

It's not exactly confidence-inspiring, but it’ll have to do.

“Anyone comes to that door, you take this, hide, and ignore it. Understood?”

Lexi scoffs, looking around the small space with zero hiding places. “Yeah, trust me, I won’t be inviting any of your sketchy-ass neighbors in to Netflix and chill.”

I give her a look. “You know it’s not the neighbors I’m worried about.”

When we first arrived, she took one look at the place and refused to step inside until I explained.

I didn’t have time to lay out every detail, but once I mentioned that Macon was at the center of the current chaos, that was enough.

She didn’t press for more after that. She just nodded and walked in, holding her bag slightly closer.

Now, she eyes the pistol on the table, her fingers twitching slightly like she’s debating whether to pick it up or shove it away. But she doesn’t argue, and that’s my cue to go.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” I say, grabbing my jacket from the back of the couch. “But I’ll text you as soon as I can. Don’t leave unless it’s with me or Silas.”

Lexi throws a dramatic two-finger salute my way. “Got it. I’ll just sit here, gorge on this amazing snack haul, and catch up on all the trashy reality TV I’ve missed lately. But you’ve got two days, Lo—max. After that, I won’t have a job, and I’ll be third-wheeling your honeymoon phase at Si’s.”

I smirk, shaking my head as I head for the door. “Good to know you have a plan.”

Her voice follows me as I step into the hall. “Damn right. And remember, I’m newly single, so that’ll mean lots of guys coming and going from y’alls’ place. Si will love that.”

I don’t bother responding. She’s bluffing… At least, I hope she is.

T he sun’s long gone, leaving the night stretched wide and ominous with the cloud coverage above me. The only light comes from the small, meticulously placed bulbs lining the driveway up to Macon’s, their glow casting dull halos against the expansive darkness.

A blacked-out SUV is parked in my usual spot, sending a ripple of unease through my veins. My stomach tightens. I don’t need to check the plates to know who it belongs to.

The low purr of my bike’s engine fades as I kill the ignition, but I leave the keys where they are, the front wheel angled back toward the road—toward an escape route if things go sideways.

The air’s heavy with the scent of a storm on the horizon and distant cigar smoke, likely wafting from a propped open window in Macon’s office.

Knowing he’s in there doesn’t settle the static buzzing under my skin. I called this meeting. And yet here I am, just beyond the threshold, dreading stepping foot inside because waiting behind those ostentatious double doors are the two men I do everything to avoid.

I heave in a sigh, forcing my pulse to steady.

There’s no backing out now. They know I’m here.

They’re expecting me. And if I hesitate too long, those doors will swing open, and they’ll drag me inside.

That thought alone has me swinging my leg over the bike and standing before I can talk myself out of it.

My fingers twitch at my sides, itching for a hit or a knife—anything to keep the creeping dread at bay.

Since neither is an option right now, I roll my shoulders, shake out my hands, and force my expression into something unreadable.

I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me anything less than composed.

I reach the door, steel myself, and knock twice. A beat of silence passes. Then, the lock clicks. The heavy door swings open, and I come face-to-face with the man who’s caused every problem in my life since I turned sixteen.

“He’s been waiting for you,” Macon murmurs. The sharp scent of whiskey invades my senses. His moist breath wisps against my skin, reminding me how close he’s pressed to my side as if I don’t know how to get to his office.

I don’t flinch. Don’t react. I keep my stride even, my expression blank as we step inside.

The devil of my nightmares stands by the window. He has one hand braced against the pane, and his gaze is cast outward over the sprawling rose garden that wraps around the pool. The soft glow of the exterior lights paints him red, like an illusion of hell.

“Well,” Macon says, his voice carrying that ever-present smirk. “I’ll leave you two to discuss.” He pauses before leaning in again. “Harlow, I’ll be upstairs with your mother.”

What a fucking prick.

The doors click shut behind him, the latch sliding into place like the bars of a jail cell. My pulse jumps, a sharp staccato against my ribs. The room feels smaller now, and the air’s sucked right out the window from the pressure change.

"Hello, little ghost. I knew my present would finally have you calling."

His voice is amused, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.

My stomach twists at the nickname, and the casual way he wields it like his personal brand burned into my skin, claiming his property for all to see.

It’s all a game to him, a performance meant to remind me how deeply his reach extends into my life.

He’s orchestrated every move through Macon, a puppeteer tugging unseen strings.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he stubs out his half-smoked cigar against the glass ashtray, the ember hissing before he lets the ruined tobacco drop.

"I was very disappointed to hear you broke our deal."

A sharp, humorless laugh escapes me before I can stop it. My carefully controlled mask cracks, but I don’t care. I meet his gaze, my tone laced with venom. "Our deal? You mean the one you made with that good-for-nothing, pompous asshole who likes to call himself my stepfather?"

He tilts his head slightly as if my defiance beguiles him.

A sinister smile graces his stern face. "Well, well. Someone’s grown claws in the last few months.

” His voice drops into something darker, something more insidious.

"That’s okay, little ghost. I don’t mind a woman who fights back.

Actually, I quite enjoy the ones that don’t break so easily. "

The space between us vanishes in a few measured strides. His presence looms, engulfing me completely. The perfectly tailored dark green suit that drapes over the sharp angles and long planes of his towering frame is what I focus on, ignoring the heat I’ve accidentally drawn in his eyes.

I don’t back down, though my gut tells me I’d be better off hiding my wolf in sheep’s clothing. I won’t give him that insight quite yet. My pulse remains steady, but the hair on the nape of my neck stands and sends a shiver down my spine. Something isn’t right.

Then I hear it, a faint rustling. It's the kind of sound most people wouldn’t notice, but I do. My eyes flick to the open window, but the heavy curtains don’t billow from a breeze.

Before I can turn, hands clamp down on me. One wrenches my arms behind my back while another grips my hair, forcing my head forward as a rough fabric is yanked over my face, sending me into an abyss of blackness.

I thrash instinctively, trying to drop out of their hold, but they’re ready for it and stronger. A plastic tie digs into my wrists, biting into my skin as they tighten it, another click past incapacitating me.

The last thing I hear before the world dissolves into a liquid pool of nothingness is a smooth and unbothered voice pressed next to my ear, "Shhh, little ghost. The real fun is yet to come.”