Page 9 of Unbound By You (The Viper’s MC #1)

SILAS

S he stills under me, letting the orgasms relax her body into unconsciousness.

The bed shifts as I pull away, and I freeze, making sure she’s not disturbed.

I reach down to pull my jeans back on before grabbing a warm, wet washcloth and ointment from the bathroom.

Thirty seconds later, her tiny snores fill the room when I return to wipe away the stickiness between her thighs.

She moans at the sensation but doesn’t wake fully.

I take her stillness as my opportunity to undo her right hand from the cuffs, slowly massaging the red ring around her wrist with the antibiotic cream. Leaving her other hand connected to the bed frame, I undo her ankles, giving them the same care.

She draws her legs up and rolls onto her side, snuggling into the pillows at the top of the bed. I want to crawl in after her, pull her into my chest, and pass out. But I have a name that means shit all to me and a couple of members that owe me some answers.

Pulling the blanket over her, she finds it in her sleep and jerks it up under her chin. She looks sweet and innocent, like the blue dragon drawing you in before they take you out with their poison. I turn off the bedside lamp, and the room falls into complete darkness.

Shutting the door quietly behind me, I make straight for the kitchen and the coffee pot. The clock on the oven reads five-twenty. It’s becoming the night that never fucking ends. I wonder if the guys are done clearing the house and have made it back to the compound yet.

Get your asses over here now. Meet me in the garage.

The slow drip of the coffee lulls me into a trance-like state. My eyes droop with a sleep-deprived heaviness, ready to close and stay that way for the next twelve hours. My phone pings a few minutes later, and I shake off the bone-deep weariness.

Be there in thirty.

The coffee machine sputters, emptying the last drops of aromatic liquid into the pot. I don’t wait, reaching for a mug and pouring it full to the brim. Here’s to hoping it’ll work its magic.

Moving to the opposite side of the kitchen, I open the custom drawer I had installed and shove the random kitchen crap to the side.

I hit the false bottom, and it pops up, revealing my .

45 and suppressor. I don’t need to wake up sleeping beauty during my meeting with the guys and have her start screaming her head off.

The minutes tick by as I finish off my mug and mentally run through every person I’ve encountered through the club.

Macon Conrad is a new one, someone we’ve never dealt with.

That could mean one of two things: he’s not playing in the same field as we are, or he’s got a puppet master running the show, and my wildcat’s in bed with someone much worse.

Either way, his days of holding whatever bullshit he’s got on her are numbered. She’s done.

The crunch of tires on my gravel drive gives away the guys’ approach. I’m ready to get this over with and get back to bed with the gorgeous girl keeping it warm. Tucking the pistol in the back of my jeans, I crack my neck and head out to the detached garage.

The cold air seeps through my threadbare T-shirt the moment I open the side door that opens to the breezeway. The guys aren’t on their bikes parked behind mine and Harlow’s, so they must be inside the garage already.

Stepping inside to join them, I pull the door closed and flip the lock ominously into place. Pierce shuffles around nervously while Branson leans against my workbench, taking in the scene quietly as he always does.

“They dealt with?” I ask.

“Yeah, man. Always,” Pierce says. He stops shifting around, taking a seat on a stack of old tires.

“And the cameras?”

“Wiped. You know me. It’ll be like we were never there,” Branson confirms.

“And no calls to the cops from the neighbors?”

“Nope, nothing. We’re good.”

“Great, then we can get down to business. You want to tell me what the fuck you two were doing there?” I ask, looking between the two younger members of the club. I know it’s Pierce who’s likely the issue, but they come as a pair.

“She called,” Pierce says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. And I can’t really blame him. I’ll be there every time she calls from now on, too.

“She call you often?”

Pierce freezes, looking as skittish and unsure as a feral cat. He scans his gaze quickly to Branson for guidance but receives his typical blank stare back. I shift, removing the gun from my waistband, just for show, but he doesn’t realize that with his anxiety taking over.

“Listen, this is how this is going to go. I’m going to ask you questions, and you will answer me, Pierce. If you don’t, I’m going to question where your loyalties lie. And if I have to question your loyalty, well then, you’re pretty fucking screwed, brother.”

Pierce fidgets, pulling something small and shiny from his pocket.

He rubs it between his fingers, focusing all of his antsy energy into the object.

Branson shifts for the first time, and the woodworking bench groans under his weight.

The concern for his friend is plain as day on his face, but I know it’s not him being led around by his cock.

“How many, Pierce? How many bodies are out there because of her?”

“None.”

I tilt my head and stare him down. “None?”

“They’ve been dealt with. Nothing’s coming back on her or us. I swear.”

“Dissolved?”

“Fully.”

“Does she know what you do with them?”

“She’s never asked.”

I nod, tucking that bit of information away. My sweet, naive girl, you always get confirmation and proof. It’s just another layer that shows how much she trusts these two.

“Did she ever mention a Macon Conrad?”

“Her mom’s old boyfriend? Not since high school when that asshole…” Branson speaks out before he cuts himself off from saying too much.

“Since the asshole, what?”

“Fuck man, you should really ask Lo. That shit’s personal,” he says, his hands raised in surrender.

“Well, she’s a little indisposed at the moment, and I need answers now. So, you’ve heard of him.”

“Heard of him. Met the prick. He’s a fucking narcissist with an ego the size of Texas. The shit he put her through. Let’s just say Harlow couldn’t pack her bags fast enough the day she turned eighteen to get out of that house,” Pierce answers this time.

“Fuck,” I groan, pulling at my hair. “Listen, I need you to dig into him, Branson. Everything you can find. Where he’s at. What he’s doing now. Any other connections he has to Harlow. I need everything.”

“She’s not going to like that,” Branson throws out, like he knows her better than I do.

“Don’t worry about what she likes or doesn’t like. Worry about the fact that I just gave you an order, and I expect you to deliver.”

“You got it, man. We done here?”

“Yeah, we’re done. Have that information for me as soon as you can. I’ll be by to collect.”

Branson nods and wipes the sawdust from my workbench off his jeans. He doesn’t give his buddy a second look before he heads for the door.

“And you,” I add, pointing the forgotten .45 at Pierce as he makes to sneak out of my garage. “No more body disposal without my knowledge. No more calling her babe. Actually, it’s probably best to ignore her texts from now on. Got it?”

“Yeah, Si. I got it. I didn’t realize you two were a thing. But hey, watch out for that one, though, she’s a…”

“Wildcat,” I answer with a smirk before he can finish.