Vipers Run (11 page)

He carried me from the bike into the building. Wouldn't let me go in the elevator. He talked to me like I was a wounded animal, telling me I was safe, and I let him, because I was still shaking from being in that crowd. I clung to him, feeling stupid. Vulnerable. There was no way I could survive in this world.

It wasn't until we were upstairs and I was huddled on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me, that I focused on his worried green eyes.

“I didn't realize, Calla.”

“How would you have?”

“You told me that a guy hurt you. I should've known . . .”

Honestly, I should've known too. But the way Cage treated me, the fact that he'd stripped down first and bared himself to me, had stopped all the
familiar feelings of dread. Because he turned me on more than any man I'd ever met. The connection that solidified during our first phone call had never weakened.

But I'd avoided talking about this subject—and he hadn't mentioned it except to tell me he hadn't forgotten his promise.

But this morning, while I was answering Tenn's e-mail, another, all too familiar one popped up. I didn't want to open it, but I had to. I always had to, just to check. Somehow, I felt as if Jeffrey knew, that he was tracking whether or not I opened them, and if I didn't, something worse would happen than just being sent a picture.

After I'd glanced through the pictures, I'd immediately gone into the bathroom and gotten sick. I'd shut the computer down and didn't even think about it again. Until now. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“You don't have to go to the clubhouse anymore.”

“That's not going to work. That's your home, Cage.”

“You're my home,” he said fiercely; then his tone quieted. “Babe, come on. Deep breaths, then talk to me.”

“I'm not strong enough.”

“Maybe not right now. But I'll be strong enough
for both of us.” God, that soothed me almost immediately. But I still remained on mute, and he continued trying. “Calla, come on, just talk to me. Lay it all out, because—fuck, I can't help you with anything if you keep me in the dark.”

“I don't want you to know things. I don't like what you know already.”

His voice lowered to a dangerous octave. “What the fuck happened to you, Calla?”

“It doesn't matter. I'm fine.”

“You're lying. And I'm the guy. I'm supposed to say everything's fine. You're not.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I'm not like other women.”

“No, you're not. And that's why I'm here with you. You're not getting rid of me, so it's either tell me now or I'll start digging.”

“Don't you dare. You bastard . . . you wouldn't.”

“Yeah, I would, if it meant getting to the bottom of all this shit.”

The glint in his eye meant business. I knew he had the will and the means to try, but what was buried by Jameson Bradley was intended to stay that way. I couldn't let Cage dig. Which meant . . . I'd have to tell him the truth.

I curled up into myself—I didn't want him touching me when I told him what happened, and even though he didn't look happy about it,
he seemed to instinctively understand. He sat next to me, giving me plenty of space.

I took a breath and looked at him, saying, “I was fifteen and he was seventeen. He'd been my boyfriend for a couple of months. And it started out consensual.”

“Didn't stay that way.”

“No. I mean, we had sex. I was drunk but I didn't say no. I thought . . . I thought he loved me. Fifteen and stupid, but I wouldn't have been the first girl to sleep with the wrong guy. But while I was passed out . . . I don't remember what happened but when I woke up, I was in his dorm suite. They'd drawn on me,” I said, my voice hollow, my body numb. “I woke up covered in black and green permanent Magic Marker, on my body and my face. I was naked. I was bleeding between my legs. And I was all alone in his room.”

I didn't want to go on, not after seeing the anger in Cage's eyes. But he put a hand over mine and didn't say a word.

I took a deep breath. “My phone rang. I picked it up and it was Jeffrey. He told me to check my pictures and I did. Me, naked, with guys' naked bodies around me. No faces, though. It didn't make sense until I realized that he'd let the guys watch us having sex, and then he'd let them jerk
off on me, draw on me and take pictures of it for keepsakes. And he told me, ‘Last night was great, honey. Anytime you want to do it again . . .'”

Cage let go of my hand and I didn't look at him. Not until I heard something smash and I turned to see he'd thrown the coffee table against the wall, letting it shatter into a thousand pieces. There was a dent in the wall.

He was taking all the anger for me so I could remain calm.

I don't know if I was the first—or the only—girl he'd done that to. I suspected not. I could still see the goddamned pictures when I closed my eyes, so right then I kept my eyes wide open. “I want to get over it. I need to. But I haven't found the right guy to make me forget. I hadn't . . . until you.”

Cage reached his hand out and waited for me to grab it. I did. “I don't remember much after that. I got sick in the garbage can before making it to the bathroom. I just wanted to get clean—I couldn't leave his room like that, so I showered. Scrubbed myself raw trying to get the marker off me.”

It would take weeks before my skin was unblemished again.

“I didn't think about the police. I was sick and confused, and obviously Jeffrey had counted on
that. I was goddamned fifteen and had had sex with the guy I'd thought loved and protected me. At first, I didn't even understand his part in the betrayal. Not until I saw the pictures. My father contacted his friends in the police department. They went after Jeffrey hard. Jeffrey's family had a lot of money too, and my mother didn't want any of this public. I don't blame her—I didn't want it getting out either. So there was a settlement and everything was buried.”

I took a deep breath and then said, “There's more.”

“Okay,” he ground out.

“Remember . . . I told you my father was working with Bernie? Because my brother stole money from me?” I didn't wait for him to respond. “That was true, but it was only partially why my father got in touch with me. Ned has the pictures and he was blackmailing my father—if he got money, he wouldn't publish the pictures online.”

Cage's eyes were stormy when he asked, “How did Ned get them?”

“I don't know. He knew about them when it happened.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and ripped the Band-Aid off. “But Jeffrey has sent them to me at least once a year since it happened. He's not supposed to have any
contact, but he sends them and I don't say anything to anyone, and the rest of the time it's fine.”

“When was the last time he sent you those pictures?”

“This morning,” I whispered.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?”

“Because I thought I could handle it,” I told him, my voice low and angrier than I'd intended as I took a step toward him. “Because he only sent me the e-mails a couple of times a year.”

Cage held his ground even as the earth seemed to tilt under my feet, but I managed another step. “Because I thought he couldn't get close,” I told him, even as I closed the distance between Cage and me. I grabbed his shirtfront, fisted it in my hand and yanked as I practically whispered, “Because I didn't want it to be goddamned real.”

Cage's eyes flickered over my face, his expression something I couldn't place. Melancholy, maybe? “I get it, baby.”

“Do you, really? Do you know what it's like to have someone following your every move, watching you . . . waiting for you to break?”

I still held his shirt tightly. He didn't try to pull away, but his tone matched mine when he said, “You'd goddamned better believe I do. I've known
what it's like for my goddamned entire life. And you shared that with me. And I promised to come back and take care of this guy for you.”

“I don't understand why. For me, a total stranger.”

“You're not a stranger, Calla. Don't bullshit me. You knew that maybe the second you picked up the phone and you definitely knew it by the end of the call.” He went and got the laptop and brought it to me. “Log into your e-mail.”

I wanted to refuse. But my fingers hit the keys. I was so beyond numb by this point. I hit the e-mail. No text. Just attachments. But I hesitated, with my finger hovering over the delete button.

I couldn't press it, though—doing so wouldn't actually erase what happened. It wouldn't be that easy. I was going to have to let Cage see the pictures and I knew that could ruin us. It was one thing to explain it and entirely another to see it.

How was he ever supposed to be with me again after seeing that?

I turned the computer back to him. “I don't want you to open them. I want to tell you that I'll hate you if you do . . .”

Even though we both knew that last part wasn't true, he looked so torn. I wanted to take it back, but I couldn't.

“When you see them, you'll never look at me
the way you do now. It will never be the same. He will ruin my life again. It's like he gets to violate me over and over . . .”

“I have to, Calla.” His voice was as raw as my emotions. He clicked the link and I closed my eyes. Turned away and tried not to be sick. Because I didn't have to look to know what he was seeing.

It was enough that I could feel his rage, palpable and violently so, slam through me.

This was it. Knowing about what happened to me was bad enough, but the fact that he was actually seeing the aftermath made my stomach turn. He'd never touch me after this, or he might try but he'd never be able to rid himself of those images.

He closed the laptop and turned to me.

“Do you ever think about those pictures when I'm fucking you?” he demanded.

“No!”

“Is that the truth?”

I stilled, because it was. “Yes. Never.”

“Then why would I?”

“It's different.”

“It's not, Calla. Do you have any faith in me at all?”

“Yes.”

“If you did, you wouldn't say things like that
to me.” He pulled away. The pictures had driven a wedge between us—maybe not in quite the way I'd thought, but they were a wedge between us all the same—just as I'd feared. So I sat in Cage's apartment in a high-security building guarded by MC members, and I'd never been more afraid in my entire life.

I hugged my arms around my legs, pulling them tight to my chest. “I need to be alone.”

“Babe . . .”

“Go. Just goddamn go.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“Get the fuck away from me, Cage. I don't want you here. I don't want to see you or talk to you. What don't you understand? Get out.”

He stared at me hard, but he complied. He didn't fight, just told me, “The guys are at the door. No one's getting through them.”

And then he left me alone in his apartment.

“Cage, you look like shit.”

Rocco came up the stairs—he never took the elevator. “What's up?”

“I need you to make sure the building's secure as fuck.”

“Threats?”

“Against Calla, yes.”

Rocco nodded. “Want me to stand guard here?”

“I'm not leaving the front of this door.”

He turned away, but not before Rocco said, “We do what we have to, brother.”

Brother
. How easily Vipers had accepted him into the fold, once, twice, and back again. Each time, he'd expected anger, and each time, he got understanding.

But his anger—that could swallow him.
Engulf him. It already choked him so hard he was like a mad dog straining on a leash.

He'd survived more than his fair share of accidents and not so accidental things. He'd been born into violence—it surrounded him, followed him when he tried to leave and sucked him back in.

The Heathens lived by the concept of an eye for an eye. Blood for blood. But the problem with vengeance was that it was a never-ending lineup of death and more death. Cage didn't want to find himself simply surviving in between taking revenge on anyone who hurt the club or Calla.

Surviving in between trying to stop his family from ruining his life and the lives of everyone he cared about.

Christian Cage Owens had come to Skulls by way of the goddamned motherfucking Army, which had promised to make him a man but actually ended up making him a better criminal. He'd been a Viper for ten-plus years, bred to that MC life as surely as he'd been born to it.

Except he'd been born a Heathen, not a Viper. And while it had taken the Vipers a long time to believe him or trust him completely, once they had, they'd had his back completely.

Now the woman who'd kept him from dying, the one he swore pulled him back from the dead with her
Don't go into the light
voice and her
fucking sweetness—a sweetness he swore he didn't deserve—was in front of him. And she was scared to death of him.

Which was, of course, the way it would go down for him. Why he'd expected it to be any different was beyond him.

He'd been born a Heathen, uncivilized in every sense of the word. But knowing what happened to Calla was something he could never, ever stand for. He figured that sometimes being uncivilized might be the best thing going for him in a time like this.

He didn't know how he was going to get through to Calla, but he had to try. He had to get through to himself too. They were both in traps of their own making and he had to figure out a way they could free themselves.

* * *

I woke with a start. I'd fallen asleep, half slumped on the couch, and the sun was blaring through the open shades. I didn't have to look in the mirror to know my face was swollen from crying, and my head throbbed from the stress and worry.

Cage wasn't here. Because I'd kicked him out.

And what, you secretly wanted him to break back into his own apartment for you?
I'd even put the chains and dead bolts on. I'd locked him out in so many ways.

And by doing that, I was the one letting Jeffrey Harris win.

I padded to the door and peered out. Rocco was sitting on a chair diagonally from the door, reading a magazine. I unlocked and opened the door and glanced at him, but he was looking down at my feet instead.

“Careful,” he mouthed, and I looked down to see Cage.

Cage, at my feet. He'd slept in the doorway. He'd slept in the hall, on the floor, against the door of his own apartment, because I'd asked him to leave. And then I'd felt betrayed that he hadn't come back.

But he'd never left. I stared down at him. He was asleep, but the man across the hall put a finger against his lips, whispered, “He's been up all night.”

“Me too.” I knelt down and curled around him in that small space. He woke with a start, then held me against him. When I nuzzled his neck and said, “Take me to bed,” we were up and I was in his arms, reveling in his strength.

He kicked the door closed behind us, hit the alarm, cradling me all the while.

I was only wearing one of his old T-shirts, which landed on the floor when we hit the bedroom. But he didn't try anything—he just held
me. His skin was warm against mine. I just kept picturing how he'd guarded me all night.

“I hate seeing you suffer, Calla. I hate it. That's why you need to let me fix it,” he murmured fiercely.

“I'm sorry I freaked out on you. It's just . . . I've never told anyone this.”

He brushed my cheek with a knuckle. “I knew there was shit there after our first phone call, babe.”

“I was the golden child. I was going to make something of myself. Raise myself out of the working class. Why? So I could use money to shove things under the rug with money?”

Cage stroked my back. “I always had plenty of cash. Doesn't do much good if you're not happy.”

I never realized how between two worlds I was. The people involved were paid to shut their mouths and transfer to boarding schools out of the country. Of course, rumors lingered, but there was no denying my status, thanks to my father. Even if I refused to recognize it, the others couldn't. Their parents wouldn't let them. Jameson Bradley was too powerful a force in their lives. “I'm an imposter.”

Cage cupped my hip with his hand to drag our bodies closer. “Not to me.”

“I didn't want a better life. I wanted my life,
whatever that entailed.” I shrugged. “I spent a lot of time pretending and not a lot of time living.”

“How long were you working for Bernie?”

“A little over a year. I came home after Grams died and found out I had nothing left. Only the bit in my checking account. I was so angry. I'd been groomed to be this other persona and now I was left with that sham. Because even though my father's name got me into those schools, and even though he insisted on paying the tuition, that's all my mother accepted from him. She'd given me everything else, thanks to the bar, to what she and Grams had worked for. But hey, it's not the first time a man had taken their life savings.”

I heard the anger in my voice. I'd thought I was over it. “I should've gotten to know my father. Not for the money, because that's been there the whole time. But we missed a lot.”

“It's not too late, Calla. Last I saw, he was waiting for you. Sounds like he'd do anything for you.”

“Just like you,” I whispered.

“Believe that.”

“Some battles I have to fight on my own.”

“Not this one,” he told me. “Your walls are back up, but I'm already inside. Don't you get that? You walled us in together.”