Page 1 of The Vipers and Their Venom

1

VANI

Did he see me come this way?

I duck down the side alley between the bar and the chain link fencing that divides the piece of scrubland that’s used as an unofficial parking lot.

Rows of Harley Davidson motorcycles, their chrome glinting under the moonlight, are lined up. Mine stands out, the gorgeous red appearing almost black in the night. There are no CCTV cameras down this way—not that anyone would dare touch the bikes. They belong to the Jackal Riders MC—one of the most feared biker gangs in the entire United States. The gang my dad, Jack ‘The Blood’ McGrath, runs.

I scurry down the alley and glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, in the light from the streetlamp in front of the bar, the dark shape of a man blocks the way. Adrenaline spikes through my veins and my heart slams against the inside of my ribcage. Instinct tells me to run back into the bar, but I have to go through with this if I’ve got any chance of finding her.

Through the walls of the bar come the drums, guitar riffs, and the high-pitched male voice of the singer of the cover band doing eighties rock songs—Metallica, Whitesnake, and Guns N’ Roses. They’re actually not bad, and, while I prefer emo bandsfrom the early 2000s, like Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance, I’ve been enjoying listening to them.

Maybe I should have just stayed inside, but I need this to happen. If it doesn’t happen tonight, I’m going to miss my opportunity.

The music and voices grow louder momentarily as the front door to the bar opens and closes again, probably someone stepping out to have a smoke. I could scream—probablyshouldscream—but not yet.

A male voice with a Southern accent follows me down the alleyway. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

I snatch a breath and force myself to say, “I didn’t want us to be seen.”

In fact, the opposite is true. I made sure several of my father’s men saw me as I slipped out the front of the bar, this asshole in my wake.

He gets closer, shortening the space between us. A beard covers half his face. It stops at the base of his throat and has a couple of metal beads on the ends, like he thinks he’s a fucking Viking or something. Over a band t-shirt, he’s wearing a leather vest, the name of the MC club he belongs to written across it. They’re from the west coast, and they’re here to make a deal to move gear across the country for us.

He’s also wearing a one percent patch.

“I saw you making eyes at me across the bar, little girl,” he hisses. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

As I turned nineteen only a couple of weeks ago, I’m not, but this bar is basically my home. I grew up within its walls, and no one is going to be stupid enough to question Jack-the-Blood on his parenting skills. Of course, this asshole is from out of town, and while he knows exactly who Jack is, he clearly has no idea who I am.

I lift my chin. “I’m plenty old enough. Are you man enough for me, though? That’s what I’m wondering.”

I press my spine to the chain link fencing as he stalks closer. He stops in front of me. He towers over my five-feet-two frame.

“You want to find out what kind of man I am?”

He grabs his crotch to make his point, and his gaze runs down my body, taking in my ripped jeans and black tank top. A leather cuff around my wrist hides only part of the tattoos running up my right arm in a sleeve.

He gives a lavish grin. “Tits like those should be covered up in public, or you’re going to get unwanted attention. Or was that exactly what you were after when you were making eyes at me across the bar?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit, you don’t. Giving me ‘come to bed’ eyes and biting your lower lip. Don’t act like lil’ miss innocent.”

He’s right, Ihadbeen making eyes at him. I know what’s coming, or at least I hope I do, so I almost feel sorry for the guy…almost.

I force myself to hold his gaze. “I never said I was innocent.”

His tongue sneaks out of his mouth and wets his lower lip. “I bet you’re not. Little club slut, huh? I do like ’em a little chubby. You sure do fill out them jeans.” He chuckles. “Fill out pretty much everything else you’re wearing, too.” To prove his point, he reaches around and grabs my ass and gives it a squeeze.

Alcohol wafts over me. He’s been eating onions at some point today, too, and it’s impossible to hide my disgust. I imagine it’s written all over my face.

“Hey!” I protest.

But he’s not done.

He grabs a handful of my long dark curls and yanks my head back to get a better look at my face. “Pretty, but you’d be hotterif you lost a few pounds. There’s thick, and then there’s just plain fat.”

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