Page 30 of The Vipers' Vow

My ears pick up the familiar roar of motorcycle engines in the distance, distracting me from the torture. Gradually, it overwhelms the sound of my own bike. That means there are a lot of them, and I tense. Zane must have heard it, too, as his muscles lock around mine. However difficult I’m going to find this, it’ll be one hundred times worse for him. There are going to be a lot of questions, and he’s not going to find it easy to answer them. I pray none of the Jackal Riders will try to mock Zane for his lack of a voice. These men tend to act before thinking, and I don’t want Zane to have to defend himself against them.

They come into view, a trail of them down the road like a snake. I ease up on the accelerator, aware I’m going to need to stop shortly.

I remind myself these men are my friends. They were my family for most of my time growing up. I want to believe if I ask them for help—and to respect Zane—they will, but they’re also unpredictable.

They recognize my bike before anything else, and I draw to a halt. Behind me, Zane plants both feet on the road, stabilizing us.

The MC’s bikes surround us, like wolves surrounding a deer. That’s how they work best, in a pack.

Unlike us, they’re not wearing helmets, and I recognize the leader immediately. He’s one of the guys who rescued me from outside of the club the night my little plan to get my dad to get me to go to Verona Falls got out of hand.

Smokie Saul, named because he always has an unlit cigarette hanging out of one corner of his mouth, just like now.

He stops his bike right in front of mine then stares at me, his face unreadable.

“Ivani?”

I take off my helmet. “Hey, Saul.”

“What the hell are you doing here? Your dad thinks you’re at college, hundreds of miles away.”

“Yeah, I know. You could call this a surprise visit.”

His gaze slips past me. “And who do you have with you?”

I jab an elbow into Zane’s ribs, and he gets the hint and removes his helmet too.

“This is Zane. He’s a student, like me. He wanted to come with me, to keep me safe.”

Smokie Saul stares at Zane. “Can’t he speak for himself?”

“Not vocally, no.”

Saul is still staring. “Right,” he says, his voice tinged with curiosity.

I remember who I am—who my father is. “Are you going to escort us to the club? Or should we just sit around here all day?”

“Yeah, we’ll escort you, Vani, but I don’t know how your dad is going to react to a…non-member…coming in.”

“I’ll deal with my dad,” I reply, sounding more confident than I feel.

I’m grateful Zane hasn’t tried to throw his weight around. Of course he’s perfected the silent, scowling man by now, and the guys of the MC seem to have respected that, for the moment, at least.

Smokie Saul jerks his chin at the others. “Let’s show the lady home.”

The bikes all rev together, the vibrations settling inside me. I’ve always loved this sound, the joined growl of motorbikes. There’s just something so raw and gritty about it. I imagine I was lulled to sleep by the sound as a babe in arms, which probably isn’t far from the truth. No wonder it feels like home.

I squeeze Zane’s thigh in reassurance as we set off again, only this time we have company. I can’t decide if it makes me feel better or worse.

We’re still a good thirty minutes away from the club, but the roads are smooth and empty. I wonder if my dad will notice all the damage to my bike. It’s superficial, but I think he’ll notice that before anything else…well, maybe apart from Zane.

The time passes quickly, and before I know it, I recognize the roads to the clubhouse, and then the parking lot for the bar and clubhouse appear on our left. I find myself smiling and my heart lifts. After everything that has happened at Verona Falls, I’ve barely had time to be homesick, but now I see the old place again, I realize how much I’ve missed it.

It comes with a pang, too. It’s not been any time, really, since I lost Mom, and truthfully, I think my quest to find Reagan, and then to find what happened to her, has kind of delayed my grief a little bit. Back home, though, I can’t escape the fact that Mom isn’t here anymore.

It feels good to be back at the club despite the pain, though I’m sure the place has shrunk in the time I’ve been gone. It must be an illusion after being around the grandiosity of Verona Falls. I haven’t been gone that long, but the girl I was the day I arrived at Verona Falls has morphed into someone else entirely. I’ve definitely been forced to grow up, and I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing.

Rows of Harley Davison motorbikes are parked up outside, and I notice the ‘l’ in the bar name ‘Wolski’s’ is no longer lit up. No one actually knows who Wolski is, or why the bar has been named after him, but there’s never been any mention of changing the name either.

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