Welcome to Cape Hill (Cape Hill Vipers Book 0) Page 2

  All around me, life goes on. Palm trees ruffle in the wind, the chimes hanging on the houses whistle, and the windmills in the front yards squeal with age and neglect.

  Rust lines them like they were abandoned with their owner’s hope long ago. It’s like the entire universe knows what I’m about to do. They’re in silent mourning, holding their breaths for a woman who doesn’t deserve it.

  A woman who give Vipers a bad name, and she isn’t an old lady yet.

  She’s not even a woman. She’s lowlife who steals what isn’t hers with no regards to the people she ruins in the process. Hedge won’t ever recover from her—let alone from losing the Viper name. His loss of his patches was a wasted gesture, one spent meaning less to her than the man she swore to love.

  The back door, as usual, is unlocked. I’ve been here on various occasions, and each time, I lectured Hedge about his door being unlocked. He claims no one would mess with a Viper. He’s not exactly wrong, but he also wasn’t a Viper yet. Now, he never will be.

  Twisting the knob as slowly as I can so as not to spook her, I push the door open. A creak sounds out loudly, like an old rocking chair, making me more aware of how silent the house feels.

  Without Hedge, this house isn’t a home, just simply a barren box without life.

  It’s insane how one can enter a building and feel absolutely nothing, as if the life was drained out of every nook and cranny. I almost feel bad for stripping him of the brotherhood. Almost.

  I creep throughout all the rooms, hit up the basement, and even the garage. She’s not here. Maybe she’s smart after all.

  Maybe this has always been her plan.

  Maybe I’m the stupid one for not seeing it sooner, for not knowing how perfidious a person could be. She fooled us all, but that makes me hate Hedge even more. He brought her in, gave her pertinent details he wasn’t allowed to share, and didn’t warn us. He knew, and yet he chose her over the Vipers, and that’s not how it works.

  The Vipers come first. Always.

  It’s the rules. It’s our oath. It’s our vocation.

  After searching everywhere once more and coming up empty, I head back toward the Viper’s Den while considering if I should stop by Cynosure and make sure Xo’s doing all right. No. My pops told me to let her do her thing. That’s a promise I try my damndest to uphold, but, fuck, I wish I could go watch the women dance. They’re alluring, and their routines are actually well thought out.

  I get half the profits from Cynosure, even on everything she’s expanding, but I feel like I’m not doing enough. Ever since she stumbled up here with a newborn, needing work and a place to stay, my pops took pity on her. That pity grew to fondness and admiration and then love and a familial bond. Xo’s a damn good manager and, before inheriting the club, a damn good dancer too. She earned her place. She merited protection from the Vipers, and the same goes for her baby girl.

  They’re family, and we protect our family.

  Blood or no blood, we look after our own.

  The Den is lit up like a fucking sparkler on Independence Day, calling me home, humming to my wicked tendencies and beckoning my ruthless nature.

  It’s something that has to be experienced, it’s not the same for everyone. It speaks to the darkest part of me, a heathen, and trust me, I’m as dark as it gets.

  Chapter Two

  As soon as I enter, the voices die down. It’s always like this, even if I didn’t ask for it. It’s their way of honoring my title, showing that I’m the Viper king to their den of snakes.

  The women always stand out more than the men, not in result of me looking but in their posturing. They always push their breasts out, shoulders high, giving me salacious expressions that’d make my mother bring out her whippin’ stick. For some reason, they always think they’ll get what they want. They’re wrong. No one gets a piece of me unless I request it. And to their dismay, it’s not the piece of me they’re craving. They want all of me, and I only want one part of them. Call me an asshole or a dick, but that won’t change the outcome.

  One catches my eye out of them all tonight, though.

  Amongst the crowd, she catches my attention. She doesn’t push forward but twirls her drink, a look of boredom and disinterest pasted across her features.

  She’s not a regular.

  She’s not even a rider or a groupie.

  She’s a hellion.

  And tonight, she’ll be mine, underneath my body, against my broad chest, and tied up if that’s what I want.

  People pat my shoulder when I pass. I return some half hugs, shoulder squeezes, and make sure they know there’s nothing else we can do until we find Belén. As I do all of these things, I watch her from the corner of my eye, making sure she doesn’t slip away. She’s too enticing to pass up, and I love a good challenge, even one as dangerous as her.

  From here, even the smallest things are noticeable. Her eyes are dark, almost too dark, like hell would be terrified of a woman of her caliber. When men try getting her attention, she glowers like they’re peasants she’s forced to be around. That only makes her more tempting. Is she as angry as she looks, as venomous as she appears when she stares down the biggest of Vipers? She holds her head high, her gaze unwavering. The tan of her skin is smooth and supple, and I’m immediately interested. I want to see if she’s that dark everywhere, if her nipples are dark too, if she’s as smooth in areas I want to explore and enjoy before this night ends.

  I have another itchin’. It’s not for bloodshed or for absinthe but for this devilish slice of a woman I’m sure I’ve never had a taste of.

  Is she sweet. Is she luscious and flavorful?

  In her eyes that narrow slightly, I know she wants a taste of me too.

  Deaftone interrupts my quest, waving for my attention and gesturing to the back office. As much as I want to take her and tie her up, duty calls.

  He signs, “Urgent.” His eyes don’t say a thing though. It must be important, or he would show more in his expression. He would give me some sort of reprieve other than the feeling of a sucker punch in the groin. I trail behind him, nerves slithering over my body like an oil spill. He waves me into the office.

  Tapping my middle finger to my shoulder, flicking them outward, I sign, “What’s up?”

  He shuts the door behind us. His eyes show immense worry. Actually, they’re showing fear. Deaftone is the least worrisome of my crew. Nothing fazes him, so whatever this is can’t be good.

  He taps his fingers together, gesturing for me to sit. After I shake my head, he closes his eyes in momentary frustration.

  “There’s more to Belén,” he explains, his hands shaking tremulously with each movement. His chest heaves, like there’s more, like he’s really worried about what he’s about to say.

  My body tenses. It’s an automatic response to guard myself from hurt. It’s what I did when Bullet died on my first run as VP before pops passed down the reigns. It’s what I did when pops died.

  I cross my arms, holding myself together with the motion. There’s so much pain bubbling and spilling over us both. The memories, the rage, the abandonment and heartlessness of others… When our eyes meet, his understanding is as definite as mine. We’re in this together no matter what. He’s my brother, and nothing will change that.

  “What do you mean?” I mouth the words, unable to untangle my arms from bracing for impact. Luckily, to those closest to him, he can read their lips. If they’re strangers or someone who talks too quickly, he can’t. Me though, he can, and I’m damn lucky for it.

  He makes an “R” sign, touching his nose. His face is grave, his body stiffer than I’ve ever seen, his forehead so creased I swear it’ll scar. He repeats the sign until it clicks in my mind.

  “Rat?” I question, wondering if he’s speaking of Hedge and what happened when I left him with Bones.

  He nods frantically. His mouth is in a flat line, and he swallows hard. “Another one.” He gestures with his thumb, slow and precise, so there’s no mis
taking his news.

  This can’t be right.

  There’s no way there’s another brother who would willingly go against us for their own gain.

  On its own accord, my body wants to close in on itself, to retreat and think properly. To study every single brother, to figure out who could do this.

  They wouldn’t.

  The denial runs as thick as the blood through my veins.

  Deaftone stands there, his face inscrutable but pinched nonetheless. He’s waiting for my go ahead.

  Sticking my thumb to my chin, I wave my pointer finger and scrunch my eyebrows. Who?

  His eyes close again, not like he’s thinking but like what he’s about to tell me is going to hurt worse than the passing of my pops.

  I repeat the sign again, my shoulders hunched, preparing for the absolute worst answer, but nothing could possibly warm me up for the name sign he offers.

  He curls his pointer finger, moving it across his forearm, upside down. Back and forth. Back and forth. My eyes skate along with the movement, praying he’s lying, hoping that the name he’s repeating isn’t the person.

  No.

  Not real.

  This isn’t happening.

  I shake my head. I’m sure I’ll get whiplash at the rate I’m twisting my head in denial.

  My refusal to accept his answer must weigh on him. The distress and protest that he shows almost mirrors mine. Almost.

  Pointing to my chest, I take in a large breath. With my index finger on both hands, I smack the one while keeping the other flat, letting him know I can’t do this.

  His eyes plead, but no matter how much he needs me to see what he’s saying, I can’t. There’s not a situation in which I’ll welcome his information. I flatten my palm, face down, and raise it up my chin from my chest. I’m fed up. I can’t accept what he just laid down for me.

  I need a glass of my medicine.

  Responsibilities are debilitating, but what’s worse is not knowing how to deal with the stack of cards handed to you. Instead of playing the hand I’m dealt, I walk away. Deaftone doesn’t stop me. He knows this might very well bring me to my goddamn knees.

  When I make it to the bar, Pilar still tends to the brothers and the visitors. She has a rag draped over her shoulder, a bottle of Absinthe in her hand, a tumbler in another.

  She’s just like my old man used to be. I don’t know how, maybe I put off an aura or an expression, but she sets the glass in front of me. She doesn’t do four fingers. She fills it nearly to the top. There’s not a word exchanged. Words won’t console this dread abating my sanity away.

  When her eyes meet mine, she nods. I hate when she gives me sympathy for anything. It quickly clears up as she flashes me an annoyed side-eye.

  “Drink up, buttercup. No bitches at my bar,” she yells above the music.

  I chuckle. She’s such a Viper, regardless of her denial. She’ll always be one of us.

  I take my glass and guzzling it quickly. Once upon a time, it’d burn going down, but I’m sure my liver is beyond repair, my esophagus so damaged it no longer affects me.

  Absinthe is one of those drinks people speak about, the one that poisons, that almost kills. Sometimes, I wonder if Mom named me after it because she knew one day I’d become head Viper.

  Rolling my stool around, I’m met with those eyes that watched me earlier. She sips an amber liquid, staring me down like I’m the prey. It’s adorable.

  She can believe she’s the mongoose to my viper, but at the end of the day, the viper fights back, and the mongoose only goes after the lesser or those they view as weak. Unluckily for her, I’m not weak.

  This viper won’t lose. It’s not in my nature.

  She’ll learn.

  They all do.

  As our gazes battle for control, I’m stuck on her lips. A woman shouldn’t look that enticing while also showing there’s a secret meaning behind each step. Sipping my Absinthe like we’re old mates, I watch her as she struts toward me, licking her lips like she’s preparing to eat me rather than the other way around. Cockiness is tacky, yet she somehow makes it work, makes it sexy.

  “I’d ask if you’ve had a rough night, but no one drinks this much Absinthe willingly, or at all, really.”

  “Wrong.” I take another large gulp, feeling the medicinal drink slide its way down my throat. It’s such a welcome presence, especially after the clusterfuck of a day I had. “Little bitches don’t drink this much Absinthe willingly. Men with big cocks and even larger egos do.”

  “So, which are you?”

  “Both,” I state simply, polishing off my drink.

  “Both?” she inquires, smirking at me in disbelief.

  “Did I stutter?” I growl, loving that she doesn’t back down to an inquisition. She steps closer, her tight dress and even tighter bra right in my face. I no longer regret sitting. I’m perfectly level with her tits.

  “Maybe you should get your ego to verify since a big, bad boy like yourself seems to have lost his manners.” She faux-pouts, her bottom lip sticking out. She can pretend to be upset all she wants, but I see her game. Whether I should or not, I take the bait.

  “Big, bad boy?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

  “Oh, I’m sorry…” She pauses, licking her lips. “Did I stutter?”

  “Touché.”

  “Now that your ego has been straightened out, would you mind walking me to my car?” There’s no sauciness, no hidden meaning. It’s as if she means it.

  “I’m no gentleman, little monster. I’m the gremlin under your bed, waiting for you to sleep so I can sink my teeth and cock into you.”

  She falters but only for a moment. Fear flickers in her eyes and is gone as soon as it comes. It only makes me grow harder.

  She brushes her lips against my ear, whispering ever so lightly, “Good thing I like gremlins.” Her body is against me in the next moment, practically sitting on my lap, and before she steps away, she grinds her ass into my groin.

  After setting down my empty glass, I follow her outside. Before she makes it five steps, I’m gripping her shoulders, guiding her to the back entrance to my office. She doesn’t fight me, and I secretly want her to.

  As soon as I get the door unlocked and open, I slam her against my wall. Her tight little dress needs to be gone, her panties and bra too but those fucking heels can stay.

  “I expected more,” she challenges.

  I chuckle, wondering what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

  “With an ego as big as yours, and a cock you claim is big too…” She pretends to yawn. “Not buying it. Bore…ing.”

  I growl into her ear, biting the cartilage, loving the pop it makes when I let go. She cries out, her chest heaving into mine, her tits and soft fabric rubbing me sinuously.

  With my palm, I press against her breastbone, forcing her to flatten against the wall. In my back pocket, my knife rests securely. Dragging my finger to her lips, I hush her even though she hasn’t said a word.

  “Don’t scream,” I warn.

  She rolls her eyes at me, and instead of turning me off, it excites me more. Let’s see how tough she is when the blade rests against her flesh.

  I reach behind me, my knife in my palm between my fingers. Hope blooms inside of me, anticipating her to scare her, to see her knocked down a few notches. She’s a stubborn one, and it’s an addictive feeling. Having a woman at my fingertips who doesn’t beg to suck me off because of my name is thrilling to say the least. She doesn’t beseech or praise me in attempt to fuck me. If anything, she puts me down. It’s refreshing and so fucking sexy.

  Bringing the metal up to her eyes, I watch them widen a smidgen, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. She’s good. I’ll give her that.

  I pop it open, the metal on metal sliding against one another in seductive clash. She must think so too with how she bites her lip.

  Turning the blade downward, I slice her dress down the middle, stopping at her breasts. The sound of the fabric splitting has
me needier.

  “You fuck!” she squeals. “This wasn’t a cheap dress!”

  I search her face and realize she’s fucking with me. Either way, I stop when her bra is completely exposed. After tossing the knife behind me, I hear it clink in the distance.

  I’m near ripping my own clothes, mounting her on the wall. I don’t kiss her. I’m not a fan of lips touching mine. It’s too personal, too emotionally charged. I’ll lick a woman’s pussy until she’s crawling to me for more but lips? They’re a hard pass. It’s just not going to happen.

  She glares at me. It’s cute really, her thinking she’s affecting me.

  I grip the hem of her short dress and raise it to her hips. She’s bare. No panties and hairless. I don’t stare long. I have work to do, and I’m fucking starved. If I was a better man, I’d savor this. If I was a better man, I wouldn’t take until there’s nothing left.

  Luckily, every-fucking-one knows Venom isn’t a man at all. He’s a Viper, and he’s fucking ruthless. This little monster is soon going to discover how vicious I can be.

  Gripping her hips, where there’s the perfect amount of flesh to grab, I lift her. She whimpers, her glare momentarily overtaken by lust. I unzip my jeans, allowing barely enough room for escape.

  “You won’t fuck me,” she claims, wiggling above me.

  “Says you? Or this pretty pussy that’s drenched for me?”

  She moans when I grind the metal of my zipper against her bare pussy.

  “Both. Neither. Fuck.”

  “Yes, fuck. I’m going to fuck your tight little cunt, and you’re going to squeeze me and beg me for more.”

  “Fuck you,” she bites back, squirming against me.

  “That’s the plan, little monster.”

  “No,” she argues, trying to adjust herself. “I bet you can’t even make me come. Your ego and cock might be big, but you can’t have it all.”

  Instead of disagreeing, I slip out my cock and shove it in her. Her back rises with the impact, and her moans make me continue.

  “Speechless, little monster? Never had a man’s cock in you before?”