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When he didn’t reply, I added, “I took the bus. Spurs is close to the trailer park. Wasn’t a big deal. I could even take the bus to Shelly’s if it’s—”
“Fuck that,” he growled.
I batted my lashes at him. “So, I really do get my own personal chauffeur? I feel like a lady of luxury.”
“Easier to keep an eye on you if I drive,” he said.
All levity fled as I was jarred back to reality, and reminded of the true reason I was under the protection of the club.
“Viper?” I asked quietly.
He looked away from his mirrors to stare at me. “What?”
I boldly met his gaze when I stated, “I’m glad I killed him.”
His expression hardened. He took the helmet from me and placed it on my head, his hands lingering when he clasped the buckle. “You did good, Sutton. Real good.”
* * *
After Viper took me to a store to grab some basic necessities, he drove us to Shelly’s. He parked his bike and kicked out the stand before climbing off and following me inside the bar.
It was a cool spot. Wood floors, a jukebox, a pool table, and large booths. I liked the atmosphere immediately.
A petite brunette was standing behind the wooden bar, holding a clipboard and pencil. She turned and smiled. “Hi, Viper,” she said.
“Mia,” he growled in response.
Mia’s gaze slid to me. “You must be Sutton.” She held out a hand and I shook it. “You want something to drink? Water? Soda?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said. I looked at Viper over my shoulder. “Thanks for driving me.”
He smiled slightly. “That sounds like a dismissal.”
“It is,” I said pointedly.
“I’ll be in the corner booth,” he replied. With a chin nod at me, he turned and walked away.
When I faced Mia again, I noted the look of surprise on her face.
“Why does everyone have that expression after seeing me interact with Viper?” I demanded.
A grin trembled along her mouth. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“It’s the fact that he hardly speaks—even to his own brothers in the club—and here you are, without fear, talking to him like he’s a regular guy. And he replies back in non-monosyllabic words.”
“So, everyone tiptoes around him and handles him with kid gloves?”
“Handles him? More like avoids him.”
I leaned closer and stage-whispered, “Can I tell you the truth?”
“Please.”
“I refuse to cater to him. He wants to be aloof and grumpy, fine. But I’ve made it my mission to make him as uncomfortable as possible.”
Her brown eyes lit with humor and slid away from me to glance over my shoulder. “He’s staring at you.”
