Den of Vipers

I stare at the four men in my doorway. They’re not my normal customers. One is wearing a suit that’s tailored perfectly to fit him and is probably worth more than the whole bar. The other three look like mean sons of a bitches. I’m pretty sure the one in the back is an actual giant, as he ducks his head to get through the door.

And they’re all packing, I catch glimpses of the guns. So do my customers.

The whole place clears, chairs scraping and falling to the floor in their rush to escape the newcomers. Cook pokes his head out, and I sigh. So this is them, the people hunting me. “Cook, go home,” I order, knowing I won’t be opening tonight.

“Smart.” The one in the suit nods. His way too slick black hair is pushed back, styled flawlessly, long on top and short on the sides, so I have the insane urge to mess it up. But his eyes? They are black, cold, and calculating. They scan the room and me, noting everything. I bet if I asked, he could relay every single detail.

His cheekbones are high and sharp, his jaw chiselled with stubble covering it, only framing his lush, plump lips. He’s tall, around six foot three, and his suit hugs his thick thighs and arms in the most tempting way. He’s just too perfect to look at, like a model.

“Is this her?” One of them grins, strolling forward. His long blond hair is pushed behind pierced ears. Tattoos peek out of the top of his white shirt, which is partially tucked into ripped, faded jeans and black boots. His arms are huge and dotted with tattoos here and there, his skin golden and glistening, but he seems like the type to be covered in grease and dirt. His eyes are a bright blue and locked on me, but there’s something not quite right about them.

His face is more angular than the first guy’s, but no less striking, and he prowls around as he stares at me like a hungry panther.

“It is,” another one confirms. This guy’s facial structure is similar to the first one, but no stubble. He’s clean shaven with a slightly squarer jaw. His hair is longer on top and shaved on the sides, shoved back carelessly. He’s taller than the first and more stacked, not as put together, but hot as hell.

The last one doesn’t speak, just stares at me from dark eyes. I spot his long eyelashes from here, the type girls would be envious of, but that’s the only girly thing about him. He’s massive, his arms are thicker than my whole body, and his white shirt clings to his bulging biceps and veiny forearms, indenting at his pecs and chiselled abs.

His jeans are tight, like he can’t find the right size, and his hair is brown with blond streaks, styled casually to the side. Every single inch of him is covered in tattoos, and a black lip ring glistens in the light.

I look back over them as the blond-haired guy flicks open the top of a lighter again and again as he stares at me. “Who are you?” I snap, refusing to be intimidated.

“Won’t you take a seat?” the first one offers, and I laugh.

“Why don’t you fuck off? Now tell me why the hell you’re in my bar or get the fuck out,” I snarl.

The blond one chuckles. “Ooh, feisty, she’s so little though. Too easy to break.” He pouts, sighing like I’ve put him out.

“I ain’t easy to break, asshole. I’ll smash in your pretty boy face before you can blink, so answer my goddamn question.”

These aren’t the thugs from last night, no, these men are dangerous, and I’m clearly their target. I swallow hard as fear winds through my body. The man in the suit notices, since he’s watching me carefully, and his lips tip up slightly in one corner at my show of panic.

“I like her,” the blond declares, and the big guy finally talks.

“Poor her,” he scoffs.

“Roxxane, please sit,” the first one suggests again, but I know it’s a demand.

So I yank out a stool and do as I’m told as far away from them as I can be. I lean my arms back on the bar so I can reach the blade at my waist. “Why are you here?” I repeat.

The first one looks around before selecting the closest table. The fucking bastard wipes down the chair and still frowns as he perches on the edge of it. I hope he stains his suit.

“Roxxane, I’m Ryder Viper,” he introduces himself. I ignore his use of Roxxane, no one calls me that.

A shiver goes through me.

Viper.

As in the fucking nut jobs that run the city? The goddamn mafia who controls everything? No wonder the police freaked, they’re in their pocket. So are the judges and the mayor.

Shit, this is serious.

“That’s Diesel.” He nods to the blond who’s licking the flames from a lighter. “Kenzo.” He gestures to the one who looks like him. “And Garrett.”

“Well, nice to fucking meet you. Want to tell me why you had goons come here and attack me last night?” I snarl. When I get scared, I get defensive, sue me.

His eyebrow arches as he leans forward, his hands dangling between his parted legs. Fuck, why is that hot? “As they explained it to me, you attacked them first.”

I think back. Shit, maybe he’s right. “They tried to grab me.”

“They did.” He nods. “But for engaging you in a brawl, they have been dealt with. That was not their orders. I understand one of them hit you?”

I reach up to my still sore lip but drop my hand—it’s too late, he noticed. His eyes narrow. “That’s not on, they’re awaiting judgement for that.”

“What does that even mean?” I yell.

“It means, pretty bird, they’re going to die.” The blond laughs, the sound a bit crazy.

“Why do you want me?” I question, holding my breath.

“Your father owed us a debt,” Ryder starts, and I swear he arches an eyebrow again. “Yes, I understand your relationship is…rocky?”

“Rocky? I’d kill the bastard if I could. Fine.” I slip from the chair. “How much does he owe you? I’ll pay it if I can.”

The blond, Diesel, slides in front of me, his blue eyes locked on me as he licks his lips. “No, we made a deal with your daddy, pretty bird. Tell me, love, are you a screamer? Me and your dad have a little bet,” he queries.

I react without thinking, yanking back my fist and punching him in the face.

Shaking it off, I watch him lurch backwards. His hand comes up and prods his mouth and nose as blood gushes from the wound. He starts to laugh, making me jolt back myself. Lifting his head, he grins, his teeth covered in blood. “That was hot, want to do it again?”

My eyes widen, but Ryder’s voice comes from behind him. “Enough, D.”

Diesel sighs but winks as he backs away, only then do I notice the bulge in the front of his jeans…is he erect? Holy fuck. I jerk my eyes up, but it’s too late, he noticed and is laughing again.

The crazy fucking bastard.

“What kind of deal?” I snap, growing tired of this game as a sick feeling rises in my stomach. They don’t want my money, they made a deal…

“For you.” Ryder shrugs.

Oh, for me he says, casual as you fucking may.

“He. Sold. Me. To. You?” I snarl.

“She’s hot when she’s angry,” Diesel whispers to the big guy, Garrett, who rolls his eyes.

“Yes, he did. To cover his debt, and we always collect, Roxxane. Now, would you like to pack a bag, or shall we do it for you?” Ryder asks calmly.

Like I’ll just agree to go with them. Fuck that. They might be the Vipers, the scariest fucking assholes in the city, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go willingly. Leaping over the bar, I grab my bat. “Get the fuck out! I ain’t going anywhere with you crazy bastards. You want his debt? Take it from him, I don’t care.”

“I can’t do that, love, a deal is a deal. You’re ours.” Ryder shrugs as he stands.

“Can I?” Diesel grins, stepping forward, but Ryder puts out his hand to block him.

“Go with Garrett and pack her bag,” he orders, and Diesel deflates for a moment before wiggling his eyebrows at me.

“I’m going to jerk off into your panties. See you later, pretty bird.”

The big guy steps forward and claps him on the shoulder. “Upstairs, they said.”

Wait…they know where I live?

I step into their path, and the big guy stares down at me, his face hard. “Move, little one.”

“Fucking make me,” I snarl, and swing my bat at him.

He catches it mid-air like a fly and rips it from my hand before frowning at me. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Oh, well ex-fucking-scuse me,” I taunt, then I dart my knee forward. He’s too busy to notice, and it connects with his junk.

He grabs his cock with a wheeze, his face turning red as he falls to his knees. I lift my fist, but the blond catches it mid-flight, tutting at me. “Sorry, pretty bird, we can play later,” he purrs, and then I see his fist coming towards me.

I don’t have time to duck. It smashes right into my face, and I’m out cold.