Claimed by the Mafia Biker
The room erupted, men shouting, some laughing, others cursing.
Viper didn’t move. He just watched me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he rose from his chair.
He walked toward me, until he stood close enough that I could see the scar running down his jaw, the shadow in his eyes.
“You’ve got guts,” he murmured. “But guts won’t keep you alive.”
“Neither will standing around doing nothing,” I snapped back.
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—something like respect.
Then he turned sharply toward Blade. “Get her ready. We move at dawn.”