Never Enough: The Vipers MC by Lexi Cross Page A

only one in the family fascinated by bikes and the people who rode them.
     
    They say you never forget your first time, and that was true. Nothing would ever come close to the feeling of freedom. The speed, the heart-pounding excitement. I know I had a mile-wide grin on my face the whole time.
     
    That first ride had been like magic. I never looked back. Other guys were into cars, like the guys I knew from the neighborhood, the kids I went to school with. I didn’t give a shit about any of it, not even the coolest classic cars. I wanted a bike. Until I met Jess, that was all I ever wanted.
     
    I used to drag race when I was a kid, too stupid to know any better. My first bike was a victim of racing, totaled against a wall when I slid out of a turn. I’d jumped off at the last second—I only broke a leg instead of my whole body. I would never forget the way it felt to really let go, to let the bike do what it was built to do. The wind in my hair, on my face. The exhilaration.
     
    That was how I felt when I sped away from my apartment building, straight to Jess’s brownstone. I knew the way—I had looked it up, studying the quickest route in my head, going over and over it until it was like second nature. It was one of the only things I could do so far to help her. I had researched her neighborhood, the ways to get to it, her building. The closest police station and hospital, just in case. The other people who lived there. I’d told myself I had to be prepared in case she needed me. That preparation was about to pay off.
     
    It was late, so the traffic on the street was a little lighter. Good thing—not that I wouldn’t have gone between cars, run lights, done whatever I had to do to get to her. I just didn’t feel like getting pulled over by the cops when I did. They weren’t exactly the Vipers’ biggest fans.
     
    It was a ten-minute ride under regular speed. I managed it in six minutes, racing up the stairs to the building two and three at a time. The only thing I could think about was her. What was he doing to her? Was I too late?
     
    I knew which apartment was hers. She had no idea how much I knew about her. I had even studied the floorplan, just in case something like this ever happened. I wouldn’t tell her, since I knew she’d think I was stalking. She was the type who wouldn’t think to thank me even when I was saving her ass from a burglar.
     
    I listened at the door, pressing my ear to the wood. I heard a shuffling noise. Feet on the floor. No struggling, no crying. Good. Unless he killed her already, or knocked her out. The thought got my blood boiled. I stepped back, then laid a solid kick to the door. It flew open.
     
    The living room was dark, the hall bright. It took a second for my eyes to adjust—when they did, I saw a dark figure jumping back in surprise. I lunged at it, not caring who it was or even if there was more than one person looking around. I saw red. I wanted to make him pay, whoever he was.
     
    We fell onto the floor, me on top. I pushed myself up, hand on his throat to hold him steady. He was a big guy, but I had surprise on my side. I slammed my fist into his face once, twice.
     
    He bucked me off so hard, I went flying. I was on my back, dazed, shaking my head. He got to his feet, kicking me in the ribs. Shooting pain. I rolled away, standing, facing him.
     
    He breathed heavy behind a black ski mask. I saw his piercing eyes staring out at me, though, like two pieces of metal in the dark. I watched him move toward me—slowly. Very slowly. Sizing me up.
     
    “Why don’t you get the hell outta here?” I growled. “If you didn’t take anything, no harm done. I won’t even go after you.”
     
    He laughed, then moved surprisingly quick for a big guy. I barely jumped out of the way before he lunged for me. He hit the wall, books falling off a set of shelves there. A few of them hit him on the head. He cursed, kicking them aside.
     
    “I tried to give you a chance.