Beyond Regret/Python (Serpents MC Las Vegas Book 3) Read online

  Beyond Regret/Python

  Serpents MC/Las Vegas

  Barbara Nolan

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  Published by: Barbara Nolan

  Edited by: Lisa Cullinan

  Proofread by: Rose Holub/Read by Rose

  Cover Model: Theodore Brown

  Photographer: Jean Maureen Woodfin

  Cover Design: Cosmic Letterz

  Promotions: CJG Consulting

  * * *

  Copyright © 2020 by Barbara Nolan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Also by Barbara Nolan

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Dear Readers:

  I loved writing Beyond Regret.

  My hero, Python, is all alpha, tough and hard-edged, but with a fierce loyalty, and a deep sensitivity he tries to hide— until Virginia.

  My heroine, Virginia, is a bit shy and a little klutzy, but when it comes to fighting for what she wants she finds an inner strength that Python can’t resist.

  My cover model, Theodore Brown, owns a black German Shepherd that I was able to incorporate into Beyond Regret. I appreciate Theodore sharing his love for this beautiful animal as it inspired some very touching scenes.

  I hope you enjoy reading about Python and Virginia as much as I enjoyed writing them.

  Love,

  Barbara

  Chapter One

  Python hadn’t given his birthday much thought. After all, what was the big deal about turning thirty-five? It wasn’t a decade birthday like thirty or forty. Shit, forty. He was five years away from forty. There were times when Python didn’t think he’d make it to twenty-five no less thirty-five. Back then he’d been muscle for hire—waking up at three in the afternoon, busting some heads, partying, fucking random snatch, then blissfully passing out, only to start all over again. Those were the bad old days after he’d done some time in Ely State Pen and before he’d hooked up with Cobra to form the Serpents.

  Okay, no more deep thoughts about that—at least not now—not when he had an outstanding brunette named Crystal and a stunning blonde named Tina or Tara or something like that … in his bed.

  “Outstanding” and “stunning” weren’t his words. The new ad agency he’d hired used them on the billboard along I-15, advertising Ecstasy Gentlemen’s Club, the strip joint he ran for the Serpents. If someone would’ve asked him, he’d have said that they were both hot as fuck and, right about now, had his dick hard as steel.

  “Baby, I don’t like the way he keeps looking at us.” Crystal shifted closer as she eyed Kobi, Python’s black German shepherd, who was staring at them from his dog bed in the corner of the bedroom.

  “He’s just jealous.” Python patted the sheets. “This is usually his spot.”

  Yup, the ninety-pound German shepherd acted like a big baby anytime Python entertained.

  “He’s making me nervous,” she squeaked. Crystal had a beautiful face, killer body, but a voice like an ice chipper. Sharp and screechy.

  “He’s harmless.” Python slung his arm around her. “It’s me you gotta worry about.” He waggled his eyebrows and when she laughed, he kissed her. She couldn’t squeak while they kissed.

  Python could overlook her voice. He’d never been too picky and loved all types of women, sometimes too much. His biker buddies were always up his ass for lending women money. As sergeant-at-arms for the Serpents MC, he took care of the muscle, which meant he busted heads when needed. Nobody would’ve suspected the six-foot-five, hard-ass biker to be a light touch, but give him a sob story and he fell for it—every time. Can’t make rent or your ex is late with the check? Call Python. Your kid wants the latest high-tech toy? Call Python.

  Crystal sat up in bed and the sheet fell away from her bangin’ body. Python smiled at who he was sure would be Ecstasy’s next headliner.

  “I was thinking about what my costume should be. Maybe a harem girl or a female construction worker or maybe even a cop,” she babbled on. “Like … maybe every night I could do a different profession, you know, like the Village People.”

  He grabbed up her hand and shoved it under the sheet, but she kept talking. Definitely, ice chipper meets squeaky door. He hadn’t noticed that earlier. Probably since they hit the bed, her tongue had been halfway down his throat.

  He glanced at the blonde still passed out on the other side of him. At least she was quiet.

  “So, like I was saying, do you have any ideas?” she asked. “Is there some costume you’d like to see? Maybe I could—”

  Python leaned in getting directly in her line of vision. “Babe, with your body, you could wear a burlap bag and the guys would be coming in their pants.” He adjusted her hand over his painfully hard cock. “I’m really not interested in conversation right now. I just wanna fuck.”

  “Sure.” She cuddled into him, pushed back the sheet, and crawled down his body. As soon as her wet mouth clamped down on his dick, he was a goner.

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  She was good, real good, but once they were employees, it would be hands off. Although he’d hired them last week, technically they wouldn’t start working at the club until tomorrow night; but they knew the rules up front. The club protected the girls and had their back, and the girls showed up sober and on time. He ran a clean place: no hard drugs, no prostitution, just a little money laundering from their less legit businesses. Python took his job seriously, but overseeing a strip club with half-dressed, knock-out women every night?—wasn’t too much of a real hardship.

  Life was good. He had his Harley, his club, his brothers, and two hot women in his bed—one who was currently tonguing his dick.

  Happy fuckin’ birthday to him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Virginia said through her phone as she maneuvered the late model Toyota into the parking lot of Ecstasy. A strip club where, according to the sign, All Your Dreams Come True.

  “You should’ve taken someone with you. You should’ve taken me with you.”

  Virginia rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was her co-worker, Nicole, with her. She loved the girl dearly, but the frenetic energy that woman exuded could put anyone on edge.

  “I know what I’m doing.” She hoped. “Anyway, I have an appointment.”

  “Who has appointments at strip clubs?”

  “It’s where he works. Apparently, Python manages the place, and Cobra said I should interview him there.”

  “And that’s another thing. Who has names like Python and Cobra? Yikes.”

  “They’re the Las Vegas Serpents.”

  Truth, Virginia did think it was odd, although she’d never admit that to Nicole.

  “I still think you’re making a mistake go
ing out there alone.”

  “Don’t worry.” Virginia circled the parking lot, avoiding the valet just in case she had to make a quick getaway. Another detail she’d keep from Nicole’s prying ears. “I’m here, so I’m going to hang up.”

  “But just—”

  She eased into the parking space, turned off her car and the phone disconnected, filling the air with blessed silence. Nicole had been her first friend at KLAS-TV News, serving greater Las Vegas. Six months later, she’d become her best friend, and Nicole’s vivacious, super confident, outgoing attitude was everything Virginia wasn’t.

  Psychology 101 told her their friendship worked because they were such extreme opposites, but it was more than that. Virginia liked Nicole’s easy, laidback ideas about life. Even though she might talk a mile a minute, Nicole didn’t stress the small stuff. That was something Virginia admired, especially coming from a family that competed and stressed over every subject, large or small.

  Virginia flipped down the vanity mirror, then stared into her light brown eyes and said out loud, “You can do this.” Those four words were used as a mantra whenever her confidence threatened to do a disappearing act. She took a deep breath and then pushed the car door handle with more force than necessary.

  Her apprehension had more to do with her career and less to do with entering a strip club at eleven at night. An odd time to do an interview, yes, but then again this was a strip club, or as they like to be called now, “a gentlemen’s club,” owned and operated by bikers. As a reporter, Virginia knew a good story was all in the word choice.

  She’d like to say she volunteered for this assignment, but in truth, no one else wanted it, so her editor, Mr. Larson, threw it to her. And that right there was the problem. As the low woman on the totem pole, she covered car dealership openings, restaurant openings, and the latest jackpot winners at the Flamingo. Virginia was now the proud owner of an Audi brochure for a car she’d never be able to afford unless she won the next Flamingo jackpot.

  Her three-inch heels clacked along the blacktop of the large parking lot. The shoes pinched a bit, but at only five foot three, the heels added to her confidence as well as her height. Walking into a strip club threatened to push every one of her low self-esteem buttons, even though she made a promise to force herself out of her comfort zone as soon as she’d hit Vegas. And what could be less comforting than stepping into a place where women with perfect figures strutted around half naked? She glimpsed down at her petite frame and modest breasts—no, don’t go there.

  Virginia could do this, and she would do this, because excelling would hopefully mean achieving a career she’d wanted since she was a teen, a career she would get on her own without the help of her father, her family name, or their money. It was the main reason she used her mother’s maiden name when she applied at KLAS.

  Nicole insisted she needed to break out of her shell and be more adventurous, therefore she stormed forward like Wonder Woman. So, how come she felt more like Dorothy about to step into the Land of Oz?

  As she approached the door, she pulled out her wallet. Still getting carded at twenty-six years old annoyed her. Some women might be flattered by that, but to Virginia it was just another way that the world wasn’t taking her seriously—more like her father not taking her seriously—but that was another subject entirely.

  The human block of cement standing by the door was easily a foot taller than her, even with her wearing the stilettos from hell. His narrowed eyes blatantly ran over her body without shame, probably trying to figure out if she was from the same species as the women who danced inside the club. Before she got close enough to show him her ID, he flicked his thick fingers at her and said, “Dancers enter around back.”

  “Excuse me?” She stepped back as the double doors swung open and four guys barreled out, followed by the pounding bass from within the club.

  The bouncer pointed to the double doors. “This entrance is for customers; dancers go around back.”

  She laughed and he furrowed his brow. “No, I’m not a dancer. I’m meeting Python here.”

  His brow knitted further together as if processing what she said equated with the theory of evolution. Either that or he’d been in one too many fights defending the honor of said dancers.

  “Hmmm,” he grunted, as his eyes roamed over Virginia and lingered on her chest … or lack thereof. He dragged his gaze back to hers and she offered her ID, which he waved away. Assuming there’d be a cover charge, she dug in her wallet and pulled out some money, but he dismissed that too.

  “No charge for Python’s girls.”

  Python’s girls?

  He jerked his head toward the entrance, and his lips twitched into what she thought might be a smirky grin?

  She wouldn’t correct him. If, for some reason this night went as disastrously wrong as Nicole suspected, at least it didn’t cost her anything.

  After clearing the entrance, she walked about six feet further inside and stopped. Her writer’s mind wanted to take it all in and examine every nuance. Expecting the flashing neon lights and the loud driving music, Virginia was surprised by the upscale furniture. Leather banquets were spaced around the room with smaller tables by the three stages, and high-gloss wood flooring led to a raised granite bar along the entire length of one wall. The clean, fragrant air dispelled all her assumptions of a typical smoke-and-cheap-perfume-filled, sleazy strip club. Even the dancers had an elegant upmarket tone. She’d be sure to include all this in her article. So much for stereotypes.

  The Serpents needed a bit of good press after some recent bad publicity. They wanted the story to cover their charitable donations, thus shedding a favorable light on their motorcycle club. Choosing Ecstasy as a meeting place seemed counterproductive, but where else would an outlaw biker conduct business, right?

  Virginia walked along the perimeter of the room, then climbed the few stairs to the raised bar. Because most of the men and a scattering of women were by the stages, the bar area was manageable. She found an opening, wedged herself against the black granite, and motioned to the waitress. The female bartender assessed her with her dark almond-shaped eyes.

  “Can you tell me where I might find Python?” Virginia asked.

  The girl craned her neck around the bar, causing her straight, waist-length ebony hair to fan out across her back, then pointed to the far side of the room. “He’s probably at the back table with Cobra.”

  Virginia glanced where she pointed and saw quite a few men at the tables. “I don’t know what either of them looks like.”

  She chuckled. “They’ll be wearing a Serpents cut.” Someone called the dark-haired beauty, and she moved down the bar.

  In preparation for this interview, she’d done extensive research on outlaw biker clubs. It proved to be very interesting reading, and because of it, she knew a cut was the leather vest all bikers wore. Knowledge had always been her friend.

  She pointed herself toward the back of the room, hoping some divine intervention would make Python or Cobra magically appear.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, but straining to see made them water, which wasn’t helpful when trying to pick out a stranger in a place one has never been to before.

  Virginia stopped just short of the end of the bar to get her bearings, blinking and swiveling her head. Thankfully, most of the attention was on the stage and she could stand in the shadows and observe.

  “Can I help you?” A deep rasp of masculinity said behind her.

  She spun around so fast, momentarily losing her balance, that the raspy-voiced stranger gripped her arm to steady her. Damn high heels.

  She craned her neck back like a child looking at a skyscraper. The man’s muscled forearms and biceps swirled with colorful tattoos under a black t-shirt, leather cut and faded jeans. She squinted to focus and did some speed reading. A rectangle patch on the right side of his massive chest said Serpents MC, and under that was a diamond patch with a number one and a percentage sign, which mea
nt they were outlaws. On his left side, another rectangular patch said Cobra - President.

  “You’re Cobra?”

  “Sure am.” His lips twisted into a smirk not unlike the bouncer at the door. It was as though each of them was trying to figure out what she was doing at a strip club. Similar to seeing a baby bird in the middle of the highway, you just know it’s not going to end well.

  “I’m Virginia, from KLAS.” She stuck out her hand but retracted it, remembering from her research that many bikers didn’t do traditional handshakes. Most had some secret hand gestures. Oh god, where was her mind going?

  Cobra cocked his head like she was an exhibit at the circus.

  “My editor said we had your approval to do a story on Ecstasy, and that I’m to meet with Python, and that he would—”

  “Forgot you were coming tonight.”

  With all the plundering and pillaging, outlaw bikers probably didn’t have time to check their iCalendar.

  “Sit.” Cobra extended his arm to the small round table off to the side of the bar. Virginia followed him and took a seat, happy to be off her torturous shoes. She drew in a deep breath and regrouped, but this intense man staring at her did nothing for her nerves.

  He flicked his wrist at a waitress and a bottle of tequila appeared. “Drink?” He motioned to the bottle.

  “No, no. No, I’m good.” One too many no’s there.

  “You sure?” Cobra held up the bottle like he was offering her some much-needed medicinal elixir.

  “I’m sure.” Tequila and Virginia had a love-hate relationship. The few times she drank it, she loved it—but hated herself the next day.