The trials. Two weeks of testing candidates’ limits and their loyalty, their ruthlessness, their ability to keep their mouths shutwhen it matters. Some wash out. Some break. The ones who make it through earn their place at the table.
“Are we doing the usual format?” Ari asks.
I nod. “Physical tests with Blaze. Social manipulation with Ari. Criminal operations with Grayson. Penn handles the psychological pressure.”
“My favorite part,” Penn grins, that manic edge creeping into his expression.
“And what about you?” Blaze asks, turning his attention my way. “What’s your role this year?”
I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “The same as always.”
Penn’s grin widens. “Ah, yes. The fun part.”
Ari shifts beside me. “Hunter handles the breaking point.”
“Because he’s so good at it,” Grayson adds, no judgment in his tone. Just a fact.
They’re not wrong. While Blaze tests physical limits and Penn toys with psychological pressure, I handle what comes after—when candidates think they’ve survived the worst. When they start to relax, believing they’ve proven themselves.
That’s when I step in.
“Last year’s batch was disappointing,” I say, remembering the congressman’s aide who’d pissed himself before I’d even started. “Thought they were tough until they saw the room.”
“The room” is the soundproofed basement beneath one of my properties. The one with drain grates in the concrete floor and walls that don’t show stains. I find out exactly how far someone will go when pushed past every reasonable limit.
“You broke that investment banker in twenty minutes,” Penn recalls with something like admiration. “Thought he’d last longer.”
“He talked too much. Tried to negotiate.” I drain my glass. “In our world, you do what needs doing. No hesitation. No conscience getting in the way.”
“And you have no conscience to get in the way,” Ari observes mildly.
“Which is why I’m good at it.”
Blaze leans forward. “We need candidates who won’t flinch when things get bloody. Last thing we need is someone who’ll fall apart during an actual operation.”
“Exactly.” I pour another drink. “They can pass every other test, but if they can’t handle what I put them through, they’re useless to us.”
“How many do you think will make it through this year?” Grayson asks.
I consider the question. “Maybe three. If we’re lucky.”
“Out of fifteen?” Penn laughs. “Harsh.”
“Better harsh than dead.” I meet his eyes. “One weak link in the chain and we all hang.”
The mood shifts. Penn’s wild grin fades. Ari stops twirling his glass. Even Grayson’s expression hardens.
Because it’s the truth none of us say out loud often, even among ourselves.
The Vipers isn’t some gentleman’s club or networking group for the elite. It’s a machine built on blood, blackmail, and the kind of connections that make politicians nervous and law enforcement look the other way.
We control everything that matters in this city. Every development deal, every election, every piece of legislation that affects our interests. And we do it through methods that would make most people sick.
“Remember why we started this,” Blaze says finally, his voice low. “We were kids who saw how the world really worked. Saw that power wasn’t about money or family name.”
“It was about being willing to do what others wouldn’t,” I finish.
Ari shifts beside me. “Our parents thought we were networking at that boarding school. Building connections for future business deals.”
