Titus’s jaw flexed—a small tell. Viper caught it—the shift in the air, that split-second of temper.
The bastard was begging for a beatdown—Viper was more than happy to oblige.
He’d make damn sure he didn’t share a vehicle with Titus when they hit the road.
While waiting for orders, he’d cut Genesis down to five—himself, Law, Memphis, Rhett, and Ramsey.
With the three Erebus men and the asset added in, that made nine total.
They could’ve all crammed into the military-issued GMV 1.1—nine seats, tight quarters—but no way in hell was Viper riding that close. He took Law, Memphis, Wrath, and the asset.
That left Ramsey, Rhett, Titus, and Phoenix together in the SUV.
For a while, it was nothing but the sound of tires on asphalt and headlights cutting a narrow path down the dark highway.
Finally, Viper broke the silence.
“How long’s he been with you guys?” His eyes flicked to Wrath in the rearview.
Wrath glanced at the asset in the backseat—headphones on, watching a movie on an iPad—before answering.
“Since January.”
“And nobody thought to tell me?” Viper’s grip tightened on the wheel.
Wrath squinted. “Last I checked, we answer to Savage and Will.”
Most of the men called William Caldwell eithersirorSecDef. Not Wrath. He’d been around since the beginning—he’d earned the right to use the man’s nickname.
“It just caught me off guard,” Viper said finally. He let it drop. Now wasn’t the time. Too many ears were listening.
The asset—Evan Barstow—had headphones on, but who was to say they were even playing anything. The little bastard could be listening, collecting intel to trade later. Evan’s fingers tapped against his thigh—nervous, uneven—and his eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror, tracking every passing car.
Evan had been cooking the books for the Morelli family for over a decade. When they went down on racketeering and extortion charges, good old Evan flipped and turned state’s evidence.
His job was simple: deliver Barstow to the safe house and wait. Next step was the Marshals—they’d make the asset disappear until trial.
“Gotta take a piss,” Phoenix said over comms.
“Nice,” Memphis drawled, voice loud in Viper’s earpiece.
Phoenix’s laugh crackled through the channel.
Law checked the map on his phone. “Gas station about a mile out,” he said.
“Copy,” Viper replied.
When the red-and-yellow station sign came into view, Viper eased the GMV toward the pumps. Might as well top off while they were stopped.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” he ordered, stepping out into the wind.
His men, along with the asset, headed inside to use the restrooms.
Casually, Viper glanced at the black Erebus SUV.
Titus climbed out of the passenger seat and stretched—lean, tight, all long lines and muscle. Black pants hugged his thighs and ass, and the fitted shirt didn’t bother hiding the cut of his abs.
The guy was forty-eight—he’d checked. Three years older than him, yet the bastard looked like he’d stopped aging at thirty.
