Phoenix said something with a laugh and ruffled Titus’s dark hair.
What the fuck? Viper stared.
This wasn’t a vacation.
He clenched his teeth.
“So, I told her I wasn’t taken, but if she was around in a few years, I’d be back,” Phoenix cackled. Titus laughed.
“You dog—asking her to wait years?” Titus shook his head, smirking.
“Woof, woof,” Phoenix shot back, heading for the glass doors.
Titus glanced over. Viper turned away fast, jaw tight.
His mouth was dry. He yanked at the pump handle—it stuck, then came loose with a jerk.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
“Need me to show you how that works?”
Viper closed his eyes. Titus. That fucking voice—lazy, smug, made for starting fights.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
Shit. Fuck. Damn it.
His outburst had Titus sliding those blue eyes over him, a slow smile tilting those—
Lush lips?
What the fuck.
“Here, you do it,” Viper snapped, shoving the nozzle at a startled Titus before stalking toward the building.
The bell over the door chimed as he stepped inside. He didn’t stop until he reached the cold drinks section, yanked open the glass door, and stuck his head in.
The safe house sat ten miles outside Pahrump, Nevada, tucked into a quiet cul-de-sac where every third home shared the same layout—mauve, sand, or brownstone. Several of the surrounding lots had never been built; beyond the last fence line stretched wide open desert—flat, silent, endless.
At three in the morning, the neighborhood was dead quiet.
From the outside, the house looked ordinary. Inside, it was all steel and government quiet.
Erebus parked in the three-car garage. Viper pulled his vehicle into the RV slot, and Memphis moved fast to shut the gate behind them.
Titus followed the others inside, shoulders rolling, loosening muscles that hated sitting still. The desert air clung to him—dry, electric, full of dust and tension that hadn’t burned off yet.
Law swept the perimeter. Memphis took the back hall, weapon low. Viper didn’t say a word, just moved straight through the house, his presence cutting sharp as a blade. Ramsey and Phoenix split off to secure the outside.
The asset—Barstow—sat slumped at the table, face drawn, eyes hollow. Titus had seen worse. Hell, he’d been worse.
He dropped his duffel on a bed in one of the spare rooms and scanned the layout—two exits, solid windows. Secure enough. With Erebus on guard, nobody in their right mind would come near this place.
He should’ve felt steady. Instead, he felt irritated.
It wasn’t the mission.
It was him.
