Viper drained the rest of his coffee, set the mug in the sink, and turned for the door. He didn’t look back, didn’t speak—just walked out like he had somewhere better to be.
Titus watched him go, jaw tight, eyes steady. Good. The room felt bigger without him in it.
Lifting his mug, he topped it off and leaned against the counter. Outside, a truck passed on the distant road, the sound fading quickly. The kind of ordinary noise he wasn’t used to anymore.
Titus let it roll past, the stillness settling again like dust after a storm. For the first time all morning, he could breathe.
By the time the sun dropped behind the ridge that evening, the desert had gone still.
The kind of still that made the back of Viper’s neck itch. The night had turned cold and thin—the kind that carried sound for miles. Every noise felt sharper, closer than it should’ve been.
Checking his watch, he rolled his shoulders. Just after midnight—still plenty of night to get through.
He hadn’t seen Titus all day. The assassin had taken pains to avoid him, and that was fine—so long as he did his job and remembered who was in charge, Viper didn’t give a damn what he did.
With quiet steps, he moved to stand near the front window, listening to the faint hum of the generators, when the first sound hit—a low growl of engines in the distance. Headlights flickered between the houses, cutting through the dark.
Phoenix came through the back door hard, sweat and dust streaked across his face.
“The fucking cartel is coming down the block.”
Viper didn’t hesitate. Training kicked in—orders lining up clean in his head: positions, sightlines, fallback routes.
Glass shattered against the front porch, fire blooming across the siding in a rush of orange light. The blast of heat hit a second later, sweeping through the windows like a living thing.
Smoke rolled thick from the back corridor, power flickering through the wiring as lights stuttered and died. Gunfire crackedoutside—short bursts, disciplined, cartel pattern. They weren’t shooting at targets—just suppressing, killing the lights, keeping anyone inside blind and pinned.
Viper’s boots hit the tile hard.
The world was already burning before he hit the hallway.
“Positions!” he barked. “Law—south flank. Memphis—windows. Phoenix—cover the asset.”
Titus stepped out of the doorway, jaw tight, pistol steady.
Viper didn’t waste time. “They’ve got numbers. Phoenix and Titus take the asset and go dark. Memphis, Law, and I hold this line.”
Titus’s voice cut through the chaos. “If you think I’m sitting this out, you’re fucking wrong.”
The defiance hit harder than it should have, something sparking under the noise. He shoved it down.
Viper didn’t blink, voice like gravel. “Not a request.”
The air between them went hot, louder than the gunfire outside.
“Hey, Colonel,” Law called, drawing his attention.
Viper’s teeth ground as he caught Law’s eyes.
“I’ll take the asset with Phoenix.” Law gave a single sharp nod. Evan Barstow was already up—moved out of the holding room for the handoff—when Law caught his shoulder and hauled him toward the back room, the one they’d rigged as an exit in case things went sideways.
Evan stumbled, breath breaking. “It’s not the cartel—” he choked. “It’s the ones above them. They’re going to kill me.”
Viper didn’t have time to unpack that. Survival first.
“Cover us,” Law finished and hauled Evan down the hallway. Evan’s hands shook violently, enough that Law had to tighten his grip to keep him moving.
“This is too coordinated,” Memphis snapped. “Cartel doesn’t move this clean.”
