Memphis and Titus opened fire into the dark, suppressing the shadows outside while Law and Phoenix took the asset through the secondary route.
Viper didn’t see them go, but he knew the plan—out the side window, then north through the wash.
He didn’t like it, but he respected Law’s call. At least this way, he could keep an eye on Titus. He spun on the assassin.
“You do what I say, when I say it. I don’t want to fucking babysit.”
Titus didn’t answer—and before Viper could blink, he was gone. The man worked for Erebus, sure, but Viper hadn’t realized just how good he was until he simply vanished into the smoke and dark.
He should’ve known—the sexy bastard was right at home skulking in the shadows.
“Titus,” he hissed into the shadows. No answer.
Memphis stood ready beside him.
“Fucking assassins,” Viper muttered. “Let’s move.”
The cartel came in hard—no warning, no mercy.
The first blast hit like a hammer, lifting Viper off his feet.
The world went white—sound gone, balance gone—just pressure, heat, and dust swallowing everything.
He hit the floor and rolled, weapon still in his grip by instinct alone. His ears rang like broken glass. Vision pulsed—white, then black, then firelight bleeding through smoke.
“Memphis!” he shouted, but the word came out raw, swallowed by the roar of flames.
The south corridor was gone—half collapsed, the other half burning. Figures moved in the haze—cartel shadows pouring through the breach. Muzzle flashes strobed down the hall.
He rolled, gun up, fired twice. Someone dropped.
“Titus!” he shouted, eyes searching for any sign of the assassin. Was he down? Wounded? Bleeding out somewhere?
Fuck. Fuck.
Rage—and something else—punched his chest just as another burst shredded the wall inches from his head, plaster cutting his face. He ducked behind the kitchen island, debris raining down.
Then came the grenades.
The first one detonated in a white-hot flash, the second a heartbeat later—frag tearing through the hallway. The shockwave sucked the air out of his lungs. He dropped behind the doorway, coughing through grit.
He saw movement—Memphis somewhere past the flames, yelling over the roar, voice lost in the fire. Then the doorway collapsed in on itself, cutting them apart.
“Goddammit,” Viper rasped, lunging forward.
The floor tilted. His vision stuttered. He stumbled once, twice—
—and a hand clamped onto his shoulder, hard enough to jar him.
Titus.
The assassin’s face was streaked with soot and blood, eyes burning in the flicker of firelight.
“Move it, soldier,” Titus snapped.
Before Viper could argue, Titus yanked him backward, dragging him down the hallway as the ceiling came apart behind them.
They hit the back wall just as another blast tore through the front of the house, the shockwave hurling them through the window in a rain of glass.
