Law had checked in throughout the whole damned storm, his voice tight with the kind of helplessness that came from being too far away to help.
Viper had stayed calm under pressure and reassured Law they’d make it. Viper was a natural born leader. It was one of several things Titus was starting to admire about him.
“I could eat my own ribs,” Viper muttered, joining him.
“How about this instead?” Titus laughed, pulling a power bar from his bag and snapping it in half.
“We sat in there for four hours, and now you tell me?”
Viper glared at him, which only made him grin wider—and that seemed to surprise Viper, judging by the look on his face.
“What?” Titus paused. Something about that look caught him off guard.
“I didn’t know you could laugh.”
Titus shrugged, focusing on his half of the bar. “Haven’t had much reason to.”
“Well,” Viper said, taking the half and a bite, “we’ll have to work on that.”
“Oh?” Titus asked, intrigued.
It reminded him of a few lovers he’d had in college—men who’d known him only as Titus, not the name printed on the donor walls. He’d ended every fling early, afraid of labels, afraid of being dragged into the same gutter as his brothers.
“Now that’s an interesting expression,” Viper murmured. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothin—”
The sound of engines in the distance cut him off.
“We’ve got company,” he hissed, drawing his weapon.
The wind had slowed them down. They hadn’t put enough distance between themselves and the cartel, and now they were paying for it.
“If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks,” Viper said, already moving, keeping low.
Titus followed, scanning the flats. Bright, open daylight—no cover worth a damn. The only advantage was the wind gusts; any helicopter would fight it. That meant the cartel was coming in by ground.
Wearing all black hadn’t been his smartest move, but it was too late now. At least Viper blended into the land.
One of them might survive.
He touched Viper’s shoulder and pointed toward the horizon.
Dust swirled—vehicles. The cartel was sweeping the valley, methodical, tight formation. Exactly how he’d do it if he were hunting.
“Damn it,” Viper muttered, breaking into a jog. “As soon as we lose these fuckers, we’ll call Law—you can drop that beacon.”
“You got it.” Titus kept low, moving in sync behind whatever rock or scrub they could find.
He hated the desert. It reminded him too much of the hunt for Tatum—his brother had been crafty, slippery—but Genesis had ended his reign soon enough.
He appreciated that Viper had brought them up earlier, though the man didn’t owe him an apology for a damn thing.
Shoving the memories aside, he pushed to match Viper’s pace.
“They’re on us!” Viper shouted.
Titus glanced back. They weren’t on their ass yet—maybe two miles out if he had to guess—but close enough.
