Now, Will had called Savage and ordered YA to initiate something?
It hit wrong.
Sure, Viper knew YA was different—those assassins were built out of tragedy and horror. It made them engineered for anything. But being left out still burned.
Viper pushed to his feet, the chair legs scraping quietly as he stepped out of the kitchen, heading toward the barn.
Rip and Law joined him, Winter tagging along in the rear.
“You should take a pain pill and lie down,” Viper told Winter.
“Nah, this is just a scratch.”
“With fourteen stitches,” Black said, jogging to catch up.
“And they itch like hell.”
“It’s too soon for them to itch,” Black snorted.
“So you say.” Winter smirked.
Cold morning air rushed in as they reached the open bay doors. Voices echoed inside—YA gearing up, the tone too tight to be normal.
“…just said high-profile,” Boston said. “And I can’t go, I’m underage.”
“…not cartel,” Sage added, matter-of-fact. “The pattern’s different.”
“What kind of op needs us?” Ocean asked, curls tilting. “Feels shady.”
Viper stopped just outside the doorway.
Rip and Law halted with him—silent, listening. Black and Winter closed in behind.
The second YA realized Genesis was there, every conversation cut off. Bodies shifted. Neutral expressions snapped into place, too clean.
Guilty.
Or instructed.
Viper didn’t step inside.
He didn’t need to.
He knew the sound of an operation spinning up without him, and this was it.
YA gearing up. Genesis was left in the dark.
Whatever this was, Will was keeping it tight. Too tight.
And in the middle of all that, Titus didn’t reach out at all. That was the part that hit him low. And it shouldn’t have, but it fucking did.
Viper stepped back onto the gravel, breath fogging in the cold. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering.
He didn’t have Titus’s number.
But Sage did.
He called Sage’s cell phone.
