A laugh he didn’t mean to let out slipped free. “I won’t.”
Viper shoved the phone back into his jacket and paced to the curb, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. Every few seconds, he cut a look at the entrance to the club, waiting for Titus to walk out.
He didn’t.
The city pressed around him—bright, loud—but all he felt was the tight burn of losing track of a man he should’ve never let out of his sight.
Yeah, like that had been his choice. It hadn’t. He frowned and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, bracing against the ice-cold wind.
Twenty-five minutes dragged on.
Then a sleek, dark-gray Porsche slid to the curb, and the valet nearest the rope straightened instantly.
The engine purred—money and power and a life he’d walked away from years ago.
The passenger window dropped.
Pierce leaned over the console, a charcoal overcoat open over a suit that probably cost more than Viper’s monthly hazard pay. His dark hair was swept back, his smile infuriatingly charming.
“Well, well, big bro,” Pierce said, eyes sweeping Viper head to toe. “You look like a man who crawled out of the desert and punched the TSA.”
“Smart ass,” Viper grumbled, opened the door, tossed his duffel in the back, and slid in. “Traffic’s worse than you said.”
“Because half the city’s out tonight. And because you’re apparently trying to get into Aurelia wearing… whatever this is.” Pierce flicked a hand at him. “Combat chic?”
“Just drive.”
Pierce grinned and pulled into traffic. “You sure you want to get into Aurelia’s? It doesn’t seem like your thing, bro.”
“It isn’t. I’m going anyway.”
Pierce nodded once—no more teasing, just intent and family behind it.
“Then I’m taking you to my place. You’re not walking into that club dressed like that. You’re a Kensington, for god’s sake—not a drifter who mugged a ranger.”
Viper grimaced—somewhere between a glare and a reluctant almost-smile.
He hated dressing up—hated the world that came with it.
Pierce only grinned wider. “Relax, Reid. I’ve seen you look worse. Remember when Ty ran you over with the quad?”
Viper snorted under his breath. “Still think Brice is an idiot for rodeoing. Kid damn near crippled himself last month.”
“Yeah,” Pierce said, laughing under his breath. “Ma’s still praying over that one.”
With five brothers and three sisters, Ma had prayed her way through half their childhoods.
Viper stared out at the blur of traffic.
He didn’t belong in this world of glass and polished money anymore—his choice.
But he needed to see Titus—and there was only one way in.
The kind that didn’t leave fingerprints.
Almost thirty minutes later, they were heading up the lift—no stops, no delays—toward a tailored suit, a different world, and a collision with his past he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
Pierce’s penthouse sat forty-six floors above the city, all glass and clean lines and wealth that didn’t need to announce itself.
