Page 49 of Viper

He grinned and stroked her damp cheek. Damn, he loved hearing his callsign from her lips. “You’re gonna call me that tonight.”

Her teeth flashed. “I have a feeling you’re right.”

“All right, you two. Christ.”

Troy glanced over his shoulder to see Striker with his hands on his hips. “Do you really think I’m hard of fucking hearin’?”

Paige’s laugh bubbled over the water before she dipped beneath the surface and kicked herself across the pool.

Troy stood and shook his wet fingers. “No, but maybe you’ve gotta get used to some things.”

“Wait, is the cat out of the bag?” Havoc’s wide-eyed gaze swung between Striker and Troy.

Wraith whistled and Reaper muttered something that sounded like “It’s about time.”

“Hang on, you knew about them?” Striker’s voice nearly broke the sound barrier.

Troy winced and lifted his shoulder to block the sound. Thankfully they were the only ones occupying the pool.

Havoc lifted both hands, feigning innocence. Havoc was the only one who knew his reasons for coming to Florida—though he’d bet Reaper and Wraith had made their own assumptions.

“No. I mean, well, I knew Viper was hung up.” Havoc gave Troy an apologetic look.

“He knew I came here to see Paige. That’s about it.”

“Striker,” Reaper said, leaning forward in his seat. “Did you actually have no clue they were interested in each other? ’Cause I’m pretty sure everyone with eyes could see the heat between those two.”

“His vision’s selective, tha’s all,” Wraith said mockingly.

Striker shook his head. “Fuck you all,” he muttered, suddenly sounding bored. “You ready to go?”

“Yup,” Troy said, unbothered.

They said goodbye to Reaper, and Troy waved to Paige, who was now on a floating chair in the pool. In the parking garage, they piled into Havoc’s rented SUV and drove up the ramp and onto the street.

Troy rode shotgun, and Striker and Wraith sat in the back seat. In fifteen minutes, they pulled up in front of the dispensary.

“Got the scrambler?” Troy asked.

Havoc reached into the center console and pulled out a device. “You know it. There’ll be no sign we were ever here.” He hit a button and the small machine beeped, confirming the cameras and security system had been disarmed.

The earthy scent of grass and incense met them at the door of the dispensary. Posters of Bob Marley and giant marijuana plants covered the walls. A glass case ran the length of the room.

Behind the counter was one door, presumably leading to a back room.

A bald guy sat in a leather computer chair, his feet propped on the countertop and his phone in his hand. He lifted his lazy gaze, then stood.

Satisfaction beat through Troy. This was their guy. William Barre.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked, spreading his palms on the glass.

Troy smirked. “Got a question for ya.”

William held out his hands jovially. “I’m sure I’ve got the answer.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, too,” Striker retorted dryly.

Troy stalked up to the desk and took out his phone. He pulled up the picture of Craig and turned it to face William. “Wondering if you’ve seen this guy around?”