Chapter Six
By the time the sun dropped behind the ridge that evening, the desert had gone still.
The kind of still that made the back of Viper’s neck itch. The night had turned cold and thin—the kind that carried sound for miles. Every noise felt sharper, closer than it should’ve been.
Checking his watch, he rolled his shoulders. Just after midnight—still plenty of night to get through.
He hadn’t seen Titus all day. The assassin had taken pains to avoid him, and that was fine—so long as he did his job and remembered who was in charge, Viper didn’t give a damn what he did.
With quiet steps, he moved to stand near the front window, listening to the faint hum of the generators, when the first sound hit—a low growl of engines in the distance. Headlights flickered between the houses, cutting through the dark.
Phoenix came through the back door hard, sweat and dust streaked across his face.
“The fucking cartel is coming down the block.”
Viper didn’t hesitate. Training kicked in—orders lining up clean in his head: positions, sightlines, fallback routes.
Glass shattered against the front porch, fire blooming across the siding in a rush of orange light. The blast of heat hit a second later, sweeping through the windows like a living thing.
Smoke rolled thick from the back corridor, power flickering through the wiring as lights stuttered and died. Gunfire cracked outside—short bursts, disciplined, cartel pattern. They weren’t shooting at targets—just suppressing, killing the lights, keeping anyone inside blind and pinned.
Viper’s boots hit the tile hard.
The world was already burning before he hit the hallway.
“Positions!” he barked. “Law—south flank. Memphis—windows. Phoenix—cover the asset.”
Titus stepped out of the doorway, jaw tight, pistol steady.
Viper didn’t waste time. “They’ve got numbers. Phoenix and Titus take the asset and go dark. Memphis, Law, and I hold this line.”
Titus’s voice cut through the chaos. “If you think I’m sitting this out, you’re fucking wrong.”
The defiance hit harder than it should have, something sparking under the noise. He shoved it down.
Viper didn’t blink, voice like gravel. “Not a request.”
The air between them went hot, louder than the gunfire outside.
“Hey, Colonel,” Law called, drawing his attention.
Viper’s teeth ground as he caught Law’s eyes.
“I’ll take the asset with Phoenix.” Law gave a single sharp nod. Evan Barstow was already up—moved out of the holding room for the handoff—when Law caught his shoulder and hauled him toward the back room, the one they’d rigged as an exit in case things went sideways.
Evan stumbled, breath breaking. “It’s not the cartel—” he choked. “It’s the ones above them. They’re going to kill me.”
Viper didn’t have time to unpack that. Survival first.
“Cover us,” Law finished and hauled Evan down the hallway. Evan’s hands shook violently, enough that Law had to tighten his grip to keep him moving.
“This is too coordinated,” Memphis snapped. “Cartel doesn’t move this clean.”
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.
They slammed into the dirt outside. The impact drove the breath from Viper’s lungs, smoke and grit clawing down his throat.
He rolled to his side, coughing in air that tasted like dust and ash—
—but Titus didn’t give him a second to breathe. A rough hand caught his arm, hauling him up into a crouch and shoving him forward.
The safe house burned behind them—orange fire clawing at the night, gunfire still echoing from inside.
“Memphis—” Viper started, but Titus was already moving, scanning the tree line, reloading like he hadn’t just walked through hell.
“They’ll overrun it,” Titus said flatly. “We stay, we die.”
He caught Viper’s arm and kept him moving.
For half a second, Viper almost pulled away. But the sky flashed with another explosion, and he let it go—let Titus drag him through the dirt toward the cover of the ridge.
They ran until the fire was just a glow behind them, until the gunfire faded into the wind.
When they finally stopped, both breathing hard, the desert was silent again.
Smoke rose against the stars.
The safe house was gone.
Titus kept walking until they were engulfed in a thick strand of trees. It was there that Titus stopped as if indecisive—or maybe figuring out their next move.
“You got comms?” Viper asked. He had a plan, and Titus either came along or got left.
Titus shook his head.
Viper grimaced, pulling the cracked device from his ear. “Mine’s toast.”
“What’s the contingency plan?” Titus asked, pulling a spare clip from his pocket and reloading his Ruger.
Surprised, Viper studied the other man for a beat before checking his own weapon—still rounds left, spare mag tucked into his vest.
“That depends,” he said, frowning at Titus’s tight black shirt. “You wearing?”
Titus rapped his knuckles against his chest. Something hard beneath.
“Supposedly the thinnest, most advanced armor in the world,” he said with a grunt. “Savage had them custom-made for us.”
Only then did Viper notice the compact pack Titus slid from his shoulders. The assassin unscrewed a canteen and handed it over without a word.
Viper hesitated, then drank deep—the water cold, sharp. He hadn’t even grabbed his own pack. All their gear was ash back in the safe house.
The SecDef was going to have his ass.
He should’ve had his mind in the game instead of his dick.
And as much as he hated admitting it, he’d enjoyed the hell out of pinning Titus to that damn fridge.
Now look where it got him.
“So?”
“What?” Viper asked blankly.
“The contingency plan?”
“Oh.”
Good damned thing it was dark—Titus couldn’t see the heat climbing Viper’s neck.
He pushed to his feet. “We can’t go back for the vehicles, so we head north. We’ll meet up with—” He patted his pockets.
Fuck.
His cell phone was still on the kitchen counter—right where he’d left it, distracted as hell. Now it was ash.
“Here.” Titus held out a burner.
Of course he did. Always prepared.
Viper squinted, clenched his jaw, and dialed Law.
“Hey Colonel,” Law answered on the first ring.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Who the hell else would call me right now?” Law said dryly, sounding out of breath but alive.
“Fair enough. Memphis and I got separated.”
“Don’t worry,” Law cut in. “Memphis tried you first, then called me when you didn’t answer. He’s headed for the rendezvous point.”
Viper was glad Law hadn’t asked about his fucking phone.
“Everyone okay?” he asked, scanning the horizon, forcing a steady breath.
“Yeah, all good here.”
“Titus and I are right behind you,” Viper said. “Get to the rendezvous point outside Shoshone. We’ll head that way. Call Genesis and have them pick you up at first light.”
“Copy.”
The line went dead.
Shoshone was more than sixty miles from Pahrump—an easy drive, but a hell of a walk. Genesis would reach Law, Memphis, and the asset first, then come for him and Titus.
They just had to stay alive long enough for the cavalry to arrive.
Titus turned north without a word. Viper fell in beside him.
The fight behind them might’ve been over, but the war ahead wasn’t done—not by a long shot.
And until they linked back up with Genesis, the man beside him was his only backup.
He still wasn’t sure if that was a comfort… or a problem.