Chapter Eight
Time stretched endlessly, measured only by the wind. It never really quit—just eased off long enough to make them think it might.
They had rolled out at first light, and hours and miles later, they were still moving, boots grinding over drying ground where crusted mud cracked and grit scoured their faces raw.
At least the rain had quit. The wind hadn’t. It was the real fucking problem now.
Viper had seen plenty of Nevada post-storm gusts like this—nasty, unpredictable, the kind that could strip paint off a Humvee.
Law had checked in an hour ago—Wind’s a bitch. Bird’s grounded. Holding pattern extended. You two stay low and stay dark.
Viper checked his watch again, then the horizon—nothing but low ridges, gray light, and debris skittering across the desert.
No sign of the cartel yet—small mercies.
It was the wind that worried him now.
The gusts grew stronger.
Titus fought it beside him, their pace slower now than when they’d first started out.
Viper kept catching Titus in his periphery—every shift, every stumble into the wind. He forced his focus forward. He took about five more minutes of this shit before making a decision.
Lifting his voice over the wind, he yelled, “Let’s find a place to rest.”
A hard gust slammed into them as the words left his mouth, flattening the brush and stinging their faces.
“Head that way,” he shouted.
They forged forward together, the wind relentless.
“Over there!” Titus yelled back, catching Viper’s wrist and hauling him toward a shallow overhang.
They dropped into it shoulder-first, sliding under the rock face—just deep enough to get out of the worst of it. Their knees bumped once before they settled.
Minutes passed under the rock, the wind battering on while they held.
Titus shifted beside him, digging into his pocket and pulling out the phone.
“Viper.” Low, urgent. Titus held the burner out, screen glowing against the wind.
Viper cupped his hand over Titus’s to steady the phone, their fingers pressed together by necessity. He leaned in, closing the small distance between them.
Titus thumbed it to speaker, head dipping close, breath mingling between them.
“Go ahead,” Titus said.
Law’s voice cracked through static. “Blackhawk’s down north of the valley. Wind shear’s too dirty for lift. Pilot’s holding position until it eases.”
“Is it Jim?” Viper asked, shifting his weight, bracing them both against a hard gust. If it was Jim Morgan, not much would’ve stopped that bird.
“No, Jim’s in SoCal,” Law growled. “We had to get a loaner pilot.”
“Military, though, yeah?” Titus asked.
“Yeah.”
Viper stayed close, leaning toward the phone. “What’s the ETA once it clears?”
“Twenty out for the first run. They’ll take Memphis and the asset first—light load.”
“How’s Barstow holding up?” Viper asked.
“Scared as hell, but he’s keeping it together.”
Titus looked over, a quick cut of blue eyes meeting his—brief, sharp, enough to pull Viper’s focus for a beat. “Any sign of the cartel?”
“Negative,” Law said. “Floodplain’s a mess.”
When the call ended, Viper eased his hand away first. His fingers slid from Titus’s—slow from the wind, and the contact lingered.
He felt every bit of it.
“They’ll take the first run,” he said, voice rough. “We’re second lift.”
Titus smirked. “Guess we’re walking?”
“Yeah, as soon as this shit dies down some,” he pulled his eyes from Titus’s and back to the terrain.
Whistling whirlwinds sent dust spiraling across the entrance, grit stinging the air.
Wind wasn’t uncommon this time of year, but this—this was a freak one.
Ten long minutes before it eased, and even then, Viper didn’t trust it.
He slanted a look at Titus—hunkered down beside him, quiet, alert. A fighter.
Titus kept his back to the granite, body coiled under the low rock shelf. Viper knew that stance—poised, lethal. Too damn compelling.
His own hand flexed on his thigh before he spoke.
“I didn’t mean for him to die.”
Titus looked over, eyes locking with his.
Up close, Viper caught the contrast—dark circling the pupil, brighter blue fanning outward.
Titus didn’t look away. Neither did he. The air between them thinned, sharp as a trigger about to break.
“You don’t have to say that,” Titus said quietly. “I should’ve stopped both of them before you had to.”
Viper’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed low.
“No. That shouldn’t have fallen on you.”
Titus held his gaze—just a second too long.
Long enough that Viper felt the air shift between them, sharp as a live wire.
For him, it was damn close to a moment—something he wanted more than he should admit.
Titus broke first.
A blink, a muscle ticking in his jaw—like he’d caught himself doing something he didn’t intend.
Then he looked away—fast—shutting whatever flickered there back behind armor.
The spell snapped.
Viper swallowed it down, forcing his breathing even as he shifted back against the rock.
Later, he’d think about what almost happened.
Right now, Titus clearly wasn’t thinking about it at all.
Titus dragged a hand through the grit beside him, fingers closing around a small stone.
He flicked it into the sand outside the overhang.
The tiny click echoed louder than the wind.
“Doesn’t change what they did,” Titus muttered, eyes dropping to the sand between his boots.
“No,” Viper said quietly. “But it changes what you’ve carried.”
Titus exhaled, rough, the sound swallowed by the shifting air.
“Blood doesn’t mean shit to me. I learned that the hard way.”
The words hit hard. Viper felt the man’s pain and curled his fist against his thigh to stay still.
He studied Titus’s face in the half-light—sharp, striking, damn near beautiful when he let his guard slip.
“Then what does?” Viper asked.
Titus’s gaze lifted, swirling, at odds with his calm voice.
“Control. Discipline. Relying on myself. The rest’ll get you killed.”
“It sounds like you don’t trust.”
Those blue eyes snapped back to him.
“Not many.”
“I hope I’m one of them.” His voice came out lower, rougher than he meant.
A small smirk tugged at Titus’s mouth—quick, unreadable, but oh so fucking dangerous.
“You’re getting there.”
The words hit hard—Titus was starting to trust him.
Viper kept his face carefully blank.
Titus shifted some, brushing grit from his palms, turning away like the conversation hadn’t mattered.
But it had. For him.
Viper’s gaze ran over Titus before he could stop it.
The space between them felt different now—no longer crackling with hostility, but still charged.
Whatever shift had just happened—it wasn’t going away.