Chapter Twelve
Erebus Headquarters—Undisclosed Location
The warehouse didn’t look like much from the outside—just another forgotten industrial shell baked by California sun, but the inside told a different story.
Reinforced beams. Sound-dampening walls.
Corridors framed in steel and shadow. Everything about it carried the quiet weight of men who’d done the kind of work no one admitted existed.
It had been three days since the desert. Long enough for the bruise to settle.
Long enough to pretend he didn’t care.
Titus climbed the metal stairs to the second floor, boots ringing once against the grated treads before the sound vanished into the concrete hush. Savage’s office sat at the end of the hall—frosted glass, heavy door, a place built for conversations that never made paper.
The door was cracked.
He heard Savage from inside, muttering low and sharp:
“I hate lying to Kensington.”
That stopped Titus on the threshold.
Kensington.
Viper’s real name.
Titus had picked it up the same way he learned everything else—quietly, through connections.
Savage didn’t mutter. And he sure as hell didn’t lie to Viper unless the ground was already shifting under all of them.
Titus pushed the door open with two fingers.
After a quick glance, Savage’s attention returned to the document in his hand.
Papers covered the desk—surveillance stills, financial printouts, and something that looked like a transfer ledger.
A storm lived in the man’s posture: shoulders taut, brow drawn, jaw flexing like he was grinding down a bad decision.
“Come inside and close the door,” Savage said.
Titus booted it shut behind him.
He stayed standing. Watching. Waiting. His blood still carried the hum of the Nevada op—the memory of the dust still in his throat, gunfire in his bones, command voices echoing where they didn’t belong. Being left out there had sunk deep—in unexpected ways.
For one hot second, the truth slipped past all the armor: it had fucking hurt.
More than it should have.
More than he’d ever admit out loud.
And now Savage looked like he had bad news.
Savage rubbed a hand over his forehead, shoulders tight—a man holding himself still by force.
Something was definitely off.
Titus felt it like static crawling under his skin.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Savage didn’t answer. Not right away. Not like Savage.
His boss sat too still. Too quiet. It put Titus on edge.
Pulling open his desk drawer, Savage retrieved and slid his cell phone and ID across the desk.
Titus had already destroyed the burner phone—it was protocol. He tucked his phone and license away just as the doorknob to the rear door of Savage’s office turned.
The door opened, and a man stepped through. Thirty-something, a newcomer—gorgeous, sharp, polished in that lethal Erebus way.
Savage jerked his chin toward the guy.
“This is Vale. He’s your new partner. You know the rules. No one runs solo.”
Vale crossed his arms, gaze alert, smirk definitely cocky.
A perfect assassin.
Beautiful in a way that read dangerous, not decorative.
Savage exhaled hard through his nose, shoved a stack of papers aside, and finally looked at Titus.
“Evan Barstow’s been talking.”
Titus didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “The accountant.”
“Yeah.” Savage tapped a finger against a printout—columns of numbers, routing data, transfer codes. “He’s scared out of his damn mind. Says he never should’ve seen certain transactions.”
Vale drifted closer, expression sharpening, eyes flicking over the paperwork like he was cataloging targets.
“The patterns don’t match cartel books,” Savage said, voice clipped. “Not even close.”
Titus frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning,” Savage said, pushing another file forward, “several of the accounts he accessed weren’t cartel-controlled at all. The laundering signatures are too clean.”
Titus’s jaw worked once. “So, who owns it?”
Savage leaned back in his chair—slow, deliberate, like he hated the answer before he even said it.
“That’s the problem.”
A beat.
“It appears to be… corporate.”
The word hung there like a loaded weapon.
Titus felt something cold slide through his spine. Corporate meant power. Structure. Untouchable money.
Vale’s gaze cut to Titus, assessing, silent.
Titus ignored him. “Corporate who?”
Savage shook his head. “We don’t know yet. But Evan keeps repeating the same thing—‘I never should’ve seen those transfers.’ He’s terrified.”
Titus stood a little straighter. “So not the cartel.”
Vale finally spoke, voice low. “He’s scared of someone cleaner. Someone bigger.”
Savage glanced at them both, then nodded once.
“Yes. And that someone isn’t the cartel.”
Before Titus could respond, the desk phone lit up.
Caller ID: W. CALDWELL
Savage picked it up.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ve got them both here.”
He punched the speaker—soundproof walls meant no one outside that room would hear a thing.
Titus stayed silent, watching Savage’s posture, listening to the tone—controlled, clipped, too carefully neutral.
Will’s voice carried just enough hard authority to hit like weight.
“Evan Barstow didn’t stumble into cartel accounting.
Those transfers he logged—they were routed through offshore shells tied to private consortia.
High-tier. Clean. Not drug money,” Will said, then after a beat, continued.
“Human trafficking. Facilitated by corporate players. Old money. Untouchable from the outside.”
“Christ,” Savage muttered.
“We’re talking names that can buy silence. Names with reach,” Will said quietly.
Savage’s jaw clenched. “What are the next steps?”
“I’m working on that. I will speak with Viper and have him keep the accountant secure at the ranch.”
“Do we know exactly who’s running the upper tier?” Savage asked.
“We do not currently have a name.”
“I know what we talked about earlier,” Savage said carefully, “but shouldn’t Genesis be looped in on this?”
“Very few people will be looped in. But not Genesis. At least, not now.”
Heat flashed through Titus’s chest—sharp, fast.
What the hell?
Not looping in Genesis was like playing piano with one hand—doable but fucking hard. He stayed silent, listening. Why was the SecDef leaving Viper out?
Titus hated fucking politics. And even if he was pissed at Viper, cutting him out felt like a shitty move.
Savage’s fist tightened once—quick, controlled—and then loosened. Barely noticeable.
But Titus saw it.
“Yes, sir,” Savage said. “So, then Erebus?”
“Yes. A few key players from Erebus and YA,” Will said. Then: “Take me off speaker.”
Savage lifted the phone to his ear, cutting Will’s voice off from the room.
After a moment, Savage’s gaze slid to him.
Once.
Sharp.
The one-sided conversation stretched on for several minutes.
“Understood,” Savage said at last, voice gone flat.
He disconnected the call and stared at the phone for a beat too long.
Silence pressed in.
Titus spoke first. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Savage leaned back, hands braced on the desk. “Will just informed me that the intel Evan Barstow gave us connects to someone with considerable reach.”
“Did he give a name?” Vale asked.
“No, but he should have a name within a few hours.”
Titus felt his stomach tighten. “So, when you said reach, you meant…?”
“I meant we’re out of the usual lanes,” Savage said.
Vale added softly, “This isn’t small-time. Whatever the accountant tripped over—It’s big.”
Savage stood, expression flattening into something that locked the room down.
“As soon as the SecDef gets us that name, I’ve got a job for you both.”
A beat.
“And you might not like it.”
Vale crossed his arms, gaze alert.
Titus didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look away.
He just nodded once.
“Tell us what you need.”
Savage laid out the next steps, but Titus barely caught half of it. His focus kept drifting back to the one order that had carried weight more than anything else.
Don’t loop Kensington in.
Keep shit hidden from Genesis.
A cleaner break, he supposed.
No more desert.
No more command tone slicing under his skin.
No more wondering why the hell Viper leaving him hit harder than any bullet.
This time, Titus would run the op without him.
Better that way.
Better for both of them.