Chapter Fifteen
New York hit him like a wall—glass, steel, noise layered over more noise. Cabs blared. Sirens wailed in the distance. The winter wind knifed down the avenue, cutting through his jacket, carrying the sour tang of exhaust and the heat of too many damn people in one place.
Viper hated cities.
Too many blind corners.
Too many people who didn’t look up.
Too much chaos you couldn’t shoot your way out of.
He stepped off the curb outside the arrivals terminal, boots splashing through a shallow puddle.
He hadn’t bothered changing—same matte-black jacket, boots still marked with desert grit, duffel slung over his shoulder.
He didn’t give a damn that he looked like he’d walked straight off the ranch and into Manhattan.
He had one objective.
Find Titus.
Just over a week—nothing but the fuck off, then silence clawing at him.
Eleven days since the desert. Long enough to make any man restless.
No messages. No calls. No trace.
Just a cold absence where Titus should’ve been.
It had taken too many days to arrange for time off—he’d had to go through a few channels, but in the end, Will had made the executive decision.
The phone call from William Caldwell hadn’t been pleasant. He was still feeling the aftereffects of that.
“Losing a man in the goddamned desert?” Will had raged.
Viper had taken it in silence. What could he have said? He deserved no less and took everything the SecDef threw at him.
“Your only saving grace is that you were knocked out and not flying that chopper,” Will growled.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” he said for the third time.
Will sighed. “Your vacation request is approved. Take the next two weeks off—and that’s an order.”
He’d grinned then. An hour later, he was on a plane.
A horn blared behind him, snapping the memory clean in half.
He shoved into a waiting ride-share like it offended him, muttered the address to the driver, and stared out the window as New York blurred past.
Oversized billboards flashed in neon color. People surged across crosswalks like tides breaking. The city skyline towered above him, lights against the dark sky—a glittering fortress he had no intention of bowing to.
He checked the time.
Almost midnight.
Titus would be awake.
Titus was always awake.
The car turned down a narrow street lit in gold. Valets moved like shadows between black SUVs. A velvet rope ran along the entrance of a towering glass building—sleek, modern, expensive in the way that made his jaw tighten.
Of all the places Titus could be—
This?
A fucking nightclub?
This wasn’t his world.
Except… maybe it was.
And there’d been no reason in hell he’d have seen it coming.
He clenched his teeth as he stepped out of the car. The driver said something—thank you, have a good night, whatever—but Viper was already walking, boots hitting the pavement with that same lethal rhythm that made men on ops fall silent.
Walt had given him an address. Nothing more.
He’s in there. Don’t do anything stupid.
Right.
Too late.
Viper stepped toward the entrance, heat rising beneath his collarbone—something rough he didn’t want to name.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected.
But it damn sure wasn’t this.
He moved toward the velvet rope, eyes narrowed, clocking exits, security, layout—running threat assessment without thinking.
Then a bouncer stepped cleanly into his path—broad shoulders, suit, trained. Didn’t even flinch at Viper’s look.
“Sir, this event is private.”
Viper didn’t bother answering.
How the hell had Titus gotten inside?
This wasn’t a place you strolled into.
It was curated wealth.
Names on lists.
Faces recognized.
Titus didn’t fit that—
not the Titus he knew, the one with sand in his hair and blood under his nails.
The same man who raided fridges and cursed like breathing.
Viper stepped back from the rope.
Breaking a civilian just to get through a door wasn’t on the table.
Sliding out his phone, he hit the one number that would get him inside without turning this into a problem.
Without making it anyone else’s problem.
Pierce Kensington.
The line barely rang once.
“Reid?” Pierce’s voice came smooth, warm, and amused—because Pierce was always amused. “Tell me you’re not bleeding on a sidewalk somewhere.”
“I’m in Lower Manhattan,” Viper said. “I need you to pick me up.”
A pause. Pierce’s tone sharpened—intent replacing humor.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just need to get in somewhere.” He closed his eyes briefly. “A place called Aurelia. Private event. I’m not dressed for the list.”
Pierce hummed low—the kind of sound he made when he was already solving the problem.
“Stay put. I’ll be there. Twenty-five minutes tops. Traffic’s a bitch.”
The line clicked off.
He barely had a second of quiet before his phone rang again.
Not Pierce.
Not Titus.
Memphis.
“Yeah?” Viper answered.
“Where the hell are you? You left the ranch like your ass was on fire.”
Viper scrubbed a hand over his jaw, cleared his throat. “New York City.”
“Because?”
“Just handling something.”
“Sure you are… well, I’m here.”
“Here as in?” Viper frowned.
“New York.”
A short huff escaped him—half laugh, half exhale.
Of course, Memphis had followed him. His own damn fault. He should’ve said something before he took off.
“I’ll send you an address and access code to my brother’s place. I should be there in half an hour.”
He texted Memphis the address to Pierce’s penthouse.
A beat.
“Got it… and Viper—”
“What?”
“Don’t forget—friends don’t let friends do stupid shit alone.”
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.