Chapter Nineteen
Titus’s gaze dropped to Viper’s feet, froze, then snapped back up.
“Are you wearing combat boots with Brioni?” he hissed.
Viper’s mouth tugged—slow, dangerous. “Apparently.”
His hand stayed clamped around Titus’s arm—firm, deliberate, not giving an inch.
Titus glared at the grip, then at him. Heat under it.
Challenge.
Something Viper had no business wanting.
But he did. Desperately.
“Excuse us,” Viper told Hale—and the entire table—voice smooth as polished steel.
Hale blinked, caught off guard. Vale shifted, subtle but ready. Syx’s stare sharpened. Ocean paused mid-martini sip.
Titus opened his mouth—probably to argue.
Viper didn’t let him.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Hale asked.
“No, we’ll be right back,” Viper said, and the smile he gave Hale was all teeth—civilized veneer, lethal core.
Vale and Syx tensed, staying in character.
“Stand down,” Titus told them.
Good thing.
Viper drew Titus away from the group and toward the dim corridor off the main lounge. Titus didn’t stumble—he never stumbled—but he jerked once, sharp and offended.
“Let go,” he snapped under his breath.
“No.”
The hallway swallowed the word whole.
Titus’s eyes flared—ice-blue, furious, gorgeous. “You don’t get to drag me around.”
“You’re the one who called me your fiancé,” Viper said, voice low and edged.
Titus’s jaw flexed. “That was for Hale. Not for—”
Viper didn’t stop until they were half-hidden in the narrow security alcove, light cutting across Titus’s cheekbone, shadow slipping down the line of his throat.
Music thumped through the floor—muffled now.
Voices blurred.
Heat pressed between them like a third body.
Viper stepped in. Close.
Close enough to feel the breath Titus was trying—and failing—to steady.
He hadn’t crossed a continent for Titus just to stand there and pretend he didn’t want him.
“Titus,” he said quietly. “Kiss me.”
And every shred of discipline he had left frayed to threads.
Titus’s hands came up fast—gripping the sides of Viper’s face.
They fit together too easily—no angle to adjust, no space to breathe—just need dragging them closer.
Then Titus yanked him in, and the kiss slammed into him open-mouthed and hard, almost painful—a violent pull of heat and fury.
Viper answered in the only way he could—his hand sliding to the back of Titus’s head, fingers locking in, dragging him closer, holding him there.
Titus didn’t fight it.
He leaned into it—into him—and the kiss shifted, easing, slowing, deepening.
Still fierce.
Still claiming.
So fucking possessive, Viper felt it all the way down to bone.
Viper nudged deeper, tongue sweeping inside—not forcing, not taking, just testing—expecting Titus to meet him with teeth or temper.
Instead, Titus let him in with a low, harsh groan that shuddered between them.
Heat. Wet. Decadent.
Slow enough to feel every inch of it.
Viper’s head swam.
The kiss was everything he’d imagined…
and still nowhere near enough for the hunger tearing through him.
The kiss broke and reformed—slower, heavier—Titus breathing against his mouth like he couldn’t get enough.
Viper didn’t think. Couldn’t.
He slid his arms around Titus, hands curving down, gripping the man’s ass hard and hauling him closer.
“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat.
Viper eased his mouth away, his forehead still pressed to Titus’s for one suspended beat, then he guided Titus aside—neither of them had realized they were blocking the entrance to the back room.
Titus met his eyes in the dim light…and shoved him.
Not angry—just a give me a second, need space kind of shove.
Viper stepped back, but not far. The taste of Titus still clung to his mouth; he licked it away, wanting him all over again.
“I have an op I have to take care of. You can’t be here,” Titus whispered, harsh and low.
“I’m not leaving,” Viper said—more truth than smirk—lifting a finger to sweep along Titus’s bottom lip.
Titus sucked in a breath and backed up a step.
Then his spine snapped straight—ramrod straight—and Viper had to press his lips together to keep from laughing under his breath.
Titus squinted at him, hesitating for a beat before he hissed, “Okay—you can stay. But you follow my orders.”
Viper couldn’t stop the slow smile that curled up—not even to save his life.
Titus gnashed his teeth, that small click so damn telling.
Viper caught the quick sweep of Titus’s tongue—zeroed in on it—and Titus gave a low growl before spinning back the way they’d come.
Viper reached out, catching his arm to slow him, then slid an arm around his shoulders as they stepped back into the noise and heat of the club.
“Relax, or he’ll know something’s up,” Viper murmured, his mouth brushing Titus’s temple as they made their way back to the table.
He still didn’t know what the op was, but now that he was Titus’s fiancé, he figured he’d have plenty of time to hear all about it.
As they stepped out of the rear hallway and into the noise again, Titus kept his voice low—barely a breath.
“That’s Vale,” he muttered. “Erebus. Don’t look.”
Viper didn’t.
He swept the room with a practiced glance instead, catching the man in his periphery—tall, elegant, still in a way only assassins ever managed.
Right.
Titus’s op.
The club hit him again—bass rolling through the marble, lights strobing soft gold over the crowd
Titus walked beside him, color high in his throat—clearly keyed up, very much not settled.
The YA at the table caught sight of them first.
Sage’s brows shot up.
Ocean froze mid-sip, glass hovering at his lips.
Syx went still, assessing in a way that bordered on predatory.
Vale didn’t blink.
And Hale—Hale looked up slowly, eyes dragging over the two of them as if cataloging every flushed line, every shifted breath, every micro-second they’d been gone.
Viper slid his hand to the small of Titus’s back. Subtle. Claiming. Necessary.
Titus didn’t shove it off. Not yet.
Hale’s smile curved. Polished. Curious. A little too knowing.
Viper reminded himself—this was Titus’s op. Keep it simple.
“Hale,” he said evenly. “I trust my friends have introduced themselves.”
Memphis dipped his head—respectful and watching.
Rhett gave a slight nod, posture easy but coiled underneath.
Law didn’t bother pretending; he just grunted.
Hale’s gaze passed over each of them, but lingered when Sage leaned forward, arm draped across the back of the booth. Sage flashed a grin—light, charming, dangerous in its own way.
“Hale was just entertaining us with stories from Titus’s college days,” Sage said.
Hale smiled and watched Sage like a man considering the menu.
Law shifted an inch closer to Sage—the move was small, but unmistakable.
Hale’s eyes cut back to Titus, lingering too long. Viper felt the first spark of jealousy hit—sharp, unwelcome, very real.
Titus registered Hale’s attention—Viper saw it in the quick flick of his eyes, the jaw tightening. Interesting.
Hale leaned back, one arm stretching along the seat, his gaze never leaving Titus.
“You should come to my private party tomorrow night,” he said lightly. “Bring your beautiful people.”
His gaze flicked to Viper.
Then to Sage.
“We’ll see,” Viper said, each word cold enough to frost glass.
Hale’s mouth twitched. Amused. Testing.
“We’ll be there,” Titus said—shooting him an annoyed look.
Titus’s words undercut Viper’s frost cleanly enough to sting.
Viper grimaced. Damned op.
Hale caught it—of course, he did—and his smile edged wider.
The table shifted, tension coiling tight.
Titus slid back into the curved leather booth first, and Viper followed—close enough that their knees brushed under the table. Not hard. Not accidental. Titus didn’t move away.
Viper caught Syx shift his stance—subtle, protective—keying off the tension rolling off Titus.
Vale, meanwhile, watched Hale with a still, patient focus that put Viper on alert.
Ocean sat perched at the edge of the booth, curls falling into his eyes, studying every shift in the room like it mattered.
Hale’s smile returned, slow. “And your fiancé will be attending?”
He nodded toward Viper.
Viper didn’t hesitate. “I go where Titus goes.”
The line settled across the table like a dropped blade.
Hale took it in—every word, every implication—before his smile returned, faint and unreadable. “How interesting.”
A small change flickered across Titus’s face—a tightening at the corner of his mouth, heat Viper recognized instantly.
Pleased.
Titus buried it fast, looking away like he hadn’t slipped. But Viper knew better.
He wanted to reach for Titus again.
Wanted too many things.
Hale’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, expression tightening minutely, then excused himself with a polished smile and stepped away from the table—toward a quieter alcove.
The second he was out of earshot, Titus exhaled and dropped his head into his hand, fingers pressing the bridge of his nose. “What the hell are you doing here?” he muttered.
Viper leaned in, voice low. “You kissed me. I’m staying.”
Titus lifted his head, eyes blazing. “That wasn’t a kiss.”
Viper’s mouth curved—slow, knowing, infuriating. “Then you’re going to have to show me the difference.”