Chapter Twenty-One
Something woke Viper.
Not noise.
Not danger.
Titus—moving against him in the dark.
Heat.
Breath.
A low, broken sound Viper had never heard from him.
He reached for Titus without thinking. Rolled with him. Pulled him under.
The rest was heat and hands and quiet desperation—
a tangle of strength and surrender—
until the city beyond the glass blurred to black
and nothing existed except the man in his arms.
Daylight filtered through the penthouse curtains—thin, pale lines slipping across the silk sheets, climbing slowly over skin and shadow.
Viper surfaced on a breath.
The first thing he registered was warmth.
The second was the weight pressed lightly against his side—Titus, curled in, an arm thrown low across Viper’s stomach like he’d meant to pull back but hadn’t made it in time.
When Viper shifted, the hilt of his knife brushed his knuckles—a reminder he’d tucked it under the pillow after their second round. Not because he didn’t trust Titus—he did—but unfamiliar surroundings meant he needed to be ready. Ready to move. Ready to protect the man beside him.
His other hand rested on Titus’s hip. He left it there.
Last night hadn’t been gentle—they’d both been too hungry for anything but raw need.
But this—this quiet—felt even more dangerous, because he had no idea what the man would do with daylight between them.
Titus shifted in his sleep, jaw slack, breath catching in that way he now recognized—as if the man were dreaming himself somewhere worse.
Viper tightened his hand, trying to comfort Titus without waking him. It worked. The tension eased out of the man’s chest—just a fraction.
But Viper felt it.
He stared up at the ceiling, jaw set, heart beating slow and heavy.
Christ.
He’d known they’d be dynamite together; he just hadn’t realized how explosive.
He damn sure hadn’t planned on jumping the man’s bones—okay, that was a lie—but he was glad he did.
And the sight of Titus beside him—unguarded, and closer than ever before—hit him with a force that felt like truth.
And truth meant his life was changing, even if he wasn’t prepared for it.
But he’d take that change and everything it meant…as long as Titus was on board.
Hell, he’d felt the spark between them from the moment they’d clashed during the op at Dave’s estate. Now? He wasn’t going to fight it any longer.
All he had to do was get through the barriers Titus had erected and convince him to give an old, war-worn soldier a chance.
Titus woke slowly—eyes half-lidded, confusion flickering before memory settled. Viper saw the moment the guard slid back into place. The subtle shift in his breathing. The way his gaze cut away.
But he didn’t bolt.
Small miracles.
Viper pushed up on an elbow. “Coffee?”
Titus blinked at him. “You make coffee?”
Viper snorted. “I make excellent coffee.”
He let that hang—just enough of a challenge to spark something.
Titus’s mouth curved, suspicious. “Says who?”
“Everyone who’s had it.”
“So…no one.” Titus’s brow quirked, blue eyes swimming with humor.
Viper stared—he couldn’t help it. Holy hell, save him from sexy sleep-rumpled men in the morning.
Correction: one sleep-rumpled man.
“Keep talking,” he said, sliding out of bed—away from temptation and the desire for a repeat performance of last night, “and I’ll make the shitty kind.”
That earned him the faintest huff—a ghost of a laugh. Titus followed him out of bed a beat later—watching him, still wary, but not as distant.
Viper would take it.
He aimed to keep those eyes on him for as long as possible.
Viper pulled on his dress slacks and shrugged into his dress shirt, not bothering with the buttons, before tucking his Sig beneath the fabric. Titus slid into the same pants but stayed shirtless, unbothered, and lifted his own weapon off the nightstand.
The man’s ink was gorgeous. A cross sat at the base of his throat, the upper tip centered between his collarbones, wings fanning wide across his chest in bold black lines. Further down, a separate piece—skull and dark wings—spread over his lower abdomen, sharp, dangerous, unmistakably him.
After a sweep of his eyes, Viper headed for the penthouse kitchen—barefoot, hair still a mess, already hunting down beans and a grinder. Titus followed at a slower pace, coming to rest against the doorjamb.
Viper glanced over his shoulder. “You cook?”
“I can,” Titus replied, moving over to sit at the counter—an island bar in the middle of the kitchen. He placed his Ruger on the counter and folded his arms loosely—not defensive, exactly, just braced. “Whether I will is another matter.”
Viper gave a smug smile. “I’m better.”
Titus’s eyes narrowed, the spark catching. “We’ll see.”
It was nothing—light, stupid, almost domestic. But it shifted something.
Eased the tension.
Made space.
And the “we’ll see” meant there would be a next time. Whether that meant another meal or another night together remained to be seen, but he’d take the promise.
Viper walked to the fridge and pulled out eggs—pausing when Titus came up behind him. Titus opened the freezer, grabbed frozen sausage patties, then moved to the microwave in true bachelor style.
“So, tell me about this op,” Viper said, setting a skillet on the stove and cracking eggs into it.
“The asset—Evan Barstow—ran across some numbers he wasn’t supposed to see,” Titus said, arranging the patties on a plate. “That led to a bigger fish. The cartel was only the middleman. Clifford Hale answers to someone above him—someone we haven’t identified yet.”
“And you learned all this, how?” Viper asked, poking at the eggs with a spatula.
“Through Savage. The SecDef got the intel on Hale. We were initiated…” Titus’s voice dipped as he stuck the sausage in the microwave. “I—we didn’t cut you out.”
“I didn’t think for a minute you did.”
“Why?” Titus spun on him, chin tipped up, fire in his eyes. “You left me in the desert.”
“Correction,” Viper growled. “I did not. I wasn’t flying that damned chopper. When I came to, I came back for you.”
Titus froze. “Wait…what?”
“I came back for you.”
“I know that part—you were knocked out?” Titus’s eyes ran over him, assessing, worried. Viper tried not to show how fucking pleased it made him that Titus cared.
“Yeah. It was roughly fifteen minutes before we got back to your location. I combed the desert all that night and into the next day…” His voice cut out. He cleared his throat and stabbed at the eggs. “I couldn’t find you.”
Before he turned the eggs into sand, Titus stepped in beside him and gently took the spatula from his hand, flipping them with practiced ease.
“Thank you.”
The words punched at him. Not because of the gratitude—but because they sounded heartfelt. Like Titus was grateful they’d come back for him at all.
Their gazes collided—locked, held.
Viper clenched his teeth and silently swore that over the next few days, if he did nothing else, he’d prove to Titus he’d always come for him.
He brushed the tip of his finger across Titus’s mouth—light, instinctive.
The man’s breath paused—just for a second before he turned back to the pan.
Clearly, Titus was attracted to him. But the distance was still there.
Yet something warm threaded through it now—quiet, unexpected, dangerous in a new way.
Titus shot him a quick glance.
“So… a Kensington…” he said quietly.
Viper lifted a brow. “You say that like you already know.”
“I do.”
“Did you research me?”
“Guilty,” Titus admitted, almost sheepishly.
A slow grin pulled at Viper’s mouth. “You probably don’t know the half of it.”
“Tell me.” Titus placed eggs and sausages on two plates and carried them to the bar.
Viper refilled both of their coffee cups and then took a seat. “I was raised on a ranch in Texas with eight siblings.”
Titus’s eyes went wide, and the eggs on his fork paused midair. “Eight?”
“Mhmm.”
“Are you the oldest?”
“I am.”
“What was it like?” Titus leaned in, blue eyes bright. “Chaos and mayhem?”
Viper found himself enchanted. “Mostly barn dances and fist fights.”
“No way.” Titus laughed—full and warm—the sound filling the kitchen, breaking something open in Viper’s chest.
He watched the laugh fade into something softer on Titus’s face, a quiet, unguarded flicker.
“I’m serious,” he said, smiling despite himself. “It has to be experienced to be believed. I’ll take you sometime.”
Titus’s gaze snapped to him—open, honest in a way he didn’t seem to realize. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Before Viper could reply, Titus reached out—casual, unthinking—and slid the coffee closer to him.
A tiny gesture.
Nothing.
Everything.
Warmth slid through his ribs, settling deep as he lifted the cup and took a sip.
Christ, this man was going to undo him.
A soft chime sounded—impossible to ignore. It broke the moment between them.
Titus stiffened, hand sliding toward the Ruger on the counter.
Viper felt the air change, pressure tightening along his spine as his Sig came free in a quiet, familiar draw.
Titus crossed to the foyer, checked the peephole—then groaned under his breath.
“What?” Viper asked, though he already had a pretty good guess.
The door swung open.
Law stood in the hall. Sage beside him. And behind them—Memphis, Syx, and Vale—clustered together like they’d been mid-disagreement before ringing the bell.
Sage breezed in without waiting, tablet under one arm, laptop in the other, curls falling forward like this was exactly the outcome he’d predicted.
“I told you,” Sage said, smug, cutting through what had almost been a calm morning. “They weren’t far away.”
Titus opened his mouth, then shut it again, eyes widening a fraction as he went still. Realization hit—bare chest, rumpled hair, loose slacks hanging low on his hips. His shoulders snapped back, like he could will a shirt onto his body through sheer force.
Amusement flickered in Viper’s eyes, but he held back a smile.
Memphis stepped inside, eyes sweeping the kitchen, then the distance between the two of them, cataloguing every detail like evidence.
“Viper,” he said slowly, sounding almost impressed.
Law stepped in behind Sage, silent as ever. His gaze slid to the two coffee mugs on the island, the half-eaten food, then to the tense, small space between Viper and Titus—taking in everything in a single, precise sweep.
Syx huffed out a breath. “Well… damn.”
Vale didn’t say a word. He just lifted a brow—an entire assessment embedded in the smallest motion.
Breath hissed out of Titus, the kind reserved for someone choosing between homicide and exile.
Sage, unfazed, was already setting up his laptop on the island. “We’ve got intel.”
“Wait for me,” Titus said, stalking down the hallway. A moment later, he reappeared, tugging a black T-shirt over his head.
Sage was already spinning the laptop toward him. “So,” he announced. “Here’s what we’ve got.”
Viper stepped in closer, one shoulder brushing Titus’s—who didn’t move away.
Sage tapped the screen. “So, remember Hale’s little party invite from last night?”
A new window opened—movement logs, time-stamped.
“0500 this morning,” Sage continued. “He made three encrypted calls, all routed through a shell company we’ve been tracking. Ten minutes later, a private message went out confirming tonight’s event is definitely high-profile.”
Memphis leaned in. “Security?”
“Thick,” Sage said. “Private detail, metal detectors on the main floor, but—” he flipped to another screen “—the executive level upstairs is totally dark. No cameras. No floor plan.” His gaze flicked to Titus. “And Hale tagged your name to the access list for that floor.”
Viper’s jaw ticked. “Alone?”
“No.” Sage pointed at a line of text. “He specifically noted: ‘Titus Harrington and fiancé.’”
Syx made a low sound. “That’s deliberate.”
“Yeah, the rest of us beautiful people will have to stay downstairs,” Law said, his eyes on Sage.
Vale’s eyes narrowed on Titus. “I don’t like you going up there alone.”
“He won’t be alone,” Viper rasped, gaze cutting to Vale. His irritation must’ve bled through, because Memphis and Law both tensed—and Vale felt it, that much was clear.
He could end this here, clean and final—if he was willing to pull his family into it. He wasn’t.
Vale’s jaw set. His gaze didn’t drop.
Viper wanted to order the man to back the hell off, but he kept his cool, letting the moment sink in. When Vale finally looked away, Viper turned back to the screen.
“What else?” he growled at Sage.
This was Titus’s op, and the quick flash of irritation in his eyes said he hadn’t missed him stepping in.
Not that he would take over—but Vale was getting on his nerves, and asking questions was a better option than putting the guy through a wall.
Sage scrolled. “Financial activity spiked at 0413. Someone above Hale greenlit funds—his calls line up as a direct response.”
Titus breathed out slowly. “So, Hale called the head guy.”
“Yup,” Sage said. “We don’t have the name yet. The call routed through a ghost node—no registered owner, no metadata.”
Rhett’s phone buzzed once. He checked it, jaw tightening. “Recall order.” His gaze flicked to Viper—waiting. Viper gave a single nod, and Rhett was already reaching for his jacket.
“Figures,” Memphis muttered.
Law didn’t comment—just tracked Rhett’s movement like it mattered.
Once the door closed, the room settled, and Viper turned back to Sage.
“So, we’re walking into this party blind and don’t know a damn thing about the top-tier threat.”
“Pretty much.” Sage offered a cheerfully grim shrug. “Also, the dress code is ridiculous, just saying.”
Viper ignored that.
Titus didn’t. “We’re going,” he said, voice low, flat—taking the reins back like he’d never let go.
Sage nodded. Memphis didn’t argue. Vale’s agreement was silent but unmistakable.
Viper felt the decision settle in the room—heavy, inevitable.
Titus looked at him then, eyes meeting his. “And you’re going with me.”
Viper held the gaze.
“Damn right I am.”
They were doing this together—no matter what.