Chapter Twenty-Two
Steam still clung to the room, softening the edges of the city noise outside.
Titus dragged a towel through his hair once, twice, then gave up—let it fall damp. Viper stood in front of the mirror, shirt buttoned, tie a mess, jaw freshly shaved, and too fucking sexy for Titus to look at for long.
“Come here.” Titus stepped in and caught the end of the tie before Viper could ruin it further.
Viper didn’t argue. Just watched him.
Close.
Too close.
Not close enough. Their shower tryst still clung to his skin, heat restless under his ribs. He was getting addicted to this man, and fast.
He focused on the knot—clean lines, steady hands, simple.
Or it should’ve been. Viper tipped his head a fraction, just enough that his breath ghosted over his cheek.
Then Viper’s mouth skimmed the line of scruff along his jaw—barely a touch, a slow pass like he was checking the finish on something he owned.
His fingers stalled, fumbled.
“Hold still,” he muttered, willing his cock to settle the fuck down. He tightened the knot harder than necessary.
Viper made a short, choking sound, and Titus couldn’t help the low chuckle that slipped out.
“You’re trouble,” Viper growled.
Titus tightened the knot one last time, fingers brushing the warm line of Viper’s throat. “You knew that when you got in my shower.”
Viper’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking under freshly shaved skin.
“Yeah,” the man murmured, eyes dropping to Titus’s mouth, “and I got in anyway.”
Heat crawled up his spine. Viper’s hand came to his hip—light, grounding, infuriatingly steady. Titus felt the warmth of it straight through the fabric, a slow brand that made his pulse kick.
“Mistake?” Titus asked, searching the man’s storm-colored eyes.
“Nope.” Viper’s hand dragged once along his waist, barely there and way too much.
Titus swallowed hard, breath catching before he masked it with a smirk. “We should go before you make us late.”
Viper didn’t move. “Me make us late?”
Strong arms pulled him flush. He could’ve gotten away—easily—but hurting Viper wasn’t in the cards.
“Okay… this…” Titus waved his arms as much as he could, gesturing to their locked bodies. “Makes us late.”
Viper’s smile was slow and pure sin. “I’m ready when you are.”
And then, calm as you please, Viper stepped back as if that charged bolt of electricity hadn’t just weakened him at the knees.
Titus’s stomach tightened—and yeah, the man was going to pay for that… later.
He stepped back, squinted, and schooled his expression before leading the way out of the bedroom dressing room—fully aware of Viper’s eyes locked on his ass. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, he caught the man in the act.
Viper smirked, smug and hot. “Have I said you look incredible tonight?”
“Oh god,” Titus groaned, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he bit back a laugh.
“Come here.” Viper crooked a finger.
Titus shook his head. “No.”
“I have a reason.”
That earned him a look—skeptical, wary. Titus stepped closer anyway.
Viper took his hand. No announcement. No flourish. He slid the ring from his own finger—the one he’d worn since college—and guided it onto Titus’s ring finger. The platinum band was heavy and understated, an emerald catching the light without begging for it. Old money in miniature.
It fit. Of course it did.
Titus stared at it, then lifted his gaze slowly. “Is this necessary?”
“Yes,” Viper said firmly.
A beat.
“Um…okay.” White, even teeth caught Titus’s lower lip.
“Now we’re ready,” Viper said smugly.
A knock hit the bedroom door, sharp and perfectly timed.
Vale’s voice came from the hall. “Car’s staged. You ready?”
Viper released Titus’s hand with visible effort. “Let’s go.”
Titus didn’t take his eyes off him, one brow lifting. “Let’s go.”
Viper saw the armor settle back into place and took his position at Titus’s side, where he intended to stay.
The limo eased to a stop at the curb, engine purring like something expensive and bored. Vale stepped out first, a massive silhouette cutting clean lines through the city glow. Syx followed, shoulders squared, suit stretched across muscle that made security take one careful step back.
Law stepped out next, calm and deliberate, followed by Memphis—broad shoulders, predatory ease, the kind of presence that made security reassess their odds.
Sage slid out after them, all polished confidence and quiet intelligence, Ocean at his side looking every inch the privileged young executive, Aspen trailing like a shadow with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
They spread naturally, practiced without looking like it.
Then the other rear door opened.
Titus stepped out into the wash of light and winter-cold air—and conversation on the sidewalk faltered. Old-money elegance wrapped itself around him the way it always had: tailored black suit, jaw shadowed, curls tamed just enough to look intentional. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.
Viper unfolded from the limo behind him like he owned the night.
Tall. Controlled. Lethal in a suit that fit like it had been engineered to make people stare.
Clean-shaven jaw, storm-colored eyes, posture all command—the kind of presence that made men straighten and women forget what they were saying mid-sentence.
The doormen’s gazes dipped without realizing they’d done it.
Genesis flanked them—Vale and Syx ahead, Vale sliding in close, the rest an unspoken perimeter.
They didn’t walk into the event estate.
The crowd parted for them.
Heads turned.
Envy rippled.
Most of the people on the steps weren’t criminals—just old-money donors and board-level elites who thought this was another glittering charity night.
Cameras rose—then lowered, because money recognized something bigger than itself when it saw it.
Viper’s hand brushed Titus’s lower back as they crossed the threshold.
Not possessive.
Not gentle.
A quiet signal:
We move together.
And the doors opened for them like the city knew better than to get in their way.
Half the room only saw power and pedigree walking in—the kind of men who funded museums and endowments, not the kind who burned cities in the dark.
An hour later, the mood in the room had shifted.
Not everyone in the room knew a second world existed under the glitter—most of them would drink, laugh, donate, and leave untouched.
The ones who did moved differently.
Music ran lower and heavier. Jackets were unbuttoned. Masks loosened. This was the hour when some of the people stopped performing and started dealing.
Law stopped at Sage’s shoulder, closer than he needed to be. He was aware of it immediately—and didn’t correct it.
“You know I don’t need to stand this close,” Law said, voice low, even.
Sage heard the note under it. Not warning. Not an apology. He kept his eyes on the room, fingers turning the stem of his glass once. “Yet here you are.”
“Habit.”
That made Sage look at him.
Law met the glance without flinching, gaze steady, assessing—like he did everything else. For half a second too long, he didn’t look away.
“Since when?” Sage asked.
Law’s attention shifted back to the crowd, posture resetting into something neutral, professional. “Since tonight,” he said, as if it were nothing at all.
Sage watched him for a beat after that, pulse ticking just a little faster than before. He turned his eyes back to the room, jaw tightening faintly, mind catching on the space Law hadn’t vacated.
Whatever that was—it hadn’t been nothing.
Titus felt it in the air—the subtle tightening beneath the glamour. Law had shifted somewhere to his left, Sage’s posture sharper than it had been a moment ago.
Staff rotated with practiced timing, badges flashing and vanishing between passes. Escorts lingered in the corners like expensive shadows. Hale’s people had settled into patterns, and patterns meant intent.
Of course, the real players stayed quiet, buried among guests who would never know they were sharing a room with men who moved money in blood.
His people had settled into their own pattern—controlled, invisible, deliberate.
Ocean and Aspen mingled effortlessly among young executives near the balcony rail—bright smiles, sharp eyes, forgettable on purpose.
Sage had drifted a few steps deeper into the crowd again, glass in hand, gaze flicking between servers and access doors with the precision of a man running quiet code in his head.
Law had peeled off to the room’s edge beside Memphis—calm, unreadable, the kind of presence that made space without asking for it. Syx and Vale stayed within reach, a moving perimeter that never looked like one.
And at his shoulder—Viper stood, all clean heat and smoke beneath the polish.
The man moved through this world like he’d always belonged in it, quiet and watchful, reading the room with the same precision he brought to a battlefield. Every so often, Viper’s hand brushed his lower back in passing—steadying, grounding—subtle enough that no one watching would name it.
They weren’t hiding anymore.
Standing together like this had marked them—power, money, intent wrapped tight.
And they were being watched.
Viper leaned in just enough that only Titus could hear him.
“Eyes just shifted. Balcony, left.”
Titus didn’t look. He took another sip instead. “Hale?”
“Or someone who answers to him.”
Titus took a slow sip, eyes lifting to the upper balconies.
Something was about to shift.
Whatever was coming next was already in motion.