Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was nearly full light when Viper reached the estate.
He took the stairs two at a time.
Rip, Memphis, and Syx moving through the estate with quiet efficiency.
No shouting. No chaos. Just the low hum of a site that had already been breached, but still slept.
“Sage discovered the estate is owned by Lawrence Radcliffe,” Law said, falling into step beside him. “The guy let his nephew use it while he was out of the country.”
Viper frowned. Radcliffe was a conglomerate. Old money. “Is he in on it?”
“No. Radcliffe’s clean. But the nephew is knee-deep in this shit.”
Viper nodded and turned toward the service corridor.
The door to the room was already ajar—Viper pushed it the rest of the way open.
The smell hit first—iron and antiseptic, blood scrubbed but never erased. It lived in the grout, the concrete, the corners where light didn’t quite reach.
Viper stopped just inside the threshold.
The scene spoke fast.
Blood—but not sprayed. No panic patterns. No wild angles. Bodies neutralized where they stood. Clean gunshots. Minimal waste. No unnecessary damage.
Precision.
A reckoning.
“This was deliberate,” Law said quietly.
Viper’s gaze stayed on the bodies. “This was a decision.”
Law crouched beside one of the dead men, eyes tracking angles, distances, timing. “He was in control.”
“Always seems to be,” Viper replied.
That was the part people missed. They saw Titus’s temper and mistook it for volatility. They never looked close enough to see the restraint underneath—the discipline it took to hold the line when crossing it would have been easier.
Law straightened, his gaze flicking to Viper. “You know he’s standing on an edge.”
Viper didn’t answer right away.
What could he say? That he hoped to God Titus hadn’t finally lost it? With his past—with his brothers—and now little girls and monsters wearing human faces, Viper wouldn’t blame him if the line had blurred.
But blame wasn’t the same as permission.
Viper moved on. Thank fuck the girls were already gone—safe, extracted, wrapped in someone else’s care. Vale had handled that cleanly. Professional. No loose ends.
The phone came next.
Viper scrolled through it. Burner numbers. Dead ends stacked on purpose.
Then a name surfaced.
A city official.
Paper-clean. Untouchable. The kind of man who smiled for cameras and never set foot in rooms like this.
Viper cross-referenced without a word, then handed the phone to Law. “Look at this.”
“I’ll get Sage on it.”
Viper acknowledged it without comment.
This wasn’t proof.
Not yet.
But it was enough to know where the rot might start.
Law connected to Sage.
“What’s up?”
“See what you can find. I’ve got a phone.”
“Stand real still,” Sage said seriously.
“Smartass,” Law muttered, and Sage laughed.
Law routed the perp’s phone through his secure line, passing the data cleanly.
A moment later, Sage came back.
“Well, this is a mess of ghost accounts. Financial routing designed to disappear into paperwork and time. But I’m seeing transfers layered through nonprofits.
Development funds. Calls that line up a little too neatly with known movement windows—timing that doesn’t scream guilt, but whispers proximity,” Sage rattled off.
“Sage,” Viper said quietly. “I need to know if the name on there is dirty.”
“I’m on it,” Sage said. “I’ll keep digging and send you what I find.”
The line went quiet.
Viper squinted at the room—and the damage Titus had left behind.
Law watched his face as he lowered the phone, tipping his chin toward the bodies. “This feels personal.”
“Yes,” Viper said. “But we can’t confirm shit off a name on a phone.”
Law studied him for a beat. “You’re worried Titus will decide before we confirm.”
“I’m worried he’ll decide alone.”
That earned a quiet nod. “You don’t usually talk like that about assets.”
“He isn’t one,” Viper said. The correction came fast. Clean. “And you know it. He’s Erebus.”
Law’s mouth tilted faintly. “Good news is, he listens when you speak. You don’t pull rank with him.”
Viper didn’t acknowledge it. That was between him and Titus.
Law locked the perp’s phone and set it on the dead man’s chest.
“So that name on the phone is big,” Law said. “Top dog. You think he’s dirty?”
“We’ll find out soon.”
That was the rule. Always had been.
They investigated first.
They didn’t kill on suspicion. They didn’t let history or proximity make the call.
And neither did Titus—no matter how close the fire burned.
Viper turned toward the corridor, already feeling the absence where Titus should’ve been.
Judgment had been rendered here.
But the outcome wasn’t finished yet.
Viper stepped away from the bodies and moved into the service corridor.
This wasn’t abandonment. This wasn’t a retreat. Titus didn’t disappear to run.
He’s hunting.
Which made it more dangerous.
Law followed.
“What now?”
“We find Titus,” Viper said, already on the move.
Titus stood across the street from the residence, half-shadowed by a leafless tree and a parked delivery van. Morning was settling in around him, the street still quiet, the house dark and asleep.
The structure rose, expensive and silent behind a low iron fence—old stone, tasteful lighting, security that assumed deterrence was enough. He knew this man.
Not by name at first. By presence. By the way power bent rooms without ever raising its voice. Years ago. Different city. A different set of locked doors. Men in suits who smiled while monsters did the work.
Rage lived in his chest, hot and familiar—but contained. It always was.
He wasn’t here to kill.
He was here to decide if killing would be justified.
Titus mapped the exterior without moving from his place in the shadows, blending in.
Cameras—four visible, two likely blind. Motion sensors tucked low near the hedges. Security rotations were clean but lazy, guards trusting systems more than instinct. No patrols overlapping.
He clocked entrances, exits, and the rhythm of the place. Watched lights cycle inside. Timed a side door that opened once, briefly, then sealed again.
Everything suggested involvement.
Nothing proved it.
The not knowing scraped at him harder than certainty ever had.
He’d crossed lines before. He knew exactly what that cost—how fast judgment could turn into something you couldn’t walk back. Not again. Not without proof. Not even with memories clawing their way up his spine.
Titus exhaled slowly, forcing the heat down, grounding himself in the work. He stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the house, letting the moment stretch instead of breaking it.
A presence shifted behind him—subtle, controlled, familiar enough that his shoulders loosened before his mind caught up.
“You planning on breaking our rules already?” Viper’s voice came low and even, close enough to feel without turning.
Titus didn’t spin. Didn’t reach. He let the breath leave his lungs and stay gone for a second longer than necessary.
“No,” he said. “I’m planning on confirming them.”
Viper stepped up beside him, not blocking his view, not claiming space—just aligning. Two silhouettes in the shade, facing the same house.
“Then we do it right,” Viper said.
“Together,” Titus agreed.
They regrouped at the SUV parked down the block, half-hidden beneath a line of bare trees.
Memphis leaned against the driver’s side, arms crossed, watching the street. Law stood near the rear, tablet tucked under one arm, eyes up.
Viper checked his weapon by feel, not looking at it. Magazine seated. Chamber clear. Muscle memory doing the work. “How are we planning to do this?”
Titus didn’t hesitate. “I’m knocking on the front door.”
Memphis let out a low sound. “Well. That’s one way to announce yourself.”
Law’s gaze sharpened. “You sure that’s smart?”
Titus met Viper’s eyes. “I know him.”
That stilled the space.
Viper studied him for a beat. “Define know.”
“Family acquaintance,” Titus said. “Friend of my parents. Dinners. Fundraisers. Vacations where nothing bad was supposed to happen.” His jaw set. “He’s known me since I was a kid.”
Memphis straightened. “So, he’ll recognize you.”
“Yes.”
“And that helps us how?” Law asked.
“It gets me inside without alarms,” Titus said. “Without forcing anything. Without tipping him off that we’re onto him.”
Viper weighed the angles, eyes never leaving Titus. “And if he is dirty?”
“Then he won’t call the police,” Titus said. “He won’t run. He’ll try to control the situation.”
Memphis’s mouth tilted. “Because that’s what men like him do.”
“Exactly.”
Viper checked the street once more, then locked his gaze back on Titus.
“If he’s clean, we walk,” Titus said. “No blood. No mistakes.”
Law nodded slowly. “That tracks.”
“You ever drop by before?” Viper asked.
“Not since college,” Titus said, tucking his Ruger up under his shirt. “Before that? Often.”
Viper didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to keep it private without excluding the others. “You’re not doing this alone.”
“I know,” Titus said.
Viper held his eyes a second longer, then stepped back. “Memphis, you’re overwatch. Law, you’re with me.”
Titus turned toward the house, already moving. “Give me ten minutes.”
Viper watched him go, tension tight but controlled.
Knocking on the front door wasn’t reckless.
It was personal.
And that made it dangerous in a different way.