Chapter Twenty-Nine
John was the same as Titus remembered. A few more lines in his face, sure—but the smile that reached his eyes when they were shown inside looked genuine.
His gaze went straight to the ring on Titus’s finger.
Titus didn’t miss the way it shifted something in him—warmth edged with sudden interest.
“My fiancé,” Titus said easily. “I left him in the car.” He shrugged like it was nothing, like it happened all the time.
John’s brows lifted. “Then call him inside.”
Titus made a brief call. Moments later, Viper stepped through the front door.
“I didn’t mind waiting in the car,” Viper said mildly, as if the choice had always been his.
“Nonsense!” John laughed, already steering them away from the large study and into a smaller room off the entryway. “Any friend of Titus is a friend of mine.”
He waved Viper in like he belonged there, talking fast now—favors, services, anything he might ever need. The words came easy, but the gesture felt just a little too practiced.
“Stay for breakfast,” John added as they followed him, like the decision had already been made.
“Thank you,” Viper said smoothly. “We’d love to.”
Titus almost jolted when the man laced their fingers together and lifted his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He drew the line when Viper leaned in to kiss his fingers, stopping him with a subtle flex of his hand—a quiet warning.
Viper only grinned.
A goddamn sexy-as-sin grin that flashed silk sheets and sweaty nights through Titus’s head like heat off a match.
John laughed like he’d witnessed something harmless and sweet, then settled back into his armchair.
“Melody should have the food ready in fifteen,” he said. “Sit down, both of you.”
Titus sat with Viper beside him. Coffee arrived a moment later, the scent rich and familiar, and they sipped while John talked about the house—how long he’d had it, the work he’d put into it, the way the walls held history.
To Titus, the place felt a little shabby—like it hadn’t been cared for the way it should’ve been over the years—but he didn’t comment.
“I’m sorry about Shelly,” Titus offered. “I was out of the country. I couldn’t make it back for her funeral.”
“She would have understood,” John said, fondness softening his voice. “You know how she was.”
“Yes.” Titus’s mouth curved faintly. “I do.”
They were still reminiscing when Melody called from the hall that breakfast was ready.
“I’m going to sell this place,” John said as he took the seat across from Titus and Viper in the large dining room.
“I’m surprised you haven’t already,” Titus said.
Something strange flickered across John’s face—gone too fast to catch, but real enough to scrape at Titus’s instincts.
“You’ve lived here a long time,” Titus said, lifting his coffee again, watching John over the rim.
“I have,” John nodded, reaching for the bacon. The plate in the center of the table was heavy with it—crisp strips piled beside chopped potatoes and onions, still sizzling faintly, the grease popping once as his fingers closed around a piece.
“Eggs are just the way you like them,” Melody said as she set the plates down—scrambled in front of Titus and Viper, over easy for John, yolks trembling slightly as the dish met the wood.
“Thanks, Mel,” Titus said. She’d been with John and Shelly for years—long enough to feel permanent.
She glanced once toward the door, a quick, almost nervous check, then hurried out, her steps soft against the floor.
John smiled after her. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Titus thought the same. John was aging—seventies, maybe mid or late. Older than his parents by a few years. The house carried it, too, the quiet weight of time settling into the walls.
“I’m sorry about Tatum and Tanis,” John said.
“They were bad seeds,” Titus replied simply.
John hesitated—barely there, just a hitch—before he nodded. Titus caught it anyway.
Reaching for another strip of bacon, John looked at him with something like sadness. “Sometimes people are born good, but turn bad.”
“Yeah?” Titus said flatly. “I think we make our own choices.”
“I agree,” John said. “They chose that path. I just remember them as little boys—not bad men.”
Titus nodded, throat tightening as he swallowed. Beneath the table, Viper’s hand closed around his, a steady squeeze—warm, grounding.
It was hard to reconcile the man he’d grown up calling Uncle with the shape of what was unfolding now. But if John was one of the bad seeds, Titus couldn’t afford doubt.
“I remember teaching you how to drive,” John chuckled.
“I was twelve,” Titus snorted, laughter slipping out as he finally took a bite of his eggs—the fork scraping softly against the plate.
“Twelve?” Viper’s mouth dropped.
“It was unauthorized training,” Titus said, laughing at the look on his face.
“Your mom just about killed me when she found out,” John agreed.
“The only thing that saved you was the car,” Titus said.
“What about the car?” Viper squinted, curiosity creasing his brow.
“It was at the bottom of the lake.”
“What?”
Titus smiled, the memory warming briefly. “I took the corner at the old junction too fast and skidded out.”
“I’m sure some of this gray is from you,” John said, pointing at his hair.
“Oh, come on, Dad,” a voice cut in from the doorway. “From what I hear, you’ve been gray since you were young.”
A man Titus didn’t know stepped into the room. Not young, not old—maybe in his fifties. Thinning hair combed straight back, hawkish features, a sharply cut face. Tall, bordering on thin.
John stiffened. It wasn’t subtle.
The man stopped behind John’s chair and set a hand on his shoulder. Not gently—Titus clocked the indentation of fingers through the sweater John wore.
“Miles,” John said, voice dulling. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“I didn’t know we had company,” Miles replied, his gaze moving from Titus to Viper—slow, assessing.
“Just an old family friend passing through,” John said quickly.
“John…” Titus murmured. “I didn’t know you had a son.”
His thoughts were already racing.
“Stepson,” John said, eyes fixed on his plate.
“Me?” Miles said lightly. “I’m Shelly’s out-of-wedlock mistake.” He squeezed John’s shoulder once more before pulling out the chair beside him and sitting down.
The atmosphere shifted.
Not subtly.
Drastically.
Titus watched as Miles took over. The easy reminiscence between him and John was shoved aside as Miles launched into a monologue about his own success.
All the while he talked, he dictated how much food John had on his plate, then dragged his fork through the serving dish and claimed more than half the potatoes with a single, careless swipe.
Titus nodded occasionally, just enough to pass for polite attention—but he noticed when Miles stopped John from reaching for more bacon. The grip on the older man’s arm made John flinch. When the sweater sleeve slid upward, Titus caught sight of the bruise beneath it.
Not fresh.
Layered.
Old damage stacked on new.
This was senior abuse.
The rage hit hard—fast—and then escalated. It took Viper’s hand tightening around his beneath the table to keep Titus from snapping and driving the butter knife straight into the bastard’s throat.
Something moved to the right. A flicker of shadow near one of the side doors.
Titus looked up—and found himself staring into wide blue eyes. A little girl. Eight or nine, maybe.
Miles followed his gaze. His mouth tightened. “I thought I told you to stay in your room.”
She turned and ran.
“Who’s that?” Viper asked.
There was an edge in his voice now—cold, dangerous. Miles heard it, too.
“My daughter,” Miles said.
“She’s not allowed to eat?” Viper pressed. Titus couldn’t speak past the surge of fury climbing his chest.
Miles froze for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to matter. “Of course she is. Melody!” he barked.
Moments later, Melody hurried in. “Sir?”
“Take Wendy a plate,” he ordered, already dismissing her with a flick of his hand.
“Right away,” she said, her eyes cutting briefly to John before she hurried from the room.
Titus slipped his phone from his pocket and stood, circling the table.
Viper tracked him instantly—hawk-eyed, ready.
“Remember that science fair you and Shelly took us to?” Titus asked as he came around to John’s side.
John looked up at him, confusion clouding his face before he gave a small, unsteady nod.
“I scanned the photos online,” Titus said, then dropped into the chair on the other side of Miles.
Close.
Too close.
Personal.
He’d clocked the bulge in Miles’s jacket the second he’d entered the room.
Miles stiffened as Titus leaned across him and handed the phone to John. John took it with a trembling hand.
At the same moment, Titus drove his fist into Miles’s nose and stripped the gun from his coat in one clean motion.
Blood sprayed.
“Son of a bitch!” Miles screamed, clamping both hands over his face.
Viper was already up, weapon drawn, body angled toward the doorway.
Titus’s comms crackled in his ear, voices breaking through—Memphis, Law, Rip—but he ignored them, didn’t even register what Viper was saying as he relayed orders.
He lifted Miles’s own gun up under the man’s chin, forcing his head back with it.
“I’m going to ask questions,” Titus said evenly, “and you’re going to give me answers.”
“Are you the law?” Miles asked, voice thick with blood and fear.
“No,” Titus said. “I’m worse. I don’t work for the law. I work for people who remove scum from the earth. We operate outside it.”
Miles swallowed hard.
“Is the girl upstairs your daughter?” Titus asked. “Think very carefully before you answer.” He pressed the gun tighter.
Next to them, John sat frozen, fear etched into his face—alongside something that looked dangerously close to relief.
“No,” Miles rasped. “She’s not.”
“And are you responsible for what happened last night?” Titus gave him the address to the event.
Miles hesitated—just a beat—then nodded.
“And you knew about it?” Titus asked John.
“He—” John started, then cut himself off when Miles shot him a warning glare.
“No,” Titus snapped, teeth clenched. He stood and fisted the back of Miles’s hair, yanking his head back, the gun jammed tight. The cords in Miles’s neck stood out under the strain.
“Answer me,” Titus said softly to John. “It’s okay. Trust me. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Something in his voice—steady, certain—cut through.
“He’s using my money to do bad things,” John blurted.
And then it all came out.
The extortion of John’s retirement accounts.
Miles showing up after Shelly’s death.
The slow takeover of the estate—control enforced with threats, bruises, and fear—anyone in the house punished for resisting.
“So,” Titus said, staring down into the man’s face, “you’re a fucking bully.”
“It’s just business.”
“So, your business is abusing seniors and trafficking kids?”
“Well—no, I mean—” Miles faltered, blood slicking his lip.
“John,” Titus said. When the older man didn’t look away from Miles, he said it again, sharper. “John.”
“Yes?” Confusion swam in John’s eyes.
“Are you a willing part of what’s going on here?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Miles spat blood and tried to sneer through the broken nose. “His name’s all over this. I made sure of it.”
Titus smiled faintly as he patted Miles down, checking for additional weapons. There were none.
“Viper?”
“I’m here.”
“Catch this.” Titus tossed Miles’s gun one-handed. At the same time, he drew his Ruger with the other.
Miles’s gaze locked on the suppressor twisted onto the barrel.
“Are you left- or right-handed?” Titus asked.
“What does that matter?” Miles snapped, grasping for control he no longer had.
“Trust me,” Titus said calmly. “It does.”
“R—right.”
Titus slammed Miles’s left hand flat against the table and set the Ruger to his pinky. He pulled the trigger.
Miles screamed—raw, animal sounds tearing out of him as two fingers separated and hit the floor.
John staggered back from the table.
Miles clutched the ruined hand to his chest, sobbing.
Titus glanced at John. “Get the papers you signed that let him take over.”
“He took them,” John said weakly. “After he forced me to sign.”
“Did he?” Titus smiled slowly—cold, terrifying—and dragged Miles’s hand back onto the table. “Where?”
“I’ll tell you!” Miles shrieked. “I’ll tell you!”
“Better yet,” Titus said evenly, “show me.”
He hauled Miles to his feet and shoved him toward Viper, waiting in the doorway.
“Come along, John.”
Out in the hallway, Rip took position along with Memphis and Law. All were standing watch over the perimeter.
“One cocky motherfucker,” Memphis muttered, noting the lack of security for a man running an operation like this out of his own estate.
Titus agreed silently as they moved toward the study. He’d wondered earlier why John hadn’t brought him into the room—and now it made sense. Miles had claimed it as his own.
Viper headed straight for the desk. Memphis and Law held the hallway. Rip stepped inside the room as backup.
Titus shoved Miles forward. “Get them.”
Viper lifted the laptop from the desk.
“Don’t touch that!” Miles snapped.
“Too late,” Viper said coolly, already plugging his phone into the side of it. He tapped his comms. “Sage, I’m connected to a laptop. I need access.”
“On it,” Sage replied instantly.
“Get. The. Document,” Titus said.
Miles hurried to the safe.
Titus stayed tight to him, close enough to see every move—no room for surprises.
“No,” Titus said sharply, snatching a compact handgun from the top of a stack of papers before Miles could grab it.
Miles growled, then lunged for the documents and shoved them at him.
Titus juggled papers and weapons—and that’s when he realized too late that Miles had pulled another gun from the inside of the safe.
The shot cracked through the room.
The burn in his gut was immediate.
White-hot.
The room went dead quiet.
At least, it felt that way to him.