Chapter 20
ASHER
The Viper compound sprawls across three acres of industrial wasteland on the east side of the city, all chain-link and razor wire and the particular kind of paranoia that comes from building an empire on violence and knowing that empire can crumble just as violently.
I've been watching it for forty minutes from my position on the warehouse roof across the street, cataloging patterns, counting guards, mapping the security rotation with the methodical precision that has kept me alive through worse situations than this.
The annual party is in full swing—music thumping loud enough to rattle windows, bodies moving in and out of the main building with the chaotic flow of people who've had too much to drink and not enough sense.
Perfect cover. Perfect chaos. Perfect opportunity to slip in, grab Talia, and get out before anyone realizes what's happening.
Except nothing is ever that simple.
Jackie's voice crackles through my earpiece, barely audible over the party noise. "Team Two in position. West entrance is clear. You have a five-minute window before the next rotation."
"Copy," I murmur, already moving. The roof access is a rusted ladder that creaks under my weight, each rung a small eternity of sound that feels too loud despite the music drowning it out.
My boots hit concrete and I'm across the alley in three silent strides, pressing myself against the side of the Viper building where the shadows are deepest and the security cameras have a blind spot I've memorized from the blueprints Jackie pulled.
The west entrance is exactly where it's supposed to be—a service door with a lock that takes me all of fifteen seconds to pick, my hands steady despite the adrenaline singing through my veins.
Inside is a maintenance corridor, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the smell of industrial cleaner and something underneath it that might be mold or might be the accumulated rot of too many bad decisions made in too small a space.
I move quickly, keeping to the walls, every sense dialed up to maximum awareness.
The compound layout is burned into my brain from hours of study—Talia's room is on the second floor, east wing, third door on the left.
Assuming she's even there. Assuming she hasn't moved since the last intelligence update.
Assuming this entire operation doesn't go catastrophically sideways in the next ten minutes.
The stairs are at the end of the corridor, concrete and metal, each step measured and silent. I can hear the party more clearly now—laughter and music and the chaotic sound of people celebrating something they probably don't remember the origin of. Good. Let them celebrate. Let them be distracted.
Second floor. East wing. The hallway is empty, doors closed, most of them probably leading to storage or offices or the kind of rooms you don't ask questions about in a place like this. Third door on the left has light bleeding out from under it, a thin golden line against dingy carpet.
I pause outside, listening. Footsteps inside—light, quick, the particular cadence of someone pacing. A door slamming somewhere deeper in the building. Music still thumping, but muffled now, distant enough to work around.
I knock. Three short raps.
The footsteps stop. Silence for a heartbeat, two, three. Then: "Who is it?"
Talia's voice. Wary. Suspicious. Good. She should be suspicious.
"Maintenance," I say, pitching my voice lower, rougher. "Got a report of a leak."
"There's no leak—"
I don't wait for her to finish. The door isn't locked—careless, or maybe she's been here long enough to stop thinking about locks—and I'm inside before she can process what's happening, one hand already reaching for her to cover her mouth before she can scream.
Except she doesn't try to scream.
She just stares at me with wide eyes, recognition and shock and something that might be relief all flickering across her face in rapid succession. "Asher?"
"We're leaving," I say quietly, already scanning the room for threats, for exits, for anything that might complicate what should be a simple extraction. "Now. Is there anyone else on this floor?"
"What—no, but—" She's backing away from me, shaking her head, hands up like she's trying to physically push back against my presence. "You can't be here. If they find you—"
"They won't. We have five minutes before the security rotation changes. Grab whatever you can carry in thirty seconds or leave it." I'm already moving to the window, checking the sight lines, confirming the exit route I planned. "We go now or we don't go at all."
"I'm not going." The words are flat, final, and when I turn to look at her I see it written all over her face—the determination, the stubbornness, the particular kind of resolve that I recognize because I've seen it in the mirror. "I told you. I'm staying here. I'm—"
"You're eighteen years old playing a game you don't fully understand with people who will kill you the second they realize what you're really doing here.
" I cross back to her, keeping my voice low and controlled even though frustration is building hot under my ribs. "Talia, this is over. We're leaving."
"Asher, no.” Something breaks across her face, grief and anger tangling together. "I’m doing this for Henry. You have to let me do this for Henry. You can’t keep acting like you don’t miss him. That you don’t want this too!”
“I don’t. Talia, I love Henry. I do. I am sad he’s dead, but that was so long ago, and revenge won't bring him back.
" I catch her wrist when she tries to turn away.
"Talia, listen to me. I know what you're planning.
I know you think destroying the Vipers from the inside will make his death mean something.
But you're going to get yourself killed and it won't change anything except forcing me to bury another sibling.”
"I don't care—"
"Yes, you do." I tighten my grip just slightly, making her look at me. "You care. You're not suicidal. You're angry and grieving and trying to turn that into purpose. But this isn't the way. This isn't—"
The door slams open.
I spin, already reaching for the knife at my belt, already moving to put myself between Talia and whoever just entered.
But I'm not fast enough—nothing is fast enough when Killian himself is standing in the doorway with three of his lieutenants, all armed, all looking at me with the particular kind of interest that suggests they know exactly who I am and why I'm here.
"Well," Killian says, and his voice is smooth in a way that makes my skin crawl, the kind of smooth that comes from being very comfortable with violence.
"Asher fucking Throne. In my compound. On my territory.
During my party." He smiles, and it's the smile of a shark that's just realized there's blood in the water.
"This is either incredibly bold or incredibly stupid. "
"Little of both," I reply, keeping my voice level, keeping my body loose and ready because this is about to go very bad very quickly and the only way out is through. "I'm just here for Talia. Let us walk out and nobody has to get hurt."
"Let you walk out." Killian laughs, the sound bouncing off the walls.
"With one of my people. One of my inner circle.
After you broke into my compound." He takes a step forward, his men fanning out behind him in a practiced formation that speaks to too many fights, too much experience.
"No, I don't think so. I think what's going to happen is you're going to die here, and Talia is going to watch, and then we're going to have a very long conversation about loyalty and consequences. "
Talia makes a small sound behind me—fear or protest or both—and I don't turn to look at her, can't afford to take my eyes off Killian for even a second.
"Last chance," I say, and I mean it. "Let us leave. Call it a professional courtesy. I won't come back, you won't lose face, everyone walks away."
"You broke that option when you picked my lock." Killian's smile widens. "Now the only question is how much this is going to hurt before you stop moving."
He comes at me fast—faster than I expected for a man his size, faster than someone who's been drinking at his own party should be able to move. His fist catches me in the ribs before I can fully dodge, a solid hit that drives the air from my lungs and sends pain radiating through my chest.
I don't have time to process it. Don't have time to do anything except move, react, fight back with every dirty trick I know. I catch his next punch on my forearm—the impact jarring all the way to my shoulder—and drive my knee up into his stomach with enough force to double him over.
But he's not alone. His lieutenants are moving now, closing in from three sides, and I know with absolute clarity that I cannot fight four men in a room this small with Talia behind me and expect to win.
So I don't try to win. I try to survive long enough to get her out.
I duck under a wild swing from one of the lieutenants, using his momentum against him to send him crashing into the wall.
Spin and drive my elbow into another one's throat—a hit that drops him gagging and clutching his neck.
But Killian is back up, his face twisted with rage, and his next punch catches me square in the jaw with enough force to make stars explode across my vision.
I taste copper. Blood. My own blood filling my mouth from where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. The world tilts violently and I have to grab onto something—the desk, the chair, anything—to keep from going down.
"Asher!" Talia's voice, high and panicked.
"Stay back," I manage, the words coming out thick and wet. I spit blood onto the carpet and force myself upright, force my body to respond despite the way my head is ringing like a church bell. "Stay—"