Chapter 35 Viper
VIPER
“Got a minute?” Andrew asks. He timed his maneuver just right to catch me alone in the mudroom.
I take my time removing my gloves. “Depends.”
“It’s about the house,” he says, and I almost laugh.
“If this is about generators or perimeter lighting, email me.”
His voice drops. “It’s about … us. All of us.”
I force my hands to keep moving.
“We’re building something here,” he says as he steps closer. “It’s already happening whether we name it or not. And I’m not going to act like I don’t see what’s going on with you.”
A hot flare of irritation sparks behind my eyes. “I don’t need you to see me,” I say.
His expression doesn’t change much, but tension sets in his jaw. “Kira’s not blind, Silas.”
My throat goes tight at her name, but I shove the feeling back down where it belongs.
“She cares about you.”
I bark a short, humorless laugh.
“We all need to be honest with each other,” he says.
As if being honest is easy. As if love doesn’t come with shrapnel.
I’ve watched men destroy each other over less.
I finally look at him, my eyes hard. “Let me make this simple for you.”
He waits, and I step closer until we’re at the same eye level. My voice is low and precise. “I’m not anyone’s consolation prize.”
His brow barely moves. “That’s not what this is.”
“It’s what it turns into when people start including each other like a checklist,” I snap. “I’m not your fifth wheel. I’m not the spare chair you pull in so nobody feels left out.”
He holds my gaze, unflinching. “Nobody feels left out. We feel … protective.”
“Don’t.” It comes out like a warning. “Don’t put that on me.”
His eyes narrow. “You think I’m offering pity.”
“I think you’re offering a solution, and I’m not a problem you solve.”
After a beat of silence, Andrew’s voice goes quieter. “You’re our brother.”
It lands like a hit on a chest plate.
“I’m not trying to force anything,” he says. “I’m trying to keep us from pretending this doesn’t exist, so it doesn’t blow up in our faces.”
“You are forcing,” I say flatly. “You’re talking like it’s all been decided. Like you’ll make space and everybody will fit.”
He lifts his chin. “Then what do you want?”
The honest answer rises up so fast it nearly chokes me.
I want her to look at me the way she looks at you.
I want to put my hand where Boyd puts his, and have it feel natural instead of stolen.
I want to be part of the warmth without losing the only family I’ve ever had.
Instead, I give him the truth I can live with.
“I want you to stop assuming I’m available for whatever arrangement you’ve built,” I say. “You and Boyd can share her if you’re determined to do it, but I won’t be part of some experiment just to keep everyone happy.”
He stares at me for a long moment, hurt flickering behind his eyes.
“You’re attracted to her,” he says quietly.
Heat crawls up my neck.
I don’t deny it.
He nods once, like that’s confirmation enough. “Then don’t punish her for that.”
“I’m not punishing her,” I fire back. “I’m protecting all of us.”
He takes a slow breath. Always calm, and today, it’s infuriating. “Protecting us by isolating yourself?” he says.
“By staying mission-capable,” I correct.
His gaze holds mine. “This is your mission, too.”
“Drop it,” I say.
His eyes search my face, then he nods once and turns to leave. “Okay. For now.”
That night, I sit in ops with the monitors dimmed, watching nothing and everything.
A new clip of Vaughn plays on one of my screens. Him speaking about “his Kira,” voice breaking, eyes shining. I have no doubt he practices his emotional reactions in a mirror before he goes live.
He touches the podium like it’s an altar. He speaks her name like he owns it.
My stomach turns.
He’s weaponizing public sympathy and poisoning her credibility, and she’s here. Safe inside these walls, sleeping in beds that aren’t hers, learning how to breathe again.
With my brothers.
Without me.
My blank reflection looks back at me in the dark glass.
Hard to read.
Because if I let myself get involved, I don’t know if I’d be able to stop.
And if I reach for her and it goes wrong, I’ll lose the only thing I’ve ever been certain of.
The brotherhood. The mission.
The thin, brutal control that keeps us alive.
I exhale, long and low.
Then I do what I always do when my chest gets too tight.
I get back to work.
Because outside the fence, Vaughn’s building a story.
And stories kill people as efficiently as bullets.