Page 24 of The Viper
She rolled her eyes, a flicker of rebellion that made my pulse kick. “Guess you’re stuck with me,” she said, turning toward the trailers.
I followed, my boots heavy on the wooden planks, my mind racing. What the hell had I just stepped into? A protection detail for a Hollywood star who didn’t want protecting, in a city I didn’t understand, for an organization that played by rules I didn’t know. Noah had said this would be a test, a chance to see if I fit. But as I watched Lexi move ahead, her stride confident despite the chaos, I wondered if the real test was keeping my head clear around her.
The set buzzed around us—grips adjusting lights, assistants shouting about schedules, the marsh glittering like it was laughing at us all. Lexi’s entourage rejoined her, fussing with her hair, her dress, her everything. She waved them off again, herpatience thin, and I caught a glimpse of that storm inside her, the one that had hit me last night.
Noah was waiting near the trailers, his expression unreadable. “You good?” he asked, low enough that only I could hear.
“Peachy,” I said, my voice dry.
He grinned, like he knew exactly what I was feeling. “Welcome to Charleston,” he said, clapping my shoulder. “It only gets weirder from here.”
I didn’t doubt it. Lexi glanced back at me, her eyes catching mine for a split second before she disappeared into the trailer. My blood hummed, my instincts screaming that this wasn’t just a job. It was a trap, a challenge, a fucking siren’s call, and I was already too deep to walk away.
What the hell did I just get into?
9
LEXI
He stood by the monitors, arms crossed, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
Everything about him radiated control—the kind that didn’t need to announce itself. The cut of his T-shirt stretched over a chest built for impact, not aesthetics. His forearms, tanned and roped with muscle, flexed every time his hand shifted against his bicep. Even still, he looked coiled, like something forged rather than born. That calm, unbothered stance was its own kind of arrogance.
He didn’t fidget. Didn’t check his phone. Didn’t pretend to make small talk with the crew. He just was—a wall of quiet, masculine authority in a sea of chaos. The kind of man who could walk into a riot and lower the volume just by breathing.
It worked.
Lucas.
I didn’t say his name out loud. I didn’t even look directly at him for the first hour, though I felt him—his attention like a heat signature tracing every step I took.
No one else knew. Not Hannah. Not Carrie. Not Franklin.
And that was delicious.
I kept my expression professional, breezy even, as the crew reset the shot for the third time. But inside, my pulse was a traitor, drumming an uneven rhythm that had nothing to do with caffeine.
He’d saved me last night.
Now he was my bodyguard.
Some people might’ve found that humiliating.
I found it … electrifying.
“Let’s take it again from the dock,” Franklin called, snapping his fingers. “Benji, hit the timing tighter. Lexi, more vulnerability. You’re still a little too in control.”
If only he knew.
Benji gave me a sympathetic smile as he joined me at the mark. “You okay?”
“Always.”
He smirked. “Liar.”
Everyone always asked me that—you okay?—like I gave off some invisible signal that said otherwise. Maybe I did. Maybe that was what fame really was: a permanent projection of unease.
I knew Benji meant well—he was one of the good ones, sweet and steady in a business built on ego—but still, the question made me want to scream. What did they see when they looked at me? A woman holding it together, or one seconds from falling apart?
