Page 56 of The Viper
“Post now,” Hannah hissed as she appeared, pushing my phone into my hand. “Please.”
I typed:Grateful for the love. Focused on the work. See you on screen. I added a still from yesterday’s scene—a safe, sanctioned photo of me on the dock in sunlight, hair in a neat halo, eyes on the horizon.
“Approved,” she said, hitting share before I could argue about commas.
It didn’t stop anything. It never does. But the comments turned a degree. A fewwe love you’s rose to the top, buoyed by algorithms and pity. A gossip account posted the caption with a kissy emoji and the wordsgirl he fine though, which made me laugh loud enough that Hannah gave me a look like I’d cussed in church.
Benji chose that exact moment to pass. He didn’t stop. He didn’t glare. He didn’t forgive me with his eyes. He just nodded once at Lucas like men do when they recognize another man who can carry a body out of a burning room, then kept walking.
Guilt slid under my ribs and set up a cot.
“Talk to him,” Lucas said softly, reading me without asking.
“I will.” I shoved my hair back and wiped at an imaginary smudge on my cheek so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “After we wrap.”
“We’re not wrapping early,” Franklin announced to no one and everyone as he strode by. “We are not ceding a day to personal nonsense. Fifteen-minute turnarounds. We make our day. We make our week. We make our movie.”
20
LUCAS
At the end of the day, the drive back to Lexi's rental on James Island was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed in like the humid night air. The marsh stretched dark and endless beside the road, the water's surface rippling under a sliver of moon. I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was a storm—Byron Dane's secrets swirling like debris in a hurricane.
Another family? Billions? Enemies? It was all too much, a tangle I couldn't untie. I'd left Ethan in the hotel suite with a promise to think about it, but thinking was the problem. Every thought led back to the same dead end: my father, the man who'd taught me to stand tall, had been a liar. And now that lie had pulled me into Charleston, into Dominion Hall, into a web I didn't ask for.
Lexi sat beside me, her head against the window, her blonde hair catching the occasional streetlight. She looked exhausted, the day's shoot etched in the lines around her eyes. The media shitstorm had hit hard—the pictures from the bar and the hotel, the headlines screaming about her mystery man. Me. I'd had the sense to have the house swept again for bugs, but the damagewas done. National outlets were circling like sharks, and it was only a matter of time before they sniffed out more.
I gripped the wheel tighter, my knuckles white. This was my fault, at least, in part. I'd stepped in at the bar, and now her life was under a microscope because of it.
We pulled up to the house, the weathered blue exterior looking almost ghostly in the dark. I killed the engine and turned to her. "Wait here," I said, stepping out to do a quick perimeter check.
No signs of tampering, no unfamiliar footprints in the soft earth. The marsh whispered behind the house. All clear, but that itch at the back of my neck wouldn't quit.
I opened her door, and she slid out, her movements slow, like the weight of the day was dragging her down. "Thanks," she murmured, brushing past me.
That spark hit again when her arm grazed mine, but I shoved it down. Not now.
Inside, Hannah was nowhere in sight. Lexi checked her phone, her face illuminated by the screen. "Hannah’s staying away," she said, her voice flat. "Says she has fires to put out."
We both knew the truth—she was avoiding the powder keg between us. The tension, the unspoken pull that had exploded last night. Hannah loved her sister, but she wasn't blind. She saw the complication I represented, and she was giving us space. Or maybe just giving herself a break from the drama.
Lexi sighed, dropping her bag on the counter. "I'm exhausted. Going to shower."
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Okay."
She disappeared down the hall, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her. I heard the water start, a steady hiss that did nothing to calm the chaos in my head.
I poured myself a stiff drink—bourbon, neat. The liquid burned going down, grounding me for a moment. I leaned against the counter, staring out the window at the dark marsh.
What the hell was I doing?
Dad's secrets gnawed at me. Byron Dane—a man I'd idolized in fragments, the ghost who'd shaped me into a soldier—had another life. Another family. Billions. Enemies. Ethan had laid it out like it was fact, but it felt like a bad dream.
How could I not have known?
Mom had never said a word, raising us on that Montana ranch, teaching us to be strong, to protect what mattered. Dad's visits were rare, but they'd burned into my memory. "Family first," he'd say, his voice rough from whatever shadows he carried.
But now? Family first meant what? Seven half-brothers I didn't know? A fortune built on lies? And enemies—faceless, coming for blood. Ethan wanted me to stay, to fight. But Delta was my life, my purpose. Leaving that for a father who'd abandoned us? It twisted like a knife.
