Page 110 of The Viper
My bag was on a table. I slung it over my shoulder, my phone buzzing inside it with calls I wasn’t ready to answer.
“You got everything?” the man asked.
“Yeah.”
He gestured for me to go first. Gentlemanly. Or strategic. I couldn’t tell.
We walked down the hall together, his footsteps quiet, mine uneven on the old wood floors.
“How are things?” I asked. “At Dominion Hall?”
“Contained,” he said smoothly. “The Danes are handling it.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe Lucas was out there putting the world back in order while I just followed instructions. But I’d learned something about myself recently: I wasn’t built for blind faith anymore.
When we reached the side door, I stopped. “Where’s your radio?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your radio. All the other guards have been using theirs nonstop today. Yours isn’t on.”
A tiny flicker crossed his face—so quick I almost missed it. Then came the smile. Easy. Reassuring. Practiced. “Battery died.”
That was when my stomach turned to stone.
“What did you say your name was?” I asked quietly.
“I didn’t. Miss, we really need to go.”
Something about the way he said it—like he’d practiced it—made my skin crawl. “Have we met before?” I asked.
His eyes flicked up, then down. “Don’t think so.”
But I wasn’t convinced. He looked familiar. My pulse kicked hard.
For the first time, his composure cracked. The radio on his belt wasn’t a radio at all—it was a prop, a black plastic shell with no antenna. His hand hovered near it like muscle memory.
“Don’t,” I warned.
But he was faster. He lunged.
I twisted out of reach, slamming my elbow into the doorframe. Pain flared white-hot, but adrenaline drowned it. “Help!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the hallway. “Benji!”
He caught me around the waist, dragging me backward. “Wrong move,” he hissed against my ear.
I drove my heel into his shin. He grunted, stumbling, and I tore free, sprinting toward the main corridor.
Carrie rounded the corner, eyes wide. “Lexi?”
“Run!” I screamed. “He’s not security!”
The guy was already on me again. He caught my arm, wrenching it behind my back. I heard the click of metal—handcuffs, cold and sudden.
Benji appeared next, barreling out of the kitchen like a linebacker. “Get the fuck off her!”
My captor spun, pulling me in front of him like a shield. “Back it up,” he barked. “Or she dies right here.”
There was a gun now. Small, black, pressed against my ribs. I hadn’t even seen him draw it.
