Page 116 of The Viper
“Don’t thank me,” he said, eyes fixed on the road. “You’re not a job. You’re—” He cut himself off, jaw flexing. “You’re everything.”
The words hit like a punch and a balm at the same time.
He went on, quieter now. “When I saw that asshole touch you, when I saw that gun pointed at you … I swear, Lexi, something in me broke. I’ve been in firefights, ambushes, hell itself—but nothing hit me like that did. I wanted to rip him apart with my bare hands.”
“You didn’t,” I said softly.
“I didn’t because Noah took the shot. And maybe I needed you to see me as something more than a weapon.” He glanced at me, eyes burning with something raw. “But make no mistake—I would burn the world down for you.”
My throat tightened. “Lucas …”
“I mean it.” He gripped the steering wheel harder. “If someone ever comes for you again, I won’t stop at the edges of what’s reasonable. I’ll tear down everything in my path. That’s what you do to me. That’s what your love does to me.”
I didn’t tell him not to say it. I couldn’t. Because I felt the same.
“When he had me,” I said quietly, “when I thought it was over … I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared of losing what we haven’t even gotten to live yet. You and me. Ordinary things that don’t feel ordinary when they’re with you.”
His mouth twitched into something soft and dangerous. “You were thinking about me while you were fighting for your life?”
“I was thinking about us,” I said. “About wanting a life that doesn’t end with a headline.”
That pulled a rough laugh from him. He reached across the console, found my hand, and threaded his fingers through mine. His palm was warm and solid, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
“When I heard you,” I said, “when you yelled for him to drop the gun—I’ve never felt anything like that. It was like I could breathe again. I thought,He came for me.”
He looked over, eyes dark and steady. “Of course, I came for you. I’ll always come for you.”
We were at a red light, sunlight cutting in clean through the windshield, bathing him in gold. His face looked carved from something ancient—strong lines, tight control, and beneath it all, fierce tenderness he’d never admit out loud.
He cupped my face, thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. “You scared me half to death, my love.”
“I scared myself.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try not to get abducted on a film set,” I said, smiling weakly.
He leaned in, kissing me hard enough that the world went quiet again. It wasn’t about passion, not exactly—it was about proof. Proof that we were alive, that the worst was behind us, that love could survive even this.
When we finally pulled apart, he murmured, “We should get inside.”
“Yeah.”
The Medical University of South Carolina came into view a few minutes later, white against the blue sky, a steady stream of doctors and nurses moving across the courtyard. Lucas pulled around to the back entrance where Ryker waited, sunglasses on, calm as if this was just another day.
He opened my door. “You’re under Lydia Morrow. Norton made it stick. No press, no photos. Your sister’s on the eighth floor.” He handed me a navy hoodie and a baseball cap—plain, nondescript. “Put these on,” he said. “Cover your hair, pull the hood up. Keeps your face out of cameras and prying eyes.”
“Thanks, man,” Lucas said, clapping his brother’s shoulder.
Ryker nodded. “Glad you made it in time.” Then to me, softer: “You look like hell.”
I laughed. “Feels about right.”
Atlas met us just inside the hospital. “Security’s tight. Norton’s got two men posted on the floor. Hannah’s stable, resting. The doc says she’s talking.”
I swallowed hard. “I need to see her.”
“Go ahead,” Atlas said. “We’ll keep the vultures out.”
