Page 17 of The Viper
He laughed, a real laugh, not the fake shit people used to defuse tension. “Nah, man. This is all over the internet. Good thing nobody can tell it’s you.”
Relief hit me, sharp and unexpected. What the hell had I been thinking? Stepping into a bar brawl, in public, with a celebrity? Delta operators didn’t make headlines; we didn’t exist in the spotlight. If that video had shown my face clearly, I’d be burned, my career a smoking crater.
I kept my expression neutral, but inside, my heart rate ticked up. “Lucky me,” I said, my voice dry.
Noah pocketed his phone and gestured for me to follow. “Come on. Let’s talk.”
He led me through the house, and I took it all in—polished floors, chandeliers that looked like they cost more than my life, walls lined with art that screamed wealth but not pretension. It was lived-in, not a museum. The kind of place where power felt comfortable.
We passed through a set of glass doors onto a massive back lawn, the harbor stretching out beyond it. The grass was manicured to a fault, sloping down to an impressive dock where a midnight-black yacht was moored, its lines sleek andpredatory. The water lapped gently against the pilings, the air heavy with salt and the faint tang of diesel.
A woman in a cook’s apron appeared from a side path, her smile warm but professional. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked.
“Coffee for two,” Noah said, his tone easy. “And your special breakfast spread, if you don’t mind, Clara.”
She nodded, her eyes flicking to me with curiosity before she disappeared back toward the house. Noah guided me to a lounge area—teak furniture, cushions that probably cost more than my gear—set under a pergola draped with wisteria. We sat, the harbor glinting in the morning light, and I felt that same sense of weight again. Dominion Hall wasn’t just a place; it was a statement.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Enough games, Noah. Why am I here?”
He tilted his head, studying me. “When’s the last time you took a vacation, Lucas?”
I snorted. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Before I came back to Charleston, I went three years, seven months without a break. Didn’t realize what it was doing to me, working nonstop. You feel it, don’t you? The grind. The way it hollows you out.”
I laughed, sharp and humorless. “This a vacation? You pull me off an active op for some R&R?”
“No,” he said, his smile fading. “But there are perks.” He nodded toward the yacht, its hull catching the sun. “That’s yours to use while it’s here. Helicopters, planes, vehicles—free rein. Whatever you need.”
I stared at him, my mind racing. “What the hell is this place?”
Noah’s expression turned thoughtful, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Trust is everything, Lucas. You can’t buy it, can’t steal it. You have to earn it.” He leaned forward, hiseyes locking onto mine. “When I got the call to come back to Charleston, I was about to put a bullet through the skull of a piece of shit who thought Germany would be better off without their chancellor. I was pissed—furious—that I’d been yanked from that op. But in time, I saw the upside. Now, I live the upside.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re a playboy now? Sailing yachts, sipping martinis?”
He laughed again, the sound warm but edged with something harder. “Hardly. Since I came to Dominion Hall, I’ve put away more bad guys than I could’ve in five military careers. We’re doing real shit here—real world, real consequences. And we need men like you.”
His words hit me like a slow-rolling wave. I loved Delta—there was no higher calling in my mind. The brotherhood, the mission, the clarity of purpose.
But Noah’s voice carried weight, like he’d found something bigger. It gave me pause, a crack in my certainty.
“What’s the play?” I asked, my tone softer now. “What comes next?”
Noah’s smile returned, sharp and knowing. “There are things Dominion Hall needs you to do. In the process, it’ll become clear—to you and to us—if this is a fit.”
Before I could press him, Clara returned with a silver tray. Two steaming mugs of coffee, a spread of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, toast, and a small jar of what looked like homemade blackberry jam. The smell hit me—rich, warm, grounding. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, until that moment.
Noah gestured to the tray. “Eat up. We’ve got places to be in an hour, and I’ll brief you on the way.”
I nodded, grabbing a mug and a piece of toast. The jam was sweet, tart, bursting with flavor that reminded me of Montanasummers, picking berries with my brothers under a sky so blue it hurt.
“I can make the time,” I said, meeting his gaze. “See if it’s a fit.”
“Good,” Noah said, his grin widening. “I promise, you won’t be bored.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. Not yet. I took a bite of eggs, the yolk rich and perfectly cooked, and let the moment settle. The harbor sparkled, the yacht bobbed gently, and Dominion Hall loomed behind us, its presence like a pulse in the air. Whatever this place was, whatever Noah wanted, I’d figure it out. I always did.
But as I sipped my coffee, Lexi Montgomery’s face flashed in my mind again—those eyes, that spark.
