Page 43 of The Viper
A beat. Then he nodded, like I’d passed a test I hadn’t known I was taking. “Buckle in.”
We drove south, away from the trailers and taped-off lanes and the polite chaos of a set trying to convince itself it was under control. Windows down. Humid night pulling at my long, blonde hair. He didn’t fill the space with words, and I didn’t need him to. The road thinned to two lanes, then one. Live oaks arched overhead, their moss a curtain parting just for us. Every mile felt like shedding a layer of armor.
“Where are we going?” I asked finally.
“Folly,” he said. “South end. Quiet after dark.”
“Is that an order, Sergeant, or whatever you are?”
He almost smiled. “Suggestion.”
“You from Charleston?” I asked, more curious than casual.
He shook his head. “No. Flew in the day we met at the bar.”
That surprised me. “Then how do you know about Folly? The south end’s not exactly on the tourist maps.”
He flicked a glance my way, a ghost of amusement crossing his face. “I do my homework.”
“I’ll bet you do,” I said, watching the shadows move over his jaw. “You and your mysterious Dominion Hall. What even is that place, anyway? And who’s Noah? You two talk like you run some secret agency.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “You could say that,” he said smoothly, tone unreadable.
I raised a brow. “That’s comforting.”
“Should be,” he said, and that was all.
Salt crept in on the breeze. I rolled my window down farther and leaned my elbow against the frame, letting warm air lick across my skin. There was a peace in the way he drove—hands steady at ten and two, eyes flicking constantly between mirrors and the road ahead. Watching. Accounting. I’d spent a lifetime around men who loved to be seen. Lucas carried invisibility like a second language and wore control like a tailored suit.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Safety protocols. Ingress and egress routes.”
I huffed a laugh. “Romantic.”
“Staying alive is very romantic,” he said, utterly serious. Then, softer: “And you.”
My pulse misfired. “Me?”
His knuckles flexed on the wheel. “What you looked like when you forgot you were being watched.”
Something low tugged behind my lungs. I turned back to the dark ribbon of road. “That doesn’t happen to me often.”
“I noticed.”
We didn’t need more than that.
Folly’s last strip of shops blinked by—boarded windows for the night, a neon pelican flickering over a closed bar like a tired guardian. He took a side street I wouldn’t have clocked, cut the engine, and we coasted into the hush behind a dune line. The ocean’s shush met us first—long exhale, long inhale—as though the Atlantic had secrets it would share only if we asked nicely.
Lucas killed the lights. The world went soft and silver.
“Stay put,” he said.
Of course, he said that.
I waited … for about six seconds. Then I slid out of my seat and met him at the back of the SUV. He’d already scanned the lot, checked the beach access, pocketed a small flashlight. He paused when he saw me.
“Disobedient.”
