Page 61 of The Viper
“I hate anything that can get you killed.”
“That’s not living.”
“It’s surviving,” he said. “Big difference.”
We hit the causeway, water stretching endless on both sides. He loosened his grip on the wheel just enough to glance at me. “You want honesty?”
I nodded.
“People like me—we don’t belong in houses like that.”
“You think I do?”
“You were built for it. Cameras love you. Light bends for you.”
I laughed softly. “That’s not love. That’s marketing.”
He almost smiled. “Same thing, sometimes.”
The tension eased just a fraction, replaced by something quieter, more dangerous.
We stopped at a small café off the highway, the kind with peeling paint and a chalkboard menu. Normal. Mercifully, beautifully normal.
Inside, the air smelled of coffee and butter. The waitress didn’t recognize me, or pretended not to. We took a corner booth, steam curling from mismatched mugs.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Lucas said, “You could still buy it. The house.”
“Would that make it better?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Might make it real.”
I studied him across the table, the sunlight cutting sharp lines across his face. “You ever want that?”
“What?”
“A place that’s yours. One you don’t have to scan for exits.”
He gave a short laugh. “You think I’d know what to do with peace?”
“Maybe learn,” I said.
His mouth twitched. “You think you could teach me?”
“I could try,” I said, matching his tone. “But you’d hate it. Too quiet. No enemies.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping. “I can think of one thing I wouldn’t hate.”
The words curled low in my stomach. “Lucas?—”
He didn’t finish whatever came next because his gaze flicked past me, out the window. The shift was immediate: soldier again, alert, still.
“What?” I asked.
“Black SUV,” he said quietly. “Two men inside. Haven’t moved since we parked.”
“Press?”
