Page 69 of The Viper
“Accurate,” he said, not pretending anything. Then softer: “You can tell me to stop. You can tell me to be civilized. I’ll try.”
“I won’t,” I said. It surprised me how easy the truth was. “I like you uncivilized.”
Something like relief flashed through his eyes, so brief a person who didn’t live on close-up lenses might have missed it. He took my hand again as the runway lights lined themselves up. The jet tipped, settled, lowered. The city waited.
Lucas didn’t look away when the wheels reached for the Earth.
Neither did I.
24
LUCAS
The restaurant didn't announce itself. No neon, no sign big enough to read from the street—just a brass number on a black door and a doorman who looked like he'd been hired to intimidate. He opened the door before we reached it, nodding at Lexi like she was expected, then at me like I was being evaluated.
Inside, the air smelled like money and herbs I couldn't name. Low lighting, dark wood, tables spaced far enough apart that conversations stayed private. A woman in a dress that probably cost more than my first car appeared from nowhere, her smile polite but warm.
"Ms. Montgomery," she said, like they were old friends. "My name is Marie. We're honored. Your table is ready."
Lexi smiled back, that easy charm she turned on without effort. "Thank you, Marie."
I followed them through the dining room, past tables where people ate in hushed tones, their plates looking more like art installations than food. The woman—Marie—led us to a corner booth tucked behind a partition of frosted glass and trailinggreenery. Private. Secluded. Nobody could see us unless they walked right up to the table.
I liked it immediately.
"This work for you?" Marie asked, glancing at me.
"Perfect," I said.
She handed us drink menus bound in leather, told us our server would be right over, and disappeared.
Lexi settled into the booth, pulling off her blazer and draping it beside her. The silk dress she wore underneath caught the candlelight, and I had to remind myself we were in public. Barely, but still.
"You look tense," she said, a smile playing at her lips.
"I'm not tense."
"You've scanned every exit twice since we sat down."
I shrugged. "Habit."
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands. "Tell me. What's the protocol for restaurant safety?"
I raised an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"
"Humor me."
I glanced around, keeping my voice low. "Back to the wall. Clear sightlines to the entrance. Know where the kitchen is in case we need a secondary exit. No drinks we didn't watch get poured. Never sit near windows if we can help it."
Her eyes sparkled. "And the booth? Why'd you like this one?"
"Can't be approached from behind. Glass partition blocks casual sightlines. If something goes sideways, we've got options."
She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "You're like a sexy, paranoid spy."
"I'm not paranoid."
"You just listed six potential threats in a restaurant that serves twenty-dollar olives."
