Page 72 of The Viper
"For what?"
"For this. For tonight. For letting me pretend the real world doesn't exist."
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. "You don't have to pretend with me."
She leaned in, and I met her halfway, our lips finding each other in the kind of kiss that said more than words could. Slow.Deliberate. The kind that made time stop and everything else fade to nothing.
Then I felt it.
A presence. A shift in the air.
I pulled back, my body going rigid, every instinct I'd honed over years of combat snapping to attention. Lexi noticed immediately.
"What?" she whispered.
I didn't answer. My eyes tracked the end of the street, where a figure had appeared—an old man, bent with age, leaning heavily on a cane. He moved slowly, the tap of his cane echoing in the quiet, each step deliberate. He was heading toward us.
"Lucas?" Lexi's voice was tight now, laced with fear.
"Stay behind me," I said quietly.
The man stopped a few feet away, his face shadowed by the brim of a hat. He was old—eighties, maybe older—but there was something about him that set every hair on my body on edge. His posture, his stillness. He wasn't just an old man out for a walk.
He reached slowly into his jacket.
I moved.
My hand went to my waist, fingers closing around the grip of the pistol hidden under my jacket. I shifted, putting myself between Lexi and the man, my body a shield. "Don't," I said, my voice low and hard.
The man's hand stopped. Then, slowly, he pulled out an envelope. Plain. White. Nothing threatening about it except for the fact that it existed.
"I was told to give this to a Mr. Dane," he said. His voice was rough, accented—Eastern European, maybe Russian.
My pulse hammered. "Who told you?"
He didn't answer. "Are you Mr. Dane?"
I hesitated, then nodded once.
He held out the envelope. I didn't take it immediately. I studied him—his hands, his stance, the way he held the cane. Looking for a weapon, a threat, anything that screamed danger. But he just stood there, waiting.
Finally, I took the envelope.
The man nodded, turned, and walked away. The tap of his cane echoed down the street, fading into the night until it was gone.
Lexi grabbed my arm. "Lucas, what the hell was that?"
I didn't answer. I turned the envelope over, examining it. No markings. No return address. Just my name, written in neat black ink:Lucas Dane.
"Should we open it?" Lexi asked, her voice shaking.
I ran my fingers over the edges, checking for anything unusual—wires, bumps, anything that didn't belong. It felt like paper. Just paper. But that didn't mean shit.
"Lucas."
I tore it open. Inside was a single card, heavy stock, expensive. The kind you'd use for a wedding invitation.
I pulled it out and read the words written in the same neat handwriting:
