Page 90 of The Viper
The warmth in her voice softened the moment. The promise of coffee, fresh croissants, and something sweet waiting for us on the other side of the meeting felt like a small, steady mercy—proof that even in a house built for war, someone still thought about nourishment.
Those of us involved in the current situation rose at once, chairs scraping softly against the floor. The easy laughter of moments ago gave way to quiet purpose as we followed Noah down the hall, past oil paintings and tall windows spilling gold light. The energy changed with every step—home giving way to headquarters.
We entered a massive room anchored by a long wooden table, screens flickering softly along one wall, maps and files spread open like battle plans. Noah and Lucas took their places near the head, Natalie moving to stand beside Ethan. I slipped into a seat near Lucas, his hand brushing mine in silent reassurance.
The doors closed behind us, sealing the outside world away. It was time to begin.
30
LUCAS
The war room at Dominion Hall was a fortress of strategy, the long oak table scarred from years of use, screens humming with data along one wall, maps pinned like enemies on the other. The air was cool, laced with the faint scent of leather from the chairs and the sharp tang of coffee.
I took a seat near the head, my back to the wall—habit from years of ops where you never left your six exposed. Noah sat at one end, his expression unreadable, while Elias tapped away on his laptop, his fingers flying like they were chasing ghosts in the code. Ryker leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his grin fading into focus. Atlas settled in with a nod, his presence a steady anchor.
Natalie Kennedy entered last, her navy suit sharp as a blade, blonde hair pulled back in a way that said she was all business. She carried herself with the kind of authority that didn't need to shout—quiet power, the kind earned in boardrooms and backrooms alike.
Ethan watched her like she was the center of his world, his eyes soft but fierce, proud and protective in a way that hit me square in the chest.
I glanced around and saw it mirrored—the way Atlas's gaze flicked toward the door like he was checking on Anna back in the kitchen, a silent awareness; Ryker's hand twitching like he wanted to text Isabel.
Wives.
Wife.
The word slammed into me like a rogue wave. Is that where this was going with Lexi? The thought twisted in my gut, part terror, part longing—a future I hadn't let myself imagine, but now it loomed, real and raw. Ethan had found it with Natalie, a partnership that looked like strength wrapped in love.
Could I have that?
Did I deserve it?
Noah cleared his throat, pulling me back. "Let's get everyone up to speed. Lucas, walk us through what we've got so far."
I leaned forward, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head. "Started with the bar incident at Pelicangate. Guy in a Navy uniform—aviator wings—slipped something into Lexi's drink. I intervened, took him down, got her out. No arrests, but the video went viral."
I paused, organizing the timeline in my head. "Next, Benji Dawes—her co-star—gets jumped at his rental. Attacker rants about Hollywood sin, poisoning souls, all that fanatic bullshit. Bruised him up good, but no serious damage."
"Then Hannah—Lexi's sister—gets attacked at their house on James Island. Intruder came through her bedroom window while she was sleeping, or left that way. Said Lexi's name, told Hannah to pass along a message: 'We'll be in touch.' She escaped, but she's shaken."
I looked around the table. "Could all be related—targeting the production—or separate incidents. Stalker for Lexi, copycat for the others. But my gut says connected."
Elias raised a finger without looking up from his laptop, his eyes scanning. "No-go on the aviator," he said, his voice flat. "No records of him in the Navy. Digging deeper into facial rec from the bar footage, but he's a ghost so far."
"Can you keep looking?" I asked.
"Already on it."
I nodded. "Appreciate it."
Natalie, who'd been listening intently, leaned forward. "You've got a mess on your hands. How can I help?"
I met her eyes, impressed by her directness. No posturing, just action. "Honestly? Not sure yet. We're piecing it together."
She wasn't mad, just thoughtful, her fingers tapping the table. "I know Dominion Hall has ties to the police, but I can poke a few places. Talk to my grandfather's old friends."
"Who's your grandfather?" I asked.
"One of Charleston's most storied former mayors," she said. "If there's a secret on the streets, he knows someone who might know where to look."
