Page 96 of The Viper
Hannah was fragile right now. Maybe she’d been talking to a friend. Maybe I’d misunderstood. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe my own sister could be hiding something dangerous.
So, I did what I’d always done best. I performed.
“Just tired,” I said, reaching for a croissant and forcing a smile. “It’s been … a lot.”
He studied me for another beat, then nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “It has.”
I exhaled, the moment passing like a wave I’d just barely ridden out. Then I reached for the easy distraction, the safe one. “I should probably check in with Franklin,” I said, picking at the edge of my plate. “Find out what time he’s expecting me on set today. I don’t want him sending a search party.”
Lucas huffed a soft laugh. “Tell him you’re busy being protected by a house full of former commandos.”
I smiled back, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “That should go over well.”
He nudged my knee under the table, and just like that, I let the rhythm of the room pull me in—the laughter, the smell of cinnamon, the illusion of normalcy.
But in the back of my mind, no amount of pretending could drown out Hannah’s voice.
32
LUCAS
The kitchen at Dominion Hall smelled like a warm promise, butter and cinnamon weaving through the air as Delphine worked her magic at the stove. The long dining table was crowded with plates—croissants flaking golden, fresh fruit piled high, and a tray of biscuits so fluffy they looked like they could float.
My stomach growled, loud enough that Ryker glanced over with a smirk.
I was starving, the kind of hunger that came from too many hours on edge, too much adrenaline, too little sleep. The brothers and their women filled the room with easy chatter, voices overlapping like a family that had weathered worse storms than this.
It reminded me of mornings back in Montana, when Mom would splurge on blueberry pancakes, heaps of them stacked high for me and my brothers. We'd shovel them down, syrup dripping, laughing over nothing, the world outside our ranch a distant hum.
Here, with the bay glinting through the windows and the cicadas starting their morning drone, it felt close to that—home, despite the world caving in outside.
I grabbed a biscuit, splitting it open to slather it with blackberry jam, the tart sweetness hitting my tongue. Atlas was telling a story about a fishing trip gone wrong, Anna laughing so hard she nearly spilled her coffee. Ryker was ribbing Elias about some tech glitch that had apparently cost him a bet, while Isabel rolled her eyes but grinned.
Ethan and Natalie weren't there—they'd left after the war room meeting—but the rest of the crew carried on, the vibe loose and warm, like we weren't sitting on a powder keg of stalker threats and family secrets.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the moment sink in, the weight of Byron Dane's lies and Dominion Hall's mysteries fading for a second under the clink of forks and the low rumble of laughter.
Then Lexi walked in, and the air shifted.
She looked ... different. Her blonde hair was loose, catching the morning light, her borrowed shirt tucked into pants that hugged her curves. But her eyes—those green eyes that usually burned with fire—were clouded, guarded in a way I hadn't seen before.
Something had changed.
My gut clenched. Was she having second thoughts? About us? About this? My mind went straight there, like a reflex, and I hated it.
Why did I assume that?
Was it because I'd been pushing too hard, letting myself dream of a life where she wasn't acting, where I wasn't hunting bad guys?
No, that wasn't it. She was too good at what she did, a star who lit up the screen like nobody else. I'd never ask her tostop. But what I was starting to picture—fuck, what I wanted—was a life where, when she wasn't filming and I wasn't chasing shadows, we could get away. Really get away.
Someplace quiet, where the world left us alone, where no one cared about her face on a billboard or my name in a headline. Just us, maybe a dog or two, a porch with a view, and no cameras in sight.
She caught my gaze and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You okay?" I asked, keeping my voice low as she slid into the chair beside me.
"Fine," she said, reaching for a croissant. "Just tired."
