Page 1 of Viper

Chapter One

The blazing Florida sun beat down on Troy’s skin as he stared out at the crystalline water lapping against the white-sand beach.

Stared at her.

Paige.

The sister of his best friend, Atlas, aka Striker. Guilt slammed into him with the force of a tsunami. He shouldn’t be here. He had almost four weeks off before his next job with Phantom Ops, but that didn’t mean he should have followed Paige down south.

He still had his life to figure out. His home was in Morgantown, West Virginia, and while he loved being near his family on his days off, it just wasn’t practical. Lately he’d been spending less and less time in West Virginia when he was home. It just made sense to be near the guys when it was time to take off for their next mission because sometimes things moved last minute.

He’d rented an apartment in Pittsburgh as a temporary solution, but he’d eventually have to sell his place back home and buy in Pittsburgh if he didn’t want to keep going back and forth.

Paige stood from the water and pushed her snorkeling gear on top of her head, a huge conch shell in her hand. “Chantal!” she called, to a woman with a long, dark braid. “Look at this one.” Her voice carried over the beach, tempting him to get up and approach her.

After all, that’d been his plan. Not to sit with his ass in the sand lurking and drooling over her like some kind of stalker. He pinched his brow. Sweat soaked his forehead and his skin was cooking. Usually he didn’t burn, but it’d been a long time since he was in such direct heat.

Frustration mounted against his chest. Enough was enough. From the minute he’d met Paige at Striker’s parents’ retirement party a few years ago, he’d been a fucking goner. Blond hair, gray eyes, and a smile that melted his fucking ego to shit.

He’d come here to ask her out. Dinner, beach. A date. The idea had hit him last week while having dinner at Striker and Molly’s house. He’d learned Paige was in Florida. Since then, he hadn’t been able to banish the thought.

He got to his feet and walked across the beach. Paige carried another treasure in the crook of her arm as she sauntered away from shore, her tight and toned body glistening. Rivulets of water ran down from her juicy-red bikini.

His cock tightened. He grew closer, trying to find the words to say. “Hey, didn’t expect to find you here” just wouldn’t cut it. “I hope you don’t mind my spying on you” would have to suffice because that was all his sun-fried brain cells could muster.

Her hair was slicked back from her face, revealing her perfectly tanned cheeks and sun-kissed nose.

A smile pulled deep from his chest. “P⁠—”

She approached a man walking toward her. Viper’s feet skidded to a stop. He watched as she held out the conch to him. The guy took the shell, weighed it in his palm, then bent to kiss her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Viper spun away, driving his hand through his hair and fighting the overwhelming urge to grab the bastard by his throat and drown him in the salty water. He inhaled deeply and retraced his steps.

Paige was with someone. How the hell had he missed that?

He often asked Striker about Paige, trying to sound nonchalant but silently asking if she was seeing anyone—waiting to make his move like the overly patient idiot he was.

Now she was with a douchebag in too-short black trunks and dark sunglasses. His chest constricted, and he paced back up the beach. He kept his back to Paige—no point in her spotting him before he had his shit together—and tried to pull his head out of despair.

All right. So she’d met a guy. Until he knew the significance of that, it didn’t mean shit. He’d still approach her. Tell her he’d come to see her. And go from there.

His phone rang. He dug it out of the pocket of his swim shorts and looked at the screen: Atlas.

Jesus. Just what he needed.

He swiped to answer. “’Lo?”

“Hey man. How’s the vacation?”

Viper threw his gaze over his shoulder to see Paige guzzling from a water bottle next to Douchebag.

“Hot as hell.” He turned away again.

“What part of Florida you in again?” Suspicion tinted his friend’s words.

Troy knew him like the back of his hand. Not only was Atlas sharp as a fucking tack—he was also Phantom Ops’s sharpest shooter. And protective as hell when it came to his younger sister.