Page 10 of Viper’s Reign

As cheers erupt, the screen behind him flashes a final image: SENTINEL in crisp silver text over black, directly beneath the Volks Security logo.

Satisfied, I rise from my chair, ready to move the event to the next stage—dinner—when an elegant hand shoots up from the crowd, cutting me off.

“Sorry, I have a question.” Her voice is soft, yet somehow it carries easily over the noise.

The first thing I notice is her hair. The way it catches the light as she rises from her seat, shifting from auburn to copper to a shade closer to actual flame. It mesmerizes me for one charged second before I move to her face. I can’t make out her eyes from where I’m standing, but they look light. Blue, maybe, or green.

She lifts her chin as she waits for Jacob’s response, and my gut clenches without warning, my breath catching in my throat. She’s gorgeous. I drift lower, taking in the way her glittering dress clings to her curves—curves that make my mouth water and my fingers twitch with the urge to touch… and explore.

Then she speaks. “First of all, brilliant presentation. I’m sure we can all agree it might be the best one we’ve had tonight.” Her voice trembles slightly at first, before falling into a steady, confident tone. The crowd replies with a good-natured grumble, but she presses on without missing a beat. “So, the bracelet—or band—relies on manual activation if the automated alert fails, right?” She waits for Jacob’s nod before continuing. “How does that work if the user is under physical restraint? Women under attack often lose mobility or access to their wrists first. Has your team tested for that variable?”

My lips curve up. She’s a smart one.

“Good question.” Jacob clears his throat. “The Sentinel Band’s distress system is built with multiple redundancies. It doesn’t depend on a single motion or sensor. Even if the wearer can’t move or has their wrist restrained, the band reads biometric stress signals—that is, the wearer’s heart rate, muscle tension, respiration variance, etc.—and initiates the alert autonomously. Manual activation is a backup, not the primary or even secondary fail-safe.”

She raises a brow. “And how does the band distinguish between spiked biometrics from an attack versus, say, exercise or other… um… exciting activities that send the pulse racing?” A flush creeps into her cheeks, but her expression stays politely composed.

“The—” Jacob stops when I raise a hand.

“I’ll take it from here, Jacob. Thank you.” I tap the edge of my table again and pull up the smart tablet, swiping through quickly to find her information as all attention in the room turns to me. “Those are excellent questions, Miss Holmer. You see, before any potential wearer starts using the Sentinel for protection, the band is calibrated specifically to them. It learns their baseline pulse, how frequently it spikes, the frequencies generated during exercise, and those that occur during other pleasurable endeavors.” Her color deepens satisfyingly. “The Sentinel is designed to detect the minute differences between stress, contentment, and genuine terror. So don’t worry, it won’t accidentally trip when the wearer is having a particularly good time with their partner.”

The crowd chuckles, and a round of applause follows.

“Any further questions, Miss Holmer?” I find myself hoping she has more. But she shakes her head and sits back down. A small sense of disappointment settles somewhere I don’t usually feel things. I’m not done with her.

I scan the room. “Anyone else?” A few seconds of silence. “Then let’s move to the next stage of the evening. Dinner.”

My brothers get to their feet, already knowing that dinner is on the top deck. Before I follow, I catch Noah’s eye and tip my chin once. He’s at my side in under a minute. “Put Laura Holmer at my table.” He gives me a brief double take, the opinion in his eyes painfully obvious, but he wisely swallows it.

I walk away before he can say a word. Tonight just got interesting.

Volya’s upper deck has been completely transformed for the night’s events. Strings of canopy lights cast everything in a warm gold glow, with low ambient lighting and neon accents tracing the railings. Round tables dressed in crisp charcoal linen fill the space, their mirrored tableware catching and scattering the light. Behind it all, a space for the orchestra to set up. Some of the musicians are already there, taking a little break to breathe in the sights before they start up again.

I made sure everyone was positioned to have a fantastic view. But none better than mine.

Since I’m the host, the idea was to eat alone while my brothers mingled with the guests, but plans change. A second chair has been added across from mine, and my chest tightens with anticipation. Not a feeling I’m used to.

Dinner won’t be served for another thirty minutes, so I spend the time circulating among the guests. Or at least attempting to, because my thoughts keep drifting back to my red-haired stunner.

I find her easily in the crowd—the only redhead here. It’s distracting.

“When does this damn thing end?” Vanya materializes at my elbow as one of the tech executives I’ve been speaking with moves on.

“This is why I wanted Melani here. You’re always grumpy at events without her.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he says grumpily, tugging at his tie. “It’s been two hours, Dima.”

“Why didn’t my future sister-in-law come?”

“Linda hasn’t been feeling well, so she stayed with her.” Linda is his mother-in-law-to-be. I frown, hoping it’s not serious. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he adds before I can ask more.

Aleksei steps up next to Vanya. “I thought you said Cole would be here tonight?”

I scowl, not exactly appreciating the reminder. Senator Cole has attended every SecureTech Expo without fail, which is a large part of why I pushed to host this year’s event. Getting him on my turf meant a chance to pry some answers out of one of Daniel Salvi’s closest allies, and maybe plant a bug on him too.

Daniel Salvi. Fucking politicians. The bastard’s been making a whole lot of noise about getting me and my brothers off the streets of New York. I’m still looking for quiet ways to shut him up.

“The fucker backed out at the last minute.”