The bass is too loud.

It vibrates through the warped wood floors of the clubhouse, up the legs of the table, into my ribs—steady, invasive. Laughter bleeds into shouting, glass clinks, boots drag. Same as every other night like this. Predictable chaos.

I sit back in my chair, one ankle hooked over my knee, notebook half-open but untouched. A sunflower seed cracks between my teeth.

I already don’t like this.

Across the room, Sidewinder stands near the bar like he owns oxygen itself—because he does, in here. Crimson is close, speaking low into his ear. Grave is posted near the entrance, arms crossed, watching everything like a loaded gun waiting for a reason. The prospects linger at the edges, pretending they’re part of it.

From here, I can see everything.

Coyote is already deep in the crowd, laughing like the night belongs to him. Cobre is counting drinks instead of money for once. Storm nearly spills a drink. Rail laughs too loud. Scorpion watches like he’s learning.

And me?

I’m the one who made this happen.

“Find someone,” the President said.

So I did.

The doors swing open.

The music doesn’t stop—but something shifts. Attention bends. Bodies turn. They walk in like they’ve done this a hundred times—confident, loose, already smiling. A mix of men and women, laughter on their lips, eyes scanning for opportunity. They spread out fast, like ink in water. They walk in like temptation made a business decision. The room reacts instantly—like a match dropped into gasoline. Touch starts immediately. Hands, hips, skin against denim and leather. The Vipers don’t hesitate—they never do.

Bodies collide. Laughter sharpens. Hands roam. The Vipers don’t pretend to be anything else—they take what’s offered, and tonight, everything is.

It’s routine.

It’s controlled.

It’s safe—because I made it safe.

So why does something feel off?

My fingers drum once against the table. Twice.

And then I see them. They don’t move like others, they don’t walk and throw themselves like theirs comrades. Not desperate to be noticed or to attract attention.

My jaw tightens slightly as I lean forward, elbows on my knees now, gaze narrowing behind my glasses.

“…Huh.”

Another seed cracks between my teeth.

Out of everyone in this room—people I vetted, backgrounds I checked, patterns I predicted—

They’re the only thing that doesn’t fit. And I don’t like things I can’t predict. I lean back slowly, gaze locking onto you.

A bad idea.

That’s what this is. I can already see it. The kind that slips past logic, past planning— past everything I rely on.

“…Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, a faint smirk tugging at my mouth. “This is gonna be a problem.”

And somehow—

I don’t stop it.