Chapter 4 The serpent in the Room

Chapter 4:

The Serpent in the Room

The storm broke with a shiver of lightning behind the hills, but inside, the real thunder was human.

Rebecca stepped outside to breathe, and Fred didn't follow. Instead, he watched through the rain-smeared glass, his eyes distant and amused. Kelvin, still as ever, watched everything with a single, hawk-like eye after Forlan disengaged and murmured something about "contingency shares." Then Samuel, still reeling from Don's message, pieced it together. He moved toward Rebecca, reached for her hand. "Whatever it was, don't let him inside your head."

She looked at him too long. "He never left."

Fred smiled softly to himself as he caught the moment. The board was heating. But he wasn't afraid of burning. He had fireproof hands.

Kelvin pulled Samuel aside. "He's baiting her. Don't play defense-play shadow."

"How do you know?"

I've performed this dance. He tapped his eyepatch. "Lost an eye. Didn't lose sight."

Thunder cracked. The tension didn't dissolve, but the players were now aware of each other-and the real game had begun.

Kelvin Voss was a ghost of two worlds. His name was whispered with caution and respect in the military. One eye lost in the Gulf War-a grenade's whisper at midnight-he returned home with stories no one dared ask about. In the Special Forces, he was called "the snake." Not for treachery, but for precision. He slithered through intel, emotion, and feminine chaos like a man born to seduce and survive. He never boasted; he didn't have to.

Kelvin's charm had layers. Women called it danger wrapped in discipline. He was sharp, courteous, calculating-and indifferent until it mattered. But beneath the soldier's mask lived a man stitched together by longing. That longing wore red lipstick and sang under strobe lights.

Sophia Silas was rhythm and ruin. A stripper by need, a singer by soul. Her stage name was "Velvet," and when she sang, the room forgot its sins. She danced like she was daring the devil to desire her, and more often than not, he did.

Kelvin met her during a late-night sting operation where she was mistakenly profiled. She'd been singing "Summertime" barefoot, drenched in red light, when he recognized something raw almost holy in her voice. He never arrested her. He took her home.

They fell into a kind of love: functional, volatile, steeped in secrets. Kelvin was never quite tamed by Sophia's curves, which could tame any man. Nor did she try. She loved him for his brokenness, the way he stared into the mirror after nightmares, breathing through clenched teeth. She understood darkness-she wore it to work.

But Sophia had her own dilemma: Alberto Samuel. A sergeant, uniformed integrity in motion. She met him on a drug sweep. He'd come to shut down her club, but she shut down his defenses instead.

Samuel didn't sleep with her-not yet. But their phone calls were nightly, filled with confessions that danced too close to promises. He'd ask about her songs; she'd ask if he believed in second lives. They hadn't crossed the line, but both had their toes on the edge.

Kelvin knew. Of course he knew. Snake never slept.

One night, post-performance, Sophia lay in his arms, lashes wet with sweat and music. He whispered, "If I asked you to stop seeing him, would you?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she kissed him with a question of her own.

Their sex was like their love: bruising, silent, addicting. Kelvin liked control; Sophia liked pushing limits. Their nights were filled with whispers, rope, consent, and exploration. He once blindfolded her with his Special Ops scarf; she once handcuffed him to a radiator and made him listen to her sing for an hour before touching him. The game, or finding a balance between power and pleasure, was always more important than the body. But now, everything was tipping. Fred's return changed things. Sophia had sung for him once, years ago, back when she was nobody. He'd tipped her five hundred dollars and told her, "You deserve a kingdom."

He had meant it. And kings always returned for what was once theirs.

The next morning was thick with aftermath. Rain had washed the night clean, but inside the players, nothing had cleared.

Samuel sat in his squad car, re-reading Don's message. The board is heating. Knight might burn the Queen. Fred was the knight, no doubt. But who was the queen? Rebecca? Sophia? Or someone else?

At the club, Sophia danced with less rhythm. Her focus shifted to the shadows. Kelvin hadn't texted her all morning. He always did. The silence echoed.

Fred walked in, unannounced. He didn't glance at the stage. He looked for the dressing room, for something or someone he'd left behind.

Sophia spotted him and froze mid-spin. The music kept playing. Her heart didn't.

In another part of town, Kelvin sat across from Forlan. "He's back," Kelvin said. "And he's touching nerves."

Forlan nodded, his jaw clenched. "What do we do?"

Kelvin smiled without joy. "Set the trap. Let the snake move around. The pieces were moving. But no one noticed the real tension the kind that wasn't spoken. Rebecca had seen Fred's smirk. She knew it wasn't just about the past.