Page 17 of Rook

I don’t get the impression she would let this dirty alpha anywhere near her, despite his charms.

Then it’s my turn. I step forward, grip firm, no bullshit. Her hand is cool and soft in mine, but the strength in her fingers tells a story all its own.

“Gunnar Finch, I presume?” Her lips curve into a knowing smile, revealing nothing and everything all at once. “Or is it Solace now?”

“Still Finch…and I intend on keeping it that way,” I mutter, a little caught off guard. “Didn’t realize I was making noise loud enough to hit your ears.”

“Word travels fast when it wants to,” she says, releasing my hand. Her gaze holds mine, steady, unflinching. “Especially about the prodigal sons of Pacific City.”

“Prodigal might be stretchin’ it,” I counter, trying to keep the edge out of my tone.

“Modesty doesn’t suit you, Gunnar,” Inari chides gently, her eyes glinting with mirth. “I’ve had my ear to the ground. You’ve been stirring up more than just dust and trouble back home.”

“Trouble’s got a way of finding me,” I quip, but it’s half-hearted. The fact is, she’s not wrong. If my presence here in Oasis wasn’t proof enough.

“Speaking of trouble,” she segues with a smirk. “You have an acquaintance in common with me. Rook Rainier?”

“Rook?” The name knocks around inside my skull like a bullet ricocheting off walls—a reminder that he took in Aisling after I spurned her, that he sided with Luka when I told him what happened. Just another person who threw me to the damn wolves, but I don’t want her to know that. “He used to run with my crew.”

“Used to work for me as well,” Inari adds, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as though trying to read my reaction. “This world, it’s smaller than we think.”

“Seems that way,” I mutter, pushing thoughts of Rook aside for now.

Last thing I need is old ghosts resurfacing at a time like this.

“Let’s sit.” She gestures toward the plush chairs opposite her desk, moving to reclaim her own seat. The bodyguard shifts subtly, a silent sentinel as we take our places.

“Thanks for the audience, Inari,” Nero interjects, easing into his chair with a casualness that belies the tension I can see coiling beneath his surface. He’s playing it cool, but even he knows we’re treading on razor wire here.

“Business before pleasure, gentlemen,” Inari replies, her voice smooth as silk but with a hint of iron underneath. “Now, let’s talk about how we can help each other.”

“Leadership in Pacific City is a mess,” Nero says, cutting straight to it. “Caius, my brother, he’s turning Echo Beach into a graveyard. Bad for morale, worse for business.”

I chime in, “Vance is no better. The guy’s gone ghost since Aisling got snatched by Eclipse. He’s not running the Angels; he’s hiding from them.”

Inari leans back, her fingers drumming on the desk, silver rings catching the light. “Pacific City’s downfall isn’t news to me. But boys, I’ve got bigger fish frying as we speak.”

“Such as?” I ask, leaning forward, elbows on my knees.

“Oasis has its own poison seeping through the streets,” she says, her eyes hard as flint. “Eros. It’s everywhere and it’s rotting us from the inside out.”

“I was part of the crew that took down Terra Vitae,” I tell Inari. “Eros should’ve died with them.”

Inari’s eyes, sharp and calculating, don’t waver from mine. The room feels charged, like a storm’s brewing in the space between us. “There’s a new strain,” she says, her tone even. “It’s flooding Oasis, and Rook’s on it. But he needs backup.”

“You hired an Angel to do your snooping for you?” Nero’s brow quirks up, curiosity piqued.

“Like I said, he’s an old employee of mine,” Inari explains, brushing an invisible speck off her silver dress. “Sharp instincts. He’s got leads but lacks resources.”

“Resources we’ve got,” Nero chimes in, leaning back in his chair with that cocky tilt to his grin. “Gunnar and I can bring muscle, intel…whatever it takes.”

“Good.” Inari rises from behind her desk, the silver fabric of her dress whispering against her skin. She moves with the grace of a queen, powerful despite—or maybe because—she’s an omega. “I expect you to get in touch with him. Use what you’ve got to nail this down.”

“Consider it done,” I say, standing to meet her eye to eye. “You give us your word, we’ll handle the rest.”

“Word given,” she replies, extending her hand. Her grip is firm, not a hint of hesitation.

“Then we’re in business,” I respond, shaking her hand, sealing the deal with a clasp as solid as our resolve.

---