Page 21 of Rook

I place the samples into the analyzer, then I sit down in my rolling desk chair and wait for all my fancy tech to do its work—to give me an idea what chemicals were in the guy’s lungs, see if I can find out what they’re putting in this shit and how to track it down. The digital readout begins to populate with numbers and graphs; it’s all nucleotides and markers, no room for grey eyes or soft moans here.

“Come on, give me something good,” I mutter, watching peaks and valleys form on the screen.

But my mind’s playing tricks, turning strands of DNA into strands of her hair, chemical signatures into the scent of her desire. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image of Aisling caught between me and a wall, not Oberon.

“Focus, damn it,” I snap at myself. “This isn’t about her.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that? I didn’t quite make it out,” the virtual assistant chimes in from my computer.

I roll my eyes.

For some reason, I don’t think my computer can help me with this particular problem.

Bloodwork’s done, secrets spilled on the screen, but my head’s a mess of distractions. I shove back from the analyzer, the chair wheels squealing like they’re tired of my shit too. My computer pings—a message blinking on the screen, pulling me out of the maelstrom in my head.

It’s Inari Toure, her words crisp on the display: “I can marshal forces for your eros lab hunt.”

“About damn time,” I mutter, clicking the video call button before I lose my nerve. Her face pops up on the screen, immaculately made up with glittering eyeshadow and plum purple lipstick. I can see the Oasis skyline behind her, hazy in the late summer heat.

“Rook,” she says, voice smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath. “Got my message, I see.”

“Hard to miss.” I lean forward, elbows on the desk. “Listen, I’ve got a lead, but it’s buried deep in the Mojave. It’s no playground—gonna need some serious muscle.”

Her eyes glint with interest, or maybe it’s calculation. “Good thing I got some men for you.”

“What kind, though?” I mutter. “The Mojave ain’t a damn casino; if you want this lab found as bad as I do, we’ll need manpower that doesn’t scare easy.”

“I’ll start assembling the team,” Inari confirms, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “But…that’s not the only reason I called.”

“What’s up?” I say, straightening up.

“Last night, I had a little tete-a-tete with Nero Rossi.” She lets that hang in the air, knows she’s got my attention. “He’s offering up Eclipse defectors. Says they’re itching for a scrap.”

My brow shoots up. Nero Rossi, Caius’s shadow, now stepping into the light? Last I knew, he was working with Vance—but according to Aisling, he’s been hanging around with our missing friend Gunnar. “Defectors could be useful. Or they could slit our throats in our sleep. I don’t trust most Eclipse as far as I can throw them, not with a sadist like Caius in charge.”

“Risk comes with reward, Rook. You know that better than most.” Her image flickers but her confidence doesn’t waver.

“Speaking of risks,” I probe, “was Gunnar Finch cozying up with Nero when you two chatted?”

Inari’s expression shifts like quicksilver. “You want intel like that, Rook? It’s gonna cost you.”

“Cost me?” I let out a dry chuckle. “Let’s not dance around it, Inari. I’m already throwing myself into the lion’s den to dig out this lab. Doing us both a favor.”

“Ah, but you forget,” she purrs, the slightest hint of a scold in her tone, “you’re protecting your business as much as you’re playing the hero.”

“Fine,” I concede with a grunt. Business is business, after all.

“Smart man,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “In that case…Gunnar Finch is cooling his heels in Oasis. And yes, he was in our meeting last night.”

My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to bust out. This isn’t good; Vance won’t hesitate to go for the throat if Gunnar starts—no pun intended—gunning for him. “And?”

“And he’s offering me something tempting for control over your precious little playground. You know how persuasive he can be.”

“Jesus, Inari.” My voice comes out more growl than words. “You’re stirring up a hornet’s nest. Vance won’t take kindly to that kind of play.”

“Vance?” She laughs, cold as ice. “Sweetheart, when did you start caring about Vance’s feelings?”

“Cut the crap. This isn’t about feelings. It’s about not starting an all-out war.” The last thing I need is my operations caught in the crossfire between two alphas trying to mark their territory in blood.

---