Page 39 of Rook

“Vance!” I yell over the cacophony, breath hitching as I duck behind an overturned car. “Eclipse goons—sharp and loaded for bear!”

Vance snaps his head toward me, bright blue eyes razor-sharp under the desert glare. He doesn’t miss a beat, slamming a thug’s head into the hood of a car with a sickening crunch.

“Keep one breathing!” I shout, hoping he hears me over the gunfire that’s singing a deadly tune.

“Got it!” His voice comes back, gravelly and sure, before he’s lost in the melee again.

I’m not waiting for an invitation—I pop out from cover, letting off two shots at some punk trying to flank us. His body jerks back, and he crumples to the asphalt, a dead weight no one will miss.

“Rook, left side!” Aisling’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp as the edge of a knife.

I pivot, spotting a pair of bastards creeping up on our blind spot. Without pause, I squeeze the trigger, the recoil jarring against my palm as one thug drops. The other dives for cover, but I’m already moving, stalking forward with my drone buzzing overhead like an avenging angel.

“Come on, you Eclipse motherfuckers,” I snarl, my finger itching on the trigger. “Show me what you’ve got.”

They oblige, bullets whizzing by close enough to write my eulogy. But I’m dancing with death today, and I ain’t ready for the last waltz. I return fire, a symphony of chaos and lead, until the air’s thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.

“Rook! Your six!” Luka’s warning has me spinning, just in time to see a brute barreling toward me, all muscle and malice.

“Shit!” I curse, sidestepping and bringing my gun up. It coughs out a round, hitting him square in the shoulder. He stumbles but keeps coming—like the damn Terminator.

“Stay down!” I hiss, aiming again, but a hand clamps down on my shoulder, yanking me back.

“Leave him!” Vance orders, appearing like a phantom out of the dust. “He’s the one we need alive!”

“Fine!” I grit out, watching as Vance goes to work, fists flying with a precision that speaks of too many years in the game.

The goon’s tough, but Vance is tougher, and soon enough, he’s got the bastard on his knees, gasping for mercy that won’t come. We lock eyes, his bright blue gaze telling me all I need to know—he’ll keep this one breathing, but only just.

“Talk,” Vance growls, dragging the thug’s face up by a fistful of hair. “Or I’ll let Rook here finish what he started.”

The bastard’s teeth are already red, his grin more of a snarl. “Nero Rossi and Gunnar Finch send their regards,” he spits out, voice raspy with pain or hate, can’t tell which.

“Who?” Vance’s grip tightens, a vice of fury and muscle. But it’s too damn late; the guy’s jaw works once, twice, and then he’s foaming at the mouth—cyanide white frothing past cracked lips.

“Damn it!” I kick the dirt, watching life flee from his body, rapid like the desert winds. There’s no saving him; there’s no getting answers now. Just a dead man’s message lingering in the sweltering air.

Nero and Gunnar are on the offensive.

And this is about to get a hell of a lot more bloody.

Chapter eighteen

Aisling

I can’t process it…can’t believe what that assassin said, even hours later as we drive past the gates of Oasis.

Gunnar…he wouldn’t.

I lean forward, hands clutched together, nerves fraying at the edges like a well-worn blanket. “He wouldn’t,” I murmur, my voice barely above the hum of the car’s engine. “Gunnar wouldn’t send killers after us.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Aisling,” Vance replies from the seat in front of me, his tone cutting through my denial like a knife. He doesn’t look at me; his gaze is fixed on the passing lights outside. “But I’ve seen this play before. He’s got a taste of power, and now he wants it all for himself…and he doesn’t care who he hurts in the process.”

Oberon, beside me, shakes his head with a frown furrowing his brow. “No. This has to be a misunderstanding, a ploy from someone else. Gunnar knows killing us would start a war he can’t win—and he wouldn’t hurt Ais.”

“War?” Vance scoffs and finally meets my eyes. “We’re already in one, whether you’ve noticed or not.”

I press my lips together, the taste of dread bitter on my tongue. The thought of betrayal from within our complicated, entangled pack grates against my instincts.

---