Page 44 of Rook

We’re halfway to the door when Vance’s voice, smooth as aged whiskey, cuts through the thick atmosphere. “Gents,” he says, standing with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Care to join me downstairs for a drink?”

“Lead the way,” Oberon grumbles, the growl in his tone saying it’s the last thing he wants.

But we all know you don’t say no to Vance Solace or Inari Toure, not unless you’re tired of breathing.

Chapter twenty

Gunnar

The clink of ice against glass punctuates the murmur of the Bellanova bar as I swirl my drink, a cheap bourbon that burns just right. Nero’s on his fifth beer, and we’re deep in it now, hashing out our next move.

“Can’t trust Inari,” I grumble, feeling the weight of her name like a loaded dice in my mouth. “She’s all smoke and mirrors—could be leading us by the nose.”

Nero chuckles, a sound that scrapes like a matchstick. “Or she could be our royal flush. Girl’s got moves even the devil would envy.” He leans back, his black hair falling into his eyes, a casual look that’s deceptive. He’s always thinking, always plotting, like a spider waiting in the dark corners of its web.

“Either way, we need to play our hand carefully,” I say and take another swig, letting the liquid courage settle deep in my gut.

“Always do,” Nero replies with a sly grin, but it’s cut short. His brown eyes widen, fixed on something—or someone—over my shoulder.

I twist around, the stool groaning under me, and there they are: Vance, Luka, Oberon, and Rook striding into the bar like they own the goddamn place. Vance leads the pack, his greying hair catching the dim light, while those bright blue eyes scan the room. They stop when they land on me.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my fingers tightening around the glass. The cool surface feels like the only thing keeping me from boiling over. This isn’t what we need—not now.

And I can’t fucking breathe when they’re right there…close enough to fucking strangle.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” I say, voice steady despite the fire kindling in my chest. My instincts scream at me to stand, to make myself bigger, but I force calm through every fiber of my being. It’s not easy when every cell in my body wants to react, to protect what’s mine.

“Stay put, Gunnar,” Nero murmurs, his tone low and steady. “Let them come to us. We’re not about to show weakness in our own territory. We came to Inari first…and they have to take our leftovers.”

I clench my jaw, the muscles working as I fight every instinct telling me to rise up and confront them head-on. But Nero’s right; this isn’t the time for a display of brute force. We need to be smarter than that. So I stay put, taking another pull from my drink, letting the ice clink against the glass—a small sound that doesn’t betray the storm raging inside me.

Of course, they can’t just let it lie, can they?

My gaze locks onto Luka as he moves through the crowd, Oberon looming at his side like some kind of dark sentinel. Rook and Vance find a table off to the side, but their attention is fixed on us, predatory and calculating. Vance, with his deep tan skin, looks like he’s itching for a confrontation, ready to bring down hell if the word is given. Rook is barely holding him back.

“Here we go,” I mutter, feeling Nero’s eyes on me, watching with that damned amusement still playing at the edges of his mouth. He’s enjoying this far too much.

Luka stops a few feet away, his presence like a physical weight. The bastard doesn’t deserve to stand on the same ground as me, not after what he did with Aisling—marking her while they were on that damn nd, like I didn’t even exist as the pack alpha. That thought alone makes my blood boil, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Keep it together, Gunnar,” Nero whispers, so quiet I can barely hear him over the din of the bar.

“Been looking for you,” Luka says flatly, no hint of a greeting in his voice. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed. “You had us all fucking worried.”

I scoff, tipping my glass to my lips and taking a long pull of the amber liquid. It burns just right going down. “Why don’t you buy a man a drink first, huh?” My tone is mocking, sharp enough to cut, and I can tell it hits home from the way his face tightens.

“Cut the crap, Gunnar,” Luka snaps back, his anger rising like heat waves off asphalt. “We’re still your friends, even if you don’t want it.”

Beside him, Oberon shifts, his expression less hostile than Luka’s but no less serious. “Me and Aisling have been worried too,” he intervenes with a slightly calmer, though still firm, tone. “You can’t just up and vanish on your pack.”

“Pack,” I spit out the word like it’s poison, my gaze never leaving Luka’s. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a pack.” My voice slashes through any pretense of camaraderie that might’ve lingered in the air. A collective tension seizes the group; a visceral, electric charge that threatens to spark violence at the slightest provocation.

Nero, sensing the escalating hostility, leans back casually in his seat, one arm draped over the back of his chair. His eyes, though, are sharp and calculating. “Ease up, boys,” he says smoothly, an edge of steel beneath his seemingly nonchalant demeanor. “Gunnar here is just a little prickly after a full day of negotiating with Inari Toure. Which leads me to my next question…why exactly are you lot gracing us with your presence? Don’t tell me you’re all here for the expensive drinks and mood lighting.”

Oberon’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He looks over his shoulder at Vance, seeking silent confirmation before returning his attention to us.

“Inari invited us,” he reveals. “Wanted to talk to Aisling.”

“I knew that bitch was double-crossing us,” I snap.

---