Page 65 of Rook

I come up on Vance’s door, the Presidential Suite, fancy brass title gleaming in the dim light. There’s a heaviness in my chest, a mix of anger and something else—curiosity maybe, or concern. Vance isn’t just an alpha; he’s a kingpin. His silence could mean anything.

“Alright, let’s do this,” I mutter to myself, raising my fist to knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Vance’s voice is muffled by the thick wood between us.

“Rook. We need to talk.”

“Give me a sec,” comes the reply, and I can hear the shuffling of feet, the low murmur of conversation.

“Sure, take your time. Not like we got a city to save or anything.” The sarcasm drips off my tongue as I wait, patience thinning.

The lock clicks, and the door swings open to reveal Vance. His bright blue eyes are hard to read, but there’s a tension in his jaw that wasn’t there before. Another man, an alpha, brushes past me and down the hall—whoever Vance was meeting with, I guess.

“Come in,” Vance says, stepping aside but not before I catch a better glimpse of the other guy. He’s just a silhouette passing through, but his posture, the cut of his suit—it rings a bell somewhere in the depths of my memory.

“Thanks.” I step inside, scanning the opulent suite with a mix of distaste and envy. The place reeks of money and power, two things that Vance has never been short of.

“Who was that?” I ask casually as Vance closes the door behind me, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Business,” he replies tersely, walking over to the bar set against the far wall. “You want something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good.” My eyes still follow the direction the other man went. I can’t shake it—the nagging feeling that I should know who he is. It’s like trying to remember a dream upon waking, everything slipping away the moment you try to grab hold.

“Sure?” Vance pours himself a whiskey, neat, and takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim of his glass.

“Positive.”

“Alright then.” Vance sets down his glass and leans back against the counter, mirroring my stance. His gaze is sharp, observant, always looking for an angle. “How you holding up, Rook?”

“Okay, I guess.” I shrug one shoulder, my gaze drifting. “Just confused why we’re even here. Thought the plan was to figure out things with Gunnar and Nero, track down that lab in the Mojave. Feels like we’re spinning our wheels.”

Vance nods, understanding flashing in his bright blue eyes. “There’s still time,” he says confidently. “We’ve only been here for a couple days. Things move fast, but not that fast.”

“Right, ’cause nothing screams urgency like lounging around in luxury,” I mutter under my breath, but I know he hears it.

“Is this about Aisling?” Vance asks, tilting his head slightly. “You wishing you were down at the heat spa with the rest of them?”

I stiffen at the mention of her name, clenching and unclenching my fists. It’s not just about Aisling, it’s about everything—the chaos, the lack of direction, the way our group seems to be fraying at the edges. But I keep my face neutral as I meet Vance’s probing gaze.

“Invited, but I opted out,” I say, a rough edge to my voice. My jaw tightens as the image of Aisling—vulnerable and at the mercy of her biology—flits across my mind. “I don’t want to treat her like she’s just…”

“…a sex doll?” Vance finishes for me, his tone casual but his eyes keenly watching my reaction.

“Ever the romantic, aren’t you?” I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a mix of anger and something else. Something protective.

“I didn’t know you two were a thing,” he mutters. “She’s collecting my men like trading cards. Starting to get on my nerves.”

“She’s not just collecting us,” I shoot back. “This thing with her—it’s intense, real—“

“Of course it is,” Vance agrees with a nonchalant nod, but there’s a shadow of something akin to longing flickering in his gaze before he schools it back to indifference. “But let’s be real here, Rook. She’s in heat. And that changes the game.”

I shake my head, unable to fully articulate the tumult of emotions inside me. Instead, I steer the conversation back to what’s bugging me. “What’s your deal with Aisling, anyway?” I ask, my voice low and probing. “You’ve got this whole kingpin thing going on. Why are you so hung up on her?”

Vance considers my question for a moment, tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. Then, with a half-shrug that doesn’t match the intensity in his eyes, he says, “Aisling will be mine eventually. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Is that so?” The words come out more bitterly than I intend, tasting like ash in my mouth.

“Rook…” His tone softens, almost sympathetic. “Some things are inevitable. Like gravity. You can fight it all you want, but in the end, what falls must land.”

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