16. Oberon
The Mojave Skyway cuts through the heat like a blade, and I can feel the dry air trying to leech whatever moisture it can find. Even with the AC on full blast in this blacked-out SUV, summer clings to my skin. The hum of the engine is a monotonous lullaby, and Aisling’s breathing against my shoulder is slow and even—she’s out cold, finally succumbing to exhaustion.
In the front seat, Vance hasn’t said a damn word since we rolled out. He’s just another shadow behind tinted glass, stewing in his thoughts. Maybe he’s plotting, or maybe he’s lost in his own twisted version of heartache over Aisling. It’s always hard to tell with him.
“Hey, Oberon,” Vance suddenly pipes up, his voice cutting through the silence like he’s not used to being ignored. He doesn’t turn around, but I catch his eyes on me in the rearview mirror. “How are you two holding up? Really?”
I shift a bit, careful not to disturb Aisling. She looks small curled up beside me, her blonde hair a stark contrast against the black leather of my jacket. “We’re hanging in there,” I respond, keeping my tone neutral. It’s a dance, talking with Vance—give too much away and he’ll twist it to his advantage.
“Seems like she’s putting on quite the show of strength.” Vance’s voice has that edge, the one that says he’s fishing for something beneath the surface, something he can use.
“Isn’t that what we all do?” I retort, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Put on our best faces while everything crumbles around us?”
A flicker of something crosses his eyes—annoyance, maybe respect. Hard to tell with the sun glaring off the chrome. But it’s gone before I can read it properly.
“Just looking out for her,” he mutters.
I cock my head, giving Vance a once-over in the rearview. “Do you actually care, or are you just digging for intel? You wanna know if she misses you?”
Vance’s eyes catch mine in the mirror, and he smirks—a sharp, knowing curve of his lips that doesn’t reach those bright blue eyes. “Oh, I know she does,” he says with a chuckle that doesn’t quite sound like mirth. “Could scent it the moment I stepped out of the car. Saw it flash in her eyes, too.”
His words hang heavy in the hot, dry air of the car, and something akin to a growl rumbles in my chest. I bite it back, keeping my voice steady. “Your nose must be playing tricks on you, Solace.”
I sit back against the leather seat, heat seeping into my bones from the afternoon sun beating down on the car. The air is thick with silence and the faint scent of Aisling’s sugary perfume. She’s out cold on my shoulder, her breaths steady despite the chaos swirling around us.
Vance’s eyes flicker to me in the rearview mirror, sharp as broken glass. “You don’t trust me, do you, Oberon?” His voice is smoky, a low rumble that rolls through the cramped space of the car.
“Trust is earned,” I say, keeping my gaze fixed on the horizon. “And you’ve got a hell of a debt.”
“Still loyal to Gunnar, even if the man’s being foolish?” There’s a bite to his words, like he’s tasting something bitter.
“Damn right.” Words slip out raw, unfiltered. “Gunnar might be losing his grip, but he’s pack. And pack means something to me.”
“Even if it costs you everything?” Vance’s voice is softer now, probing at the edges of my resolve.
“Especially then.” My fingers tighten around Aisling’s hand where it rests against my thigh. She doesn’t stir, lost in the oblivion of sleep. I’d follow her into hell if she asked—it’s just my luck she’s chosen a place not too different.
“Pack loyalty… I respect that,” Vance says, a shadow passing over his face before he looks away. “But remember, Oberon, every alpha for himself in this city.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask, but Vance only smiles, a jagged line cutting across his face.
“Consider it friendly advice.”
“Vance,” I start, breaking the silence that’s settled thick as dust since we left the city limits. “I don’t buy into Gunnar’s grand plan. Taking over the Angels? That’s a death wish.”
He shoots me a sidelong glance, eyebrows arching. “Didn’t peg you for the type to bail on a power play. You think Gunnar’s lost it?”
“Lost it? Maybe. But this ain’t about Gunnar’s grip on reality. It’s about survival.” My throat feels like sandpaper. “If I had my way, we’d be out of Pacific City so fast it’d make your head spin. Start fresh somewhere without ghosts or gunfights at every corner.”
“And Aisling?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it, honed sharp and dangerous.
“She’s her own person,” I say, feeling Aisling’s breath warm against my neck as she sleeps on. “But she won’t leave. Got too many ties, too much unfinished business.”
“Like Gunnar?” he says, a smirk playing on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes of his.
“Right.” I’m wary, watching his reaction. “So what’s your angle, Vance? You always have one.”
“Maybe I do,” he admits, and I can tell he’s weighing his words like bullets before firing them off. “Maybe I care more than I let on.”
Before I can dig deeper into that confession, a sudden roar cuts through the air. We both snap our heads toward the window just as a motorcycle blasts past us, a blur of chrome and rebellion slicing through the heavy heat.
“Damn,” Vance mutters under his breath. “That’s one way to stir up the dust.”
“Or a storm,” I add, the uneasy feeling in my gut saying that might just be the prelude to something worse.
The engine’s growl spikes as another bike rips by, its shadow flicking over us like a bad omen.
“Wha—?” Aisling’s voice is groggy, her head lifting from my shoulder. She blinks hard into the harsh glare of the afternoon.
“Trouble,” I mutter, my eyes tracking the vanishing speck of the motorcycle.
“Again?” Her grey eyes are sharp now, no trace of sleep left in them. “Or still?”
“Could be both,” I say, watching her shake off the last tendrils of unconsciousness.
“Great.” She straightens up, trying to peer out of the tinted windows. “Any idea who?”
“Can’t say,” I answer, but there’s that gnawing in my gut that tells me we’re about to find out. It’s a feeling I’ve come to trust, out here where alliances are as brittle as sun-baked bones.
Aisling frowns, sensing the shift in the air. She’s always been attuned to the undercurrents of danger, a gift and a curse for an omega like her.
“Vance?” she probes, turning towards him with a mix of caution and curiosity.
“Keep your head down, Stargazer,” he instructs, his focus fixed on the road ahead. He’s got that look, like he’s ready to tear through whatever’s coming our way.
“Like hell I will,” she fires back, defiance sparking in her gaze. That’s Aisling; never one to cower, even when retreat might be the better part of valor.
“Suit yourself.” Vance doesn’t argue further; knows it’d be a waste of breath.
Another roar shatters the relative quiet, followed by more—a symphony of engines, growing louder, closer. My pulse kicks up a notch. This isn’t just a couple of riders showing off—it’s a statement.
“Here we go,” I breathe out.
“Damn right.” Aisling squares her shoulders, ready to face whatever storm we’re driving into.
And then it hits—an ear-splitting cacophony of screeches and metal crunching. The car swerves violently as our driver wrestles with the wheel. A sickening thud, and the world tilts on its axis. Glass shatters, spraying like diamond dust in the harsh sunlight. Aisling’s scream slices through the chaos, raw and primal.
“Oberon!” Her hand finds mine, gripping tight enough to bruise.
“Got you,” I say, though it’s more a promise than a fact.
“Everyone, hold on!” Vance’s voice cuts through again, commanding even as the car bucks beneath us.
“Trying to!” I shout back, bracing myself as best I can.
Then, another impact, this time throwing us sideways. The seatbelt bites into my chest, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is keeping Aisling from harm, her name a silent mantra on my lips.
“Stargazer, stay with me,” I urge, my free hand reaching for her even as the world outside devolves into a blur of motion and noise.
There’s no reply, only the ragged sound of our breathing and the relentless assault on the senses as we careen through the anarchy unfurling around us. And somehow, amidst the havoc, I know this is just the beginning.
We’re caught in the eye of a storm we can’t outrun—not on the Mojave Skyway, not anywhere.