22. Luka
Despite everything…despite just having my ass kicked…Gunnar wants to talk to me.
He tells me we should talk after our little brawl—or, I guess, beating, since I didn’t fight back—and then we’re heading to the elevator, my hands shoved in my pockets. I deserved that, I don’t deny it—and maybe it felt good to finally be punished for what I did to Aisling.
Punished by her pack’s alpha, just like it should have been from the beginning.
Gunnar wordlessly lets me into his room with the quick scan of a keycard, and I step inside before he shuts the door behind us both. The place is a disaster zone, like a twister tore through here. Papers scattered across the floor, shattered glass sparkling like a constellation under the dim lights. Gunnar doesn’t seem to notice the chaos.
He moves with the kind of exhaustion that weighs down on a man’s soul.
I can practically feel it.
“Drink?” He gestures towards the decanter, amber liquid catching the last sliver of evening light slipping through the cracked blinds.
I shake my head, a quick jerk to the left. “Nah, I’m off all that stuff. And…well, everything. No booze, no drugs. Nothing.”
“Since when?” He’s frowning now, eyes searching mine like he might find some kind of lie tucked away in there. I’m sure he’s thinking to nights no more than a few months ago when he would sit on my couch at the church and get high. A lot has changed since then.
“Since New Eden.” I look away from him, fixate on a dent in the wall, probably one of many reminders of the shadows clinging to Gunnar’s frame. “Just don’t trust myself anymore, you know?”
Gunnar’s silent for a moment, then he pours himself a glass with a hand that’s not quite steady. He doesn’t drink it though, just holds it, staring into its depths as if it’s got answers. Maybe for him, it does.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is gravelly, like it hurts to get the words out. “For what happened at New Eden. For…everything. For beating the hell out of you downstairs. She’s not even mine anymore, I just…I went off.”
His gaze lifts to me, and I see something raw there. It looks like guilt, feels like regret. This man is shattered—broken by circumstances, by people, by choices. I see him now, really see him, beyond the alpha strength and the pack leader fa?ade.
He never wanted to be the Archangel; he just wanted Aisling.
And she used him and used him until he was hollowed out.
“Shit happens,” I mutter, but then I realize my lip’s still leaking blood. The taste is iron and salt, a reminder of the punch that split it open. I touch it gingerly.
“Want some ice for that?” Gunnar’s watching me, his eyes tracking to the red on my fingers…then to his bruised knuckles.
I nod. Better than bleeding all over his fancy carpets.
He moves, surprisingly light on his feet for a guy his size, towards the kitchen area of the suite. He returns with a washcloth wrapped around a bag of ice cubes, and hands it to me without a word.
“Thanks,” I grumble, pressing the makeshift ice pack against my lip. It stings like a bitch at first, but soon the numbness sets in, dulling the pain.
We sit down together, he in an armchair, me on the couch that’s probably worth more than I am. The opulence around us is offset by the mess—a mess that Gunnar’s made, like he doesn’t want room service here.
Because the mess inside feels better when it matches the mess outside.
I get that too.
He nurses his drink, amber liquid catching the dim light, while I nurse my face. There’s a sort of symmetry to it that makes me want to laugh, but I figure it would hurt too much.
The silence stretches between us, taut and fragile, ready to snap. But neither of us seems willing to break it just yet. We’re two men adrift, caught up in the undertow of Aisling’s storm. She’s wrecked us both in her own way, though we’d never admit it out loud.
“Didn’t know you for a teetotaler,” Gunnar says after a while, his voice low.
“Didn’t know you for the sentimental type.” I shoot back, the words muffled by the cloth.
“Guess we’re both full of surprises.”
“Guess so.”
His lips twitch, almost a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Fuck—he’s aged years these past few months. I feel like it was just days ago that I was taking him out on his first job.
Me and Rook walked him into Dreamland, none the wiser, green as grass.
And now…now we’re here.
The room feels smaller with each passing second, the air heavy with things unsaid. Outside, the city hums with life, unaware of the quiet drama unfolding within these walls. In here, it’s just Gunnar and me, our shared history, and the uncertain road ahead.
“So spill it, Gunnar. What the hell are you doing with Nero Rossi?” I lean forward, my voice edged with a mix of concern and disbelief. The ice numbs my lip, but there’s a different kind of ache settling in my chest—a fear for what his answer might entail.
He takes a deep pull from his glass, jaw working as he sets it down with a clink on the coffee table. “Nero’s got resources. Told me he could get me out of Pacific City.” He rubs at his temple, wincing slightly. “Out from under Vance’s thumb—from both our brothers. We have a bond, in a way—younger siblings and all that.”
“Christ, Gunnar. You believe him?” I ask, studying his face. Gunnar’s never been one to trust easily, and the fact that he’s even considering it sends warning signals through my mind.
“Believe? No, not really. But desperate times, Luka.” He leans back into the cushions, the lines of exhaustion etched deeply into his face
“Desperate enough to risk our necks on the word of Nero fucking Rossi?” I push, needing to understand. Needing to know how far gone he is. Nero’s been a business partner, sure…but never a friend. The Rossis have always been dirty.
“Desperate enough to consider every option,” he replies curtly. “Besides, Nero has just as much to lose if things go south. Assassination attempts aren’t exactly good for business, especially when you’re low on allies.”
“Are you sure about that?” I prod further. “You think Nero didn’t have a hand in the attempt on Aisling’s life? On mine, Rook’s…Oberon’s?”
Gunnar’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking. He takes a long pull from his glass, setting it down with a thud that seems to echo in the tense air between us. “I wouldn’t put it past him. But no, I don’t think so. It doesn’t add up.”
“Meaning…?”
“We don’t have enough allies to kill the only people who give a damn about us,” Gunnar says. “And he doesn’t care to isolate me. If anything, he wants me to make amends with the pack.”
“Fine.” I let out a breath and shift, feeling the ice numbing my swollen lip. “But listen, no matter the mess we’re in, you gotta know something.”
He looks at me, eyes like chips of flint, waiting.
“None of us want to see you hurt. Aisling, Oberon, Rook…hell, even Vance.” The words feel heavy, but they hang there, true. “Everyone’s worried sick. They want you back, Gunnar.”
His laugh is humorless, rubbing at his face with a hand that’s suddenly unsteady. “Back, huh? And pretend like nothing happened? I don’t…I don’t know if I can forgive her, Luka. Aisling—“
“Nobody’s asking for instant forgiveness.” I cut in, maybe too quick. “Just come home. Sort the shit out there.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I want the best for Aisling. Always have. Even now. But trust and forgiveness…that’s a steep damn hill to climb.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, the ice pressed to my lip forgotten for a moment. “Look, the claiming on New Eden…that wasn’t her fault, Gunnar. It wasn’t mine either. Both of us were high on eros. It’s like our brains got hijacked. What happened was brainwashed rape, pure and simple.”
Gunnar puts his glass down with a clink, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he stares into the amber liquid. “Luka, it’s not just about New Eden,” he says, voice barely above a growl. “It’s the lies, man. All the damn time she’s been manipulating us, pulling strings like we’re pieces on her fucking chessboard.”
I flinch, not because he’s wrong, but because hearing it out loud cuts deep. “Manipulation or not, we’ve all been played at some point. But Aisling…she’s different now.”
“Is she?” His eyes meet mine, searching for an ounce of doubt. “Or is she just better at the game?”
“Wouldn’t know,” I reply with a shrug. “Haven’t seen much of her since we got back from the island. Just…just think about it, okay? We’re all messed up. But we’re pack. And pack sticks together.”
“Sticking together means trust,” he counters, the weight of betrayal heavy in his voice. “And I’m running real low on that these days, Luka.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. We sit there, two broken alphas, trying to piece together what was once unbreakable.
“Look, man,” I insist, leaning forward. “She’s trying to make things right. She’s kept her distance because she knows how you feel about…about everything that went down. She wants you to trust her again.”
Gunnar shakes his head, swirling the drink in his hand. “You think it’s that easy? Just a snap of the fingers and all’s forgotten?” He scoffs, his gaze hollow. “I don’t know if I can ever look at her the same way.”
“Nobody’s asking for amnesia, Gunnar. Just…” The words jam up in my throat, battling with the frustration and the urge to knock some sense into him. “Just consider that she’s not the enemy here.”
“Isn’t she?” he murmurs.
But before he can elaborate, there’s a knock at the door.
We both freeze, our heightened senses kicking in. It’s like a current ripples through the room, and we know—it’s Aisling on the other side of that door. Her presence is unmistakable, even without seeing her face or hearing her voice. The mating bond sets me on edge, and I can see it in Gunnar’s eyes too.
That’s why she’s dangerous…because she has us all wrapped around her finger.
Gunnar sets his glass down with a clatter and stands, his movements rigid. I push myself off the couch, the stickiness of drying blood pulling at my split lip. In the few steps it takes him to reach the door, I see the conflict raging behind his steel-gray eyes—the war between what his heart wants and what his pride demands.
He hesitates at the doorknob, a tremble betraying the firm set of his shoulders. And I realize, despite all his posturing, Gunnar is just as lost as the rest of us.