10. Rook
Chapter ten
Rook
I thumb the burner phone, then hit ‘send’ on a message to Luka: “Moonshine Lounge. Need your ears on something.” It’s cryptic enough to pique his interest and urgent enough to get him moving.
We need to start talking about the Mojave raid…and how we’re going to get rid of Vance and the eros operation all at once.
Fuck me .
I feel like a real asshole.
The city is a living, breathing entity at this time of night, one that doesn’t care for the plight of any lone beta like me. I shove my way through throngs of bodies, each lost in their own tales of survival and sin in this dystopian cesspool I once called home. Oasis can be beautiful, but in the dead of night…well, it’s best not to walk alone.
I push open the door to the Moonshine Lounge, feeling the weight of the day slough off with the cool wave of artificially chilled air. The place is dimly lit, the kind of atmosphere where secrets fester and deals are cut over glasses that never stay empty long. I make a beeline for the bar, claiming a stool as my temporary throne in this kingdom of broken dreams.
“Rook,” the bartender nods at me when I take a seat, the familiarity between us unspoken but understood. He knows my poison; no need to waste words when I’ve been spending a hell of a lot of time here since dragging my sorry ass back from Pacific City.
Time ticks by, seconds stretching into minutes while I wait. The jukebox wails an old world tune, some country ballad about love gone wrong. It grates, scratching at the scabs of my own buried heartaches.
I want to give Aisling time…but damn it all, she doesn’t make it easy.
Then the door swings open again and there he is—Luka, late as usual but worth the wait. He scans the room, spots me, and prowls over with the grace of a predator despite being drenched in the stink of the past.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mutters as he slides onto the stool beside me. His profile is a study in tension, jaw set, eyes hooded. Whatever he’s got roiling inside him, it’s heavy, and it sets my teeth on edge.
“Can I get you anything?” the bartender asks Luka.
“Water,” Luka replies. The bartender pauses for just a beat—water isn’t a usual request here—but then he nods and turns to fill a glass.
Drinks arrive, and we take them, mine throwing off a rich amber glow, Luka’s reflecting the dim lights like a mirror. We leave the bar behind, moving to a corner booth that’s become too familiar for comfort. It’s the same spot where I lied through my teeth to Vance not twenty-four hours ago. That lie sits between us now, an invisible third occupant of the worn leather seat.
I slide in, the whiskey heavy in my hand, while Luka keeps his distance on the other side, nursing the water as if it’s a lifeline. There’s a tension that wasn’t there before Aisling came into our lives, a tautness that neither of us knows how to navigate.
Her presence—even when she’s miles away—has changed everything, reshaped the dynamics of our gang, our relationships, our very selves. Luka’s got this pinched look around his eyes, and I don’t need to be a mind reader to tell he’s sitting on a bombshell ready to blow.
“Something’s eating you,” I venture, breaking the silence that’s too thick, too charged with all the words we aren’t saying. I can see the war behind his eyes, the push and pull of what he wants to say and what he thinks he should keep buried.
“Rook,” he starts, then stops, a frown creasing his brow. He takes another sip of water, buying time. I lean back, waiting him out, knowing that whatever he’s got to say is going to stir up the murky waters we’re both trying to wade through.
“We’ve come a long way from getting high in a church attic, huh?” I say, attempting to lighten the mood. “Look at us now. You sober, me…well, still an alcoholic.”
Luka chuckles softly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, which keep flicking to the screen of his phone like moths to a flame.
“Those were simpler times,” Luka murmurs, his voice tinged with something like regret—or maybe it’s longing. “No labs, no omegas…just the unknown ahead.”
“Exactly.” I nod, taking a sip of my whiskey. The burn is familiar, comforting even, but it does nothing to ease the tension. “We could use a bit of that simplicity now, huh?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” he admits, but his attention is snagged again by the damn phone vibrating on the tabletop.
“Spit it out, Luka,” I finally say, unable to contain my frustration any longer. I set down my glass harder than necessary. “You’ve been twitchy since you walked in. Something’s got you on edge—and it ain’t just the usual crap we deal with.”
He pauses, and there’s a moment where I think he might actually confide in me. But instead, he locks the phone and shoves it into the pocket of his jacket. His jaw clenches, a visible sign of the inner turmoil he’s wrestling with.
“It’s nothing,” he lies, and I can tell from the tightness in his voice that it’s anything but.
“Come on, man.” I lean in, pressing. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. And you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
Luka’s gaze finally meets mine, raw and searching. It’s clear he’s torn between loyalty and the need to unburden himself. Whatever it is, it’s big enough to shake him—and that alone is enough to set off alarm bells in my head.
Luka exhales slowly, his breath a fog against the dim light of the Moonshine Lounge. He glances around, ensuring no one’s close enough to eavesdrop. Then he leans closer, and I do the same, feeling the buzz of anticipation and dread mingling in my gut.
“Aisling and Gunnar,” he starts, and already the mention of her name sends a ripple through me. “They’re out with Nero tonight.”
Nero. The mere name carries weight, a reminder of the chaos that follows him like a shadow. That Aisling, our Aisling, would be anywhere near that unpredictable Alpha sets my teeth on edge.
“And that’s not all,” Luka continues, and there’s a heaviness to his words that makes my chest tighten. “Inari—she thinks Aisling should…she suggested Aisling mate with Nero. Bring him into the pack. And Gunnar seems to like the idea.”
The shock of it hits me like a gut punch, leaving me reeling. My hand tightens around my glass, knuckles going white with the effort to keep from shattering it. I can feel the burn of whiskey in my throat, forgotten in the wake of Luka’s revelation.
“Damn,” I mutter, struggling to keep my voice level. “Inari’s playing a dangerous game.”
Luka nods solemnly, his eyes locked onto mine. “Rook,” he says quietly, a whisper meant for only me, “whatever happens here—this stays between us.”
“Of course.” The response is automatic, loyalty woven deep into my being. But beneath the surface, the news festers, a wound that won’t easily heal. Aisling and Nero. The thought alone is enough to stir a bitter taste in my mouth.
It’s not jealousy; it’s fear. Fear for what this means for us—for her—and the precarious balance we’ve fought so hard to maintain. It’s a mess, one that seems to tangle further with every passing day.
And, well…maybe it’s a little bit of jealousy.
I take a long swig of whiskey, feeling the liquid courage course through my veins. “You know, I’ve been taking my time with Aisling,” I confess, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. “But now…now I’m scared I’m getting left behind.”
“Rook,” Luka says, his brow creasing with concern. “She’s got Gunnar, Oberon, me—thanks to that damn drug—and now possibly Nero. But you’re different. You’re not just another alpha vying for control.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “That’s just it, isn’t it? As a beta, I know where I stand. She’s got her pick of alphas, enough to keep her satisfied.” The words taste like ash as they fall from my lips. My role in this twisted hierarchy has always been clear, but never has it felt so much like a curse.
Luka reaches across the table, his hand briefly clasping mine in a show of solidarity. “She cares about you, Rook. More than you realize. Things around Aisling are always tangled up, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t see you.”
“Maybe.” Doubt gnaws at me, but I push it aside. It’s not the moment for self-pity. “Are you happy to be in the pack, though?” I ask, steering the conversation away from my own troubles. “It’s been a hell of a ride since your return from New Eden.”
He sighs, and there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—a storm of emotions trying to find their place. “Truth is, I don’t really know how to feel. It’s all too…complicated. There’s wanting to belong, sure, but after everything, can you ever truly go back?”
I let out a long sigh and run my fingers through my hair, the weight of our conversation pressing down on me. “It feels like beating a dead horse to keep talking about it like this.” I shake my head, feeling the futility in every word. “And you know, that wasn’t even why I wanted to meet you here.”
Luka looks at me, his brows knitting together in concern, but also curiosity. His phone lies forgotten now as he gives me his full attention.
“Here,” I say, pulling a folded piece of paper from my back pocket, smoothing it out on the worn surface of the booth’s table. It’s a map, dog-eared and marked with circles in red ink. My finger hovers before stabbing down on one particular spot. “I think this is where the Mojave lab is hidden.”
Luka leans in, his eyes tracing the lines and notations, absorbing the implications. “The Mojave lab…” he murmurs, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “The last spot for eros, huh?”
“Yeah.” My jaw sets as cold determination floods my veins. “And I believe it’s run by the same guy who dosed you with eros. The bastard that made you—” I halt, not wanting to finish the sentence, not wanting to remind him of that dark day when control was ripped from his hands.
His expression darkens, the memory etching itself across his face for a fleeting moment before he masks it with resolve. “Ready to kill that bastard,” Luka mutters, a growl lacing his words, fists clenched on the table.
I nod, feeling the same surge of adrenaline at the thought of retribution. “I know. Me too. But we’ve gotta be smart about this, Luka.”
He exhales slowly, deflating as strategy overrides instinct. “Right. Smart.” He leans back, running a hand through his hair. “So, what’s the plan?”
“First, we need intel. Layout, security, personnel.” I tap the map. “We go in blind, we might as well sign our death warrants now.”
“Surveillance,” he agrees. “Drones could work. Small ones, so they don’t get noticed.”
“Good call. And we need to know their shifts, when they change guards. We hit them during the shift change—when there’s chaos.” My mind races, picturing the operation unfolding step by meticulous step.
“Chaos is good,” Luka says with a half-smile. “And once we’re inside?”
“Plant charges. Blow the lab and everything in it sky-high.” I can almost smell the acrid scent of destruction, taste the bittersweet victory.
“Explosives.” Luka nods. “That’ll require a delicate touch. We can’t afford a premature detonation.”
“You know I’ve got that covered,” I say with a sly smile.
“Understood.” His eyes meet mine, reflecting the gravity of what we’re about to undertake. “We’ll need a distraction, too. Something to pull security away from the lab.”
“Maybe a false alarm elsewhere in the compound. Fire or a security breach.” I suggest, already thinking of how we could orchestrate such a diversion.
“Fire’s risky. Draws too much attention.” Luka’s frown deepens. “But a security breach… yeah, that could work. Make ’em think there’s an attack coming from the opposite side.”
“Right.” I draw a breath, letting the weight of our conversation settle. “We’ve got a lot to prep, Luka. This ain’t gonna be easy.”
“Since when do we do easy?” There’s a flash of the old Luka in his smile, the one that took no crap and feared nothing.
“Never,” I admit with a chuckle. “But let’s not make it harder than it needs to be.”
We stand up, the booth’s worn leather creaking under us, a reminder of all the conversations it has absorbed. The lounge has emptied out some, the jukebox now silent, but the tension between us fills the space with an invisible hum.
“Alright, I’ll let the others know.” Luka’s voice is low, his usual confidence tempered by the weight of our plan. “They’ll be in. No question.”
“Good,” I reply, clapping him on the shoulder as we make for the exit. The cool night air hits my face, and I feel the gears of war starting to turn.
We walk in silence to the Bellanova, the towering structure a monolith against the starless sky. It’s here where our paths diverge, each of us returning to our own brand of solitude.
“Hey, Rook,” Luka’s voice stops me just before I break away. I turn to find his eyes searching mine. There’s an intensity there that tells me he’s not just seeing me; he’s looking for something inside me.
“Keep faith, yeah?” He says it like it’s a simple thing, like faith is just another weapon we can wield in the coming fight. “Aisling…she still wants you. This whole thing with Nero, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I mutter, but his words lodge somewhere deep, somewhere hopeful.
“Life’s a mess, Rook. But sometimes the best things come from the biggest disasters.” Luka gives a half-hearted chuckle, a sound that seems to acknowledge the absurdity of finding hope amidst our dystopian backdrop.
“Complicated or not, I’m not giving her up without a fight.” My voice is steady, even if inside, my emotions are anything but.
“Didn’t think you would.” Luka claps me on the back with a brotherly force. “Just don’t lose yourself in the process, alright?”
“Never do,” I say, and this time I allow myself a small smile.
Reaching my room feels like crossing an invisible finish line each night. The door shuts with a thud behind me, sealing me inside this small space that feels both sanctuary and prison. My fingers linger on the cold metal of the lock before I let them fall to my side.
“Complicated,” I echo to myself, taking in the stark room. It’s got the essentials—a bed, a dresser, a small table with one chair—but it’s missing life, missing warmth…missing her.
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees as I lean forward and bury my head in my hands. Faith, Luka had said. But faith can’t fill the void next to me in this bed, can’t replace the scent of Aisling that seems permanently imprinted in my brain.
“Damn it all,” I whisper into the darkness.
The weight of loneliness presses down, and for a moment, I allow myself the indulgence of grief. Grief for what’s been lost, for the tangle of relationships we’ve all found ourselves in, and for the uncertain future we’re barreling towards.
But then I straighten up, the resolve setting back into my jaw. There’s too much riding on my shoulders—on our shoulders—to get weighed down by what-ifs and might-have-beens. I have to focus on the Mojave lab, on tearing down the operation that’s caused us all so much pain.
On making sure Vance has no idea we’re all working against him.
“Tomorrow,” I say to the empty room. “We fight back.”
I flick off the light and strip off my clothes, replacing them with a pair of sweats. Sliding under the blanket, I close my eyes, willing sleep to come and grant me a few hours of respite from the relentless tide of desire and duty.
But even as I drift off, the image of Aisling’s grey eyes haunts me, a specter of longing that promises neither rest nor surrender.