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“By me, you mean?”
He lets out an exasperated breath. “That’s not what this is about, Gunnar.”
“It makes sense you’d be jealous,” I mutter. “She was mine first.”
He chuckles. “She doesn’t belong to any of us.”
I guess that’s the end of it, because a moment later security is ushering us toward the front door, waiting to park our cars. They’re all wearing tactical gear, guns drawn. We might be walking into a damn execution, but I find I don’t care.
If Aisling is on the other side of it, I’ll take the chance.
Rook hops out of his car and flashes the security guard a congenial smile, getting absolutely nothing in return. He turns to us next, then gestures at the door. “Shall we, boys?”
Before we can even get there, Huxley appears at the front door, opening it up for us. “Mr. Finch, Mr. Vega, and Mr. Rainier,” he says. “Mr. Solace is waiting to meet with you in his office, if you’d like to come this way…”
It feels like such a silly suggestion—I don’t like to be here at all, I’m only present by necessity. Still, the three of us walk down the familiar hall, toward Vance’s office.
He’s waiting at his desk, his hands clasped. There’s still a healing wound on the bridge of his nose, and I’m pretty sure it’s from me—because no one else in the city would fucking dare. He gestures at the three chairs across the desk, though, eyes mostly staying on mine.
Cold and calculating.
Just like always.
“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Sit.”
We do, though I don’t know how Rook seems so damn comfortable. I sit on the far edge, Rook in the seat between us—the hot seat. Even though Rook is the one who should be getting all of Vance’s attention, it’s like Vance refuses to look at anyone but me.
I don’t know if he’s trying to gloat that I came crawling back…if he’s trying to assess me.
No fucking clue.
“Whiskey?” he asks, smoothing out his slacks as he stands up.
“That would be grand,” Rook grins.
“I’m good,” Oberon says.
I can’t fucking speak…like a damn coward. I was ready to play the game in the car, but now?
It’s like I’m a kid again.
“And you, Gunnar?”
“Sure,” I mumble.
Vance stands and moves to a drink cart in the corner, pulling out three crystal glasses and filling them each with the amber liquid. Knowing Vance, that whiskey had to cost a pretty penny; I’m not sure if I’ll even drink it, the way my stomach churns.
“So…you found her,” Vance says, glancing over his shoulder.
“Me and Luka,” Rook pipes up when I don’t say anything.
“I suppose that’s where he’s been?”
Rook frowns. “I’m getting the distinct impression you aren’t angry, which…well, it surprises me, boss.”
Jesus—just putting it all on the line, huh? I stiffen as Vance turns around, a bemused smile on his face.
Is he fucking high? I can’t think of another explanation.
