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And he acts like he doesn’t care about her.
The dock is swarming with Angels, like every bruiser in Vance’s employ has been brought here rather than staying in the city. I spot Oberon first, hard to miss with that mountainous build of his, checking gear by one of the Angels’ speedboats. Rook’s nearby, looking like trouble decided to wear a leather jacket today. Rook raises a tatted hand in greeting, silver rings glistening on every finger.
“Everything set?” I ask as I approach, voice low against the sound of the waves.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Oberon rumbles, his eyes flicking to something behind me.
I frown, looking over my shoulder—and there he is. Vance, decked out in tactical gear that looks like it’s never seen action until today. Surprise jolts through me, but I squash it fast. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Vance gives me a grin that could slice iron. “Thought you could use the backup.”
“Like hell,” I snap. “You’re not coming.”
“Try stopping me,” Vance retorts, stepping forward. “I’m here to watch your back, Gunnar.”
“Sure you are,” I scoff, knowing full well Aisling’s the prize he’s after, not my damn back.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Oberon cuts in, flipping a knife in his fingers before sheathing it at his hip. “Aisling and Luka don’t have time to waste.”
I glare at Vance for another second, but I know that Oberon is right.
We don’t have time to bicker.
So we board the boats, engines roaring to life as we set off from the dock, leaving Pacific City and its twisted glories behind.
Waves slap against the hull, spray stings my eyes. The sea’s a restless beast tonight, tossing our boat like it’s nothing more than driftwood. I grip the railing, leather gloves slick with saltwater, as Vance walks across the deck of the boat.
“Rough ride,” he shouts over the roar of wind and engine.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I have to yell back just to be heard.
He sidles up beside me, leaning against the railing as the boat bobs in the grey waves of the Pacific. Vance is an unwelcome guest; I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, not with him beside me.
“I hope we’re on better terms now that I’m giving you what you asked for,” he murmurs.
I snort. “Really? You spend my whole life lying to me, you call Aisling a whore, you threaten me, toy with me…and now you’re asking for my forgiveness?”
He sneers, lips twisting. “If anything, you should be asking for my forgiveness, little brother.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
“It’s what you are,” he shrugs. “What you’ve always been, even if I didn’t say it. Maybe you were the fool for not understanding your place in the Angels when you always got more protection, more guidance—“
“Enough,” I mutter. “Leave me alone, Vance.”
“I’ll leave you alone when you understand what I’m angry about.”
“Which is?”
Vance leans in, close enough that I feel the heat of him despite the chill. “You might have Aisling’s loyalty, Gunnar, but don’t forget who runs this city.”
“Is that right?” My voice comes out flat, every muscle tensed for the coming storm of bullets, not just rain.
“Damn right,” Vance snaps. “You think you can waltz in and take over the Angels? You’re playing with fire.”
“Didn’t realize we were keeping score.” I keep my gaze trained on the dark horizon.
“Everything’s a score, Gunnar. And being Archangel means making tough calls, sacrifices. You ready for that?”
