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I just have to figure out how.
My phone vibrates on the rickety table beside me, pulling me from my thoughts. A text from Luka, who's been out meeting with a couple other guys from our operation to strike a deal. I'm supposed to meet up with them later to talk shop and strategy, but all I can think about is Aisling.
Meet at the usual spot, he texts me.
See you there, I reply.
I gulp down the last of the rum and head out into the night, Pacific City's heartbeat pounding in my ears. The street's wet from a recent shower, and the neon signs flicker to life as if they're dancing for me. My boots thud against the concrete as I make my way to their meeting spot, my gut twisted in knots.
When I arrive, they're already there, leaning against Luka's blacked-out SUV like shadows against the brick wall. Rook grins at me, teeth glinting in the yellow light, the tattoo of a rose on his cheek making it look like he's got one hell of a black eye.
"You look like shit, Finch." He's always been blunt as hell.
Luka just stares, those cold blue eyes boring into me, searching for something he's not going to find.
Well...he would if he looked close enough, I guess.
So I can't let him.
We pile into the car, the leather seats squeaking as we shift our weight. The ride is silent, each of us lost in our own dark thoughts. Rook starts talking about a new shipment of drugs coming in next week, but all I can think about is Aisling's sweet scent, how she tasted when I kissed her--like sugar and limes, like fucking sin.
When we get to the warehouse to sort through a new shipment, the air thick with anticipation, I focus on the task at hand—business.
We're the Angels, after all.
We deal in drugs and death.
Business before pleasure.
As the meeting ends, I walk out alone into the night, the rain starting up again, washing away my worries and leaving me raw. I need to get decompress, unwind, maybe go back to the church and get high with Rook and Luka...but first, there's a certain omega I need to find.
If I'm going to break her out, it's high time I get to work.
Braving the storm, I walk to Dreamland, dodging through the back alleys of the city to avoid being followed by Rook or Luka. My hair and leather jacket are dripping with rainwater by the time I finally head through the front door, then into the now-familiar elevator. I shrug out of my jacket and shake it off, whipping my hair back to get my head on straight before the door opens.
Fog and neon light pour in through the elevator door, and I'm back once again.
Dreamland.
As I step across the threshold and the door closes behind me, the warmth, noise, and fog of smoke envelop me. As I scan the room, I swallow—she's not here. The place reeks of desperation, sweat, and sex, but no Aisling.
Fuck.
I make my way to the bar, searching for her. "You seen Star?"
The bartender—a pretty omega in a black dress--raises her eyebrows at me. It makes me wince when I realize that, underneath a thick layer of makeup, she's got an ugly purple bruise on her cheek. "Are you Gunnar?"
I frown. "You know me?"
The bartender blushes. "She's talked about you--and she's waiting out on the balcony."
She tosses her head over her shoulder and I grin in thanks before following her instructions past the bar and outside. I scent her before I see her--sweet and sultry, like sex.
Star...Aisling.
She's out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, the city lights reflecting off her soft violet hair and painting her skin in an ethereal glow. She's wearing this tiny silver sequin dress that hugs her curves, showing off those long legs, thigh-high white tights making her skin glitter. I stop short, my heart pounding in my chest.
"You shouldn't smoke," I say, trying for casual.
