Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dakota

“Nice job today!” Thalia called out, perching her chin on her fist. “Seems like you’re getting comfortable working here.”

Dakota paused at the mender's desk, briefly retracing every decision and every step she made through the Guildhall that day. How amazing it felt to have her tether loosened, even after her catastrophic mess with Ace McCoy. How the smallest amount of James's confidence in her skills was enough to bolster her self-esteem. Her mouth curved upward. “I think I am. Though, that kid with the broken arm almost made me vomit.”

Thalia grinned before taking a sip of her coffee. “It’s funny how that happens. Give me an adult gunshot wound all day, but an injured kid? That’s a whole other thing.”

A patient in a wheelchair accompanied by a mender passed behind Dakota, the rubber wheels squeaking against the laminate floors. “We didn’t deal with too many kids at the Guildhall in Blackdon. There was a separate one for them.”

Thalia nodded, her ponytail bobbing against her neck. “That’s how Penham was, too. Everything was separated.”

Dakota furrowed her brow. “You’re from Penham?” The desert city to the southwest was the third largest one in the country, behind Norwich and Blackdon. There wasn’t much between Penham and Norwich, save for grassy plains that slowly morphed into red-rock canyons. There wasn't much in Penham, either.

“Just moved here a few months ago,” Thalia said. She thumbed at the lid of her coffee cup. “You know, I don’t have many friends in town. Actually…I don’t have any friends in town. Wouldn’t mind grabbing a drink the next time you’re free?”

At the hopeful gleam in her gaze, Dakota smiled. “I would like that, too. I’m from the area but didn't keep in touch with any of my old friends.” Raven . The ever-smiling, ever-happy third to their girl group. She may never forgive herself for that.

Thalia’s grin twisted into a shit-eating smirk. “So that you know, I wouldn’t question our friendship if you threatened to shove a pair of trauma shears up my ass.”

Dakota’s stomach clenched at the reminder of the Brotherhood’s appearance in the Guildhall, but she kept her expression light. “If the situation ever arises, I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“ Trauma level two inbound, three-minute arrival. Trauma level two inbound, three-minute arrival ,” the cool-toned overhead voice sounded.

“Duty calls,” Thalia said with a sigh. She stood from her seat, gave a stretch that lifted the hem of her shirt, and tossed her stethoscope around her neck. “We’ll plan for that drink the next time I see you.”

With a wave, Dakota adjusted her bag from where it had slipped into the crook of her elbow and continued her walk toward the staff entrance. The blacktop pavement of the parking lot, packed with various styles of cars and trucks, was riddled with potholes and long cracks. The incoming staff chatted as they navigated each one, carefully stepping over and around to avoid a rolled ankle—or worse. Birds chattered as they flew low over the tops of the vehicles, and the acrid stench of cigarette smoke filled the air as Dakota strolled by the designated smoking area.

Reaching into her canvas bag, Dakota fished her car keys and jangled them in her palm until the fob landed near her fingertips. She glanced up, expecting to see the tail lights flicker when she unlocked the car, but she lurched to a standstill at what awaited her instead.

All muscular thighs wrapped in worn-out jeans, the leather cut from The Savage Wolves Brotherhood, and a white t-shirt that showcased a broad chest, Callum Reynolds casually leaned against her driver’s side door. His father’s old motorcycle, by her brief look at it, was parked directly behind her car. Trapping her.

Dakota looked around, debating whether to turn tail and sprint back into the Guildhall. No, that was ridiculous. If he were seeking her out, in the parking lot of her job no less, he would have no qualms chasing her toward the entrance. Besides, if she were to stay in this city until the end of her alchemist training, she would need to get used to seeing anyone from the Brotherhood. She worked at the largest Guildhall, after all. And they had a propensity to get shot, or stabbed, or otherwise maimed.

With a deep breath that didn’t quite fill her lungs, Dakota took a few tentative steps forward. Despite the sunglasses covering his eyes, she could sense Callum's hard stare scrutinizing her. His silent perusal was both exceptionally uncomfortable and entirely unwanted.

“Can I help you with something?” Dakota finally asked, breaking the tense quiet. She hoped he wouldn’t hear her traitorously beating heart, though that thought was ridiculous, too.

Callum removed his sunglasses, but that only seemed to deepen his scrutiny. In an instant, she was eighteen again and burning alive under his gray-eyed gaze. The sharp cut and set of his jaw, the shadow of a beard he had recently trimmed, the panty-melting aftershave…it was all him . But she couldn’t get pulled in—not again. Never again. From the unreadable flash in his eyes, Dakota had a hunch he was just as leery as she was.

“When did you get back into town?” Callum asked, his voice lower and huskier than when they were younger.

Dakota lifted her chin, keeping her stare tacked onto his. “A few weeks. Why?”

“When are you leaving town?” Callum went on, not bothering with an answer.

Dakota’s eyes narrowed, and she shifted her weight to one foot, readying for the fight she could already feel brewing between them. She wouldn't back down, not to him. “Why?”

Callum reached into the pocket of his jeans, retrieved a cigarette, and placed one between his lips. Next, he pulled out a lighter and lit the end of the cigarette with an inhale. Dakota wrinkled her nose and waved away the reeking smoke.

“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you.”

Callum took another inhale and blew it out over the top of her head. “Thanks for the tip. Anything else I should know before you fuck off again?” His intense stare shuddered for less than a second—as though he didn’t mean to let the last part slip. He recovered from that momentary hitch, and his glare hardened once again.

“What do you want, Callum?” His name on her lips ignited her in a way that she had no interest in studying, and she suppressed it with more difficulty than she was willing to admit.

“The date of your departure,” Callum said, flicking the ash from the end of the cigarette. Dakota watched as it tumbled to the asphalt. “So I know when your dad will stop sniffing around my shop.”

“You took over your dad’s shop?” The question was out before she could force it back, but she quickly moved on before he had the chance to reply. “I didn’t know he was going to show up there. We got in a—“

“A fight,” Callum finished for her as he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on with the toe of his sneaker. “Yeah, I remember how that went, too. How many times did John Montgomery chase me around town after the fights you got in with him?”

Dakota almost smiled but caught sight of the small tattoo by his thumb. Her name was still inked there. So he hadn’t removed it. Interesting. She didn’t know how to feel about that—or if she should feel anything about that. She lifted her eyes to reconnect to his stare, but he folded his arms over his chest, tucking his thumb under his opposite elbow. The tattoo, it seemed, was not up for discussion.

“When are you fucking leaving?” Callum asked again, though, this time, it was snippy and straight to the point.

The question fueled a burning agitation that had been simmering since the argument with her father. “When I’m ready to leave. It’s really none of your godsdamned business.”

Callum scoffed. “Lyra said you’re headed back to Blackdon as soon as you finish your associate training here. She didn’t give specifics.”

“Good,” Dakota declared with a curt nod. “I told her not to say anything to you at all.”

Callum bristled. “In the meantime, I’ll make sure the Brotherhood knows to go to the Guildhall across town—“

“I work at that one, too. It being the same system and all.”

“Of course you fucking do,” Callum muttered. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “Listen, you stay on your side of town, and I’ll stay on mine. We have no reason to cross paths.”

Dakota made a face of disbelief, reeling her head back. “So we’re on the same page…you rode all the way over here, to my side of town, to tell me to stay here on my side of town ?”

Callum clamped his lips together, his glare threatening to burn a hole straight through her. Without saying another word, he turned away and swung a leg over the seat of his motorcycle, kicking it into gear. The tires tossed back gravel that hit her in the shins, leaving Dakota wondering what the fuck just happened and why he was even there to begin with.

Lyra’s small two-bedroom house was nestled on the furthest edge of the city. Backed completely by the old-growth forest surrounding Norwich, each tall tree rose from the soil to brush the star-speckled sky. The river that cut through her backyard meandered through the underbrush, the water eddying over the broken branches and winding moss.

The property was quiet, save for the wind rustling through the leaves and the creak from the porch swing, and smelled almost exclusively of wildflowers and decomposing wood, but it was sweet and cozy. Not to mention, Lyra had bought it in cash nearly five years before.

The home suited her. She was never one for the large city, and too many people in one place still made her nervous despite her chokehold over them at Twist and Tonic .

“Men are stupid,” Lyra lamented. She paused to take another sip of her cocktail, a spicy and smoky one she had thrown together when Dakota landed on her doorstep a few hours before. “Every single one of them. They can’t decide if they want to let us go, and they can’t decide if they want to keep us. And then they have the audacity to get upset when we find someone else.”

Dakota snorted, the noise one of the more unladylike ones she had made. Wonder what her mother would think about that? “Rocco still doing what Rocco does best?”

“If by that you mean refusing to propose or get his shit together in any sense of the phrase—yes.” Lyra rolled her eyes and leaned back in her antique armchair, the old and worn fabric pulling dangerously at the seam. “He has the ring. I know that he has it. I fucking saw it come in the godsdamned mail. But the moment I bring it up…he shuts down.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to know his plan for proposing?” Dakota offered, coughing as she inhaled a spicier sip than she was ready for.

Lyra shook her head. “The man is a moron, Dakota. He couldn’t string a plan together even if it danced naked on the club’s dining room table.” She took another sip and sighed. “Besides, we fight all the time. Is it even worth marrying Rocco- fucking -Moretti if it means doing that the rest of my life?”

“You always said you wanted passion,” Dakota reminded her as the headlights of a passing car lit up the gap between the beaded curtains.

“Passion, yes. Downright stupidity, no.” Lyra groaned as she let her head flop against the orange-and-white patterned headrest behind her. The soft music flowing from the radio made a quick change to a dance number Dakota had more-than-likely shaken her ass to in a club in Blackdon. “Am I being ridiculous? Tell me that I’m being ridiculous.”

“How’s the make-up sex?” Dakota asked with a smirk as another passing car lit up the gap again.

“If it weren’t for that, I would have dumped his ass eight years ago,” Lyra said with a moan that made Dakota laugh. “Seriously, he does this thing with his tongue—who the fuck keeps driving by this late?”

This time, another set of headlights passed, the engine idling at a slow crawl as it crept by. Dakota furrowed her brow, leaning over the back of the orange couch the same shade as the armchair to peek through the gap in the curtains. The blood drained from her face, and the beads swung back into place with the abrupt removal of her hand.

“What was that?” Lyra asked, leaning forward to plant her elbows on her thighs. Her curly hair, loose from her usual bandana, swept over her shoulder. Dakota silently cursed her best friend’s perceptiveness.

“What was what?” Dakota feigned ignorance, clearing her throat as she tucked the strays of her blonde hair behind her ear.

Lyra sent her a knowing look before pushing herself from the armchair and kneeling on the cushion beside Dakota. She shoved the curtain back, the beads clinking against the window’s glass pane, and squinted toward the darkened street. “Is that Ethan Sullivan?”

Dakota didn’t bother glancing behind her, instead sinking further into the couch and taking a long gulp of the drink in her hand. She already knew what Lyra was looking at—Ethan’s illuminated profile as the headlight beams refracted off the metal garden ornaments. The engine gunned, and the gravel from the road kicked from under the tires as the car sped off.

“Why was Ethan Sullivan outside of my house?”

The melting ice mixed with the oil from the hot sauce suddenly became extremely interesting, but Dakota found the glass being plucked from her hand.

“Dakota, why does Ethan Sullivan know where I live?” Lyra asked as she set the glass on the coffee table. Gods, she did not want to have this conversation.

“Can we just go back to talking about Rocco?” Dakota said in a poor attempt to change the subject. “Better yet, we can talk about your favorite conspiracy theory. You know, the one where you think the Banished Gods are actually lying in wait to start another war?”

“Why else would they teach us not to make deals with the things in The Boundary?” Lyra asked, lifting a finger between them. “But no, we’re going to talk about how Ethan Sullivan has my address and is driving past my house.” As if on cue, another set of headlights lit the gap in the curtains. Neither of them looked out to see if it was him.

Dakota blew out a breath. “It may be from your arrest report nine years ago when you got taken in for dumping that beer on that guy in your bar?”

Lyra quirked a brow. “That was before Ethan was even a member of the Iron Guard, let alone a deputy ranger. Why would he look that up?”

“He may or may not be showing up at random places in my life right now,” Dakota bit out. She cringed as Lyra’s face stilled, her eyes slack and expressionless before lighting up with understanding.

“I thought you said that you went on one date with the guy to appease your dad,” Lyra went on, planting her ass on the couch's armrest. “Not that Ethan was stalking you.”

“Stalking is a harsh term for—“

“How often has he showed up?”

“Three times at my house and twice at work in the last week and a half.”

It was Lyra’s turn to blow out a breath. “Dakota, why didn’t you say anything to me? Does your dad know?”

Dakota gestured for her drink, and Lyra leaned over to grab it and hand it to her. The condensation from the glass dripped onto Dakota’s fingers. "Yeah, I tried to tell my dad, but you know how he is.”

Lyra shot up from the armrest and padded to the small table beside the armchair. “I’m calling the club, this is crazy —“

“No!” Dakota cried out, spilling her drink as she leaped from the couch and knocked the phone from Lyra’s hand. It tumbled to the floor, clattering noisily against the hardwood. “Do not call the club.”

“Dakota—“

“I’m serious, Lyra. It’s…he’s just being creepy right now. He’ll get sick of me rejecting him and move on.” Dakota sighed, shaking her head. “You cannot involve the club in anything in my life. You know the kind of shit they’re into. It could jeopardize my alchemist training if I’m found anywhere near them.”

Lyra shook her head. “I don’t like this. His behavior could escalate.”

“It won’t,” Dakota reassured her with a small smile. “And if it does, I’ll let you call the club. Deal?”

“Ugh, deal,” Lyra relented after a long minute of silence. “And not a moment later, do you understand? He was weird in school, and he’s weird now. Do you want another drink? Yours is soaking into my rug.”

Dakota nodded as Lyra entered the kitchen and flipped on the overhead fluorescent lights. They hummed as they flickered to life, but Dakota didn’t feel the relief she hoped would come. Lyra wouldn’t let this go. She knew it. She just hoped Ethan’s attempts dissipated enough that her best friend wouldn’t go to the club for help. Dakota couldn’t imagine the embarrassment if she did.