Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Callum

“What’s this about?” Max asked as he settled into the stained seat, sliding his briefcase onto the floor. He raised a hand to reject Callum’s offer for coffee, and Duke flashed a knowing smirk. “I sent cash. I’m paid up for your…discretion concerning my daughter’s boyfriend.”

Callum shoved the pot back into the old coffee maker, glass clinking against the grimy warming plate. “This isn’t about the cash.” He turned to brace a hip against the corner of the desk, looming over Max and not backing down when the man leaned away. “This is about something else.”

Max’s brow furrowed, notching his wrinkles into deep lines. “I don’t understand.”

Duke said nothing as he spun in the office chair, grabbed the open laptop from the back of the desk, and set it in front of Max. Reaching a hand over the top of the screen, Duke pressed the space bar, where a video began to play quietly against the room's silence.

“ I don’t want to give that bastard the chance to come back and try again .” Max’s words echoed between them. Duke pressed the space bar again to pause it.

Max’s face flushed pink to crimson before he sputtered, “You recorded me? You fucking bastards.”

“We’ll let you have it,” Callum said, pointing to the zip drive plugged into the side of the computer. “But we need some information.”

The laugh that escaped Max was one of unamused disbelief. “You can’t seriously expect I’ll give you anything after this.” He waved a hand toward the laptop before straightening his tie. Placing his hands on the armrests of the old chair, he began to push himself up. “This implicates you as much as it implicates me.”

“With the blurred background and voice-changer?” Callum said with a grin. He placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, forcing him back down. “If someone gets ahold of this footage, they won’t have shit on the Brotherhood. But they will have shit on you.”

Max sank into the seat, that crimson-colored flush draining to stark white. “What do you want? More money? I can find you more money.”

Duke closed the laptop screen.

“Like we said—information,” Callum said, voice rising over the buzz of a drill from the garage. “Two pieces of information, actually.”

Max drew in a slow breath. “I don’t know what you think I could give you, but I don’t—“

“You have connections,” Duke said, leaning forward to place his forearms on the laptop. “And we want you to use them for us—only us.”

“What do you want to know?”

Callum slid a paper over to Max, flipping it over to reveal a photograph of Lyra that Rocco had provided. Smiling at the camera, her curly hair was piled on her head and tied back with a silk scarf. She had a hip propped against the counter, a cup of tea in her hand. Rocco had hesitated to hand it over.

Max blinked, flinching his head back slightly. “Who is that?”

“Lyra Jones,” Duke replied, jutting his chin toward the photo. “She’s one of ours. Went missing about a week ago. The Guard hasn’t made any progress.”

“And you think I can do…what?” Confusion set into Max's furrowed brow.

“You have the ear of businessmen and politicians,” Callum said. He took a sip of his coffee, the heat damn near burning the roof of his mouth off. And the taste wasn’t even worth it. “Use it to help us find her.”

Max reached forward and slid the photograph toward him, lifting it from the table. A shadow slid past the seam under the door, and Callum narrowed his eyes.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Max finally said, “But I’ll inquire.” He glanced up at Callum, then flicked his eyes over to Duke. “You could have just asked. This whole thing was unnecessary.”

Duke’s smile was lethal, and from the way Max withdrew as far as the seat would let him, Callum figured he noticed it, too. “We require discretion as much as you did. Also, we aren’t done.”

Max set the photograph back down and tugged nervously at his ear. “What else can I do for you, gentlemen?”

Callum's grin deepened. No one had called him a gentleman before.

“Raven McCoy.”

The name was enough. Max's stare hardened as he passed it between Callum and Duke again. “I don't know anything about that. Gods, it was years ago.”

The shadow slid by the door again, drawing Callum’s attention to it for a second time.

“We’ve gotten some information that a Deputy Ranger of the Iron Guard may have been involved,” Duke said. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. “We know of your relationship with John Montgomery. Your access to his office.”

Max blanched. “A Deputy of the Iron Guard? Involved in her murder?” His incredulous chuckle grated on Callum's every nerve. There was a fifty-fifty chance the guy would end up through the window. “Even if that were the case, John Montgomery wouldn't leave it for me to find.”

“Discretion,” Duke reminded him. He unplugged the zip drive from the laptop and held it up to showcase. “You find out what you can by the end of the month. We won’t release this to the Guard.”

“With coordinates to the body,” Callum tacked on. “Rosie's been struggling with his disappearance. Wonder what she would think if the Guard dug him up.” Joy shot through his veins when he tracked a trickle of sweat down Max’s temple.

“That’s two weeks from now. I can’t promise—“

“Try,” Duke said. His feral smile curled into something that promised more than it threatened. “You never know what you might find.” That shadow passed by the door a third time as Duke stood from his seat. “We’ll show you out, Max. Looking forward to working with you a little closer.”

Callum pushed off the desk and tugged the door open, spotting the reason for the shadow. Ace paced the small lobby, powerwalking from the counter to a stack of sample tires. Callum’s vision, however, narrowed on the gun in his hand.

“What the fuck are you—“ Callum started. He didn’t have time to finish the question. Ace lifted the gun, took a sloppy aim, and let off a shot. The bullet embedded in the frame of the door, uncomfortably close to where Max had just laid a hand. Callum swore, yanking Max behind him.

Max fell against a metal shelving unit filled with quarts of oil and windshield wipers. A trembling and withering mess. He lifted the briefcase to block his face, though Callum knew that would do little to help if Ace got a second shot in.

Rocco bolted through the employee door and raced into the lobby to wrap Ace in a tight bind, pinning his arms to his side. Callum lunged forward, wrestling the gun from Ace’s hand and emptying the chamber onto the floor. Each plink of the bullets against the tile made Max flinch further into the stock, the briefcase shaking in his grip.

“Get out of here, Max,” Duke nonchalantly said. He waved a dismissive hand toward the entrance to the shop, utterly unfazed. “Before Ace gets his hands on the gun again.”

Max pitched forward, pushing away from the now-disheveled shelving unit. Quarts of oil plunged to the floor in his stead. One cracked at the neck, splattering oil across the floor. He stumbled around Ace, pure terror plastered on his sweaty face.

Duke let out a sharp sigh as he turned to look at Ace, whose chest heaved with every forced breath. “What the fuck, man?”

“He knows something, Duke.”

“And you think you’re gonna get it out of him after you shoot him in the head, you fucking moron?” Duke retorted, running a hand over his short salt-and-pepper hair.

Callum dropped the emptied gun onto the counter and bent down to collect the unused bullets from the floor. “We don’t kill innocent people. What is wrong with you?”

That worked up Ace even further. “Not a single person is innocent. Not him, not the Iron Guard, not a single fucking Ranger. Not when they know what happened to my sister. Not when she’s fucking cold and rotting and six feet under!”

Rocco released Ace, holding up his hands in surrender as Ace turned on him. Duke stepped between them as Ace drew back a fist, wrapping his hand around Ace's wrist to stop the punch.

“Son, I know you want to know what happened to Raven. We all do. She’s family,” Duke started. He raised his voice as Ace opened his mouth to argue. “But we have to be fucking smart about this. We can’t shoot the people who are going to help us.” As though that wasn't obvious.

“He knows something,” Ace whispered, his voice cracking. Rage crumbled to sorrow, and Ace's chin dipped to his chest.

“And that’s why I put a tail on him,” Duke said as he released Ace's wrist. “Smart. We have to be smart. You have to trust I know what I’m doing.” Duke glanced over to Callum. “What’s the status of our newest employee?”

“Seeds were delivered yesterday. He’s already planted the poppy. Kane wrote instructions for me to confirm before he begins the distillation process.” Callum paused to pat the front pocket of his jeans. “She doesn’t want to communicate through messaging. She’s afraid her father will look through her phone.”

“Smart,” Duke said, throwing a look at Ace.

“I’m headed there now. I told her I would swing by after our morning meetings.”

Duke smirked as Callum yanked off his mechanic’s shirt and replaced it with his Brotherhood leather cut. “Let me know if she needs any additional persuading.” He stopped Callum with a hand on his upper arm. “You’ve done good with this one, Callum.”

Callum nodded, though he couldn’t help the oily feeling that slid through his gut. Getting praised by Duke was a two sides of a coin. On one hand, the show of them being on the same page was good for the club. On the other…Callum already knew that involving Dakota was one part trouble and two parts cruel. Especially when the Brotherhood would have been involved in Lyra's disappearance when Rocco was alerted.

Especially when they already had a runner on the inside. It was a test. Callum needed to know how serious she was about working with the club; he had to know that she wouldn’t run to Daddy the moment things got tough. She passed—this time, at least.

“Hold down the shop,” Callum told Rocco as he grabbed his helmet from the underside of the counter. “I’ll be back soon.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

The motorcycle roared to life, and Callum sped out of the parking lot.

Though the city was still in the late summer season, the heat's biting edge had started to dull in anticipation of autumn. He took a deep, calming breath and focused on the flap of his clothes in the warm wind, the sun on his tanned, tattooed forearms. Being this close to Dakota regularly was a bad fucking idea.

But he had always been the moth, and she had always been the flame. No amount of one-night stands would change that. No matter how often he reflected on the last conversation he ever had with her, it was the same.

Callum turned onto Lyra’s quiet street, where Dakota had been staying, the forest swaying like a sea in the breeze. The branches stretched overhead, casting long, spindly shadows on the road. He would go to the house, he would get the confirmation Kane needed, and he would leave. There would be no fighting. It wouldn’t be awkward. It would be fucking fine.

His heart thundered when he spotted Dakota’s car in the driveway. It was a rusted piece of shit. Between John Montgomery's wealth and Dakota’s fierce independence, somehow Callum knew she refused to ask her father for any money when her first car finally died. He briefly wondered how it happened—was it the battery or the transmission? Did she crash it? If she showed up at the shop, would he have been able to fix it? He had worked on it incessantly while they were together. At one point, he knew that car better than he knew himself.

Callum shook away the thought as the growl of the motorcycle’s engine cut off. There was no use in dwelling—what's dead was dead. The beaded curtain in the bay window parted before swinging back into place, and then Dakota appeared at the front door. Fuck, she was beautiful. That he couldn’t deny. The years had done her a favor.

Dakota tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear as she propped open the screen door, and her wary gaze tracked him up the porch steps.

Digging into his pocket, Callum fished out the wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to her. His forefinger twitched toward her thumb, grazing the tip of it. He couldn’t help himself—stupid, reckless. She withdrew her hand noticeably fast, leaving the pad of his skin scalding. “Kane wanted to confirm your instructions on the new process before he got it going with the seed pods,” he said as Dakota’s green eyes scanned the paper, her cheeks flushing a dull pink.

Dakota returned it. “Yes, it’s correct.” She went silent, the awkwardness between them thickening like a fog. “Anything on Lyra?”

Callum shook his head. “We’ve got some hooks out, but nothing yet.” He paused to look over her shoulder, thinking of a reason to lengthen his stay. You need to fucking go. He couldn’t get his feet to move. “Dylan says that she’s not registered at the Fieldhouse, so that’s one less place to look anyway.”

The question that flashed over her suddenly narrowed eyes made Callum’s stomach clench. Fuck, he said too much. The realization doused him in ice water.

“Why would she be at the Fieldhouse? And why would she be registered there?”

Callum took a step back, pocketing the paper once more. “Doesn’t matter. Forget that I said anything.”

Dakota lurched forward, wrapping a hand around his wrist. Her touch was electric, and the shock of it ricocheted up his arm, restarting his heart. She didn’t even notice. “What are you keeping from me?”

“It’s a need-to-know basis, princess.” He couldn't stand her touch anymore—of feeling it and being unable to touch her back. With a twist of his wrist, he wrenched from her grip.

“Don’t call me that,” Dakota snapped back. “Don’t you think I need to know? ”

“No, I fucking don’t,” Callum replied. A mounting argument was brewing, the exact one he told himself wouldn’t start. They were never able to help themselves. “We have to be smart about this,” he added, mirroring Duke’s words in hopes it would settle whatever battle of wills they were wading into.

From the slight quirk of her eyebrow and the lift of her chin, Callum realized it did the exact opposite.

“And I can’t be?” Dakota asked. The question was dangerously quiet.

Callum changed tactics. “Remember when you stole your father’s cruiser on a dare from Ace back in the day? That was over an ice cream cone.”

“He was buying!” she retorted furiously. “He—“ She worried her lip, and Callum tried to ignore where her teeth sunk into her flesh. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, locking his eyes onto hers. “You strolled into my shop demanding my help. You took one look at an illegal distilling operation and dug your heels in when your own father’s deputy tried to pull you away. You may not see her, but you’re still that girl.”

Dakota crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem to have a problem remembering.”

“I don’t want to remember,” Callum bit back, “I want to forget.” Agitation flared hot and heavy at the shadow of hurt that passed over her face. Funny that she thought she was the one being wronged here. “Coming here was a mistake.”

“Yes, it was.”

“You stick with Kane. He'll work with you. I’ll find Lyra. There'll be no reason for us to see each other.”

“Fine.”

“Great,” he retorted, mimicking her bratty tone.

Tires rolled over gravel behind him, and Callum watched Dakota’s gaze drift around his arm. Glancing over his shoulder, a car was stopped at the foot of the driveway—Ethan Sullivan in the driver's seat. Just fucking great. Exactly what he needed.

“I’ll leave you to your boyfr—“ Callum trailed off when he caught sight of Dakota. The passionate fury she tried to set him ablaze with had morphed into pure, wide-eyed terror. Her fingers trembled, though she tried to hide it by folding her arms over her chest. “Get in the house.”

“Wh-what?” Dakota stuttered, gaze snapping up to Callum. The vacant look that remained in her eyes made him want to slit Ethan's throat.

“Get in the house, lock the door,” he ordered. “Don’t open it until he’s gone.”

“Callum, he’s—“

“Just get in the fucking house, Dakota.”

She didn’t need telling a fourth time. The door slammed shut, and Callum didn’t leave the porch until he heard the bolt latch firmly. He wrangled his anger into place as Ethan got out of his car, and Callum bent down to pick up a palm-sized stone from the front garden as he sauntered forward.

His arm reeled back to aim, and the rock soared through the air, whizzing just past Ethan's head and shattering the passenger window.

“What the fuck, you dick?” Ethan shouted, jolting to the side to avoid the flying glass. “Arresting you would be so fucking easy!”

“Do it then,” Callum said, holding his arms out wide. “I’m right fucking here. Arrest me. And while we’re at it, let’s tell the Guard why you’re showing up at Dakota’s house uninvited.”

Ethan sneered. “This isn’t Dakota’s house, you stupid fuck, and how do you know I wasn’t invited?”

Callum was in no mood to play semantics. Thrusting a hand forward, he wrapped his fingers around the column of Ethan’s throat, pushing him into the hood of the car. “Because I fucking know you. And men like you don’t fucking change. So the next time I hear that you’re showing up uninvited, I’m going to put a bullet through your head. Do you understand?”

Ethan's garbled chuckle was a hot poker stoking Callum’s fire. “Threatening a Ranger now, are you? Don’t tell me you’ve sunken that low.”

Callum leaned down, close enough to scent the man’s sour coffee breath. “It’s not a threat, Ethan. It’s a promise. Leave her alone.”

Ethan shoved him away, and Callum took a step back. Ethan straightened off the hood, adjusting his button-up shirt. “She’s not worth the trouble. And you don't want to get on my bad side.” He climbed into the driver’s side, brushing shattered glass from the center console.

“I’ll decide that,” Callum said. “Right now, it’ll be worth knocking you down a peg or two.”

Ethan said nothing else as he drove away, and Callum didn’t look to see if Dakota was watching from the front window before he kicked his motorcycle into gear and escorted Ethan away from the house.