Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Dakota

Butterflies tumbled in Dakota's stomach as her eyes scanned the road. The further south they drove, the heavy forest and tall aspen trees shifted to long grass prairies and cornfields. Deeper into Viper territory. The prison's towering gatehouses stood against the horizon, a gray fortress filled with the country's most dangerous and depraved. She took a nervous sip from her water bottle as the car rumbled into the lot. There was no turning back now.

James slid the gear into park, took a deep breath, and sent her a tight smile. She made an effort to return it, but what she mustered was nothing more than a pained grimace. Whatever she was feeling, James mirrored it. And, while her anxiety was built on a foundation of harrowing memories and her own brittle self-esteem, James's was harder to place.

"You seem preoccupied. Is everything okay?” Dakota finally asked as they walked up the cracked cement path.

Starkly contrasted to the garden-lined Fieldhouse, the layers of barbed wire fencing were neither warm nor welcoming. Men lingered in the corners of the yard, each leering as she strolled by. She paid them no mind, keeping her gaze trained on the gatehouse. The worst day of her life was immortalized within these walls. It intimidated her once—broke her down and beat her within an inch of her life. It wouldn't again.

Then, Callum's stern face floated through her mind. How much time had he spent here? Had he bartered for cigarettes in the yard? Had he been the leader surrounded by men willing to kill just to be in his circle? Maybe it was a mystery she shouldn't solve. That would require a dangerous proximity she wasn't sure she was strong enough to step away from. And, though she tried to stifle it, she couldn’t help but remember how she shook when approaching the gate for the first time. How her fingers trembled when she handed over her bag, how she could barely write her own name on the visitor log.

How he had refused to see her that day and every day for three months straight. No, that mystery was better left untouched.

“I should be asking you,” James replied as the barred gate swung open, revealing the long walkway leading to the gatehouse. Guards stood with their automatic rifles, lined every few feet along the fence. If Dakota glanced up, she knew she would see more guards stationed at the top of the looming towers.

“I’ve been here before,” Dakota said without further explanation. “But you look a little pale.”

James went a remarkable shade of green when one of the prisoners jogged toward them to bang on the fence.

“Hey, Mommy, come over here and give me a kiss, huh?” he said, puckering his lips at her. “I could use those legs wrapped around me.” The men behind him whooped and laughed, and a single cat-calling whistle rang out over it all.

“Ignore them,” James said through gritted teeth. Dakota sent him a side-long look, and he gave her a genuine smile. “John Montgomery’s daughter, I forgot who I was talking to. Forgive me.”

More like Callum Reynolds’s ex-girlfriend, but that wasn't a bridge worth crossing.

A guard jammed the butt of his rifle into the fence, smashing the fingers the man had threaded through the links. The prisoner let out a yelp of pain. “Keep your grimy fucking hands off my fence,” the guard ordered before pacing back to his post.

“I’m not sure how your father does this,” James said, mopping his brow with the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

Dakota stayed quiet. John Montgomery didn't work in the prison. He was safely in an office while ordering his deputies into the field. And where was she? A shaky breath escaped her lips as the front door swung open with a squeak.

This was all too familiar. Being here. In this place. Dakota's chest constricted until she couldn't breathe.

The waiting area hadn’t changed in twelve years—the concrete walls were still bare, the floor still laden with old, stained chairs, and the scent of stale coffee still permeated the air. The front desk, set behind a thick glass wall, was manned by three armed guards. One was arguing with a sobbing woman.

“Please,” she begged, lifting a hand to wipe the tears streaking down her cheeks. “Please let me see my husband. It’s been three weeks, and—“

“As I’ve already said,” the guard said, not a touch of kindness or compassion in his voice, “he isn’t available for visitors today. Try again next week.”

“That’s what I was told last week and the week before! Please, I have two small children at home. They want to know how their father is.”

“That isn’t my problem,” the guard said as he reached to press a button on the desk. A loud buzz was followed by a clunk from the iron door to the left of the desk. He waved James and Dakota through. “Your husband's in solitary. You can’t see him.”

“Solitary?” the woman sniffled. “Why is he in solitary? It was a speeding ticket. He shouldn’t even be here!”

James ushered Dakota into the back, and the iron door clunked back into place behind them. A second guard led them past the call room, where prisoners in blue jumpsuits were sat in a row using phones separated by tempered glass. Those visitations were primarily for the prisoners in higher levels of security. She never made it past the lobby.

The room directly after was another with concrete walls and a dozen circular tables bolted to the floor. She imagined Callum sitting there, his wrist and ankle chains locked to the loop on the floor. Joanna and Kane would have visited, bringing in news of the outside world.

Unwanted thoughts and scenarios and questions plagued her through the brightly lit hallways. Life would be vastly different if she hadn't gone to Blackdon, if Callum wouldn't have sent that letter. Would she even be an alchemist? Or would she be nothing more than Callum's old lady, destined to bow to his every whim and desire? No, he wouldn't have treated her like that. Then again, she never expected to clutch the letter he wrote while she bled out on the bathroom floor. Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

“You’re probably curious why you’re here,” James muttered to Dakota as they rounded a bend. They passed a sign labeled Warden , an arrow pointing them further into the prison.

“I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t.”

James huffed a laugh before clearing his throat. “As you know, I plan to retire in the next few months. Part of my job as an Alchemist has been collaborating with the Governor, the Fieldhouse, and the prison. We need someone trusted to keep that collaboration intact.”

“And you think I’m that person?” A stone sunk heavy in Dakota’s gut, discomfort cracking the confidence in her voice as though it were a twig in the forest. James didn’t seem to notice.

“The Governor and I think you’re the only person.”

The guard paused outside of the warden’s office to rap on the open door. “Your visitors, ma’am,” the guard said as he poked his head into the office.

“Let them in,” a female voice briskly ordered, and the guard stepped aside for James to pass by.

Dakota followed, threading her fingers together to keep them from trembling. The warden’s office was as gray and unassuming as the prison lobby. The single window behind the desk overlooked the women’s yard, and metal filing cabinets lined the side wall. A small potted plant, the leaves withered and brown, sat forgotten on a side table.

The woman stood, buttoning the bottom of her blue suit jacket. Her eagle-eyed stare was sharp and cunning, much like John Montgomery’s, and her heels tapped against the floors as she rounded the edge of the desk.

“James,” she said, thrusting out her hand to shake the alchemist’s. “The Governor told me that you would be bringing an associate.” That sharp stare turned to pierce Dakota, who only lifted her chin higher. “John Montgomery’s daughter from what I hear.”

“Yes,” Dakota confirmed. She returned the stare with an ease she didn’t have confidence in, her stomach still churning as the warden looked down the front of her wide-legged dress pants and took in her heels before working her way back up to the blouse. “And you are?”

Whatever the Governor saw in Dakota didn’t seem to be shared with the warden.

“I don’t have the pleasure of working with your father often,” the warden said, the corners of her eyes crinkling with the taut smile that barely upturned her lips. “I hear he’s great at what he does.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t be Head Ranger if he weren’t,” Dakota retorted. It had been some time since she entered a ring with someone like the warden. Someone willing to shred her at a moment’s notice. You may not see her, but you’re still that girl . Callum’s words clanged through her, re-charging the boldness she thought had been spent.

“I suppose you’re right,” the warden responded. “Laura Sanchez.”

The name sparked a lost memory. Laura Sanchez was the Iron Guard who followed Tex Reynolds around like a shadow, desperate to get her hands on any intel that would bolster her standing with the Rangers. Not that she ever became one, but she seemed to be doing just fine. Dakota never had the opportunity to put the name to a face—until now.

“And if I remember correctly,” Laura went on, hooking that stare, if possible, even further into Dakota, “you were once close with the Savage Wolves Brotherhood. Dated their current second-in-command.”

James’s head snapped to hers, but Dakota didn’t flinch. Despite Laura’s height on her, Dakota looked down her nose at the warden. “Old news,” she replied with a small tilt of her head—as though it was something Laura should have known. “You must not work closely with my father in any capacity. He would have told you I cut contact after Callum’s arrest twelve years ago.”

It was a gamble she wasn’t sure she would win if Laura followed up with John Montgomery. Dakota banked on the fact that, not only had her father never mentioned Laura Sanchez, but Laura herself admitted to not working closely with him.

From the corner of Dakota’s eye, James's chest released with his exhale, his brow relaxing enough to be noticeable.

Laura’s smile tightened. “Well, I suppose you’re correct again. I do have old information.” She leaned behind her to grab a badge from the corner of the desk, her long brown hair brushing over her shoulder. “Shall we get to it, then?”

“And Vincent?” James asked as Laura sauntered toward the door.

“The Governor is meeting with the team in Blackdon today. The riots overnight struck a school. He won’t be joining us.”

James looked just as uncertain as Dakota felt. Laura tapped away, heading toward an elevator near the end of the hallway. She jabbed the button with a perfectly manicured finger, and the cart rattled in the shaft.

“We’ve made some updates to the facility since you’ve been here last,” Laura said to James as the ancient doors split open with an ear-piercing screech. “Vincent told me to fill you in on our new endeavor.”

Dakota followed the two into the car, the scent of mothballs and dust thick on the padded walls. Laura scanned her badge on the reader, opened a hidden hatch beneath the floor numbers, and pressed a button labeled B2 . The doors clattered to a close before they jolted into motion.

“New endeavor?” James asked as he slid his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. Though his position was casual, Dakota could hear the frustration underlining his tone. “ I wasn’t aware we were opening new avenues.”

“The Governor and I chatted after the meeting you held a couple of weeks ago. There was a sense of…foreboding in your words about the steady decrease in efficacy of the distills based on the—what did you call it again?”

The doors screeched open when the car came to a stop. A long subterranean hallway stretched before them, each side lined with five metal doors containing a small barred window. The fluorescent lights were bright against the concrete and steel walls. At the end of the hallway was a glass overlook where a dimly lit room with one guard sat behind a desk.

“ Arcanum Fade ? Laura, what is this place?”

Laura led the way through the hall, her heels echoing against the cold surrounding them. Dakota followed, slyly peering through the small barred windows as she went. One person huddled in each—some curled on a thin spring mattress, others seated against the far concrete wall.

“Yes, that,” Laura said. She pressed her badge against the reader and opened the last door. “We thought we would experiment a bit.”

The soft glow of four computer screens illuminated the small office, and Dakota’s stomach lurched when she glanced down to the first screen to see it was split into ten segments. Ten cells, ten cameras, ten prisoners. One of the prisoners was chained to a metal chair, her arms and legs tightly bound to the chair’s limbs. Her head lolled to her chest as a bag of blood slowly dripped through the intravenous tubing connected to the catheter in her hand.

“Experiment? Laura, what is going on?” James asked again, his voice now frantic.

Laura didn’t have the chance to answer. The prisoner let out an agonized scream as she threw her head back. She trembled and shook, her seizing arms and legs rattling the chains. The chair bounced against the concrete floor before finally tipping over, bashing her head against a corner of the metal bed frame. Black mist spilled from the bloody wound, surrounding her and suffocating her. She shook for a few moments longer, the smoke thickening and stretching before she went wholly still. Ever so slowly, that black mist sunk into her corpse.

Dakota took a step toward the hallway—to resuscitate the woman with no supplies? To see if she was truly dead? Dakota didn't know. But James wrapped a hand around her wrist, anchoring her in place.

“Shit,” Laura said with a scornful sigh. She lifted her hand to rub her brow. “Which one was that, Drew?”

Drew, the guard behind the desk, quickly chewed and swallowed the bite of the sandwich he had taken. “Erm…” He trailed off to narrow his eyes on the corner of the screen. “Looks like Julia Sinconi. The one we pulled from the Fieldhouse three days ago.”

Dakota’s mouth dried out, and a lightheadedness swooped over her. Julia Sinconi. She had treated Julia only weeks ago when the woman came in as the victim of a car accident. Her husband had come looking for her. He had begged the front desk attendant for information. And she been in the Fieldhouse all along?

Laura grunted in disgust. She grabbed the keys from the desk and tromped into the hallway, stopping at the middle door on the left side. Thrusting the key into the lock, she turned it with a series of times, and the cell opened with a groan.

From the computer screen, Dakota watched as Laura tapped the woman with the toe of her shoe, bent down to plant her fore and middle fingers on the woman’s neck, then rose and stepped over the body with a shake of her head.

“Dead,” Laura said with a sharp sigh as she re-entered the small office and tossed the keys onto the desk. “Was she the Vital?”

Drew leaned over to open the logbook to his right. “Yeah, that was the Vital. She was the one we were pumping full of Veil blood. We were planning on keeping her awake through the upcoming full moon.”

“Fuck, that’s right.” Laura planted her hands on her hips and glanced at the computer screen. “Send for another Vital from the Fieldhouse. I think we’ve got enough Veil blood to get our experiment up and running before the—“

“Laura!” James finally snapped, pounding his fist on the table hard enough that it jostled the guard’s sandwich. “What is going on?”

“Change, James,” Laura said, facing the alchemist with her arms crossed over her chest. “And progress. Another alchemist from the Fieldhouse had a theory of how to subvert the declining efficacy of our distills. By injecting the blood of our marked subjects at the Fieldhouse—“

“ What! ”

“—Into the blood of the Vitals, Veils, and Voids we are keeping here, then stressing the body, we can potentially cause a chain reaction to recreate the Banished Gods of a thousand years ago. Force the magic out, if you will. Once the body is converted, we can execute them and spill their blood over the plants.”

Dakota thought she would be sick, and the terms almost flew over her head. Vitals? Veils? Voids? The way it was taught in school, those with the blood of the Banished Gods had gone extinct decades ago. Was that just one more thing the Governor hid from them? A way to perform experiments on the sly? James was speechless for a long moment before he stepped toward the computer monitors.

“You are torturing innocent people to force the magic into turning them into….a poor man's Banished God?” James asked, his voice knitted with disbelief. “Laura, this is…”

“Ingenious?” she offered with a smirk. "These aren't people, James. These are an abomination to nature."

“Madness,” James countered. The smirk slid from Laura’s lips. “It’s one thing for our Government to abduct those who bear the marks and keep them in the Fieldhouse, but to transfer them here for…for this !” He pointed to the screen, where blood was dripping from Julia Sinconi’s mouth.

“The suffering of few for the betterment of all. Isn’t that what you said?” Laura’s next words were soft, though Dakota recognized their lethal edge. “You can be part of this, James, or you can be replaced. And we both know what happens when someone is replaced.”

James swallowed and the column of his throat bobbed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dakota cut him off.

“What will you do with the body?”

Laura turned her shrewd gaze to Dakota. “Excuse me?”

“The body,” Dakota said, gesturing to the screen. “I remember her from a couple of weeks ago. Her husband has come up to the Guildhall at least once to try and find her.”

Laura snorted. “People disappear all the time, Dakota. I think—“

“You’re making a mistake,” Dakota interjected again. Laura’s eyes flashed menacingly. “But not in the way you think. If you keep taking people from their families, sooner or later, you’re going to be discovered. You have to stage her. Pretend it was an overdose or an accident. Fake an autopsy report. Something that takes the heat off of her disappearance and places an explanation on her reappearance.”

Even as Dakota said it, a bitter tang filled the back of her mouth and burned her throat. Her skin crawled, as though the blood of Julia Sinconi ghosted over her flesh. Her mind replayed the last few seconds of the woman’s life in excruciating detail, but she shoved her disgust into a compartment deep within her soul. She knew if she didn’t go along with this, she wouldn’t have access to it again—or worse.

“Dakota, you can’t possibly—“ James started, but his lips clamped shut at the long look she sent him when Laura turned to view the screens again. His nod was subtle and he drew in a breath. “She’s right, Laura. We’ve already been brazenly taking people from the Guildhall.”

Laura lifted her gaze from the screen, nodding her head. “You’re right. We have more containment at the Fieldhouse, but here…” She trailed off and tapped her navy-painted nails against the surface of the desk. “Drew, tell the next shift to get her out after nightfall.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Laura squared her shoulders to face Dakota. “You surprise me, Montgomery. I don’t get surprised often.”

Dakota didn’t back away from Laura’s scrutinizing stare. “If you want to venture into this territory, you have to be smart about it.”

You have to be smart about it . Dakota hated that phrase.

Laura smirked. “Perhaps James was right. Perhaps you do have a place amongst us.”

If it was possible, Dakota hated that thought even more.

“Come,” Laura beckoned as she stalked from the office toward the elevator at the end of the hall. “Now that you're up to speed, we have more to discuss. I want to run some of the failed experiments by you.”

Dakota followed Laura from the room and entered the stiflingly tense hall, which, in a matter of minutes, had transformed into a death chamber.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” James muttered as they walked by the open cell. Dakota swallowed as she gave one more fleeting look to Julia Sinconi, sending a prayer of forgiveness to the gods as she passed. “This is not a territory that I’m comfortable entering.”

“Smart, James,” Dakota said. “We have to be smart."

Whatever fear the Governor and the warden had instilled in their cronies, she wouldn't bite. She would get answers whether she needed to pull teeth or not. This whole thing reeked of corruption and cover-up, both of which she was itching to unearth. Starting with James the second they were alone.

We have to be smart . The joke was somewhere buried in the colossal fucking mess she had gotten sucked into. She hoped James was brave enough to withstand the heat. She suspected she wouldn't like the answer from his silence and the sweat sliding down his temple.

A man threw himself forward, clutching the bars of his small window with a white-knuckled grip. “Please, please help me! My wife…my children. It was a traffic violation, a speeding ticket. Please!”

And, though it nearly killed Dakota to look away, she continued through the doors of the open elevator car.