Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Callum

The ease at which Callum pulled the trigger should have dosed him with a hefty fear of returning to prison. But he wasn’t thinking about that when he did it. No, Dakota was his singular focus. Ethan’s grimy hands on her body. Her broken wrist and pale, terrified stare. What scared him the most was how fucking fast he ran to her side.

Killing a man, especially one as fucking foul as Ethan Sullivan, was effortless. Navigating this new dynamic with the woman he once would have given the world to was much harder.

“Callum?” Dakota’s muffled voice called through the door. “Is he…are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Callum reached over to tug the towel from the hole in the door, tossing it over the top half of Ethan’s body. Dakota lifted her head.

“Is he dead?” Her question came out as a whisper.

“Yeah, he’s dead.”

Dakota turned an alarming shade of green before rolling onto her hip and vomiting into the bathtub. Pain formed in her grimace, and she rested her cheek on the tub’s rim when she was done.

Callum stepped over Ethan’s legs to deposit his gun on the kitchen counter before returning to the bathroom. “I’m coming in.” He shoved his arm through the hole and unlocked the handle without giving her a chance to respond.

He edged in, careful to make sure Dakota couldn’t spot the body, and crouched in front of her. A sheen of sweat coated her hairline, and her face was even paler. He braced a hand on the back of her head, unable to stop himself from threading his fingers through her blonde hair.

Being in her presence countered every instinct to pull away, every unpleasant memory, every promise he made to prioritize the Brotherhood.

“Let me see,” Callum said gently, placing just the tips of his fingers on the swell above her wrist. Dakota flinched as she settled against the wall. “It’s definitely broken. Can you walk?”

“I think so,” Dakota replied, reaching for him with her uninjured hand. Callum grasped it and slowly helped to pull her up as he stood. She swayed before steadying her palm against his chest. “I’m okay, I’m fine.”

Callum peeled the locks away from her sticky brow and tucked them behind her ear. He couldn’t believe he made it. Losing her would have been fucking unimaginable. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Dakota’s green eyes flicked up to meet his, and the world narrowed in on the curve of her lips. She had always somehow managed to center his universe. “Callum—“

“No, I have to say this.” Callum blew out a breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Having you here is…the hardest fucking thing, and I've been punishing you for it. But you were right. You’ve jumped through every fucking hoop.”

Dakota swallowed and glanced away, quickly wiping the tears with her fingertips. “I don’t like what you and the club are doing.”

“I know.”

“And I’m having a really hard time with it.”

“If it weren’t for what the Governor is doing in the Fieldhouse and the prison, we wouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Dakota bristled. “That doesn’t make it better.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Life found a way to pull us back together, didn’t it?”

Callum couldn’t help the twist of grief in his heart. “Well, since we're stuck until this shit magnet pulls apart—friends then?” He snuck his hand into the inches between them.

Dakota stared at it for a long moment before looking up at him. “If we’re going to do this, work together I mean, the fighting has to stop. It's exhausting.”

Callum smirked, keeping his hand hovering in place. “Why? We’ve always been so good at it.”

“You mean we’ve always been good at the making-up part.” Her cheeks flushed, and his attention awakened to it.

His smirk grew even wider, toeing the line of a grin. “That can be arranged, princess.”

Dakota snuck her hand between them, meeting his in the middle for a brief shake. “Friends, Callum. We can be friends.”

For what it was worth, Callum’s stomach tightened with an unanticipated strike of despair that radiated as numbness through the rest of his body. He may as well have made a deal with Nekros himself. It was a simple handshake, a contract that would end the moment she returned to Blackdon. But when her palm touched him, he was sixteen again and calling a truce after being thoroughly bested by the smartest girl in class. She laughed in his face, and her amber vanilla scent washed over him. He fucking knew then that no one would ever compare.

And if someone told his eighteen-year-old self that he would end up being just fucking friends with Dakota Montgomery, he would have begged the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

He still wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Dakota dropped her hand to her side, another grimace overtaking the slight smile. “How are we going to…with Ethan…”

“Let’s just get you out of here. Let me handle it.” Callum took her hand back—what the fuck was wrong with him?—and stepped toward the door. “Close your eyes. Don’t look.” He could sense her nerves almost as if they were his own.

Dakota’s eyes snapped shut when Callum peeled the door open. Ethan’s legs were splayed toward the bathroom, and what was left of his head slumped against the wall.

“Follow my lead. Yep, you got it. Step there. Pick up your back foot a bit more. Okay, step to your left.” Callum swelled as she let him lead her. Even with that shitbag still lying dead on the floor, she closed her eyes for him without a second thought.

Friends, just friends, just fucking friends .

He was a fucking moron.

They cleared the hallway and rounded the counter into the kitchen. “I’m gonna help you up,” Callum said, gesturing behind her when she opened her eyes. “I have to see what’s going on with your side.” The blood had begun to seep again, a fresh flood of red mixing with the dried brown.

Dakota sent him a cagey glare. “I can get up there myself. I’m not dead.” She propped her uninjured hand onto the counter and popped up with a surprising amount of control. A slow breath released through her gritted teeth, low and hollow .

“I could have helped you.” I wanted my hands on you .

Dakota rolled her eyes. “In my bag, there are a few vials. Can you bring them to me?”

Callum waded through the carnage of broken furniture and blood to retrieve her canvas bag from near the front door. Glass clinked, rolling together as the bag shifted. When he turned to tromp back into the kitchen, Dakota had already slung her shirt off, revealing a brightly patterned bra.

Could a brain short-circuit? If so, he was entirely and utterly fucked.

“This isn’t too deep,” Dakota said as he stiffly approached, too busy poking at the gash to realize he was desperately trying to keep his line of vision respectfully above her collarbones. “He caught me with the knife before I locked myself in the bathroom.”

Callum leaned against the counter beside her. “Was that before or after you stabbed him?”

“After.” Dakota thumbed the cork from the first vial and dripped the distill onto her side. She sucked in a hiss of pain as the gash sizzled and smoked, filling the air with the acrid scent of burning flesh.

“I’m gonna give Dylan a call,” Callum said, halfway between dropping to his knees and begging her to pretend that he didn’t ask to be just friends and running from the house entirely.

Dakota only nodded as she prodded the newly knitted flesh, stretching and shaping the skin to prevent the distill from working too quickly and leaving her with a thick scar.

Callum tugged his cell phone from his back pocket and stepped into the hallway. Blood and brain matter coated the wall where Ethan was slumped, though his fingers had already turned a mottled gray in the time since he had been shot. This was going to take fucking hours to clean.

Dylan answered on the first ring, pounding music and chatter pulsing in the background. “What’s up, man?”

“I’m at Lyra’s. I need you here in ten.”

Nothing but silence came through the other end, and Callum pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn’t ended.

“Did you find her?” Dylan asked, the background much quieter. “Lyra, I mean.”

“No, man, I—you just gotta come see for yourself.” Callum glanced at the body, stifling the urge to give it a swift kick for good measure. It wasn't worth the blood on his sneakers.

“I’m halfway across town, man. I don’t—“

“Eight and a half minutes."

Dakota shrieked, and he damn near dropped the phone on Ethan's corpse. Every thought imaginable pinged through his mind—another intruder, another stabbing, another Ethan. It all came to a head when he caught her passed out against the upper cabinets, and her chin lolled to her chest.

“Dakota!” Callum called out. He was before her a second later, his hands rasping against her cool cheeks. Another sheen of sweat had broken out over her brow, but she woke with a sudden gasp that startled a string of curses out of him. “What the fuck was that?”

Dakota groaned, blinking rapidly. “Ugh, gods, that was awful.”

Callum glanced down at her hand, spotting the Bone Repair vial resting against her palm. The straightened wrist, the fading bruising to her side. “Did you take that before a Pain distill?”

Dakota lifted her injured hand to flex her fingers and twirl her wrist, no longer grimacing or flinching in pain. “I didn’t have any. Pain and Euphoric are heavily guarded. These I accidentally pocketed after my last shift.”

“You should have waited. I could have called Dylan back and told him to pick some up from Kane.”

“The break was uncomfortable and growing worse by the second. This was faster.” Dakota leaned her head back against the cabinets and let out a sigh. “That feels better.”

Callum’s thundering heart had barely begun to slow, the adrenaline still coursing through him like venom. “Dylan's on his way. He’s gonna help me clean up.”

Dakota sobered. “What am I going to tell Lyra? About…” She trailed off, her gaze darting toward the back hallway.

“You’re not. You’re not going to tell a soul.”

“I’m sure she knows you’ve killed people. Afraid she’ll go to the Guard?”

Callum chuckled. “Are you kidding? She’ll cut my balls off and serve them to me on a silver fucking platter for getting blood on her walls.”

Dakota’s laugh set a shiver building in his spine. “You’re right. She'll probably think Ethan’s ghost haunts the place now.”

“Only when you’re here,” Callum replied with a lop-sided grin. "Otherwise, she'll sell the house and move across town."

Dakota’s laugh died as she surveyed him from her perch on the counter. At some point, he had moved between her thighs. And his splayed hands bracketed her hips, pinning her in place. And his slumbering soul awoke at the simplicity of her green eyes. And he was in such deep, unwavering shit.

Callum couldn't help the forefinger he swept above the band of her shorts, and he almost groaned when the cool flesh pebbled beneath his touch. “Do you still have it?” he murmured. The gap between their lips was closing. Was she moving or was he? Maybe they both were.

“Do I have what?” she asked coyly, angling her head as she wrapped her hands around the counter's edge. It pushed her breasts closer together, threatening to spill them out of the fabric barely containing them. Her breath fanned along his mouth, and he was sure she heard his gulp.

He would not look down. He would not look down. He would not look down.

When was the last time he had been this nervous?

Callum fought through the flutter in his chest and the ache in his hands as he forced them from wrapping around her hips. “You’ve seen mine.”

"It’s on your thumb. Kind of hard to miss.”

An overwhelming desire to reach between her thighs flooded him, and he curled his hands into fists to lock them in place. He sent her a meaningful look instead. “And?”

“I’m shocked you still have it,” Dakota went on. Her legs spread a fraction wider, allowing him to nestle right up to the counter. Their breath mingled as they watched one another. It was a game of self-control, and Callum was willing to lose if it meant she was the prize. He was willing to burn if she was the one holding the flame.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” Callum replied. He could count every freckle on her nose. He had tried to do that once when they were seventeen, and she laughed as she swatted at him. That same laugh had turned into breathy pants. He could figure out what she liked these days.

He was suddenly eager to remind her that he hadn’t forgotten how to make her come.

The house’s front door opened with a sharp bang against the wall, and Dakota flew backward. Fresh air spilled between them, dousing them in ice water and clearing the tension like morning fog against the sunlight.

“I got here as quick as I could. I—what the fuck happened here?”

Callum had always liked Dylan, but he could have killed him then. He leveled Dakota with a smoldering stare filled with promises he shouldn’t keep before reluctantly turning away from her. “Ethan Sullivan happened.”

Dylan swore as he stepped over the overturned accent chair. “Damn. Alright, so I’ll chase him out of town. That should be easy enough, considering… this.”

Callum huffed a laugh. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.’

“Why?”

Callum lifted a hand and gestured toward the back hallway. Behind him, Dakota slid off the counter and bent down to pick up the bloody knife. Dylan furrowed his brows and side-stepped another blood stain before disappearing around the corner.

“Ah, shit, Callum,” Dylan’s voice called from the darkness. He reemerged from the hallway, his face way less curious than he had been seconds before. “Can we please pretend for five fucking minutes that I am also a Ranger of the Iron Guard?”

“I didn’t know who else to call—“ Dakota started meekly, but Dylan shook his head.

“This isn’t on you. From the looks of the place, he got what was coming to him.” He looked to Callum. “What’s the plan then? I’m sure you have one.”

“Tarp. Chains. Quarry.”

Dylan nodded, glancing over his shoulder one more time. “You’ll call Rocco and Ace?”

“And you’ll write a note to John Montgomery notifying him of his departure and decision to move to Penham?”

Dakota dropped the knife in the sink, metal on metal clattering through the kitchen. “Seems like you both have done this before.”

“You have no idea,” Dylan answered dryly before blowing out a breath. “I’ll…head back to the clubhouse to pick up the chains and the tarp. I saw Ace at Twist and Tonic tonight. He was a shot away from blacking out, so I doubt you’ll get much out of him until tomorrow afternoon.”

“It won’t take more than the three of us anyway,” Callum replied, keeping his face neutral while following Dylan to the front door. “You’ve got great fucking timing, man.”

Dylan looked over to Dakota, who had switched the faucet on and was furiously scrubbing the knife with a soap-filled sponge. “You told me ten minutes. How was I supposed to know she would be stripped down to her bra when I walked in the door?” He paused, watching her with a gentle gaze. “How is she?”

“Broken wrist and ribs were healed. She had a pretty nasty cut from the knife. But…” Callum swallowed, glancing over his shoulder to see that she had begun to unload the clean dishes from the dishwasher. “She’s still in shock. She went clinical faster than she should have. I’m sure it’ll hit her in the next day or two.”

Dylan nodded. “Lucky you got here in time.”

Callum didn’t say anything—didn’t want to think about the alternative if he hadn’t.

“I’ll call you when I’m coming back,” Dylan said before nodding toward Dakota. “Get her out or lock her in the back bedroom. You know how messy these things get.” With that, he pulled open the front door and stepped into the cool night air.

Callum hadn’t realized until then how much time had passed. The darkness was unending, stretching into the forest surrounding Lyra’s small house. Even the stars didn’t dare shine through the blanket of black sky, as though they knew he needed the cover.

“Is he leaving already?” Dakota asked from the kitchen.

Callum shut the door behind Dylan, cutting off the gentle sound of the breeze through the leaves and the chirp of crickets in the underbrush. “He’s getting some supplies. Picking up Rocco. He won’t be gone long.” He stepped into the living room, kneeling to pick up a leather journal from the floor. Interestingly enough, Dakota stiffened.

“What’s this?” he asked, flipping to a random page. It was filled with mathematical equations and recipes that had been crossed out and edited before being scratched out entirely.

Yarrow flower blooms. Maple tree bark. Water hemlock. She had written in blue ink. Magic requires a sacrifice? Was scrawled in her neat handwriting near the page’s border.

“Dakota, what is this?”

Callum already knew what it was. Kane had done this hundreds of times—and he had the journals and notebooks to prove it. His throat tightened as he lifted his gaze to her, any lingering heat from their encounter ten minutes before frozen over.

Dakota left the kitchen, stepping into a blood stain that let out a wet squelch under her weight. “It’s nothing, I—“ She reached for it, but he lifted it over her head. “Really?”

“If this is found…” he started.

“I’m being careful.” She held out an expectant hand. He hesitated before shaking his head and plopping the book against her palm. It was immediately tucked into her chest.

“What’s it for?” Callum asked as casually as he could, but he already knew what she would say. An experiment .

“I would rather not talk about it.” Dakota’s answer was clipped, and Callum wasn’t any more reassured. On the contrary, discomfort fell in his gut like a boulder sinking to the bottom of the sea.

"Don’t use your blood,” Callum finally said.

Dakota reeled her head back, blanching. “What—?”

“Kane can get you what you need to experiment. Don’t use your blood.”

“Callum, I—“

“I’m so fucking serious right now,” Callum interjected with an unwavering warning that hardened his voice. “Do not use your blood.”

It took a series of heartbeats, but finally, Dakota nodded. “Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll talk to Kane about it.”

Calling out the hypocrisy was nearly on the tip of Callum’s tongue, but he stopped himself from voicing it. Not even six hours ago were they toe-to-toe in a heated argument about the club’s use of blood to change the make-up of the distills, and here she fucking was…

But Callum didn’t bring it up. No, he knew when to choose his battles. If he shined a light on it, Dakota would surely tell him to go fuck himself and would use her blood anyway. He had worked too fucking hard to protect the secret she didn’t even know she had. Had even gone to prison for it, not once sharing even a shred of information that he knew would get him released.

He worked the system, and it hadn't been easy. He waited, and he schemed, and he submitted documents through the courts like a good fucking errand boy. Nine years. It took nine fucking years to clear his name. And still, he held onto that secret like it was the air he breathed.

Because she was the air that he breathed.