Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Dakota

Dakota gently stretched the skin—similar to sliding two thin pieces of paper against one another. Progress with Kane's arm was slow, but his fingertips no longer tingled, and he could now bend his wrist against the scar tissue.

“Thank you for doing this,” Kane said. Dakota lifted her gaze to meet his, so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t realized he had been watching her. “Between my brother and my mom…you didn’t have to.”

“You aren’t your mother or your brother. I’m happy to help.” She paused, moving up from his wrist toward his forearm and stretching the skin again. “I could use a hand with something, though.”

“Don’t know what I can do, but I’m happy to try.”

Dakota remained quiet. Was it right to involve Kane in this? Could she trust him not to sell her out? But this was Kane . And she knew him decently well—or she used to. After Callum saw the leather journal, she began carrying it around with her again. Afraid it would get lost in Lyra's house or another intruder would steal it. Yet, the tight leash she restrained it with was beginning to fray.

What progress had been made with Kane’s old injury, very little had been made with her calculations. With the equinox only a handful of weeks away, it was becoming undeniable that she either needed to loosen her grip or extend her expectations to the following equinox. And that she couldn't do.

“What do you do with the blood after it’s collected? How do you distill it with the oil extractions?”

Based on his lack of reaction, Callum must have warned Kane that she would be inquiring. Kane shrugged a shoulder. “It depends on the distilling—same as the extractions. Some need to be boiled with the plant oil; some need to be added in afterward. The poppy seeds will be done soaking this evening. I could bring them back here if you wanted to help me prepare them.”

“I would like that, thank you.” Dakota cleared her throat as she gently pulled on another section of his scar tissue. The words she needed to say weren't quite making it out, that damn stranglehold locked in a vise grip around her throat. She fixated on the skin beneath her fingertips.

Kane chuckled under his breath, the laugh so similar to Callum’s that Dakota’s heart hitched in her chest. “What’s really on your mind?”

Dakota shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her shoulders beginning to inch toward her ears. Up until that point, she had succeeded in keeping her nerves in check—something that had been a point of contention while still living with her father. But with every passing second of Kane’s inquisitive stare, those same nerves moved like fire through her veins.

“Callum mentioned rumors of plants outside the Fieldhouse that could be used. Plants where the Banished Gods spilled their blood.” She kept her tone steady and nonchalant, though she felt anything but. “Has the Brotherhood heard of any in the swamp outside the city?”

Kane’s eyes twitched to narrow, but he corrected them a second later, almost as though he knew she would snap her teeth shut if he made any regard of suspicion or judgment. He shrugged again, this time a pinch too casual. “There’s been…rumblings.”

Dakota turned his hand over to work on the scars covering his palm. “Any containing water hemlock, by chance?” She could feel his stare boring into the side of her cheek.

“Why?” This time, the suspicion leeched onto his question. When it became clear that she refused to break the silence, he let out a long sigh through his nose. “You’ve always been too smart for your own good. Curious, too.”

A corner of her mouth tugged up. “You sound like your dad. Pretty sure he said that to me once or twice back in the day.”

“Someone has to around here.”

The air conditioner kicked on, blowing away the heat from the afternoon sun seeping between the gaps in the curtains. An old, musty scent twisted with the breeze as dust particles floated through the rays on each uptick of the fan. As Dakota continued to work, she studied the grooves in the club’s table, some natural and some carved by the tip of a blade.

“What are you hoping to use the hemlock for?” Kane murmured, though they were the only two in the building.

Dakota snuck a glance, first noticing the tense press to his lips before taking in the dark shadow that eclipsed his gaze. She sat back in her seat, patting his arm. “I would rather not say.”

“But you’re experimenting.” It wasn’t a question.

Dakota hesitated before nodding.

Kane worried his lip as he pulled his scarred arm into his lap. “Does my brother know?” It almost made Dakota smile, that question. The two had always been nearly inseparable, even when Callum and Dakota were dating.

“Yes and no.” She picked at her fingernail. “He knows I’m experimenting, but he doesn’t know what.”

“Will it help people?”

Dakota’s gaze lifted at the sincerity of his tone, only to be searched so thoroughly by his wide-eyed stare that she wondered if he was reading her like an open book. “I think it will. I hope it will.”

There was a brief string of silence only broken by the air conditioner and the ticking clock on the wall behind them. Finally, with a heavy breath, Kane nodded his head. “There were rumors of some plants off Route 75 on the way to Blackdon. Maybe fifteen to twenty miles outside Norwich Village and another three-mile trek into the swamp. Just on the other side of The Boundary. I went to check it out about a year ago, thinking I might be able to score some yarrow, but I fell short. A few plants have similar markings if you know what to look for. But…there's no current known use for hemlock.”

Kane looked at her with a fierceness that lived in the cut of his jaw. The resemblance to Callum was ever-present in his expectant stare.

Dakota observed the nerves that bundled her stomach into knots and then let them go. He had been honest with her, at the very least. She could give him something. “I’ve been studying the medicinal uses of water hemlock. In the past, it was thought to have inflammation and healing properties. It seems to be on a molecular level, anyway. But I need something to reduce the poison and bolster the cellular structure. ”

Kane sucked a tooth in thought. “You need an activator.”

“Yes,” Dakota replied. “I’m hoping that, if the hemlock was grown under the conditions of the other plants, it could also be distilled in the condition of the other plants. Considering what I want it to do…” She trailed off, heat blasting through her cheeks. She had said too much.

Kane caught on and leaned forward in his seat to prop his good elbow on the table. “Only certain distills require the solstice or the equinox. Healing ones, actually. Infection and Bone Repair come to mind.” His expression opened in realization. “What are you attempting to fix?”

“I’m not saying another word,” Dakota admonished him. “Not another word.”

It was just in theory. From her research of the distillation properties and the plants themselves, she was almost sure how she needed to distill them. She was also borderline certain that she needed the autumnal equinox, having tested the spring equinox the year before.

Kane opened his mouth to respond when the front door unlocked. Callum strolled into the clubhouse with two motorcycle helmets, one tucked under each arm. He planted one with a sharp thud on the table before Dakota.

Dakota looked down at it, then flicked her gaze back to meet his. There was dangerous amusement playing in the depths of his gray eyes. It made her want to get lost in them. “What is this?”

“A helmet,” Callum answered, rapping his tattooed knuckles on the carbon fiber casing.

“I gathered that for myself,” Dakota said over Kane’s snort. “I meant, what is it doing in front of me?”

Callum’s giddy grin was barely contained. “We’re going on a ride, princess.”

Dakota was momentarily struck speechless, though an indignant squawk of disbelief still escaped. She pushed the helmet toward him with a single finger. “I don’t think so.”

His palm rested on the top of the helmet, and it took every ounce of effort for Dakota not to study the curve of his fingers.

“Why not?” Callum asked, bracing his other hand on the table. If anything, the mischievous glint to his gaze deepened at her challenge, drawing forward a brief flicker of the man she once knew. “I need a favor.”

“And how does that favor include me on the back of your motorcycle?” Dakota retorted. She leaned back in her seat—if only to get away from the panty-melting scent wafting from his skin.

“Come on, friend ,” he said. Dakota almost rolled her eyes at his vehement emphasis on the word friend . “You’ve been on the back of my bike a thousand times. What’s different about it now?”

Twelve years of heartbreak. Her crumbling resolve to keep him from settling anywhere close to the space between her thighs. Desperation to not know what it would feel like to have her arms wrapped around his abdomen these days. The list could go on.

Instead, Dakota said nothing, keeping her unimpressed gaze fixed on him. He sighed, letting his chin drop to his chest before picking his head up again. “I really do need a favor. It’s a court system thing.” At the alarmed look on Kane’s face, he added, “Not me. An acquaintance.”

“How do you suppose I could help with that?” Dakota asked, her brow furrowing. She erased the instinct to tuck away the lock of dark hair that fell near his left eye. Gods, what was wrong with her?

“You’re an alchemist.” He must have realized he was entirely unconvincing because he amended it with “associate.”

Dakota shot Kane a sideways glance.

“Come on,” Callum hedged in her continued silence. “If you don’t agree to take the bike, I’ll—“ His face carved into a grimace as though his next few words would cause him considerable pain. “I’ll pay you back for the fuel it takes your car to get there.”

“And back.”

“What?”

Dakota bent down to grab the handles of her bag, slinging them over her shoulder. She snatched her keys from the table, jangling them in her hand. “And back. You’ll pay me for the fuel to get there and back .”

If Callum’s brows rose any higher, they would have disappeared into his hairline. Dakota stood, stepping into the sunlight spilling on the old carpet. His head bowed as he moved toward her, that godsdamned smirk curling the side of his mouth.

“And back,” Callum conceded. He stopped within inches of his chest bumping into hers, and an unwelcome heat spread through her when that cologne washed over her again. He reached between them, Dakota so lost in the wilderness of him that she almost didn’t notice when he plucked the keys from her hand.

“You are not driving my car,” Dakota said as Callum brushed past, aiming for the front door .

The sharpness of the afternoon faded now that summer had begun to tip into fall. The wind that ruffled the trees was a shade cooler than it had been in the days before, and the heat soaking the pavement wasn’t nearly as stifling. Gravel crackled under Callum’s sneakers as he walked to the car, unlocking it with a quick press of the key fob.

“Callum!” Dakota shot out as he climbed into the driver’s side. The engine roared to life, and she stood in front of the headlights with her arms firmly on her hips. “You aren’t driving my car.”

Callum swiped a hand through his hair, finally pushing back the stray lock that had been mocking her, and sent her a grin that came unsettlingly close to dismantling every form of defense she had against him. “Get in the car, princess. You don’t know where we’re going anyway.”

Dakota shielded her eyes against the blazing sun, locking her gaze on Callum’s frame half-hung from the window. “When was the last time you even drove a car?”

He tapped his hand on the side of the door, and his palm against the metal rang into the quiet street. “I shot someone for you. Let’s go.”

“ Callum !”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “The exasperation in your voice. That’s how you used to say my name. I remember that, too.”

Gods, this was a nightmare—stuck firmly between wanting to bolt from the parking lot and needing to follow her libido straight to the passenger seat. She took in the fit of his white t-shirt, how the sleeves tightened against the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. Before she knew what she was doing, her own sneakers crackled against the gravel as she moved.

Was she walking toward her salvation or her undoing? Only time could tell.

Callum leaned over the seat to open the passenger-side door, and Dakota clambered in, letting her bag fall to the floor. The door shut behind her, and she reached into the center console to retrieve her sunglasses. Cheap plastic warmed her face as she slid them up the bridge of her nose.

The car clunked into reverse, and Callum expertly navigated away from his parked motorcycle. He threw the gear shifter into drive before speeding into the empty road.

There was a familiarity about Callum driving her car, and an odd longing filled her chest at the sight. He was unnaturally quiet as he drove, his elbow braced on the window ledge and his finger tracing his lower lip in thought. So at ease, his breathing paced and comfortable, his shoulders relaxed as he watched the road .

Dakota didn’t know what to do with her hands, and the awkward silence alerted her to everything still left unsaid. The freckle on her thigh had never been so interesting before.

“When did you get rid of your old car?”

She lifted her head to look at him, noticing the slight smile. “About six years ago or so. Why?”

Callum ran a hand over the top of the steering wheel, and she could hear the rasp of his callouses against the faux leather. Would those hands feel the same as they explored the length of her spine as he—oh, gods, no. What was wrong with her?

“Curiosity,” he said, and his eyes brightened as he glanced back at her. “That car was a piece of shit, and this one—“ He paused to run his hand over the steering wheel again. He must have read her thoughts and decided to taunt her. “—Is just as shitty.”

Dakota’s mouth fell open, and Callum laughed as he turned onto the main thoroughfare that acted like Norwich’s main artery. He slowed at a traffic light, the muggy reek of the city curling through the small gap at the top of the open window.

“It’s not shitty, it’s just…” Dakota trailed off as the car lurched forward when the traffic light flicked green. Callum quirked a brow at her. “Fine, it’s shitty.”

Traffic crept forward, and Callum returned his attention to the busy road. A silence fell—one that Dakota couldn’t decide was wildly uncomfortable or simply strained, and she watched the sunlight refract off the tinted windows of the skyscrapers towering above her. There were forty-seven pedestrians in the first three blocks they passed. Six fire hydrants. Eighteen dogs. Anything to calm her mind from the man beside her.

“Isn’t this Viper territory?” Dakota asked, furrowing her brow as the landscape slowly morphed from a bustling downtown to a patchy, overgrown industrial lot.

Callum chuckled under his breath as he lifted his hips to reach into his pocket, handing her a piece of paper. Dakota unfolded it, staring at the missing poster she had created the day before. She let it fall into her lap, squaring her shoulders to face him the best she could.

“How did you find out?”

Callum chuckled again as he grabbed the paper, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin of her leg. A flash of sensitivity tunneled from that spot to the apex of her thighs. “I have eyes all over Norwich, princess.” He sent her a side-long glance, and she pleaded with the gods that her sunglasses were enough to cover whatever was written on her face. “And Maverick Malone is tailing the Vipers.”

Dakota furrowed her brow. “I didn’t even see him.”

“That’s the point of a tail, love. ”

That last word was a slip of the tongue. Dakota could tell from how he wrapped his hand around the steering wheel. That didn’t stop the breath from freezing in her lungs. Didn't stop her subtle stare from surveying the strong cut of his jaw. Didn't stop her mind from wandering to the feel of his fingers gripping her thigh.

Asphalt turned to coarse dirt when the road narrowed, and a cloud of dust kicked up behind her car. No worries—that cleaning surcharge would go on his tab. Callum rolled into one of the last driveways, and the house that backed it seemed to be in the middle of an upheaval that wasn’t nearing completion. A man stood at a wet saw, safety glasses perched on his face, and the droning sound of the machinery cutting through tile rang against the shouts from the children down the way.

His brows rose as Callum threw the car into park, and he removed his gloves and safety glasses, tossing them on the table. Dakota followed Callum’s lead when he pushed himself out of the car, and the overwhelming scent of cut plaster and metal shavings replaced her car freshener.

“Hunter, Dakota,” Callum said in a rushed introduction as he scanned the road beyond the house. “Let’s take this inside.”

Behind her tinted sunglasses, Dakota studied Hunter’s rash of tattoos, each more different and unique than the next. Prison tattoos. She recognized the slight off-tinge of the ink, so similar to some of the ones Callum possessed. With a wave of his hand, Hunter gestured for her to follow Callum up the steps.

“I would have cleaned up if I knew you were coming.”

“You didn’t…” Dakota trailed off to shoot Callum a dulled stare as she lifted her sunglasses from her face. “What was the rush across town?”

Callum peered through the gap in the curtain as the front door shut with a sharp snick , giving Dakota just enough time to assess the small house. The interior was in as much upheaval as the exterior, and though it was certainly cluttered, it wasn’t dirty. Her cheeks flushed when her gaze locked with Hunter’s for the first time, curiosity twisting into embarrassment as he caught her investigating his space.

“Ace and Rocco are finalizing some plans with Duke. It was the only opportunity I had to bring you over here.” Callum tore himself from the window, apparently content with the neighbors, and crossed the room to stand beside her.

Somehow, even in this small space, his presence made the room even tinier than before he stepped further into it. He took a deep breath, and Dakota swore the oxygen was sucked from the house .

“Hunter was a distill runner for the Brotherhood. Got out of prison about a year ago. In exchange for information, I was hoping you would be amenable to assisting him.” Callum lifted his hand as though readying to place it protectively against her lower back and must have thought better of it. Still, he stepped closer, and his t-shirt brushed against her shoulder.

“This is your alchemist?” Hunter asked, tilting his head in question toward Callum. The rigidness of his body could have cut the tiles on the wet saw in the front yard. “The daughter of the Ranger?”

“How did you know—?” Dakota started but clicked her teeth together at the venomous glare Hunter sent her way.

“Dakota is a friend ,” Callum said. It might have been more convincing if he hadn’t said the word friend like one would say the word moist . “She’s helping with the distillation recovery.”

Hunter’s brows rose as that stern stare slid toward her again. “Is she now?”

Dakota felt a challenge spark in her chest, a glowing ember that only needed the slightest provocation to burn. “She is. Now are we going to put our dicks away so you can tell me what you need help with?” She felt Callum’s fingers graze a warning against the back of her arm, but Hunter’s mouth curved into a slight smile that almost reached his eyes.

“I heard you work closely with the governor.”

Dakota glanced over her shoulder to peek at Callum, his tall frame towering protectively over her. Something in her chest squeezed, but her curiosity forced her to look back at Hunter. “Closer than I signed up for anyway.”

“My kids are in the system. Two daughters,” Hunter said. “I’ll answer Callum’s questions. You help petition the governor to release them to me.”

Dakota reeled her head back. “What questions?” She returned her gaze to Callum, now forced to crane her head to catch his eye.

“Ones that you aren’t going to know,” Callum replied, his stare gliding down the long edge of his nose toward her.

“Are we doing this again?” Dakota began, bracing for the inevitable argument. “Because I can already—“

“It’s not about that. It’s about your safety. And keeping as many people outside of this as I can.” His finger curled into the belt loop of her shorts, tugging her closer to him. As though he couldn’t help himself. His eyes searched hers. As though he were reading to see if she would pull away.

She didn’t.

Facing Hunter, Dakota swallowed past the butterflies lining her throat. Those flutters had nothing to do with petitioning the governor and everything to do with Callum’s knuckle now coasting along the exposed skin of her lower back. They were entering dangerous territory, a boundary he was seeing how close he could toe the line of.

Dakota couldn’t bring herself to step away from that line either.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll help. And only because I don’t want to see any more kids in the system.” She glanced around the house. “Not with what’s going on in the prison right now.”

Hunter sent her an inquisitive look, but all she could think about was the grip of Callum’s fingers against her hip. Begging. Pleading. Promising.