Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Dakota

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Hunter said as he adjusted his tie for the third time in five minutes. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

The deal was struck: the answers to Callum's questions for Dakota's assistance. And Dakota was more than ready to help Hunter get his daughters back. Not because she liked the guy, but because he looked at their pictures with such reverence that it broke her heart every time she saw him.

“Quit fucking with it,” Callum said as Dakota stepped forward to straighten the knot around his collar. “Every time you touch it, you screw it up.”

“Hush,” Dakota retorted, angling her head to assess the knot. She reached forward to straighten it again. “He’s nervous. Leave him alone.”

Callum shot her a devious look, one that was accompanied by a smirk. He was devilishly handsome in his black dress shirt, with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to showcase his tattoos. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his black pants, and Dakota’s heart skipped a beat at the wink he sent her.

“It’s been a year since I’ve spent more than a few hours with them,” Hunter went on, evidently not paying much attention to what she and Callum were doing on the side. He scraped a hand down his newly-shaven face. “What if they don’t want to leave their foster home?”

Dakota crossed her arms over her chest to shield herself against a blast of autumn wind that used the narrow downtown block like a tunnel. “Of course, they want to.”

“You can’t think about that,” Callum said, leaning forward to clap Hunter on the shoulder. “All you can do is put one foot in front of the other and keep looking forward to the next day.”

Hunter’s thick swallow pulled at the column of his throat as he nodded. “I guess you’re right.” He paused to blow out a breath, turning his gaze toward the courthouse doors at the top of the marble steps. “Guess we should go in then.” It came out more like a question than a statement, and Dakota’s heart squeezed at the insecurity underlying his tone.

“Yes, we should,” she said, moving toward him to loop her arm around his. It was laughably small compared to the thick muscle that banded his own. “We’ll be right with you the entire way.”

Dakota led him up the steps, aiming for the sweeping polished wood doors outlined in gold. Three members of the Iron Guard stood at attention; their rifles settled heavily on their shoulders. She breezed past them, entering the security check-in with a blast of warm air that heated the old, musty carpet. Hunter’s arm trembled beneath her hand, and she gave him a reassuring tap with her fingers.

Footsteps bustled against the shiny tiled floor, the pattern drab and uninviting. Dakota was sure it was meant to seem lavish and imposing, but the splotches of crimson amongst the gray-speckled marble reminded her of blood and smoke. Each tile was outlined in gold like the front doors, and she wondered if the designer meant for it to look like chains.

Two men sat on the hard wooden benches at the back of the lobby, one dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief while a woman clutching an overstuffed briefcase towered over them. Despite the constant opening and closing of the front doors, the air was still stale and smelled like overheating computers, thanks to the security equipment at the check-in desk.

“Courtroom four?” Callum asked as he stopped at Dakota’s side. His gaze swept over the stream of well-dressed counselors and their clients. To anyone else, he might have looked like he was trying to find his way, but Dakota knew the steeled glint in his eyes signaled his discomfort. Was he recalling his own trial? Dakota had been in Blackdon by then.

“It’s that way.” Hunter’s hand smoothed his tie again after gesturing toward the right side of the lobby. “I saw the sign when we came in.”

Dakota’s heels tapped against the floor as they walked. The lobby streamed into a secondary hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the downtown business district. Cars whizzed past, their tires sloshing into water-filled potholes from the rain the night before. It was a dreary and miserable day. Even the sun hid behind a thick wall of gray clouds.

The hallway narrowed as the windows ended at an exposed brick wall, the natural light morphing into fluorescent beams from the bulbs wedged behind the fogged plastic coverings. One of them flickered as they walked beneath it. The architects hadn’t put much effort into the back of the courthouse. Marble became linoleum. Framed paintings became corkboards pinned with advertisements for distillation addiction centers. Intricately carved wooden benches were replaced with simple, faded ones that had seen better days.

“This is it,” Hunter said as they halted outside courtroom four. His breathing was shaky and shallow, his trembling now visible.

Callum walked past Dakota, his hand brushing her back as he tugged the door open with a quick turn of the metal handle. The courtroom was half-filled with other cases for the day, people intermittently lining the benches. It was as quiet as possible for a busy room, the wood creaking, paper rustling, and muffled coughs weaving through the desks and empty jury chairs.

The three of them took a seat.

“Case number four-three-zero-three-six,” the Iron Guard member read from a piece of paper. “The Governor of Norwich versus Anthony Sinconi. Charged with destruction of property and vandalism.”

A man stepped forward to the podium between the counselor’s tables, almost shrinking under the intense gaze of the robed judge seated above them. Dakota’s stomach lurched to her throat. A dead woman writhed on the floor of the prison basement, foaming at the mouth. Julia Sinconi. Dakota would never forget her.

“How does the defendant plead?” the judge asked, his tone bordering on bored. He glanced at his watch, doing nothing to hide that he was checking the time.

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Anthony said quietly.

“Your Honor, we are seeking four months in the city jail and a two-year probation,” a sharp-faced counselor with tortoiseshell glasses said from her seat at the table. “Mister Sinconi recently lost his wife to a distill overdose. He has no priors.”

Dakota watched Anthony’s jaw clench, but he remained silent and impassive. If only she could tell him the truth. If only he could know the final minutes of his wife’s life. It could be cruel, she supposed, to find out that your spouse died a horrific death at the hands of a blood experiment instead of a fatal overdose. Perhaps it could give him closure.

“Mister Sinconi, do you have any objections?”

“No.” Anthony’s tone was markedly more clipped. If the judge heard the shift, he didn't respond.

“Counselor, anything else?”

This time, the short and stocky man beside Anthony spoke up. “Your Honor, Mister Sinconi would like to verify the wellbeing of his children with the prosecution today. It seems one of his two children has gone missing from their foster home.”

Dakota’s eyes closed, and she felt the gentle touch of Callum’s hand against her thigh.

“Missing?” Dakota opened her eyes in time to see the judge’s brows lift as he turned toward the prosecution table. “What do we mean missing?”

The woman stood from her seat, adjusting the bottom of her shirt. “Your Honor, it seems as though the eldest child has run away from her foster family following a bicycle accident that landed her in the Guildhall. The Iron Guard has been made aware of the situation, and a missing child’s report has been filed.

“That’s bullshit,” Anthony seethed, clearly unable to hold back his ire any longer. “That’s fucking bullshit. Anna would never run away and would never leave her sister behind.”

“Another outburst like that, Mister Sinconi, and I will tack on weeks to your current jail sentence,” the judge warned. Anthony’s mouth clamped shut. “Are all efforts being made to locate the child?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Guards have been on the ground actively searching for three days. No order has been given from the Head Ranger to lift the search.”

Dakota almost let out a bitter laugh. She knew exactly where that child was and what had happened following a bicycle accident. And her father certainly couldn’t call off the search for a child after only three days. He knew better than to arouse suspicion like that.

“Very well. Mister Sinconi, the Iron Guard will keep you abreast of their search efforts.” Anthony looked like he wanted to argue, but the judge’s gavel came down in a sharp crack against the desk. “Next!”

Anthony was marched through a side door of the courtroom by a second Iron Guard, the links to his handcuffs clinking together as he went.

The first Iron Guard began to read from another slip of paper. “Case number six-seven-eight-two-eight. Family Court versus Hunter Donovan for child unification.”

Hunter let out an involuntary exhale as he stood from the wooden bench. Dakota followed him to the front of the courtroom, ignoring her sweaty palms and jittery nerves. They cut between the two tables, stopping at the podium before the judge. Hunter lifted a hand to adjust the microphone, and a shrill squeak played over the speaker. He flushed when the judge winced.

“You’re here to petition for parent-child unification?” the judge asked, his intense stare darting between Hunter and Dakota.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Hunter replied. Dakota could hear the shake of his voice.

The judge looked down at the papers before him, his eyes scanning several documents. “You were released from prison a little over a year ago, and you’ve completed the necessary steps of home ownership and supervised visitation.” He glanced back up at Hunter. “Though you were originally charged with illegal distillation distribution, a sentence that carries a three-year unification process.”

“Yes, Your Honor, I understand.”

“Then explain why you’re in front of me, wasting my time.”

Hunter gulped, and Dakota felt his hands begin to tremble again. “I—well, I—“

“With all due respect, Your Honor,” Dakota began, reaching into her pocket to pull her Guildhall badge from inside her jacket. “I’m here to assist in the petition for unification.” The Iron Guard stepped forward to take it from her before carefully placing it in the judge’s outstretched palm.

“Dakota Montgomery, Associate Alchemist,” the judge muttered, his brows flashing toward his hairline. “You do have friends in high places, Mister Donovan.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Hunter’s voice was a touch higher pitched than before, and the bright lighting of the courtroom did nothing to help the sheen of sweat gathering in the creases of his nostrils.

The judge paid Hunter no mind as he looked back up at Dakota, his gaze softer around the edges. “You’re willing to put your reputation on the line for this man?”

Dakota’s smile was brilliant, one she had practiced in the mirror since childhood. One that hid every insecurity she ever had. She was going to murder Callum Reynolds for putting her in this position. And she was going to murder Hunter Donovan if he screwed it up.

“I am, Your Honor. I can attest to the work he’s put into his home and to his scheduled visits.” She returned to her jacket to pull out a folded sheet of paper that she handed to the Iron Guard. “I’ve witnessed his additional supervised visits, outlined here. I’ve also assisted in connecting him to distillation treatment centers, which have found him clean during his random screenings. I have personally overseen those as well.” She inhaled through her nose before continuing. “I don’t believe that Hunter Donovan is a threat to the public, nor will he jeopardize his children’s lives. Not since the death of his late wife.”

She didn’t turn to look at Hunter, though she could feel the anxiety rolling from him in uncontrollable waves. The judge scanned Dakota’s papers, his lips thinning with every passing second. A pin could have been heard dropping against the old carpet. Her heartbeat was a betraying thump in her ears and fingertips.

“Well,” the judge finally said, setting the papers on his desk. He folded his fingers together, steepling them beneath his chin. “It’s your lucky day, Mister Donovan. It isn’t often that an alchemist is willing to put their reputation on the line, especially one with her parentage.” He nodded toward Dakota, who forced another smile. It felt bitter and small on her lips. “Are the children in the courthouse?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor to their left said. “We had the children brought to the hearing. They are awaiting your decision in a separate room.”

The judge nodded, turning back toward Hunter. “I would advise you, Mister Donovan, to not bungle this opportunity. I can guarantee that you will not receive a second one.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Hunter replied in a breathy voice, so different than the strong, take-no-shit tone Dakota was used to hearing from him. “I won’t, Your Honor.”

The judge brought the gavel down, the crack echoing through the courtroom. “Case dismissed. Unification granted.”

Hunter let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging so dramatically that Dakota was sure he was on the verge of passing out. She snaked an arm around his waist, propping his heavy body up as much as she could as she led him, bewildered and dazed, toward the courtroom door.

“Come on,” Callum said, meeting them halfway between the door and the podium. He straightened Hunter off of Dakota before clapping him on the cheek. “Hold yourself together for your kids.”

Hunter seemed to snap out of his haze, his eyes sharpening into determination. He pushed away from Callum and rushed toward the door, throwing it open with a bang of metal against exposed brick.

“Daddy!” a small voice cried. It echoed down the narrow hallway, drawing Hunter’s attention toward the source.

A girl, six or seven years old, sprinted toward Hunter, her black shoes tapping against the linoleum tiles. Brown hair, pulled into a braid and finished with a blue ribbon, bounced against her back as she threw herself into Hunter’s outstretched arms. Her sob was immediate and heartbreaking, her face buried in the buttons of his shirt.

“Oh, baby, I’ve missed you,” Hunter said, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled the child close to his chest.

The second girl, a few years older, held herself back, her gaze wary and distrustful. The woman behind her pushed her forward with a supportive nod, and the girl began a stiff walk forward. She stopped within feet of Hunter, still out of range of his reach. Between the two, she looked the most like him—the same facial shape, the color of their eyes, and the length of her nose.

“Charlotte?”

Hunter’s eldest daughter remained near Dakota’s side, her stare haunted and dull. A stare of a girl who had seen too much too young. As though she realized what was happening, her breathing began to quicken, the color returning to her cheeks in a rushed panic that widened her eyes.

“Daddy,” Charlotte whispered. She lunged for him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug that nearly shoved him from his haunches. His hand went to the back of her head, pulling her in as tightly as he held the younger.

The three stayed like that for a long minute before Hunter finally stood as the courtroom door opened again. A woman walked out, her eyes red-rimmed with tears as she pushed past Dakota with a shove of her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Hunter said, holding his daughter’s shoulders. “I—I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You can thank me by getting your kids out of Norwich,” Dakota said. Callum’s hand went to her lower back.

Hunter nodded as he lifted a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes roughly. “My wife’s family has a place up in the mountains, halfway between Blackdon and Penham. We’re going there in a couple of weeks. I gotta finish packing the house and enroll them in their new school.”

Callum moved to the side as another couple walked past to pause outside courtroom four, looked down at their directions, and then walked on. “As soon as you can, Hunter.” He lowered his voice so much that Dakota needed to angle her head to hear. “Bad shit is going down. The sooner you can protect your family, the better.”

Hunter blew out a breath and turned his gaze toward the ceiling. “Girls, why don’t you sit on that bench over there for a few minutes? I need to finish up with Dakota and Callum before we go.”

“Can we get ice cream?” the younger girl exclaimed, her brown eyes sparking to life as she gazed up at her father.

Hunter hesitated for a second before relaxing with a smile. “Absolutely. We’ll stop on the way home.”

Charlotte took the younger girl’s hand and led her toward the old wooden bench on the other side of the hallway. He watched them with a fondness that only a parent could have for their child before returning to Dakota and Callum.

“Charlotte remembers,” Hunter murmured. He crossed his arms over his chest. “She was there when my wife was killed. But Helena? She was so young—she’s still so young.” He shook his head. “I—there’s something I need to tell you, Callum. Something I should have been honest about before.”

Oh gods.

Callum’s fingers curled at Dakota’s lower back, and her stomach dropped to her feet. He hated surprises—he had almost single-handedly burnt down his house once when Dakota attempted to plan a birthday party for him—and he especially hated being surprised in public. Her eyes flicked to his, unease layered with worry as she gazed at the clench of his jaw and the tightening of his eyes.

“About?” Callum asked, and it wasn’t lost on her that this piece of him hadn’t changed in their twelve years apart.

Hunter swallowed, raking a hand through his hair. “I know something. About Raven.”

Dakota was sure Hunter had signed his death wish from the way Callum’s stare turned to steel. At least she understood why he decided to tell Callum in public…at the courthouse…in front of his kids. Callum was least likely to shoot him there.

“I was in the yard when I overheard a guy from the Brotherhood and another from the Vipers get into a jawing match. I thought it was just dick measuring, but…” Hunter trailed off to swallow. “The guy from the Brotherhood spouted off that he and Maverick Malone had once been involved in the murder of a higher-up's daughter. It was meant to be a warning for the Sergeant-at-Arms.“

Callum took a dangerous step forward, a lethality etched into his expression that Dakota knew could never be erased. “And you’re fucking telling me this now?”

To his credit, Hunter remained in place. “My priority is my kids, Callum. And I had no interest in getting mixed up in the Brotherhood’s bullshit until I knew they were safe with me. I couldn’t have Duke coming after them, not when they were sitting ducks.” He drew in a breath. “There’s one last thing you should know.”

“Is there now?” Callum asked, his voice low.

“There is. That Sergeant-at-Arms…evidently, he knew the entire time who killed his daughter. Red McCoy knew, Callum. He knew, and he didn’t say shit to protect his own skin.”