Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Dakota

Dakota was exhausted despite the coffee in her hand—beyond exhausted even. She couldn’t think of the right word to describe it. She stifled a yawn as she entered the Guildhall, waving a lazy hand to the menders grouped by the time clock waiting to punch in for their shift. She took a sip from the travel mug, the drink nearly hot enough to burn the top of her mouth.

It still wasn’t enough to clear the fog from her brain.

The night before had been long. Too long. Between sneaking into the distillery to steal a vial of Pain and a vial of Euphoric, and helping Callum wrestle a distraught Ace into submission, she hadn’t gotten much sleep. Neither had he. They were just lucky the bullet grazed the side of Ace's head—that it lodged in the ceiling instead of his skull. It could have been a very different night otherwise.

Ace, on the other hand, slept like a baby. After Dakota damn near had to blowdart the distills into him, that is. Her heart hurt for him. Ace had always been a loose cannon but had a good heart under the rough exterior. Years of playing by his own rules finally caught up to him.

Then, she collapsed in the spare bedroom across the hallway, not bothering to change out of the clothes she visited Lyra in. She deemed that a future Dakota problem—one she regretted now that morning broke.

“How’s your friend?” Thalia asked as she sidled up to Dakota, her to-go coffee cup clutched in her hand. “I heard she was found yesterday.”

Dakota nodded as she took another sip of her drink. Notes of acrid earth and burnt grounds. She would have to invest in an espresso machine and a line of luxury flavors if she was going to stick around the Brotherhood for much longer. The thought made her heart jar—and her stomach a little nauseous.

“She’s doing okay, all things considering,” Dakota replied as they rounded the corner into the emergency department. The bright lights cascaded into the hallway, reflecting off the newly waxed linoleum in a way that forced her to squint. “She doesn’t remember much.”

Thalia shook her head, her ponytail brushing back and forth across her shoulders. The tips were dyed neon green, contrasting sharply against her black shirt. “I hope she doesn’t remember. I can’t even begin to imagine.” She nudged Dakota with a shoulder. “How are you doing?”

Dakota huffed a mirthless laugh. “There’s no time for me to think about that right now. I’ve got the Healing distills soaking under the new moon in the distillery. The meteor shower for Blood Replenishing is next week. And I can’t get the willow bark to soak right for Pain.”

Thalia snorted. “It’s all going to work out, I pro—“ She paused, her steps slowing as they reached the mender’s desk in the middle of the emergency department. “What is going on here?”

Dylan Harrison stood at the counter, a grim expression pulling on his features. He was busy jotting down something in his notepad, slowly nodding as a mender behind the desk rattled off phone numbers pulled up on the computer screen. Another Iron Guard was with a Guildhall security member, both staring down at the distribution machine that some distills were in for menders to use per protocol. A third Iron Guard was stationed at the back entrance, his arms crossed tightly over his shoulder.

“Dakota!”

She glanced over her shoulder, surprise flitting across her face when she spotted James waving to her from the other side of the trauma bays. All were empty. The freshly laid sheets were unwrinkled on the stretchers within, and the cords attached to the monitors were still neatly coiled together.

Dakota sent a dark look over to Thalia, who returned it in kind before splitting off to join the menders behind the desk. A fourth Iron Guard stood, capturing Thalia in conversation while she set her work bag down on the seat of a swivel chair. Dakota walked to James, tossing a thumb over her shoulder.

“What happened here?”

James swiped a hand down his face. “Thirty-six years I’ve been at this Guildhall, and not once has anyone been accused of stealing distills under my watch.”

Dakota stiffened, the back of her neck prickling as heat crept up her throat. “What brought all of this on?”

“That’s what we would all like to know.” Her father’s familiar voice crept from the shadows of the back hallway, and he strolled out of the darkness like a predator on the hunt, his eyes flashing and angry. “We’re going through every inch of this place until we find something concrete.”

Dakota straightened under her father’s scrutinizing stare, refusing to let him read her. “Did something trigger the investigation?” she asked James, sliding her gaze away from John to plant on the alchemist again. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father bristle.

“A few vials were unaccounted for during the exchange this morning,” James said. He shook his head as he glanced at John. “I’m sure there is a very simple explanation for all of this.”

The count. The count. The fucking count. In her hurry, in Callum’s rush, she forgot to change the count.

“Until there is, I’m going to work under the assumption that there isn’t.” As he glared at her, John rested his hand on his gun belt, a move not lost on Dakota. “Tell me about your night, Dakota. From what I understand, you were here.”

James blanched, his already pale face draining completely. “You can’t seriously think—“

Dakota’s mouth opened and closed, every thought momentarily eddying from her mind. It was her. Of course, it was her. It had been her for months now. She knew it. Thalia knew it. And, from the glint in her father’s eye, he knew it, too. “I—what—dad, you have to be—“

“Ranger,” John corrected her, his unblinking stare fixated on every move she made. Or every move she didn’t make. “While I’m here, while you’re under investigation, you may address me as Ranger .”

“John—“

“Ranger,” Dakota spat. She scrambled an incredulous look on her face, one that she hoped hid her guilt behind a mask of indignation. “I’ve been nothing but an exceptional associate. There is no indication that I—“

John’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer to her. She couldn’t help the small scoot back she took from him. He didn’t miss that either. “You were in the Guildhall late last night—“

“Lyra was just found. You know this. Dylan Harrison was interviewing me—“

“You have known ties to The Savage Wolves Brotherhood.”

A noise of frustration hummed from the back of Dakota’s throat. “It’s been twelve years since I had any communication with them.” She struggled to remain calm, to sound innocent, but a flare akin to a white-hot flame racing over a trail of gasoline zinged up her spine. Anger, guilt, shame, disbelief…all wrapped together and tied with a tight bow.

She was going to lose her job. Go to prison. Could she handle prison? Callum could handle prison. Correction: Callum could barely handle prison, and now he couldn’t stay behind a locked door without his foot bouncing against the floor. Is that how she would end up? No, she would undoubtedly die there. Locked in that underground level with the warden and Andrew, the guard who ate too many smelly sandwiches…

“John, really, this is—“

Her father turned to look at the alchemist, and the weight of his stare lifting from her shoulders was palpable. “You said that distills hadn’t gone missing in the thirty-six years you’ve been an alchemist here. Dakota comes to the Guildhall. Distills go missing.”

James guffaws. “That is a serious accusation, let alone a massive jump to conclusions—“

Dakota’s shoulders tightened as she willed herself not to crack under pressure. Or, rather, not to let the ever-widening chasms show. Because she could feel them—in her soul, prickling against her skin, fracturing her resolve into shards of shame.

“I know my daughter, James.”

“What does it say about you, John, that you know your daughter as well as you say and yet still accuse her of stealing distillations from the Guildhall?”

“It says nothing about me.”

“She’s been working with me and the governor, for gods’ sake!”

Dakota was struggling to breathe, the dry air refusing to enter her lungs, the collar of her shirt like a noose around her neck. She was never going to see the light of day again. She was never going to see Callum again. Somehow, in the midst of all of this, though he had gotten her into this mess—that hurt the worst. That he had confessed his love for her, and she didn’t say anything in return.

That twelve years ago, he broke her heart. Destroyed it, more like .

That the last few months he spent healing her was like rain falling into a pool, filling her drip by drip, making it impossible to tell the moment her heart was wholly his again.

That she was happy, and so was he, and there would be no going back for the two of them now.

Dakota glanced toward the mender’s desk, her eyes connecting with Thalia’s across the row of stretchers that needed to be placed in empty rooms. Thalia’s gaze darted to the back of another member of the Iron Guard, a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. His face was drawn in a stern expression that he used to give Dakota a once-over before planting it on her father.

Thalia rushed forward, ramming her knee against the corner of the nearest stretcher, before finishing her hobble over, pushing past the guard with enough force to knock him off course.

“Oh gods, I am so clumsy!” Thalia spouted as the Guard turned to glare at her, rubbing his shoulder where he collided with the wall. “I just needed to use the ladies’ room before my shift started and—“

“And you thought this one was the best option?” John asked incredulously, leveling her with a severe gaze that would have threatened to upend every ounce of Dakota’s sanity. Thalia brushed by Dakota, and she could have sworn something pulled against the straps of her canvas bag.

“When you gotta go, you gotta go, Ranger,” Thalia said as she slipped her hand in her pocket. She narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze up to John. “What’s different about you? Did you get a haircut?” At his silent and unamused stare, she snapped her fingers. “Knew it.”

“Miss Forge,” James said, lifting a hand to rub his brow. “We’re in the midst of a set of serious allegations. Please, go do your business and return to the desk for—“

“Sir, the security officer was able to print the badge reader access,” the Guard said through the commotion, leading his reach toward John with the piece of paper. Dakota’s stomach bottomed out to her feet.

It only took three seconds, but it could have taken an eternity. It was like watching a car accident happen in real time—the squeal of the tires against wet pavement, the headlights illuminating the eyes of the panicked driver, the white-knuckled grip of the passenger’s hand on the bar above the door.

John’s fingers wrapped around the edge of the paper, pulling it toward him. His eyes widened as he glanced down at what was inside. They flicked up to Dakota, her chest clamping her breath into place. It was agony, unavoidable. It was there. Then he was reaching for her with one hand, pulling the metal handcuffs of his belt with the other.

“Dakota Montgomery, you’re under arrest for—“

A soft rasp of plastic and metal hit the floor, loud enough over the stunned silence that it drew James’s gaze away. He looked once, then twice before kneeling to pick up a badge from the floor. “Miss Forge, you dropped your—why do you have Dakota’s Guildhall badge?”

Thalia had the sense to look mortified, her eyes widening and her lips parting in shock. “I—I—“ Her gaze darted up to Dakota as one link locked around Dakota's wrist, Thalia's head shaking imperceptibly amongst the fake tremble of her body. The reading was clear: don’t say shit. Don’t fuck this up .

“Thalia—“ Dakota started, her wrists still bound within her father’s grip, one-half of the metal handcuffs slung across her flesh.

“I swiped it last night when Dakota came in with Lyra Jones,” Thalia said in a rush before Dakota could get anything else out. As if he somehow knew Thalia was full of shit, John’s grip tightened against Dakota’s wrists. “It was toward the end of my shift. I admitted her and took the badge when Dakota’s bag was unattended.”

Why are you doing this ? The words were a mantra Dakota recited, hoping beyond hope she could embed the question into Thalia’s mind. She opened her mouth to set the record straight, but Thalia only talked over her again.

“I stole the distills. It was me, not Dakota.” Don’t say a fucking word . “I needed the money to buy out a guy to find my brother.” Not a fucking word . “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Why?” Dakota whispered, her voice hoarse. It scratched against the back of her throat, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as John released her wrists from his grasp. “Why would you do that?”

But Thalia said nothing else as John clamped the handcuffs around her wrists, gripped her shoulder as though he was more than happy to do it, and marched her past the mender’s desk. She held her head high, not looking toward her gawking colleagues.

Then she was gone, swept through the automatic glass doors and into the autumn cold. Dakota was still frozen where Thalia and John left her.