Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Dakota

They say shame loses power when it’s spoken. If that was true, Dakota was sure that her shame was operating at a level far beyond human comprehension. There were no words. There were no thoughts. It was just her, the distills she was attempting to make, and the sneaking realization that Thalia had taken the fall for her.

Not even a fall.

Thalia had jumped off the top of a mountain for her.

Dakota crept through the rest of the day as half a person. Remembering the cool metal of the handcuffs against her skin. Smelling her father’s sharply scented cologne like it clung to every pore in her body. Seeing the look of betrayal and shock on every mender’s face as they watched Thalia’s tumble from grace.

Dakota wrapped her hands around the table, focusing solely on how the edges bit against her palm. She was in the distillery. It was surgically sterile, with glinting metal and fogged windows. It smelled like earthy oils and cleaning supplies. She could hear the hum of the vent from above her, the snap of James’s knife against the cutting board, and her breath in her ears. It was cool and quiet, and at one time, it was her.

Now, the cleanliness was a prison.

It was unfathomable how much had changed in a few short months. From Blackdon to Callum to the distillery to her. To her. She couldn’t comprehend who she was anymore.

The death mark still weighed heavy in her pocket. In the morning’s chaos, she had almost forgotten it was there. Twenty-four hours. She had twenty-four hours left until Lyra was taken from her again. That thought only strengthened the pattering of nerves rolling through her veins.

“I’m going to head out. I need to clear my thoughts,” Dakota said through the unwavering silence. James let out half a grunt that signified an acknowledgment, but only just. Once warm and friendly, this James had barely looked her in the eye since that morning.

Almost like he knew. Perhaps he did.

Stifling a sigh that would have gone unnoticed anyway, Dakota grabbed her work bag from beneath her desk and hitched it onto her shoulder. She was ready to leave, keys in hand and cell phone tucked in her back pocket. Thalia was probably locked in a jail cell somewhere downtown, her fingers still tipped in black ink.

Shame roared to life again, and Dakota shook her head as she fled the distillery’s once-safe darkness. The moment she stepped into the narrow hallway, she wished she could creep back through the door. Tension was a thick cloud permeating every inch of the Guildhall. From the whispers as she passed a group of janitors to the blatant stares from the workers as she cut through the cafeteria to avoid the emergency department. Word traveled fast, it seemed. And, of course, it did. They were in Norwich, after all.

Dakota pulled her coat tighter to her body as she exited through the Guildhall’s main lobby, tucking her head down as she breezed by the receptionist at the front desk, who immediately picked up her phone when she spotted Dakota. The blustery wind tossed her hair over her shoulder, tangling the ends into knots. The employee parking was on the opposite side of the building, nearly three blocks away by foot. The walk would be worth the lack of stares. However, she couldn’t help but imagine noses pressed against the glass as she went by.

She took her first shuddering breath as soon as she was locked in her car, her forehead pressed against the top of the steering wheel, and her eyes squeezed shut. She listened to the wind whistle through the door’s seam. Nothing was right about this, and she had no idea how to fix it.

Though she knew it was illogical to feel like the entire town was staring at her, Dakota couldn’t help it. Every stop at a red light, the pedestrians on the corners gawked at her. When traffic slowed in front of her, every tap of her brakes had bicyclists glaring through the passenger window. She took a right, then a left, then another right to wind the backstreets toward the clubhouse. Even then, people came out of their houses to stand on their porches and watch her drive by .

She was being ridiculous. She knew that. Callum would be more than happy to tell her that. So badly, she wanted to blame him for what happened. But, at the end of it all, she knew she had no one to blame but herself. No one had gotten her into this mess. Not Lyra. Not Kane. Not Callum. Only her. That didn’t make the pill any easier to swallow.

The parking lot was surprisingly empty as she pulled in, save for Kane’s truck and Callum’s motorcycle. Where grass once grew out of the cracked cement, golden leaves skated across the pavement, settling in a thick, wet layer. It squelched when she walked across it, water seeping from beneath her sneakers with each step. She decided to focus on that instead of the sun’s rays that snuck through the overcast sky, beaming down on her like a spotlight.

The clubhouse was an awkward blend of too hot and too cold, as though the members couldn’t decide whether it was worth flipping on the air conditioning or starting up the furnace. The stale air did nothing to ease the tension knotting her stomach.

Dakota rounded the corner into the communal space, noting Kane spread out with his knees bent over the couch’s armrest. They must have replaced the television since that morning. He sent her a jerking nod before returning to the reality show he was watching, bleeps and shouts echoing through the speaker as two women clad in tight bikinis fought near the edge of a sweeping pool.

On the other hand, Callum lifted his head from the stack of papers he was bent over, his pen tapping against the table's surface. Whatever strain was on her face, he clocked the moment his eyes connected with hers. The chair’s legs scraped against the rug as he made his way over to her, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were working?” He paused to cup her cheek, laying a gentle kiss against her lips. “Is Lyra okay?”

Dakota swallowed, shaking her head before quickly changing it to a nod. “Lyra’s fine, I’m sure. I haven’t seen her yet today. Rocco spent the night up there.”

“Okay,” Callum said slowly. He still hadn’t eased his brow back into place. If anything, they notched tighter. “Something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question. He knew her too well.

Dakota threaded her fingers into the hem of his long-sleeve shirt, struggling to speak past the lump that formed in her throat. “The Guildhall caught the diversion for Ace’s sedatives,” she finally said. Callum closed his eyes and tipped his head back toward the ceiling, swearing under his breath. “My father showed up with Dylan Harrison and at least six other Guards.”

Callum’s gray eyes opened, flickering back to her as he looked down. “And you? You’re okay?”

“I— No, I’m not okay.” Dropping her work bag to the floor, Dakota launched into the retelling of that morning’s events, down to her father having her in handcuffs and Thalia taking the blame. She kept her eyes fixed on a loose thread near the collar of his shirt. When she finished, she dared to lift her gaze to meet his. Forest green met storm gray.

Callum blew out a breath, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Fuck.”

“I’m worried about her,” Dakota said. A tremble shot up her spine, and as though Callum could sense that too, his fingers tightened around her hips. “She’s going to end up in that prison, and—“ It was all her fault. Thalia would never find her brother. She would get dragged to that underground lair the warden had set up. Panic bloomed like a fucked-up flower in her belly.

Callum hooked an arm around her neck, tugging her into his chest. Her pulse fluttered at his cologne's sharp scent, his heartbeat thumping against her cheek. “I’ve got some contacts there. We’ll make sure she’s looked after until we figure out how to get her out of there.”

“How?” Dakota whispered against his shirt, hating that her voice was so quiet and beaten down. Hating that she allowed Thalia to go in her stead. Hating that she was cornered into making that deal with Nekros.

“Let me handle that part.” He kissed the crown of her head before resting his chin in the same spot.

They stayed like that for a long minute, the scenario not helped by the sudden moans and groans that filtered through the television’s speakers. If it had been any other time, Dakota would have giggled at the ridiculousness of it all.

“For fuck’s sake, Kane, will you go watch that somewhere else?” Callum said. He turned his chin on Dakota’s head, keeping it tightly planted against her hair.

“This is the only damn T.V. in the club!” Kane retorted. The television’s volume increased by a series of clicks.

“Then go check on Ace. Make sure he’s still alive.”

Kane grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but whatever silent look Callum shot across the room had him rolling off the couch. The television went quiet before the remote clattered to the chipped coffee table. “There’s, like, three extra rooms if you guys are gonna fuck.”

Callum untangled himself from Dakota long enough to take a single step toward Kane, who promptly whisked down the side hallway and disappeared from view. He shook his head in disbelief. This time, she couldn’t help the huff of laughter.

“Sometimes I forget he’s a grown fucking man and not a teenager,” Callum muttered as he leaned against the edge of the table, taking Dakota’s hand. He ran a thumb along the grooves of her palm, the motion effective enough to pebble her skin. His lips upturned as his eyes skimmed along the new ridges, and she was sure he was thinking how it was impossible that he still made her feel that way after this much time.

“What was he watching anyways?” she asked, not taking her eyes from where his thumb traced her hand. Where the tattoo of her name was bright under the fluorescent lighting above them.

Callum shrugged. “Some dumb show. Romantic Roulette or some shit like that.”

“You know the name of it?”

His grin was devastating, threatening to bring her to her knees. “It’s his comfort show. He’s been watching it for years.”

Dakota lifted her other hand to sweep a lock of his dark hair off his forehead, searching his face. “You’re beautiful.”

Callum quirked a brow. “Oh? Something you’re just now realizing, Montgomery? Because that’s something I’ve known for a long time now.”

Dakota scoffed. “Leave it to you to ruin the moment.”

“The moment where you tell me something I already know?”

“The moment where I try to ease into telling you that I haven’t forgotten what you said the other day.”

The gray in Callum’s eyes flashed. “You mean when I told you I'd loved you for half of my life?” The corners of his mouth twitched up. An easy confidence poured from him, and Dakota’s heart skipped a series of beats at his razor-sharp focus centered on her. “You don’t have to ease into it, princess. Tell me.”

Dakota’s confidence, or what little of it she had, was hard-earned after a life of condescending talks from her father. She broke their eye contact, settling her gaze on the hollow notch at the base of his throat. Somehow, that was beautiful, too. “I may feel the same way.”

Why was this so hard? Why was her brain refusing to string the words together?

Callum’s brows lifted a hand to pinch her chin, forcing her to meet his stare. “If you’re gonna tell me you love me, Dakota, you’ll have to spell it out.” His eyes searched hers expectantly—patiently waiting for her to decide to say it, no matter how long it took.

“I love you,” she breathed out in a rush before her mind could catch up with her mouth. “Currently. And in the past. And probably in the future, too. Please shut me up. I can’t—“

He captured her lips with his, no hesitation in his kiss. It was languid and sensual, coarse and unforgiving. It was a swipe of his tongue against the seam of her lips before he dove in to taste her, to explore her. And she did the same. It was her fingers curled in his shirt and his threaded in her hair. It was the perfection of how they still fit together after twelve years apart. It was their steadiness and the constant they held for each other.

Loving him had always been simple and had always been the easiest thing she had ever done.

Callum broke the kiss, his chest panting as he looked down at her. “If we do this, Dakota, there’s no going back this time.” She began to nod, but he cut her off. “No, you need to understand me. In every avenue life took me, it was always to get back to you. It was always you. There is no me if I don’t have you.” He swallowed, his pleading eyes searching hers, his thumb raking over her bottom lip.

His intensity was familiar, yet she still forgot to breathe for a second too long, her body hungering for something only he could provide. “I’ve been yours since we were sixteen years old, Callum. I’m not giving you up now.” Her carefully curated restraint broke at her own words, and she pressed her lips onto his with a renewed urgency.

Callum’s hands adjusted to cup her cheeks, locking her into a place she had no intention of leaving. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, only that time seemed to stop for however long they were drawn together. Finally, he pulled away long enough to say, “Do you think Kane would be upset if we ended up fucking on this table?”

Dakota laughed, and as though Callum needed to ingest the sound, he kissed her again. “I think you should watch more Romantic Roulette .”

His chuckle was sinful and low, dropping directly to her core. He smirked as he gazed down at her. Like he could see straight through her. Like he knew she was envisioning getting naked with him and spending the next few hours with his cock in her hand, in her mouth, in her pussy. Begging him to fuck her. To love her. To stay with her.

He would, without hesitation. And she wanted to get lost in him.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he muttered against her lips. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants, tugging her even closer between his spread legs. His hard length pressed between them, and he smiled at the shudder that rendered her speechless. “Just say the word, princess.”

The front door of the clubhouse opened, and Dakota tore herself away from Callum like they were still teenagers about to get caught by their parents. He laughed as he let her go, crossing his arms over his chest and remaining perched against the table’s edge.

“Gods, please don’t tell your mother. I’ve got enough shit to deal with.”

Duke entered the room, his groan evident in the curl of his upper lip. Callum swiped a hand over his jaw as Dakota flushed, her cheeks heating. She knew what they looked like—swollen lips, uneven clothing, tousled hair. Under Duke’s unimpressed stare, she even felt like a teenager. Duke turned his scrutinizing stare away from her, leveling it heavily on Callum.

“We’ve got some shit to clear up, Callum,” Duke said, jutting his chin toward the front door. The dismissal was clear, though Duke didn’t bother to clarify by looking her way.

“Ace is coming down. He’s still in the back bedroom.”

Duke’s gaze hardened—a man who refused to take no for an answer. “And I saw Kane’s truck here. Or she can stay with him.”

Dakota clicked her tongue against her teeth in response. Then, and only then, did Duke’s stare flicker toward her for a microsecond before returning to Callum. “I’m gonna go visit Lyra.” She bent down to pick up her bag, readying to sling it over her shoulder but missed a strap. The contents spilled onto the floor, sliding under the table. She groaned, face flushing to a dark puce, as Duke’s brows ticked up.

Callum bent down to help her stuff everything back inside with no rhyme or reason to the placement. He reached a hand toward her, wrapping it around the back of her head to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll walk you out. Let me take care of this, and I’ll meet you back at my place later.”

Dakota nodded as Callum placed his hand on her lower back, steering her toward the door. She dared a glance over her shoulder, peeking just long enough to see Duke lean over to grab something from underneath a chair before she was ushered into the autumn afternoon.