Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Dakota

Dakota needed new windshield wipers. The dull rubber left streaks of water across the glass. It straddled the line between annoying and dangerous, especially when the streetlights created sharp reflections that caught her in the eye. It mostly edged toward the former, forcing her to sit awkwardly in the driver’s seat to see about the smears.

She didn’t even know why she was thinking about it. It was the furthest thing from the top of her priority list, and truthfully, she wouldn’t get them replaced for another six months anyway. But the thought of something as ordinary as old windshield wipers was oddly comforting. It made her forget about the death mark still in her pocket.

Almost.

She was halfway to the Guildhall when her phone buzzed, and the text message popped up on the screen connected to the dashboard.

Discharged! Rocco is bringing me to my parent’s house if you want to stop by. He went to borrow Kane’s truck.

Dakota slowed to a stop at the red light. Lyra at the Guildhall only made her think of that morning, which made her think of Thalia. And that was precisely what she tried to avoid by watching the rain streak across the windshield. Sighing, she flipped on the indicator and crept toward the crosswalk, waiting for the line of pedestrians with their array of colored umbrellas to cross the street.

The drive to the prison was opposite the Guildhall, but considering she had nowhere else to be for the evening… She also had questions that required answers. Like why would Thalia jump in front of a proverbial bullet for her? There were others, but that was undoubtedly the most pressing.

She parked in the visitor’s lot of the prison, sitting back in her seat to stare at the imposing gray building and surrounding barbed wire fencing. The rain forced the prisoners to huddle under the awning, and they didn’t look as intimidating with their arms crossed over their chests and their breath curling into a mist in front of their mouths. It seemed like all feuds for territory went out the window when it came time for heat retention.

Dakota flipped up her jacket’s hood as she stepped from her car. Water droplets pattered against the coated nylon, and the soft plunking was soothing enough that she focused on it instead of the windshield wipers. None of the prisoners approached the fence as she walked up the gravel trail, though they leered at her all the same. She ignored them, keeping her gaze trained on the iron door.

She scrubbed her sneakers against the floor mat to dry them, but the soles still squeaked against the cement when she approached the front desk.

“Visiting ended an hour ago,” the guard droned, not bothering to look up from his crossword puzzle. “They’ll open tomorrow morning at eight.”

Dakota went to retrieve her alchemist badge, realizing with a flicker of exasperation that she left it and her cell phone in the car. “I’m here to see Thalia Forge. She was brought in early this morning.”

The guard sighed, though still didn’t deem her worthy of a glance. “And Thalia Forge will still be here at eight tomorrow morning when visiting hours open again.”

“I’m an alchemist from the Guildhall,” Dakota hedged. It was worth the try. “I need to see her.”

The guard’s brow ticked up, the corners of his eyes wrinkling into crow’s feet with the slightest sardonic upturn of his lips. “And I’m the fucking governor.”

Dakota briefly considered slapping the death mark on him when someone shoved open the side door in a fury that ruffled the hair curled against the back of his neck. “And I would hope if the governor were here that you would put down that fucking puzzle long enough to notice.”

The guard startled to life, flipping the book closed with a hurried slap. “Ma’am!”

Laura Sanchez stood in the doorway, those eagle eyes pinned on him as though he were a meal she couldn’t wait to devour. She leaned over his shoulder to stuff a perfectly manicured nail, painted beige this time, on the lock release beside the computer. The iron door to Dakota’s left clanked before swinging open.

“Call cell block C to have Thalia Forge brought to the interrogation room,” Laura ordered the guard, who had turned concerningly pale in his boss’s presence. “And, for the love of the banished gods, read a fucking newspaper once in a while. If you had, you would know who she is.”

The guard nodded, though his lips pressed together. Dakota had a distinct feeling that he would vomit on the keyboard if he allowed them to part.

“Thanks for that,” Dakota said as she crossed into the back of the prison. The guard had already picked up the phone, his trembling fingers pressing several numbers on the dial pad. “I forgot my badge.”

“They should know who you are by now,” Laura replied. “Besides, James told me you might be here for an inspection.” Her tone leaned heavily on the last word. All the implications went unsaid in the spaces between. “Per his request, we haven’t checked her yet.”

Dakota swelled with gratitude for the alchemist. Somehow, he knew. And he was giving Thalia a chance to survive. She lifted her chin, a confidence surging through her that she didn’t think she would feel again. “It shouldn’t take long. I wanted to get it done before the end of the day.”

Laura’s gaze pierced hers for a brief moment before she nodded. “I can appreciate the enthusiasm. Something our male counterparts don’t have much of these days.” She sent a withering look to the back of the guard’s head. His shoulders dipped below the back of the chair as though he could feel her stare drilling a hole through his skull.

“A guard for block C is headed up, ma’am,” the guard said. His voice was noticeably wavering, a fair difference from the boredom he displayed minutes before.

“He’ll let you out when you’re done,” Laura said, jutting her chin over her shoulder in a gesture. “That is if he can remember where the button is to unlock the door.” She patted Dakota on the shoulder as she brushed by, her palm cool and dry. “Don’t stay long. I’m sure you have better things to do than be here.”

The second guard met Dakota a few moments later. He merely tossed a dismissive hand toward the hallway and grunted before returning the way he came. She assumed she was meant to follow. The winding hallways to the women’s segment were unseasonably hot and humid. She swiped a hand across her hairline, grimacing when it came back with a sheen of sweat.

A set of iron doors clunked open, followed by a third after the airlock, and Dakota was ushered into a small cement room with a square table firmly fastened to the ground, two rickety chairs, and a sad excuse for a window high on the wall near the ceiling.

“We’re getting her now,” the guard said before stepping away, his boots falling heavy against the walkway. Dakota only nodded in understanding.

She took a calming breath, a stomach-clenching mixture of mildew and old furnace vents coating her senses. She tried not to pace, tried to look as unimpressed and unassuming as she could. But every cough from the cells beyond the interrogation room made her start, and her head was swimming from the heat.

Metal clinked against metal as someone approached, and the same guard entered with Thalia. Dakota stifled the urge to run to her, and she curled her fingers into fists to keep her hands at her sides. Thalia had certainly looked better. Her hair, normally drawn into a tight ponytail, hung lackluster and limp to her shoulders. The orange jumpsuit was starched and still wrinkled where it had sat folded in storage. Her wrists and ankles were bound in cuffs, causing her walk to look more like a shuffle.

“You can go,” Dakota clipped to the guard as Thalia’s lips parted in surprise. “I won’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Make it five,” the guard retorted, his gaze sweeping toward Thalia. The words still came out as a grunt.

“I’ll make it ten,” Dakota said. She pointed to the camera, where the blinking red light flashed toward them. “And cut the feed on your way out.”

“That’s for your protection.”

“Her wrists and ankles are chained. I’m going to be undressing her. Cut the feed, or I’ll leave. Then you can explain to the warden why the inspection wasn’t done.”

The guard stared at her for a long minute before turning away and grumbling under his breath. Dakota was sure she heard him mutter women and can’t trust ‘em for nothing as he clopped from the room. The door shut, the red light on the camera flicked off, and the two women were alone.

“Holy shit,” Thalia said as she stepped forward. Her chains kept her from moving quickly. “What are you doing here? And what inspection are they talking about?”

“I came to see you,” Dakota responded, rushing forward to band her arms around Thalia in a tight hug. “You really don’t want to know. And, if they ask, it was thorough.” She put space between them, though she kept her hands clutching Thalia’s upper arms. “Why?”

Thalia swallowed, and her voice grew thick with every passing second. “It was just something I needed to do.”

“That’s not good enough. You took—“ Dakota trailed off as her gaze darted to a shadow trailing under the gap in the door. It paused momentarily before moving on, but she lowered her voice to a near whisper regardless. “It should be me in here. Why?”

Thalia’s eyes shone brightly under the fluorescent lighting cascading down on them. It only made the room hotter. “Because you’re in a position to make some real fucking change, Dakota. Me? As a mender? Not so much.” She took in a shaky breath. “I can’t find out shit about my brother if you’re locked up in here.”

Dakota’s heart squeezed. She would have done the same thing for Lyra. She almost had. “What’s his name?”

“Demetri Forge. Just…promise me you’ll do what you can to find him while I’m here.”

“Of course.” Dakota pulled her into a second hug, which Thalia attempted to return, but she only managed to wrap her fingers around Dakota’s forearms. “I’m going to find a way to get you out of this.”

The shadow paused by the gap again, though it was accompanied by the toes of a set of black boots this time. The door rattled in the frame as the guard on the other side pounded his fist against the metal. “You’ve got thirty seconds!”

“It hasn’t even been three minutes yet!” Dakota called back. “I said ten!”

“And I changed my mind!” the muffled voice retorted. The door rattled again. “Get her dressed, and let’s go!”

“Just don’t do anything that would land you in here,” Thalia said as she stepped away from Dakota. “Find my brother, do what you can. I’ll be fine.”

“There’s a whole lot of shit at play here that you don’t understand,” Dakota said as the door handle began to shift.

Thalia shrugged. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated. “And you will be, too. I’ve seen what you created, remember? Anyone who can do that shit will think of anything.”

Dakota barely managed to temper her smile when the guard opened the door.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” a male voice said from the other side of the thick glass. The guard who had been there an hour before had been replaced by an older one with round glasses and a thinning hairline.

"We’ll get this to the right people, Hunter. Enjoy your life.”

The iron lock clunked open, and the door swung to reveal the blinds clacking beneath a vent’s hot air, rippling the magazine covers that lay forgotten on a chipped side table. The rain had picked up by the time Dakota hit the front entrance, the steady stream so heavy that it carved tiny rivers through the gravel walkway. A gloom replaced any remnants of the evening sun, casting the prison’s interior in a gray that did no favors to the stained chairs and cement walls.

“I thought you would be long gone,” Dakota said as the door fell into place behind her.

Hunter peered over his shoulder, his face breaking out in a grin when his eyes landed on her. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he tilted his head toward the desk. “Had to drop off my paperwork for parole. My transfer was officially accepted. I’ll be tracked from my late wife’s village.”

Dakota joined him at his side, and Hunter opened the front door, gesturing for her to cross first. “I’m really happy for you,” she said as Hunter grabbed an umbrella from beneath the awning and opened it with a flourish of water droplets that sprayed across the walkway. “I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Hunter replied as they tucked into the rain and began the trek toward the parking lot. His voice was thicker than it had been a moment before, and he cleared his throat. “My girls are happy to be home.”

Dakota laid a gentle hand on his forearm and squeezed. She almost didn’t care that she stepped in a puddle, the water flooding the toes of her sneakers and soaking through the fabric. “Think it’ll be easier to keep yourself out of trouble?”

Hunter’s resounding chuckle rumbled through her hand and into her chest. “Easier than being here?” He slid his gaze toward her as the gravel ended. “How much trouble have you gotten in since returning from Blackdon?”

She was sure her sheepish smile gave her away. “A fair bit.”

“A fair bit?” Hunter made a noise of appreciation in the back of his throat before bumping her shoulder. “Keep yourself safe, yeah?”

“You too, Hunter. I’ll—“ Dakota paused as her gaze landed on the figure leaning against her car. “Is Duke here for you?”

Beside her, Hunter’s body stiffened.

Duke pushed off the car, casually strolling toward them. He either didn’t notice the rain or didn’t seem to care. Droplets rolled down his forehead, through the notches between his brow, and into the deep frown lines around his mouth. Dakota's heart stuttered when he held up his hand—a familiar journal clutched tightly within.

“What is this, Dakota?” he asked, his voice louder in the echoes between raindrops.

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t play dumb,” Duke snapped in return. He opened the journal, the droplets plunking onto the pages as he flicked through. With a shot of dread that sunk deep into her chest, he landed on the section detailing the experimental distill. “Yarrow flower blooms. Water hemlock. Maple tree bark. I asked Kane about it. He said there isn’t a distill that requires these things, but he had theories. Interesting theories.”

Hunter moved closer to her, subtly placing her behind a broad arm.

“I want to know what this is for,” Duke ordered. “And I want to know now.”

“Duke, this isn’t—“

“Shut up, Hunter. This is between me and Dakota.”

Hunter’s hand tightened around the umbrella. “What was your plan if I hadn’t been here? Corner her in the middle of a fucking parking lot?”

“What is this, Dakota?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t for you.”

“I’m going to ask you one more time. What is this?”

Dakota clamped her lips closed, and her step back resulted in a cascade of raindrops dripping down the back of her neck, following the trail of her spine. Duke sighed. He reached behind his back to shove the journal into his pocket, his hand coming back with a gun nestled low at his hip, and the barrel pointed directly at her. The matte metal glinted off the spotlight, passing over the parking lot from the nearest guard tower.

“Get in the car.”

Dakota’s eyes flashed wide as she shook her head.

“Get. In. The. Car.” Duke stretched forward to grab her arm but was swatted away by a swing of Hunter’s fists. Dakota stumbled back, the cold rain immediately soaking the top of her head and shoulders. “We’re leaving. We’ve got an appointment.”

“Are you insane? You’re going to get her killed!”

Duke smirked, but his stare never left Dakota. “This is business. You can work with me, tell me what this is for, or I can take this back to Kane. Leave your body here to rot. Let him distill it based on your instructions.”

“We’re in the prison parking lot, you lunatic! ”

“Callum would never let you do that,” Dakota said pointedly. She lifted a hand to wipe the rain from her eyes, smearing black mascara against the tips of her fingers. “He would know exactly what happened. Exactly how you got that journal.”

Duke’s huffed chuckle was barely audible over the sudden rumble of thunder that rolled over the tops of the trees. “Getting him out of the way once was easy. I imagine doing it a second time won’t be much harder.” Dakota didn’t have time to let his words sink in before Duke surged past Hunter, knocking him to the side. Hunter stumbled, the umbrella coming loose from his grip as his boot sunk into a pothole.

Duke’s hand clasped tightly around Dakota’s upper arm, his fingers sinking painfully into her flesh. She let out a shout that Duke dulled by shoving her face into his shoulder as the gun pressed into her abdomen. She sucked in a surprised breath, the fabric softener still clinging to his shirt a jarring sensation. Her fingers scrabbled around his forearm, her nails scratching at his skin. He only laughed as blood beaded to the surface.

“Let’s go, get in the car. We have a long drive ahead of—“

Duke grunted as Hunter lunged, grabbing hold of Duke’s wrist and yanking the gun’s barrel from where Duke had wedged it beneath the bottom of her ribcage. Dakota let out a cry of pain as the gun firing exploded through the rain.

Dakota had never been on fire before, but she was pretty sure if she looked down, she would find flames licking at her elbow. Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, making swallowing difficult past the numbness slowly crawling toward her shoulder. Her arm hung limp at her side as the gun fired again, and Dakota flinched, awaiting the inevitable second pinch of fire.

It never came.

“Oy! Down in the lot! Get a mender!” A voice shouted from above. The guard tower’s spotlight swung over, bathing them in a beam so bright that Dakota had to shield her eyes. An alarm rang out, urgent and demanding.

“Hunter?” Dakota muttered, her head beginning to swim from the pain. Her gaze rifled toward him, her brow knotting together when nothing stood beside her. Her stare dropped, and her heart stopped when she saw the black smoke, the dark shadows, the crimson blood. “Hunter?”

Death hung over him like a dense fog. The smoke grew thicker and thicker, curling and unfurling around the gunshot wound in his stomach. He reached for her, his hand pale and his fingers tipped with mud. Dakota cried out as she dropped to his side, pressing her hand against the surging blood .

“No, no, no!” she pleaded. Using one hand to ball his shirt toward his abdomen, she attempted to press the fabric into the wound. But Hunter barely grimaced. His mouth opened and closed, his lips already tinged gray. Then he stilled, his unseeing eyes staring toward the spotlight scanning the parking lot.

“We’re leaving. Now.” The gun clattered to the pavement as Duke made to grab Dakota’s arm once again. This time, she was ready.

Dakota plunged her hand into her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the death mark. In a flash, she whipped out her hand and pressed the coin to Duke’s wrist, allowing it to seal into place. Duke shouted as he yanked his arm away, breaking her grip with ease, but the death mark remained. He stumbled back, and Dakota’s eyes widened as she watched thick black pulse through his veins.

“What is this?”

“Man down! Gunshot wound! Stay where you are!” a guard ordered from afar, his rifle drawn and his boots crunching under the wet gravel. “ I said stay where you are! ”

Duke pivoted on the toes of his boots; his hand clapping tightly over the death mark slowly sinking into his flesh. He took one last look at Dakota, his stare promising retribution, before he ran into the darkness, taking the swirls of black fog that had begun to leak from his arm with him.