Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Callum

“Have you heard anything?” Lyra asked, not even giving Rocco time to settle her into the old patterned couch. Her anxious gaze flitted from Rocco to Kane, the beginnings of panic etched into the downturn of her lips. “From anyone at all?”

“I haven’t,” Kane replied from the long dining table. He set down the bag of frozen peas he found in the back of the freezer, the swelling on his head still red and angry. “I’ve called her about a dozen or so times. Callum still won’t tell me what it’s about.”

Callum could feel Lyra’s stare beating into the side of his skull, but he didn’t relent. “Rocco, stick around and keep an eye on Ace. I’ll take the truck and start scouting.”

“Why are we keeping an eye on Ace?” Lyra cut in. This time, her eyes darted between Callum and Rocco. Kane picked up the bag of peas and slung it over his forehead. From the slosh of the bag’s contents, the peas had long been thawed. “What happened, Rocco?”

“You don’t need to worry about it—“ Rocco started, running a hand over the crown of his head, but Lyra’s frown deepened. When he didn’t go on, Lyra shakily stood, placing a steadying hand on the back of the couch as she swayed. “Lyra, sit back down.”

She didn’t—not that Callum thought she would. The black sweatpants she borrowed from Rocco hung loose against her hips as she aimed for the back hallway. Her hand lifted from the back of the couch long enough to plant on the wall, and she shrugged away from Rocco’s attempt to herd her back into a seat.

“Lyra, seriously—“ Rocco sent Callum a dumbfounded look over his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. Callum followed—if only to fucking hurry this along.

Lyra paused at the door, her chest heaving with deep, slow breaths as she glanced over the room. The cool, silver light from the moon illuminated her face, and Callum watched as her eyes landed on Ace’s curled frame in the bed. He hadn’t eaten. Callum knew that much. She slowly walked in, a limp more noticeable than it had been a few minutes before, and the mattress sunk with her weight when she sat behind Ace.

“Acey?” she asked softly, gently touching his back. “Talk to me, baby.”

Ace curved from beneath her hand, the sole indicator that he was awake for once. From the sniffle and the shudder that sent tremors through his limbs, Callum knew that if he rounded the bed, he would find tears leaking down Ace’s pale cheeks. But Ace said nothing, did nothing, as he kept his back toward the door.

Callum cleared his throat. “We’ve done everything we—“ He clamped his lips shut at the fierce glare Lyra sent both him and Rocco. She turned back to Ace, that glare softening into something that resembled pity. He hoped Ace didn’t catch on.

“Raven was one of my best friends,” Lyra said, allowing her hand to rest on the bed beside Ace’s leg. She didn’t reach out to touch him again. “I’m sorry this happened the way that it did.”

Ace curled further into himself, tucking his head between his elbows. “Go.” The word came out as a croak, the measure of a voice that hadn’t been used in nearly a day. Lyra watched him for a moment before nodding. She leaned forward to push herself from the mattress when Ace’s hand reached back to grasp her wrist. “Distill.”

The softened regions of Lyra’s face hardened as she let out a huffed sigh. “I think you’ve had enough, Ace.”

He turned, the first time he faced Callum since the incident happened. The moonlight didn’t give the gaunt hollowness to his face any favors. As though he had somehow aged twenty years in just twenty-four hours, his dull, haunted stare sparked an ember of anger that Lyra didn’t back down from. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”

“Ace,” Callum started, but Lyra waved a dismissive hand.

“I’m telling you that you’ve had enough.” Gone was the pleasant understanding. “ You’ve been downing distills since you were seventeen, Ace. You need to detox.”

That ember of anger flashed into instant rage. “I don’t need to do shit. You come out of the fucking woodwork, having been gone fucking gods-know-where…”

Lyra’s hardened stare simmered with hurt, but she didn’t snag her arm away from his grip.

"I’m not fucking detoxing. That’s the last fucking thing I want to do right now.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Rocco spoke up. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorway. “This is happening whether you want it to or not.”

If Lyra were affected by Ace’s fingers tightly squeezing her wrist, she wouldn’t let on. “We’ve let this go on for long enough. We’ve all had a hand in this. We—“

“If you think I regret it, I fucking don’t,” Ace cut in. He let go of Lyra’s wrist to roll back onto his side. His next words were muffled with his mouth pressed against the pillow. “I would shoot him again.”

Lyra appeared to be struggling against rolling her eyes. “You’re obviously telling the truth. What with your refusal to eat, get out of bed, or shower.” Ace remained on his side. She let out a breath as she reached into the pocket of her jacket, and Callum’s eyes flashed wide once he realized what she was doing. The click of the lock was soft against the bed frame, a sliver of metal in the moonlight, and then she snapped the other handcuff around Ace’s wrist.

Ace reeled back like a wounded animal, tugging and yanking against the bed frame as he slung curse after curse toward Lyra. She calmly stood from the mattress and ran her hands down the front of her sweatpants before walking toward the door.

“Do not leave me here like this,” Ace spat. “I swear to the Banished Gods, Lyra Jones, I will never fucking forgive you.”

Lyra swallowed, and Callum could have sworn her eyes shuddered at the gods’ mention, but she kept her chin high. “I would rather you hate me forever, Ace, than overdose on distills.”

The bed frame creaked and rattled with every pull of his arms, with every shout of pain as he tried to twist his hand free of the cuff. “ What if I want to die? ” he finally screamed at Lyra’s back, his chest huffing with every breath. “What then, Lyra?”

Lyra paused at the door. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. The Banished Gods don't need pleas or prayers. Not when all they want is power.”

The statement was odd. Callum’s brows knitted together as Lyra leaned forward to wrap her hand around the knob.

“Lyra, Lyra . Please don’t do this,” Ace said, panic infiltrating his voice. Callum could see Ace perched on his knees through the crack between the door and the frame. One arm stretched away from his side, his wrist fastened to the bed frame. His free hand was threaded through his dark blonde hair, his fingers pulling tightly at the locks. “Please. I can’t—I need—I need them.“

“You’ll thank me for this one day,” Lyra replied before closing the door. His shouts and screams were barely muted through the thick wood. She swept past Rocco, who seemed to be internally debating his next move. Callum, however, reached out a hand and grabbed her upper arm. She pinned a glare on him. “Dakota told me already. I hid the key. And I’m not letting him out.”

“Where did you go?”

Her glare folded into one of uncertain curiosity. “What?”

Callum squared his shoulders to face her, not letting go of her arm. “These last few months. Where did you go?” That shudder in her stare returned in full force and something that resembled discomfort twisted behind his navel.

Rocco took a step forward, presumably to separate them, but Lyra closed the gap with her own step. “Why didn’t you tell me what she was?”

Callum searched Lyra’s face, her innocent stare, and her set jaw. The furnace kicked on, sending a blast of heat through the hallway that ruffled the curly hairs that escaped from beneath the scarf she wore to tie them back. It was his turn to ask, “What?”

Lyra tipped her head back, her bright eyes penetrating his soul. Callum couldn’t pinpoint when, but despite the difference in their height and positioning, she had somehow turned the tables on him. “I never suspected it, you know. Not even when you asked her to let you tattoo her that night. Is that how you covered it up? Kept it from the Brotherhood?”

Callum’s mouth dried out, and his grasp slipped enough that Lyra wrenched her arm from it. “How did you find out?”

“She would have told me if she knew.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. As though she didn’t want anyone to hear. Not Rocco. Not Kane. Not Ace. Maybe not even himself. “She wouldn’t have—she shouldn’t have—“

Dread bobbed in his chest like a ship sinking in a storm, growing heavier and heavier with water as time passed. “She didn’t.” But Callum knew by a simple look that Dakota had.

Lyra didn’t need to confirm it. He almost begged her to keep it to herself. But when she hesitantly nodded, that ship of dread bobbing in his stomach plunged to the abyss. Rocco rubbed his brow as he cursed under his breath. Callum planted one hand on his hip, the other bracketing his jaw. With a swift fury he didn’t see coming, he reeled back his fist and punched it straight through the drywall. She didn’t flinch .

“What was the price?” Callum asked. "What did it cost her?" His knuckles were bleeding. He could feel the warm blood pebbling to the surface, dripping down the length of his fingers. He ignored it.

“I don’t know. I was—I wasn’t—“ Alive .

Now that he knew the truth, the hard fucking truth, he curled his arm around Lyra’s neck, pulling her into his chest. Callum closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, turning his head to look at Rocco. Stunned was the only way to describe how his best friend looked—stunned and lost. He knew he was beyond stunned because Rocco always had something to say.

“Why wasn’t I invited to the orgy?”

“Not the fucking time, Kane. What do you want?” Callum retorted as Lyra pushed away, stealthily wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

Kane clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Red’s here.”

What the fuck. Callum stormed toward the front entrance, any lingering feelings of empathy wiped away. That must have been written on his face because Red gripped the back of a dining room chair and yanked it between them, holding out his hand in surrender.

“I know I fucked up. I know I did,” Red started quickly. “But this isn’t about me or Ace. Have you heard from Dakota yet?”

“What about Dakota?” Lyra asked, silently trailing behind Callum. Ace let out another roar from the back bedroom, and Red's eyes momentarily flicked toward the hallway before landing on Callum again.

“You better spit it out, and real fucking fast,” Callum said. His fingers flexed into a fist, the need to hit something rising inside him again.

“Okay, okay,” Red breathed. “I heard it over the wire. There was a shooting at the prison. Duke was involved. Someone is dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Lyra asked, her hand shooting up to grip her throat. Her eyes flared from Red to Callum to Kane, who was a shade paler with the backdrop of blue and purple blooming against his forehead. “Is it Dakota?”

Red shook his head. “No, but she was there. Heard them calling for the Ranger. She’s being taken to the Guildhall.”

“In what condition?” Lyra asked as Rocco dug into his pocket, tossing Kane’s keys to Callum. “Is she going to be okay? Callum, I’m coming with you.”

“You’re still recovering. You were just—“ Rocco was cut off by a sneer from Lyra.

“Let’s go,” Callum said, jutting his chin toward the door. He had better things to do than argue with Dakota’s best friend. She would win regardless. “Rocco, are you staying or what?”

“Staying. I’ll watch out for Ace and Kane. Let us know what happens.”

“I don’t have any more information, son,” Red noted as Callum grabbed his leather cut and slung it overtop his hooded sweatshirt. His gun came next, and he tucked it in the waistband of his jeans before placing a hand on Lyra’s lower back to lead her from the clubhouse.

He had lost Dakota once, and it brought him to the brink of what he considered existence. If something happened to her again, hunting Duke down would become a full-time fucking sport. Brotherhood or not, step-father or not, a deal with Nekros or not.