Vice and Void (The Savage Wolves Brotherhood #1)

49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49

Dakota

“Did you hear me?”

The voice was canned, echoing as though Dakota had dunked her head beneath the sea, and the saltwater lapped at her eardrums. Nothing was real, and yet she felt everything. She was on fire. She was in an ice bath. She was numb. She was paralyzed. She couldn’t sit still.

It all ran together in a blur of black and white and indescribable color that she couldn’t even begin to paint into a picture.

“Dakota?” A hand roughly shook her thigh, and it was just enough to pull her out of the stupor she had sunk into.

“What?”

Headlights ran across Rocco’s pale face as he drove, shining against his dark eyes. He swallowed as he gripped the steering wheel, turning back toward the road. “Callum was arrested. He’s gonna be charged with murder.”

“Murder?” Dakota repeated the words. She didn’t know what disbelief tasted like before that moment. It was a mix of morning breath and stale mint gum. “Whose murder?”

“Duke Malone.” Rocco had said this already, of course. But every word went in one ear and out the other. He must have repeated it at least three times by now. “We think Callum was set up.”

“We? ”

Rocco shook his head, and Dakota had the odd urge to sweep his lock of brow hair from his brow. Not lovingly—never that. She used to do that when they were teenagers: when he used his curtain-like hair to hide. She would tell him he was beautiful, and anyone would be lucky to have him while he pined after free-spirited Lyra from afar.

She didn’t know why that memory appeared, but it cannoned to the forefront of her mind by the simple swing of that one lock.

“We’re almost to the club. Drink this and wake up a bit, will you?”

Rocco shoved a cold can into her open palm before placing his hand back on the steering wheel. Glancing down at it, she spotted the familiar logo of the trio’s favorite energy drink. The wings on the glinting metal could have been flapping. Drink this? Unnecessary. She had already pinched herself, doused her face in cold water, and pricked the heel of her foot with a thumb tack.

If she were dreaming—if this was all some terrible nightmare—she would have woken up by now. Wouldn’t she?

The brakes squealed in protest when Rocco stomped on them, tightening Dakota's seatbelt over her shoulder. “Lyra’s already here. So is every member of the Norwich charter.”

That much Dakota could tell. It had been a long time since she had seen the parking lot this full. Since Tex Reynolds’s murder, in fact. Motorcycles and trucks spilled onto the lawn, lining the narrow residential street. Grim faces, set jaws, and stiff shoulders streamed through the front door, which Logan propped open with his boot. He nodded a stony greeting as Rocco led her over the threshold.

And when the door shut behind them, the sharp snap of it made Dakota damn near leap out of her skin.

“He wouldn’t have fucking done this!”

The shout carried over the low hum of voices. Rocco wrestled through a gap in the crowd, Dakota close on his heels. Some faces she recognized from her teenage years, though they were far grayer with hardened eyes and weathered cuts these days. Some faces were new, and they turned to assess her with curious stares.

“We all know how much he hated Duke. He didn’t bother hiding it.”

Kane slammed his fist on the table, furiously swiping at his red-rimmed lashes with the back of his other hand. “He wouldn’t do this!”

An older member, his long hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head, scratched the faded tattoo on his temple. “He was charged with killing his father. Your father. And now he’s accused of killing his stepfather. Your stepfather. It’s all pointing back to him!”

“He was acquitted of my father’s murder—“

“Come on, Kane,” a second man spoke up from the opposite side of the table, “Be fucking smart. Where’s your mother? I want to hear what she has to say.”

A low grumble of agreement sounded from around the club.

Kane cleared his throat. “She’s gone.”

“Come again?”

“Gone?”

Kane lifted his glare from the table, narrowing it on the long-haired man. “That’s what I said.”

Maybe it was Kane’s lost and bewildered scowl as he searched each face for a semblance of support. Support he wasn't getting. Perhaps it was the hole Lyra drilled into the side of Dakota’s head with her solemn stare. It could have even been the realization that Duke Malone was dead— dead — at her hands, and she…didn’t care. Who was she?

Dakota shouldered past Rocco, planting herself at the end of the table. “Callum didn’t do this. He was with me.”

Silence blanketed the room for a series of heartbeats before a third man at the table scoffed. “So you’re sticking up for him this time?”

“Griff, don’t—“ Kane began, but Dakota slid a side-long look toward him.

Dakota crossed her arms over her chest as she surveyed the men at the table. She had loved. She had lost. She had survived. She had thrived. She wouldn’t let this fool of a man hammer her into submission. Not again. Never again. “Yeah, I am. And I’ll be here the second he gets released. The second he’s proven innocent . Again.”

Griff snorted, rolling his dark blue eyes toward the ceiling. “He isn’t going to be released, sweet cheeks. He’s going to be killed in that prison. Duke lost control of it two years ago to the Vipers. You’ll be lucky if he’s still alive now.”

Dakota faltered for a fraction, long enough for Rocco to cut in with, “Don’t fucking say that.”

“It’s the truth. And the quicker you come to terms with it, the quicker the Brotherhood can move on.”

Regaining herself, Dakota swept her gaze around the table. “Where’s Red?” The third-in-command should have been there. As if on cue, though, an anguished scream erupted from the back room. The members closest to the dark hallway glanced at one another before averting their eyes to the floor .

“He’s busy. Can’t you hear it?”

Rocco shot Griff a warning glare that rivaled Callum’s in intensity. “What’s the plan?”

Griff cocked a brow. “The plan?”

“Yeah, the plan.” You cocky asshole were Rocco’s unsaid words at the end of that sentence. Dakota heard them loud and clear. “The plan on getting Callum out of the prison.”

Griff’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting as though he were looking to see how Rocco had grown a second pair of arms. Despite the stalemate between the two, a tense unease rippled through the dozens packed inside the small clubhouse. It was a tremor, a riptide that sunk deep, pushing and pulling.

“I’m calling for a vote,” Griff announced as he pushed himself to stand. “Right here. Now.”

“A vote?” Kane ground out. He was on his feet, his hand on the gun strapped to his hip. Griff was utterly unfazed. “You don’t have the right to call a vote!”

“The Lead is dead. Our Vice is in prison. Our third is dealing with his shit-addict son. Our fourth, Maverick, is in the wind. Who does that leave us?”

“Me.” Rocco’s no-bullshit tone was a damning blow to Griff’s arrogant ego. “Your Road Captain. Or did you already forget your place?” That unease around the club tripled as brother sized up brother, as friend glared at friend. A boundary grew like a weed between them, an invisible line that fogged any clarity forward.

Griff clenched his jaw until any trace of that smirk faded from his mouth. An icy look passed over his face. With a hint of a sneer and a bob of his chin, he finally relented. “Of course, Captain , whatever you think is best.”

“You’re damn right,” Rocco said through gritted teeth. “We aren’t doing shit until we have a plan for getting Callum out of prison.”

“And if he doesn’t?” someone piped up from the couch, though the members closed ranks around him as soon as Rocco turned to level a lethal glare.

“We’re not going to turn into the Vipers over this,” Rocco growled. Dakota had no doubt he would be incinerating any one of them if he could breathe fire. “Getting split apart for—“

“The Vipers don’t have two dead Leads at the hands of their heir,” Griff retorted, though he still took his seat. “And that’s exactly where we’ll be headed.” It wasn’t a threat but a promise. One that even Rocco was having a hard time denying any longer.

Heir. Leads. Vipers .

The thoughts swirled through Dakota’s mind.

Heir. Leads. Vipers.

The prison. Callum. Thalia.

“I have to go,” Dakota said as she pushed away from the table, holding her hand out for the keys to Rocco’s truck. “I have something I have to do.”

Rocco hesitated as Griff guffawed, leaning back in his chair until he balanced on the back two legs. “See? She’s already on her way out. Give her a week, and she’ll already be spreading her legs—“

Griff didn’t get the chance to elaborate. Lyra leaned forward from her perch on the couch's armrest, grasped the back of the seat, and yanked. He tumbled back, arms flailing, until he hit the ground with a loud oof . He tried to scramble to his knees, but Lyra was already there, shoving a foot into the hollow of his neck.

“Say that again. I fucking dare you.”

A smattering of chuckles and angry hisses rumbled through the club as Griff easily threw her foot off, his face an angry pink as he clambered to stand. She crossed one delicate ankle over the other and began to pick at her cuticles. Her dull, haunted gaze barely sparked to life before it settled into one of masked disinterest that Dakota saw through immediately. She didn’t comment on it. She wouldn’t. Not in front of the Brotherhood.

“It’s for Callum. Trust me. Please.”

Rocco’s reluctance was short-lived. The keys were barely in her hand before she was weaving through the crowd. She didn’t miss the inquisitive looks. She didn’t miss the distrustful ones either.

It didn’t matter. None of them did. Only Callum. Because when she chose him, she meant it. They were forever.

She needed to get him out of that prison. She wouldn’t be able to breathe until he was. Wouldn’t be able to get her head above the waves of grief and madness until he was. Anger blasted through her like a meteor, the only thing that came close enough to fight through the dense fog of disbelief. It still didn’t feel real.

But Duke was gone, at her hands no less, and Callum was paying the toll.

Callum was going to kill her for what she was about to do. And what she was about to do would cost her more than her bargain with Nekros.

Dakota didn’t think of the cold autumn mist on her skin as she stepped out of the truck, how the wet leaves squelched beneath her sneakers, or how she was still dressed in mismatched pajamas—a set that had no business seeing the light of day. Wrapping her arms around her chest, if only to conserve the nearly spent warmth still hiding in her body, she climbed the steps to the old, rickety house.

The porchlight was off, and the bulb’s glass was cracked and stained black. There was a flicker of white light from beyond the curtains—the dancing glow of a television screen—and an undeniable scent of burning nymphaea wafted through the door frame.

This is for Callum. It was a brutal reminder of what was at stake if she lost. With that humbling thought, she lifted a hand to rap her knuckles against the window insert. She glared at the falling paint chips, each one layering at the top of a pile that had long settled against the metal threshold. In every universe, it was for Callum.

Despite the late hour and the darkened porch, the front door opened without a breath of pause. Finn Blackthorn. If he was surprised to see her, the depths of the shadows hid it well.

“Dakota Montgomery.” His eyes flashed as he purred her name, and a shiver wracked her spine when he leaned his broad shoulder against the frame. He might be Callum’s rival, but he was just as dangerous. Especially for her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Another billow of dried nymphaea smoke swirled from inside the house, followed by a feminine giggle. “Come on, Finny.” A second giggle. “Come back and play.”

Finn ignored her.

“I need your help.”

The scoff Finn sent her could have blown the thatched roof off a house. He made to take a step back, lifting a hand to shut the door, when Dakota smashed her fist against the insert. An alarm of pain rattled through her knuckles, but she ignored the bite. His brows lifted, and not in a way that conveyed interest or amusement. She was certain the next step would be the removal of her hand.

“And why the fuck would I do that?”

This time, Dakota managed to swallow past the narrowing in her throat. “Callum was arrested for murder. He’s back in prison.”

“Beautiful. My night just got even better.” He made to close the door once again, but Dakota wedged her foot over the threshold. The edge of the wood bounced off her shoe. “You’re testing my patience, Montgomery. And, as you just told me, you’re fair game right now.”

“I need you to help me break him out.”

Finn paused, his hand still resting on the knob. Then he doubled over, letting out a belly laugh that echoed against the night sky. His arrogant smirk crooned at her when he gained enough composure to right himself.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“I know, that’s why I found it funny.” Finn raked a hand through his black hair, his lips curved upward. “Dakota, I have no interest in helping get your boyfriend out of prison. In fact, I would rather see him rot in there. Now, I have company. If you’ll excuse me—“

“You’ll just leave Thalia in there, too?”

Finn sucked a tooth, his bright eyes still flashing at her through the dark. “Thalia strung me along for a few weeks before she was tossed in there. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Callum was her person. Had always been her person. And he became her person again—bit by bit, day by day, kiss by kiss. She didn’t know when the exact moment was, it was impossible to pin down. One day, she woke up and realized her heart belonged to him more than it belonged to her. And in their twelve years apart, she had never gotten it back.

As she looked up at Finn, she let that string of thoughts flood her, encourage her, and strengthen her. It steeled her resolve, only shoving her toward what she already knew she needed to do.

“I heard about the Vipers split. I heard you’re out of a job.”

Finn’s chuckle was dangerous. And as he stepped toward her, towering over her like her father had done her entire life, she realized why Callum had been so adamant that she stay away from Finn Blackthorn. Gone was any playfulness, any good-natured banter. In its place was a cold-hearted killer, one that she knew would have no qualms about slitting her throat and burying her in the backyard.

“Careful, Montgomery,” Finn said softly. “You’re alone here.”

The cold breeze ruffled her hair, the mist sliding against her autumn jacket and dripping off the hem. She withstood him, her chest aching like a thorn had embedded deep between her ribs, but she didn’t yield.

“I can help you.”

“Can you?”

“I can help you get your club back.”

Finn paused, his gaze skirting her face, assessing her expression, probing her for any hint of a lie. She didn’t have one to give. Her chin lifted a fraction higher, so close now that she could taste his breath on her tongue. “And how can you do that?” His voice had softened, a lover’s caress against her cheek.

“An experimental distill that I created, one that no one has yet. I'll give it to you.”

His chest stopped moving. His shoulders stiffened with such preternatural stillness that Dakota had to tip her chin further up to see if he was breathing.

“That’s quite a claim,” he murmured as he stepped onto the porch. His guest let out a whine of indignation before she was cut off by the door closing behind him. “A bold one.”

“A true one.”

Finn contemplated her for a long minute, his eyes raking over her features. “I could turn you into the Iron Guard, into your father. Imagine the reward I would get for that.”

“You could,” Dakota mused, though her heart ratcheted at his threat. She hoped he couldn’t sense it in the space between them. “But I’ll be in prison, and you’ll still be here. No Vipers, no distill, and still getting your dick sucked by the only woman around who'll have you.”

This time, a pass of mirth flared in the recesses of his pupils. He cinched the gap with a single step forward, so intimately close now that Dakota could feel his bare chest scrape against her jacket’s zipper. “Been thinking about my dick, have you?”

Dakota tempered the instinct to roll her eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

Finn pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes. “I want to see it work. I want to make sure you aren't blowing smoke. Then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

"It can only be brewed once a year. I mean, I might be able to adjust it, but that could take years—"

"You can brew it first and get your boy toy out. Or let him rot in prison. The choice is yours."

She hesitated, her mouth parting as her heart pattered a traitorous beat through her ribcage. I’ve loved you half of my fucking life . She loved him, too. That love was deep enough that she knew she would do anything to get him back. Terrifyingly so. Even if that meant working day and night to figure out how to brew the distill again.

“If I have to distill it first, we get Thalia out, too.”

He nodded, his solemn gaze boring down on her with the intensity of a man who had just seen his fortune change for the better.

“Deal.”