Page 2 of Wicked Dove (Institute Thirteen #1)

I stay out until the sun rises, waiting for my deadbeat dad to leave for work, still as drunk as he was the night before.

I manage a few hours of sleep before the noise from the trailer park wakes me up.

Sometimes I might make a little money babysitting some of the neighbors’ kids, but most of them don’t seem to care if anyone is watching their children or not, so it’s not a reliable way to make money, which means I wish the day away, waiting for those headlights to appear in the tree line.

Taking a deep breath, I let the truth settle.

I need to run from this life, and this is my chance.

This is my escape. Walker is right; it doesn’t matter what I need to do for that kind of money, it’s worth it.

Besides, it’s never been anything extreme before.

Then again, our take has never been that much either.

“What’s the plan, Walker?”

He taps his fingertip on the steering wheel, avoiding my gaze as he stares straight ahead at the warehouse. “There’s a poker game happening in there right now,” he states, making me frown.

There’s not a single light on. It’s either happening in a windowless room or downstairs in the basement.

“Illegal.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, one he nods to. “What do you have to do?”

One breath. Two breaths. Three.

“Take the winnings.”

My mind kicks into overdrive as I start to nod in understanding. “How do you plan on doing that?”

The familiar smile appears on his face again as he glances at me, eyes shining with excitement. “I’m going to win it.”

“Not sitting here, you’re not. Do you want me to keep the engine running or something? I—” He immediately starts to shake his head, cutting my words off as my mouth starts to dry. “Spit it out,” I grumble, aware he’s withholding something.

Instead of answering, he glances toward the back seat of the car. I follow his gaze and see a shimmer of silver sequins sparkling in a revealing two-piece set.

“That’s for me, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Usually, I love it when his voice rasps like that, but not now. I hate it when jobs force me to hide my true self. But for twenty-five thousand dollars, what’s a tiny pair of shorts and a strappy bikini top going to do?

“Fine,” I murmur, despite the uncertainty growing in my chest, and before I have time to let my self-doubt take over, Walker grabs my chin, bringing my gaze to his.

“Power is forged in ruin, Elodie. This is your power,” he reminds me, sending a wave of calmness over me. I can’t remember how many times he’s uttered those words to me. They ground me every time.

“Apparently not, Walker,” I muse, glancing out of the corner of my eye to the shimmering silver. “Apparently, power is actually forged in a sexy two-piece.”

Goosebumps spread across my skin, the night air calm but chilly as I walk through the empty parking lot in my new outfit and matching heels. A pair of hot pants and a bikini top isn’t what I envisioned for myself tonight, but when needs must… and there’s so much money on the line, it’s worth it.

Walker leads the way, swiping a card at the device by the door. A small green light flashes before the click of the lock turns and the door swings open.

As it falls shut behind us, I hope the air will warm up, but if anything, it seems to dip a degree or two. Fighting back another shiver, I follow Walker, tugging my hair loose from my hair tie in an attempt to let the purple waves drape around my shoulders and warm me up.

I don’t have a single drop of makeup on my face, but it seems Walker didn’t realize that when he got me the distraction outfit.

I’ve worked with less; because that’s all I have, so this will have to do.

My ears strain, waiting for the murmuring of others as we head down the dimly lit hall, but I hear nothing. It’s only when Walker slows by the next door on our left and offers me his hand that I know we’re about to move into action.

Standing tall, I make sure to roll my shoulders back, exuding all the confidence I can gather as he opens the door. Thick smoke greets me, and I have to fight the urge to waft it away from my face.

The room isn’t lit much more than the hallway, but it’s bright enough to outline the men we’re intruding upon.

There are five of them, but only two are currently playing.

The others seem to be there in support of the two men with cards in their hands.

A quick glance to the right confirms they’re wearing the leather cuts known to represent The Vultures, while the guy to the left is wearing a simple white tee.

Eyes scan over me and I fight the urge to shy away from their curious gazes. Instead, Walker pulls me into his side with a smirk at our audience. “Am I late?”

The Vulture at the table snarls. “We’re not taking late arrivals, motherfucker. Take your piece and get the fuck out of here. Actually, leave the hot piece and save yourself before I put a bullet through your skull.”

I gulp at his ferocity, but if Walker feels any kind of unease, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he snickers as if the man just told a joke.

“What’s your name?” White Tee Guy asks, briefly glancing at Walker before turning his curious eyes back to me.

“You don’t need my name for me to win your money,” Walker snaps back, cracking his head from side to side, and I sense the shift in the room immediately.

This is about to go south quickly if we don’t ease the growing tension.

“Baby, tell him your name while I take my seat,” I breathe, running my fingertip over his bottom lip seductively before stepping back.

“Play nice.” The sultry undertone in my voice feels unfamiliar as I turn away from my safety net and lock eyes with the president of The Vultures; the patch on his cut branding his title.

A grin spreads across his face as I walk around the table. He knows where I’m headed, moving silently as he pulls his chair out enough for me to sit on his lap.

His hand immediately finds my ass, the other landing on my thigh. I’m not delusional about the fact that I’m in dangerous territory, but there’s something about it that’s… alluring.

The prickling of uncertainty in my veins makes my muscles hum with a level of excitement that they shouldn’t.

Instead of judging myself for it, I use it to help me in the moment.

Planting a hand on his shoulder, I lean against him as I turn to face the rest of the table.

“Are we playing, boys? Or are we all just going to sit here while you fuck me with your eyes?”

A splutter comes from behind me, one of The Vultures’ men clearly surprised by my brazenness. He’s not alone. The Vulture, however, seems to like it.

“Deal us in,” he grunts, his grip on me tightening.

Walker takes a seat and a dealer appears—from where, I couldn’t even guess—and just like that, the game is underway.

I have no idea what’s happening. I’ve never played a game of poker before.

All I know is that the white tee guy’s pile of money is shrinking, while Walker’s is growing.

The Vulture stays steady in cash, but with every glance at his cards, his hand slides higher up my leg until his fingers press against the apex of my thigh.

My skin crawls at the contact, making my pulse quicken and my cheeks flush as I fight against the need to lash out and make a run for it. Anything to get his paws off me.

“It looks like I’ve got myself a good luck charm here,” he rasps against my ear, and I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, hoping to hide the flutter of nerves rattling my pulse.

Walker doesn’t bother to look my way, but the other guy glares at me like it’s all my fault.

I ignore his bottled-up irritation. I’m already teetering on the edge of danger, riding the line of seduction that I’m not entirely comfortable with, but I suppress the squirming unease in my stomach and focus on the twenty-five thousand dollars, allowing it to recapture my focus.

It seems like a worthwhile sacrifice for a new life.

I wouldn’t even need to go home from here. There’s nothing waiting for me, I could just run free.

“Maybe you should bring that sweet ass over here and sprinkle me with the pixie dust,” White Tee Guy grunts, but before I can even consider his offer, the man beneath me tightens his grip, digging his fingers into my flesh.

Pain radiates beneath the pressure. There’s no pleasure to his touch. It’s territorial.

I instantly dislike it.

My muscles are tense, but if the asshole beneath me senses it, he doesn’t make it obvious.

There’s no time, not when Walker snickers in his seat, finally turning his attention to me.

There’s no warmth in his stare, no sign of the security that I’m used to, but I can see the cogs turning in his eyes.

He’s scheming something.

I just can’t decide if I like it or not.

“How about we wrap this up? All in. Winner takes the paper and the good luck charm.”

No. He. Didn’t.

He didn’t just offer me up like that.

“I have nothing to lose,” the white tee guy I don’t even know the name of states, pushing the remaining money to the center pile without concern, and I gulp.

Walker follows suit, avoiding my glare as the president of The Vultures pauses. His grip on me is unwavering; I’m sure there will be bruises in the morning.

“Johnny?” Walker mutters, the question clear, and the guy shifts beneath me.

“I already have the charm. I already have the money. I’m out.” He stands up as if I’m not there, making me stumble toward the table, but before I hit it, he pulls me back into his chest. His breath is raspy in my ear and his hand, finally gone from the top of my thigh, lands on my chest.

My nostrils flare, irritation taking over as Walker blinks at us, unfazed.

Without a word, the three men wearing the same cut as Johnny head for the door.

“Let’s go, Princess.” He tugs me into his side, his hand engulfing my small B-cup chest, his grip only tightening as he nudges me toward the door.

My eyes widen as I gape at Walker, but he doesn’t move. If this is part of his plan, to play it cool, then he’s doing a damn good job because I’m pretty sure he’s just going to let this guy take me with him.

I stumble over my heels like a deer caught in the headlights, arms limp at my sides as I struggle to speak. I’m torn between the money and my pride.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Pride.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Dignity.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Worth.

We reach the door and I cling to the frame as if my life depends on it.

“I’m good, but thanks,” I mutter, knowing I’m blowing my shot at the money, but I’ve felt a man’s hand on me like this before. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.

If I’m learning anything right now, it’s that it’s pointless to take the money if it means letting men control me. That’s no different from staying at home and letting my father dominate me.

“It’s sweet you think you have a choice.” The Vulture snickers, manhandling me even more—a feat I didn’t think was possible—yet I refuse to let go of the doorframe.

“Walker,” I blurt, glancing back at my friend, my safety net, to find him staring at me with concern etched in his brow.

Panic overtakes me as indecision flickers in his eyes, and I frown. I’ve never been concerned about Walker’s intentions before; that’s not going to change now… is it?

He stands up and my pulse pounds so loud against my eardrums that my face feels like it’s throbbing, but as soon as his eyes meet mine, I know I’m in safe hands.

“Sorry, Johnny. Not tonight. She’s mine.” Walker’s words hang in the air for a moment and the hand holding me relaxes, giving me hope.

The click of a safety being knocked off echoes in my ears a moment later, quickly shattering the hope I’d been silently clinging to.

I brace, ready for the butt to smash against my temple—that’s where it goes every time my father wields his handgun—but to my surprise, the familiar explosion of pain never comes.

When I drag my eyes away from Walker to figure out why not, I find it pointed across the room at him.

Hell. No.

Stumbling back a step, I press my back against the wall, watching as Walker raises his hands in surrender. “That’s not necessary. Is it, Johnny?” he asks, but he doesn’t get an answer. Instead, the Vulture moves his gun three inches to the right before pulling the trigger.

I scream, the air rushing from my lungs as horror coils down my spine, but it’s not Walker who hits the ground with a thud. It’s White Tee Guy.

Walker gazes at Johnny, eyebrows lifted. “He’s dead because…”

“Because I fucking say so, and if I say I’m taking the girl then I’m taking the goddamn fucking girl,” he snarls, nostrils flared. His gun moves back three inches, centered on Walker’s chest, and he takes a step toward him.

Horror shifts to terror, melting into fear as I move instinctively. I launch myself at the Vulture, colliding with his solid chest, desperate to protect Walker when the gunshot echoes again. I’m falling, twisting on my heel as I scream.

Chaos erupts around me, the men by the door yelling as the ringing of gunshots grows louder, but I’m sprawled on the floor, staring into Johnny’s lifeless eyes.

He’s dead.

I think.

I know.

But how? It doesn’t make sense.

The floor trembles beneath me with the thunder of heavy footsteps as I struggle for each breath, expecting the burn of a bullet headed my way.

I’m dizzy with fear when the sounds stop, movements pause, and the world becomes still. A shadow looms over me, and to my disbelief, it’s Walker hovering above me.

He plants one hand on his hip while he scrubs his chin with the other. “This is fucked, Elodie,” he grunts, a hint of irritation flashing in his eyes as he offers me his hand, but my limbs feel heavy. I can’t lift an arm to meet him.

Nausea twists in my stomach as Walker glances at the man beside me. “Is he dead?” I rasp, and he nods grimly. Uncertainty battles within me, but I ask the other question swirling in my mind. “Was it my fault?”

I feel like I might throw up.

“Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

The acknowledgment settles in my mind, but it does nothing to calm the thunder of my heart.

If anything, my body seems to burn hotter with every breath I take.

The next one lodges in my throat as I gasp, causing Walker to frown and lean closer.

But as he reaches down for me, a blast ripples in the air between us, sending him flying backward as I scream again.

“Walker!” I cry, I think, I hope, but I can’t see him. My eyes roll back as a tingling sensation ghosts over my skin from head to toe before a bleak pit of darkness consumes me.