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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DAKOTA

Avoidance is key when you are living in a world that is completely and totally out of your control, which is my current situation. Taking my computer out of my bag, I set it up on my table in the corner of the bar.

I need to get some work done, check some emails, and try not to get behind with my clients. It’s easy to do, especially since I’m not home and sitting inside the apartment all day long with nothing better to do than get my work done.

It’s a good day for it, though, here, seeing as Bullet… Bishop has taken off to places unknown. Meaning he didn’t offer me any information, and since his speech last night, I know not to ask anything, either.

Which I’m not really sure what to think about.

Instead of stressing about it—because I know I can’t control it and I have no way of arguing with him about something that I don’t understand—I decide I am going to call Briana and ask her. She’s the only person I know who will give me the truth, whatever that looks like—good or bad.

And I know it’s not the best way for me to grow as an adult, calling my friend and asking her to tell me what is going on in my own life and asking her not just for her advice but also to tell me exactly what I need to do. I know I’m thirty, but I don’t feel like it. I feel like I am just a naive kid trying to figure life out.

I don’t know how long I sit at the pub table and work in silence, alone in the bar. But when I hear someone clear their throat from beside me, I shift my gaze to the time on my computer and wince at the fact that it’s already five in the evening, and I haven’t eaten all day.

My stomach growls as if right on cue, then the throat clears again, and I realize that someone is standing beside me, clearly wishing for my attention. Lifting my gaze to meet theirs, I narrow my eyes on the woman standing next to me.

I may not know a lot about the world, but I watched this woman with her eyes on me guide Bullet’s hand to her crotch. Willamette Haven had free love and all that, but there was also a ton of jealousy and women playing petty games.

So, while I’m out of my element when it comes to Bullet himself, I am not where this woman is concerned. She wants Bullet for herself. She wants me gone because she thinks she can have him if I’m no longer a concern.

The problem with that is that if it were about me being gone, she would have already had him. Clearly, she knows him, which means if he wanted her for himself, he’d have had her.

He doesn’t. Therefore, she’s standing above me, pissed off and defensive, while I couldn’t give a shit less about her. “Can I help you?” I ask.

I don’t look her up and down. I don’t have to. I already know what she’s wearing. A different version of the short skirt and barely there top from last night. She also appears to have just woken. Her eyes are pretty bright even if a little glassy.

She doesn’t speak immediately, so I ask her again. “Can I help you?”

Only then does she let out a low growl. If she’s attempting to intimidate me, it doesn’t work. But thankfully, she speaks instead of continuing to stare me down.

That is essentially pointless.

Sure, I like Bullet, but I don’t love him, and I’m not even sure what this is between us. Even though he’s saying I’m his and all that jazz, I’m not quite sold on what I should be doing. The simple fact of it all is that I don’t live here. So I’m not going to fight her over him. I wouldn’t anyway, but I’m really not vested in this situation, so I find her almost comical.

“Bullet ain’t yours. This club ain’t yours. Coming in here and acting like you’re queen fucking bee when you ain’t shit.”

Blinking, I look up at her, wondering how in the actual fuck this woman thinks she’s going to talk to me this way. My eyes search hers for a moment. Then I burst out laughing. There is a commotion behind the bar, but I ignore it.

The bitch slams her hands down on the tabletop, far too close to my computer. I almost tell her to back up but decide against it. I don’t care that much. Unless she actually hurts my computer, then I would have a serious problem with her shit.

Lifting my chin, I clear my throat and look up at her. “Are you finished?” I ask.

“No,” she snaps. “He’s mine.”

I almost laugh, but I tilt my head to the side and smirk. Laughing would be pointless right now, mainly because she’s so ridiculous that it is stupid to say anything else. Instead, my lips curve up into a grin.

“That’s not what he said when he was inside of me last night and this morning.”

Violence is never the answer. It was not the answer when I was at Willamette Haven, and it is not now. However, I wish I could slap her in the face. Right in the face. I don’t, even though I want to.

She jerks her head back at my words. “You will never be one of us.”

“Good,” I snap. “I don’t want to be. I’m not a whore.”

She doesn’t like that. She reaches forward. Her fingers curl around my bicep. It’s funny how she thinks she can do anything to me. Standing, I take a step backward, away from my computer, and face her.

Then I lean forward, and my next words are whispered. I don’t know where I get the bravery, the lady balls, whatever you want to call it.

“Back the fuck up. I’m not going to fight you over a man who is clearly not yours. He’s mine. He’s told me that he is, and if he wanted you, he would have fucked you last night when you tried to make your move and failed.”

She charges toward me.

BULLET

“What do you mean that shipment isn’t coming?” I shout into the phone.

Being here at the shop wasn’t on my list of shit to do today, and yet here the fuck I am. The man on the other end of the line doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, Ralph clears his throat. “The well is running dry, Bullet.”

“Then you better dig deeper,” I growl.

“There is another group asking for things.”

“What things?” I demand.

“All the things.”

I want to break the phone in half. This is one of the most frustrating conversations I’ve ever fucking had. All I want to do is go back to the clubhouse, where I know Dakota is sitting somewhere alone. I’m sure she’s doing her work. She said she’s gotten behind since coming here and wanted to catch up. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be near her.

She’s still very much on the fence about us. About being here. And I need to be with her in order to fuck her into submission. She’s got a house to live in and everything she could possibly need here. There’s no reason for her not to move here with me.

I’m ready to get back to her.

Back to being inside of her.

Clearing my throat, I try to calm myself, but it doesn’t work. I’m amped the fuck up right now. This is not the news I fucking wanted to hear, and as the seconds tick by, I become angrier.

“You need to tell me what the fuck is going on,” I demand.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he chuckles, clearing his throat like he’s got something to say to me, but if it’s not what I want to hear, then he’s going to be the last fucking man laughing.

I know exactly where to find Ralph. And I also know exactly what and how to make the man hurt— ache . And I don’t have to touch a single hair on his head. In fact, if I kill him, I won’t get what I want out of him, so he’s going to stay breathing. The people around him…

“Group came in a couple months ago, and they only wanted a few things. Every month, they upped their demands. Now they want so much that I can’t supply them and you at the same time.”

I think about getting on my bike and riding straight for him. I want to beat the absolute fuck out of him right now. I know I can’t, and as much as I want to, I don’t. I still need him, at least for the time being. I need him to actually supply me with my shit. We don’t have the ability to find someone new in the timeframe that we need our shit. Without it—or a new supplier—we’re going to have a big goddamn problem.

And that problem is going to be a war on our hands. Something that I absolutely do not want.

“I need all of my shit, Ralph. All of it.”

“I know. I know. I know,” he chants.

“I’ve got buyers, too, and my buyers will slit my neck and yours without a second fucking thought. So, you better figure some shit out. And fast,” I growl.

He whimpers, though he attempts to cover it up. It doesn’t work. I hear it very fucking clearly. Gripping my phone, I hear it crack beneath my hand and loosen my grip slightly as I wait for this fucker’s response.

“They’ll kill me, too, Bullet, so I don’t think it fucking matters.”

“You wanna let me in on who the fuck these people are?” I demand.

“Bloodhound MC.”

Fuck.

Fucking fuck .

Those guys are no goddamn joke. Sure, we aren’t on the up and up, but those guys are straight-up unhinged. There is no talking to them because they are unreasonable and will kill any- and everyone in their paths no matter the consequences. They’re fucking crazy, and while I have to admit that there is a twinge of respect there, I also want absolutely nothing to do with them.

War with the Bloodhound MC will no doubt be heinous and beyond deadly. It’s not worth it to deal with them in any capacity.

“How the fuck did you get hooked up with them?” I demand.

Ralph doesn’t answer immediately. He clears his throat a couple of times, no doubt attempting to stall and come up with something interesting to say. The truth is far more fucking fascinating to me than any bullshit he could spin.

“They came to me. I didn’t know who they were. I thought it was just a small group who needed personal security shit.”

I’m not even sure if I should be pissed at him at this point. Ralph didn’t know, even though he should have fucking contacted me before making any kind of deals with another MC, but since we don’t have any kind of legitimate contract, it’s kind of pointless to put stipulations on shit now. It’s too fucking late.

“What kind of shit do they want?” I ask.

He snorts. “You name it. Cameras, recorders, monitors, power supply units. They want everything, almost like they’re going to arm the goddamn White House or some shit.”

Interesting.

“You do what you can for me. I’ll contact you in three days.”

Ending the call, I stand and walk out to the front of the shop, where Viking is standing. “Need to talk to you,” I say to the big blond bastard.

He turns to me, his piercing blue eyes connecting with my own before he jerks his chin in a silent signal for me to go forward with whatever the fuck I’m going to say. His name is Viking because not only does he have longish blond hair that he braids, plus a blondish red beard, but he’s also six foot seven inches tall and about as wide as a goddamn house. If you’re even in a scuffle, this is the big bastard you want at your side, which is why I’m thankful as fuck he’s one of us.

Once I explain to him what’s going on, I watch as his cheeks turn pink with anger and irritation. I don’t blame him. I’m pissed off, too.

“This is because Shade is gone,” he growls. “They think we’re weak.”

“Which means we’re going to have to prove to them that we’re not.”

Viking jerks his chin. “Exactly. It’s gonna get ugly, brother.”

He’s right. It absolutely is. “My guess, we’re going to have to prove just who the fuck we are, with or without Shade.”

“Got no choice. Gonna have to have a pissing match and put those crazy assholes in their place.”

He’s right. We are going to have to do exactly that. I let him know that I’m going to start working on things but that we’re going to have church tonight, and he tells me he’s got the shop under control and to go ahead and get whatever I need done done.

Not only do I now have to deal with this shit, but I’m not through with Oregon and the Willamette Haven cult bullshit. It’s all or nothing. And right now, I need to be sharp as fuck for everything coming my way.