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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DAKOTA

Sitting on the edge of my father’s bed again, I can’t stop staring at the picture of me on his nightstand. There is something absolutely beautiful about the fact that he had me beside him—always. After a good long sit with my picture on his bed, I decide to do what I came here for, and that is to discover more about this man.

Making my way back to his closet, I use the small step stool I found in the garage and stand on it to look around. There are some boot boxes and a couple of motorcycle helmets, but nothing as noteworthy as the box of letters I found.

Stepping down, I slide my fingertips over the tops of his shirts that are hanging neatly. Then, something extra soft causes my touch to pause. Reaching for the shirt, I tug the hanger from the rod and look at the shirt.

It’s a band tee. A worn, faded, well-loved band tee.

Motley Crüe.

I’m not sure about anything else in this house as far as clothes go, but I’m keeping this shirt. Folding it, I make my way to the kitchen and slip it inside my purse that is sitting on the countertop.

I start opening up the cabinets and drawers around the kitchen and living room but don’t find any other treasures. In fact, everything seems void of any personal touch. The picture, the letters, the clothes, those are his personal things. Everything else in the house just seem like items he needed to use.

It is all very purposeful.

Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I start to make my way to the other side of the house, where there is an office and makeshift gym, but a noise at the front door causes me to pause.

Then there is a knock.

Frowning, I make my way there, assuming that it’s Bishop. I wrench the door open and open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing here. I’m annoyed as hell because I told him that I needed some time here to collect myself, to connect myself to Nathan, and he’s here bothering me.

But the moment the door opens and my eyes connect to the broad chest standing in front of me, my breath hitches. I don’t recognize this man. I don’t recognize the little patches on his jacket, and I think I just made a terrible decision by assuming it was Bishop and opening the door.

“Can I help you?” I hesitantly ask.

His eyes find mine, and my heart leaps into my throat. There is something inherently evil about this man just based on his eyes alone. He doesn’t speak, either, which isn’t helping his bad-guy vibes. Instead, he moves into the doorway, forcing me to take a few steps backward.

“Dakota Vaughn?” he growls when he’s made his way into the room.

This is the moment when I realize that two other men have come up behind him, and they’ve formed a semi-circle around me. I take that moment to ask again, even though I’m pretty sure they aren’t here to sell me cookies or popcorn.

“How can I help you?” I whisper.

His lips curve up into a grin. He’s got a gray, scraggly beard, dark-black eyes, and some skin spots that appear questionable. But what he doesn’t have is that Shocker loving-grandpa vibe. No, this man is, without a doubt, a monster.

“We’d like to have a little chat with you.”

I open my mouth to tell them that I would rather not, but no words come out because something pinches the side of my neck, and everything slowly fades away. Or maybe it fades away quickly. I’m not sure because time seems to become a thing of the past, and then there is darkness that surrounds me before there is nothingness.

BULLET

Sitting at the bar, I stare at my phone and watch as each minute passes by without a call or text from Dakota. I’m trying to give her the space she needs to do what she wants to do at Shade’s place, but it’s fucking hard not being with her.

If we weren’t on shaky-as-fuck ground, I would go back over there, fuck her as a reminder of how I make her feel, then throw her on the back of my bike, bring her back here, and fuck her again.

“You know,” a voice purrs next to me, “I could make you smile.”

I don’t even have to look to know who that voice belongs to. I know exactly who it belongs to. “Not interested,” I grunt.

She hums, her lips touching my neck. She does not remotely turn me on, but any touch can cause a physical reaction. Mine is a mixture between hate and my cock twitching beneath my jeans. Stupid fucking dick. It’ll jump at anything resembling feminine sexuality.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks, breathy as fuck.

Turning my head, I look into her eyes. “Not. Interested.”

Her gaze narrows, and I watch as anger contorts her otherwise pretty face. “So you’re going to sit here and wait for her to call you? What’s she doing tonight that’s so important she can’t come and take care of her man?”

Exorcist’s words come out angry and full of jealousy. It’s at this moment that I realize Dakota was fighting over me, sure, which totally boosts my ego, but she was also fighting for herself because Exorcist thinks she’s got some sort of claim on me, maybe even every guy here.

She has no claims.

Not a single fucking one

I watched the video of them fighting about a dozen times. It was clear that Exorcist was the aggressor, but it was also very fucking crystal clear that Dakota could hold her own if need be. But she shouldn’t ever have to, not when it comes to me and this club.

“Let me remind you for the last fucking time,” I grind out, my eyes focused on Exorcist’s. “Dakota doesn’t fucking exist to you. She is on her way to being an old lady, and for all intents and purposes, to you, that is exactly what she is. Even if she wasn’t an old lady, she is family. To you, family does not fucking exist.”

She opens her mouth, no doubt to spout off some shit that I do not want to hear— ever . But I shake my head, shooting that shit down. She closes her lips, her eyes feigning a doe-eyed expression.

Clearing my throat, I press my lips together before I speak again. Every word I say is intentional.

Exorcist needs to know her place. In fact, I’m pretty sure that all the whores do. There haven’t been kids and old ladies in this club since before they came in, so maybe they’re just ignorant of how this shit works, but she’s about to find out.

“Do not fuck with Dakota. Do not look at her. She does not exist to you. If you cannot keep your fucking distance from her, then you will be out on your goddamn ass. I want to be very fucking clear when I say this. You are a whore. You are paid well and protected, but you are a whore. Don’t forget that.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t know what to say, stumped for fucking real, and I almost laugh because this shit is comical. These whores have been running around thinking that they’re our girlfriends or some shit, and I’m fucking over it.

Although, had I not met Dakota, I wouldn’t have even noticed, so maybe a little of this is on me, but I won’t ever actually admit that. In fact, I’m going to lay the blame on Shade. He’s not here to defend himself and was president much longer than I have been.

Yeah.

This is his fault.

“And when I say you’re a whore, I mean you spread every fucking part of your body when you’re told and like it. Nothing more, nothing less. Your opinion here doesn’t matter. You are a combination of orifices.”

“How do you want me, master?” she asks.

Shaking my head, I lift my hand and pinch the bridge of my nose. I know that she’s being a smart-ass, but I’m fighting every urge inside of me not to backhand her to drive my goddamn point home.

I don’t, though, mainly because she is Vicious Reapers’ property and I’m not someone who fucks up my own shit. And also because even though I never had the best examples in the world as far as parents, I did in Shade. And he taught me that you don’t ever take your anger out on the weak.

“Grow the fuck up and act like a goddamn adult or find your ass turning tricks on the goddamn corner for scraps of food and a rent-by-the-hour motel.”

Picking up my phone, I stand from my seat and turn my back to her. I walk away and head toward my bike. I know that Dakota told me to wait, but something is gnawing at me to see her, to check on her, to fuck her.

It doesn’t take me long to ride there. Shade may have had his own little slice of paradise, but it was close enough to the clubhouse that he could be here in five minutes if need be.

Which is about how long it takes me to get to his place.

The sun has already set, but I see Dakota’s rental car in the driveway and ride up beside it. I throw my leg over and disengage before I make my way into the house. The door is closed but not locked, which is the first thing that I notice is odd.

I move farther into the house but stop when I am in the living room. Looking around and listening, I try to make out a sense of where she is in the house, but I hear and see nothing. Something is off. The air, the deafening silence, something.

Calling out her name, I start to move through the house room by room, but I don’t find her. Everything everywhere is empty. My feet move faster with each passing moment, and when I go outside to the metal building that is the man cave, I expect to see her there, but she’s not.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I find her name and call her as I move back into the house and hear her phone ringing in the living room. I move closer to the noise and look down to see that it’s on the floor.

Reaching down, I pick up the device and frown at the sight of it. Then, as if some invisible force draws my gaze to the kitchen counter, I see her purse there.

What the actual fuck?

Where is my fucking woman?