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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DAKOTA

I’m glad that Viking doesn’t make me leave. Staying where I am in the back seat of the pickup truck, I stare straight ahead at the building, waiting for whatever is about to happen to happen . It’s like I’m waiting for the train on the tracks to derail and crash. I don’t know when it’s going to happen, but I know it’s bound to at some point.

Viking clears his throat, interrupting my staring contest with the building. It takes everything inside of me to tear my gaze away and turn to look at him. His lips twitch into a smirk, and he jerks his chin.

“Nothing is going to happen if you keep staring.”

I open my mouth, then snap it closed because he’s probably right. I just don’t know what to say or how to say it, so I stay quiet. He doesn’t keep his mouth shut, though. Instead, he speaks, and when he does, he asks the hard questions.

“Are you going to stay here or go back to Oregon?”

Blinking, I look down at my lap, my eyes unable to connect to his as I think about that question. He sees too deep inside of me. This man is a huge, wide teddy bear, and for whatever reason, I feel as if I’m being scrutinized, like if I don’t answer the right way, I’m going to disappoint him, which is wild because I’ve only known him for less than an hour.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

He doesn’t respond immediately to my words, but the longer he stays silent, the heavier the air in the cab of the pickup becomes. I press my lips together as I try to think of what to say. But the truth is that I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I’m falling for Bishop—hard. But at the same time, I’m not sure I want this life with him. He is wild. His world is reckless and scary. After growing up in the chaos of sex and booze, I’m not sure I want to continue in that life, even if it’s called something different.

I’m just not sure it’s for me.

Not that I think there is someone else out in the world who will make me feel the way he does because I’m pretty sure there isn’t. But at the same time, I’m not sure I can handle what this world entails. I’m not that strong. And I’m not sure I want to be, either.

“I’m not sure you’re going to have much of a choice after all is said and done,” he murmurs.

“Why?” I ask as my eyes flick up to meet his.

Viking’s lips curve into a smirk, his gaze searching mine for a moment. Then he shifts in his seat and leans forward slightly as if he’s going to say something that’s a secret, only for my ears to hear. I hold my breath as he speaks, then let it out in a whoosh when he’s finished.

“Because I don’t think Bullet is going to just let you walk away.”

That thought.

It makes my heart jump, but not out of fear. It’s out of excitement. I want him to chase me, to want me, to want to keep me. I want him to love me. To desire me—to crave me. I’ve never had anything like that before, and I can’t deny it feels exciting.

Even if it’s terrifying.

But I think that every person on this earth wishes not only to be loved but to be desired as well. Nobody has ever made me feel the way Bishop does, but I also know that what he offers me may not be healthy.

I just have to decide how much dysfunction I am willing to live with, exactly. And if this feeling he gives me is worth it all. Is it worth having a target on my back from unknown sources? Is it worth constantly looking over my shoulder and wondering who is going to kidnap me next?

“He might not have a choice,” I exhale as I shift my gaze to the building again.

This time, when my eyes land on the brick building, there is movement. I see him in the distance. I know it’s him. The determination of his steps, the way he charges forward, straight toward me, I know it is Bishop Drake, and he is coming for his prize.

I clench my thighs together in order to attempt to relieve the ache, but it actually does nothing of the sort. And as each step brings him closer, I realize that I’ll stay here with him, no matter the cost.

Because when he is near, my brain does not function. He will always be able to bring me back if I run away. He will always be able to keep me because my body is his. I was born to be his and will be until I take my last breath, even if it means that I’m sacrificing my peace of mind—but at the same time, there won’t be peace without him.

I am well and truly screwed by the only man who well and truly fucks me the way I crave.

BULLET

Once I’m halfway to the truck, I hear a loud blast behind me. That is the clubhouse going up in flames. We collected what we could out of the office, which wasn’t much.

A computer and some files.

A bunch of bullshit other than that. I don’t know what the Bloodhounds were really doing, but it doesn’t matter because they won’t be doing it any longer. That thought makes my lips twitch. My cock also twitches at the thought of being near Dakota again. I need to make sure that she is okay, that she’s unharmed.

I don’t think they did anything to her. It sounds like the only reason she was naked was because her towel was ripped from her body as she attempted her getaway. The thought of this woman being smart enough to know when and how to play her cards makes my chest swell in pride.

Maybe she’s got more old-lady material in her than I originally thought. As much as I want to pretend that she doesn’t, I am proven wrong every goddamn step of the way. It’s time for me to fully succumb to the fact that this woman is meant to be mine.

Until my last fucking breath, and no matter how much I want to keep her at arm’s length, it’s proving to be fucking impossible.

Mainly because Shade sent her to me, and for whatever reason, it was not just to protect her or to keep her for myself but to keep her at my side, not in silence either. Dakota is supposed to be my partner, and that thought is fucking mind-blowing, but as I approach her, it becomes so goddamn clear.

This woman is meant to be my wife.

And I’m going to wife her up and claim her for the entire fucking world to see. She is mine. She might be Shade’s blood, but Dakota is, without a doubt, meant to be my woman. I’m done pretending that she isn’t meant to be the queen of the Vicious Reapers.

She is meant to be just that.

I’m done talking myself out of the fact that this isn’t exactly what Shade would have wanted and that he isn’t the one who made this happen. He did. He made it all happen, and I’m just going to go with it from this moment on.

Having her taken from right under my nose was enough to know that she needs extra protection, and I aim to give it to her. The only way to ensure that she is, without a fucking doubt, completely protected is if she has my name and wears my patch.

So that’s what I’m going to do as soon as she’ll let me—or sooner.

Probably sooner.

When I reach the truck, I find Viking’s gaze in the back seat. His lips twitch into a smirk, and he jerks his chin toward me before he swings the door open. I watch as he moves past me and toward his bike.

The other bikes rumble in the distance as they start their engines and get ready to fly the fuck out of here. I wish I had my bike, too, but maybe there is something to having a truck with a cab… and a bed in the back.

Viking reaches me before I get to the truck and Dakota. “She seems okay. A little shaken but otherwise good.”

Nodding, I clear my throat as I think about her being shaken. Just shaken. She’s not inconsolable. She’s not a fucking mess. She’s shaken. Which means my woman is strong as fuck. She has her father inside of her, and there is no taking that away or changing it. She has Shade’s blood.

“Good. Ralph isn’t dead, but he should be. I don’t know what we want to do with that, but he’s not getting back in this truck.”

Viking’s eyes widen at my words, and then I tell him some shit that is going to blow his mind. I tell him about the cartel and all that fucking drama. How he’s washing money for them and wants us to protect his sister from them. All while lying and acting like it was the Bloodhounds we were protecting her against.

The whole situation with him is messy as fuck, and I’m not sure I want to be any more involved than we already are, which, when it comes to the cartel, is more than enough. Personally, I would like the club to stay the fuck away from the cartel in general.

“I think, if you want my opinion at all, that Ralph doesn’t make it out of this situation. It’s the best plausible scenario. He can’t ever be done with the cartel, and I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Dipping my chin in a single nod, I agree with him wholeheartedly. However, now I’m wondering about the sister because I’ve already got a nomad on her.

What the fuck am I going to do?

That tie is there, and if anyone has been watching her, they no doubt noticed a patched goddamn member of the Vicious Reapers hanging around her apartment and following her to whatever the fuck she does.

Viking must read my mind because he doesn’t even bat an eyelash before he speaks. “You’re going to kill that motherfucker, and you’re going to have that nomad take her somewhere. You don’t want to know where. It doesn’t matter. But the minute they think the bitch is still alive, they’re going to hurt you. And we got bigger fish to fry. Plus, I don’t want to be in a scuffle, let alone a war, with the cartel.”

I don’t, either. Not even fucking slightly. So, I decide that Viking is right. This is something I’m going to use president discretion on because I don’t have time to call in a vote and repeat the situation.

“And the supply and demand issue we currently have?” I ask because at the end of the day, cartel or not, bitch under protection or not, we need our supply, or our buyers are going to look elsewhere, and we won’t be fucking eating.

His lips curve up into a grin. “That is the easy part,” he says.

“Is it?” I ask when he doesn’t continue immediately. Honest to fuck, I’m not so sure it’s the easy part.

He hums before he continues. “Asian cargo ships are unloading in Wilmington, and I think it’s about time we get it straight from the source.”

“Yeah?” I ask. “How the fuck do we do that?”

“You gotta know the right people, and I’ve been working on things since Shade died. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I could tell that Ralph was being sketchy as fuck. It’s been about two weeks of me truly focusing on this shit, but I think I can find his supplier. Everything is in code, but I think I have it figured out.”

“You shittin’ me?” I demand.

That’s when he lets out a laugh, shaking his head a couple of times. “Not in the fucking slightest. Let me get to Ralph, and I’ll shake his ass down, end him, and have the new guy on lockdown before you even get back to the clubhouse.”

“Am I not following you to the clubhouse?” I ask.

He jerks his chin toward the truck. “I figure you’ll have a detour, and I have at least fifteen minutes before I need to find you.”

He is not wrong.

“Text me when you’re all done here. I’ll meet you at the gas station on the outside of town.” I know exactly which one he’s talking about. Jerking my chin as my confirmation of the plan, I walk toward the truck. Instead of climbing into the back seat, where I know Dakota is sitting, I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine, then I back out of the Bloodhounds’ driveway.