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CHAPTER FOUR

DAKOTA

Sitting across from the attorney, I stare at him and blink. I’m not sure what I expect, but it is not what he’s telling me. My father had money, a business, and a house. He left it all to me. But I still don’t understand why.

Opening my mouth, I start to ask just that when the attorney continues. “Now, the other partners in his business will probably wish to buy your share out. Which will just mean signing some documents and receiving a check.”

“Can I meet them?” I ask.

John lifts his eyes from his paperwork, his gaze finding mine and holding it for a moment before he speaks. “You want to meet them?”

Nodding, I clear my throat. “I don’t know anything about Nathan Vaughn, and I would like to find out more about the man he was. I figure whoever these partners are can help me with that.”

The attorney leans back in his chair, and his eyes widen. I can tell he thinks I’m crazy. He’s just got enough manners not to tell me to my face. His phone rings on his desk and he frowns, then picks it up.

“Okay. Yeah. Send them in.”

I’m staring at him with confusion when he clears his throat. “Well, you’re about to meet two of them. One is a defense attorney in my office, and the other is here, I’m sure, by happenstance,” he says, his last words coming out in a grunt.

He doesn’t seem very excited about them coming in, but I am thrilled. I want to know these men. I want to know my father. Is he as bad as my mother claimed? Or was my mother using it as an excuse to leave him and never look back? What is the truth? Because I know that the truth always lies somewhere in the gray.

And this all feels very gray.

There is a soft knock before the door opens, and I watch as two very tall, very broad men walk into the room. One is dressed in a suit, probably the attorney. He’s handsome with neatly cropped hair and a trim waist. And everything he’s wearing is, without a doubt, tailored to his body because I cannot imagine it not being made just for him, down to his shiny shoes.

The other man…

My heart stops beating in my chest when my eyes land on him. He’s dressed in worn black boots that have chains hanging from them. Jeans that have a slight bootcut but are otherwise fitted to his long legs and thick thighs. My god, I can’t imagine the muscle that lies beneath those thighs of his.

His middle isn’t as trim as the one in the suit, but there isn’t an ounce of fat on him. He’s thick, muscle that’s likely been earned doing manual labor or something.

I’ve seen all the men at the commune, and the ones who did all the hard work had different muscles than the ones who did yoga and gardening. Neither is bad, just different, except in this case, different is very, very nice to look at.

I watch as he crosses his arms over his chest, and my eyes widen at the sight of his bulging muscles. He’s wearing a black vest, but I don’t even look at it because his arm… it’s as big around as my thigh.

Wow .

Wow . Wow .

When my gaze finally reaches his face and then his eyes, I suck in a breath. He’s gorgeous in a rugged way. His face is covered with a day or two’s worth of stubble. His hair is short, really short, but that’s not what causes my breath to hitch. It’s the way he’s looking at me.

He’s glowering.

Like he hates me.

If John senses this man’s disdain for me, he doesn’t say anything. “This is one of my partners, Justin Whitaker.”

Standing, I slip my hand into the suit’s palm. He curls his fingers around mine and gives me a gentle shake. “I’m Dakota,” I say, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. It’s soft and shaky, timid sounding, and I know it’s because that’s the way I feel on the inside, too.

Justin releases me and takes a step backward, then the other man moves forward. But he doesn’t extend his hand to me. Instead, he grunts his name, and I know that my expression looks just as confused as I feel when I hear it.

“Name’s Bullet.”

“Pardon?” I ask.

“Bullet,” he repeats, though enunciating better, and obviously pissed about having to do so.

“Oh,” I breathe. “It’s nice to meet both of you,” I say.

Justin grins, but Bullet snorts.

Okay. Bullet clearly doesn’t like me or want anything at all to do with me, which is really too bad because he’s absolutely gorgeous, even when he looks at me like he wants to strangle me and leave me for dead.

“Dakota wanted to talk to you both, perhaps even meet the others who were in business with Nathan. Perhaps you can schedule a lunch or something so she can ask questions.”

“Yeah, I got some questions,” Bullet growls.

I give him a smile, unsure of what else to do, but when I lived in the commune and people would get angry about one thing or another, we were always taught that smiling and keeping a positive attitude would eventually end the dispute. That it would make the person feel more at ease. So, I try to implement that, but I’m not sure this man could ever be put in a good mood.

“We were just heading out to lunch. Would you like to join us?” Justin asks.

Turning to him, I aim my smile in his direction. He returns it, but only slightly. Shifting my attention over to John, I ask him if there is anything else for me to do.

He shakes his head and holds out a large manila envelope for me. “We can schedule to meet again in a few days to finalize some paperwork. But this has the keys to the house and the bike. You can go and look at it any time you like. It’s uninhabited.”

Thanking him, I take the envelope and hold it to my chest before I turn to face the other men. Neither of them is giving off friendly vibes, although Justin’s are closer to what I would consider friendly. Bullet is giving off kill-you-and-bury-you-in-the-backwoods vibes.

Regardless, I give them both a bright and shiny smile, all teeth, before I speak. “I would love to go to lunch with you both.”

I’m met with a grunt and a snort, which I assume is about all I’m going to get in excitement terms and ask them where we’re going. Justin tells me the name of a restaurant and says it’s in downtown Thunder Rock. I’m sure that’s supposed to mean something to me, but since the only places I’ve been to are here and the motel, it doesn’t.

Justin climbs into a really fancy pickup truck, and Bullet climbs onto the motorcycle that was parked out front when I arrived here. I follow them in my rental car and wonder if I’m really going to find anything out at all about my father from them.

I’m going to try.

I have to at least try.

BULLET

As I ride toward the Thunder Tavern, I try as hard as I can to not think about the bitch who is following behind me and the little fact that I want to fuck her. Bad. Pulling into the front of the tavern, I stay on my bike. Ivy parks beside me, but my gaze is on the little black sedan that swings out wide and parks about five spaces down. She cannot drive at fucking all. It’s actually scary.

“That girl is going to be trouble,” Ivy mutters.

Throwing my leg over the side of my bike, I step up onto the sidewalk and stand beside him. “How?” I ask. “She seems fuckin’ clueless.”

He snorts, which causes my attention to shift from her car to face him. “What?” I ask.

“She’s clueless, but, brother, you are clued in.”

I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck that means when I feel her presence beside me. I expect her to still be clutching the envelope, but she isn’t. I want to see the contents of the envelope. What exactly did Shade give her?

“Ready?” Justin calls out.

Jerking my chin, I follow behind him as he makes his way toward the front door. Taking it from him, I watch as he walks through. Then, my eyes find Dakota, and I watch her as she moves. With each step she takes, I realize that, sure, she’s sexy as fuck, but she doesn’t know it.

She doesn’t walk with the confidence and purpose that other women do. She’s timid. Shy. She’s the exact opposite of any woman I’ve ever been attracted to. I go for women who know what the fuck they want and how the fuck they want it. I like bold and strong. I want her to take what she wants the way she needs it.

I have a feeling that Dakota wouldn’t know what to do with anything if I had her naked in my bed. And that thought causes my dick to twitch. Because I’m pretty sure I would have to teach her everything, and I’ve never had to be a teacher before.

I’m not sure I would hate that.

In fact, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t suck in the slightest to teach Dakota a damn thing… especially naked.

We don’t have to wait for a table at the Tavern even though they are packed for lunch. Instead, we’re taken back to a table that is essentially the Vicious Reapers’ reserved-at-all-times table.

Sinking down onto the bench cushion, I slide over until I’m completely against the window. Justin sits beside me, though we spread our thighs and take up the entirety of the bench. Dakota has no choice but to sit alone across from us.

This is strategic.

This is us focused on her and trying to figure out what the actual fuck is going on here and what her purpose is. It no doubt feels like us ganging up on her because that’s exactly what we’re doing.

A waitress comes over, slowly turning to look at her. I give her a wink. Her cheeks flush pink as she sets down two beers then turns to Dakota and clears her throat but doesn’t actually speak to her. I’m sure she is wondering who the fuck she is because none of us have ever brought a woman in here before—or anywhere for that matter, except a bed… sometimes a bathroom stall, sometimes a pool table, whatever is available, but out to eat a meal? Never.

“Can I just have a glass of water, please?” Dakota asks.

“Sure,” the waitress mutters before she turns and walks away.

I expect Dakota to complain about her being rude, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks down at her menu, then shifts her gaze to meet mine, but quickly slides it over to Justin’s before she speaks.

“What’s good here?”

Justin swallows, then leans back in the seat. “They have a good salmon salad,” he offers.

Chick food.

Dakota nods a couple of times. “That sounds good,” she murmurs.

A couple minutes later, we’ve all ordered. I ask for my usual, which is a bourbon-glazed burger with Swiss cheese and onion rings, along with a hefty pile of bacon, and for my side, a German potato salad.

Justin ordered his usual as well, which is a turkey, Swiss, avocado, and bacon wrap with a side of sweet potato wedges that have been baked and not fried. He’s much healthier than me, although anyone could guess that by our pants sizes.

I don’t eat to live. I live to eat.

I get enough physical activity that it hasn’t affected me too much, so until it does, I’m going to continue having a good fucking time and avoiding all salads. And speaking of salad, Dakota orders a salmon salad… with no dressing.

None.

I blink at the sight of her fork stabbing into the lettuce and watch in abject horror as she brings it to her lips without an ounce of flavor on it, just plain iceberg lettuce.

“You part rabbit?” I ask. The first words I’ve really spoken to her.

Her eyes widen as she chews. “No,” she whispers.

“You eat lettuce with nothin’ on it?”

She shrugs. “When I grew up, we didn’t have dressing unless it was a special occasion, so I guess I’m just used to it.”

And there is my in.

“So, where are you from, then?” I ask, but it’s not really a question as much as it is a demand for an answer.