Dakota: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Infernal Names MC)

by Naomi West

  “Don’t you need that?” I asked.

  “Maybe, but if we take a spill, I’d rather you be the one with a helmet than me.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling a little overwhelmed by his words.

  I strapped the helmet on as Dakota climbed onto the bike. With a quick rev, the engine growled to life.

  “I’m doing all the hard stuff,” he said. “All you have to do is hang on and not get too wiggly back there.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  I straddled the seat, the vibrations from the engine immediately getting me going between my legs. My eyes widened at bit at just how … exciting it was. And the excitement only grew as I wrapped my arms around Dakota’s solid body.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready,” I said.

  He revved the engine and we were off. Dakota peeled down the road quickly, the wind rushing through my hair. I kept my arms wrapped around his body, savoring how good he felt and how seductive his scent was.

  Dakota was different—no doubt about that. I thought back to all the horror stories Mom had told me about bikers, how they were like savages, beasts dressed in leather. Dakota wasn’t. He was intelligent, empathetic, and actually seemed to give a damn about me. Part of me was upset that he was about to drop me off at home, back to my old life. I almost wanted him to drive on, no destination in mind, just the two of us.

  More thoughts flowed into my mind as we drove—dirtier thoughts. Between his body pressed against mine and the magic the vibration of the engine was working on me, I found myself getting very, very turned-on. I began to imagine what he’d look like with that shirt off his body, how his handsome face would appear in the throes of pleasure as he was on top of me, pumping away.

  I’d never felt like this for a man before. Like everything else about this strange new world, it was scary and thrilling all at the same time.

  We drove on, making our way to the highway, getting out of Sherman as quickly as his bike would take us. As we approached the turnoff for the highway, however, Dakota spotted something up ahead.

  It was two men, both dressed in denim and leather. They looked like members of the Infernal Names, but … different. Harder, rougher, like men you wouldn’t want to be around if you didn’t have to.

  “Shit,” he said, his voice cutting through the roar of the engine.

  “What is it?”

  “Those guys up there,” he said over his shoulder.

  “What about them?”

  “They’re … not my people. And they’re not supposed to be here.”

  “Okay,” I said, now feeling unsure. “Can’t we just drive past them?”

  He shook his head.

  “I … I want to,” he said. “But I can’t. They’re members of the Nine Hells, this other motorcycle club in the area. And this isn’t their turf.”

  I was beginning to feel uneasy.

  “Then can you call your other guys?” I asked. “Call them and tell them?”

  “No,” he said, his voice sharp. “It’s not like that. They’re trespassing, and they know what they’re doing. If I drive past them and do nothing and it gets back to the rest of the Names … It’ll be bad.”

  His tone was strange, almost apologetic—as if he knew that he was going to have to do something that he didn’t want to.

  “I don’t want to get involved,” I said.

  “I’m not asking you to,” he quickly responded. “I want the opposite, actually—for you to stay out of the way.”

  “What … what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” he said. “Just … stay out of the way.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, Dakota pulled the bike over to the side of the road and parked. He killed the engine, an eerie silence filling the air.

  “Over there,” he said, pointing to a dumpster. “Hang out there, and stay out of sight.”

  I was too stunned to say anything. With a nod, I climbed off the bike and hurried off to where he’d pointed.

  There was a crack between the wall of the building and the dumpster, and I watched Dakota carefully as he approached the two men.

  “Yo!” called out Dakota, getting the attention of the other bikers. “What’s the story here?”

  My eyes flicked over to the other men.

  “Not any of your fucking business, Dakota,” said another.

  They knew who he was. Tension built in my gut. Dakota’s shoulders were squared back, and with that simple change of his posture, he shifted into a mean-looking thug who appeared ready for a fight.

  It was … scary—no other word for it.

  “You’re on my crew’s turf,” he said. “So that makes it my fucking business.”

  “Whatever,” said the other man. “Why don’t you just piss off back to your crew? We’re not doing anything.”

  “I’ll repeat myself,” said Dakota. “Since you’re having trouble getting it through your fucking heads—you’re on my turf. Now, if you don’t want any trouble, I suggest you get the fuck out of here before things get bad for you both.”

  There was something different about the way Dakota spoke, too. Not only the swear words and the threats, but there was a deepness to his voice, an authority.

  “Dumbass,” said the first man. “There’s two of us and one of you—what the hell you think you’re gonna do?”

  “Keep testing me and you’ll find out.”

  Something bad was going to happen—I could feel it in the air. The three men stared each other down for several long seconds, as if each was waiting for the other to make the first move.

  “Man,” said the first guy. “We don’t have time for this shit. Let’s ice this dumb motherfucker.”

  Then it happened. With incredible speed, Dakota closed the distance between him and the man who’d just spoken. He raised his fist into the air and brought it down like a hammer onto the man’s face, a crack sounding out as he struck him.

  “Ah, fuck!” shouted the man, his hands shooting to his face as bright red blood streamed down from his nose. He staggered backward, but Dakota didn’t give him a second to recover. Dakota rushed in and delivered two hard punches to his stomach, sending him collapsing to the ground in a wheezing heap.

  The other man watched the events unfold with a shocked expression on his face, his eyes wide and his mouth slacked open. Dakota took advantage of the situation, flying over to him with the same incredible speed and driving another fist right into the man’s face. The second man recovered from the blow quickly, pulling a knife out of his pocket and flicking it open.

  The blade caught the sunlight and shone with a metallic glint. I covered my mouth, holding back a scream. Things were about to get even more violent—I could feel it.

  The man raised the blade and swiped it through the air. Dakota was too fast for him, however, and the strike connected with nothing. The full weight of his attack must’ve been behind the blow, as he stumbled when he missed. Dakota then lunged in and grabbed his arm, twisting it in an unnatural direction, the dull crack of a broken bone sounding through the air.

  “Oh my God,” I said softly to myself.

  But Dakota wasn’t done. The knife dropped from the man’s hand and hit the ground with a clatter. Dakota, now seeming to know that the fight was nearly over, picked the blade up and, with a quick jab, drove it into the man’s leg.

  Another howl of pain filled the air. The man fell to the pavement next to his friend, the two of them shifting and writhing in agony.

  And Dakota had been the one to do it to them. Panic took hold of me. The feeling of safety that Dakota had instilled in me before vanished, replaced with fear at knowing what sort of violence he was capable of. It was a horrible glimpse into a world I’d been treating like some kind of game.

  With a snap, I undid the strap of my helmet and let it drop to the ground. Then I took off running, having no idea where I was headed, only that I needed to be far, far away.

  11


  Dakota

  I spent hours driving around the neighborhood looking for her. Not a trace was to be found, however—aside from the abandoned helmet, that is.

  It hadn’t taken me much thinking to figure out what had happened. Hazel had seen the violence, gotten scared, and run off. I wasn’t angry at her for it—it was to be expected with a girl like her—but I at the very least wanted to make sure she was safe.

  If any of the Nine Hells were still in the area and had seen that I was with her, they wouldn’t waste any time in scooping her up. But she was gone. I figured she must’ve called a taxi and hightailed it out of the neighborhood.

  At least, that’s what I hoped. She was a smart girl, and doing that was exactly what a smart girl would do.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out. It was a text from Sand, one of Suntree’s lieutenants. I’d sent word back to Suntree after the fight about what had happened, and now he wanted to have a meeting about it—and now.

  Shit. So much for trying to figure out where Hazel had gone off to.

  I hopped on my bike and did one more slow pass around the area, hoping against hope that I’d spot her. But nothing. Not a trace, just like before.

  I let out a frustrated sigh as I turned my bike in the direction of the bar where the meeting was being held. Along with Hazel, the men I’d wrecked had fled too, having called for help and scurried into the back of some car that’d come to get them. I could only imagine what was going on with the Nine Hells right about now.

  I spent the drive to the bar thinking about nothing but Hazel. God, the fucking girl was beautiful. Gorgeous blonde hair, stunning blue eyes, and a figure to kill for. And her innocence only made her more stunning. She was totally different than the types of girls usually around this scene. How she had reacted to the violence only proved that.

  But she was gone—nothing to be done about that. As much as I would’ve liked to get to know her better, I took some comfort in the fact that she was back home, back with her college texts and her study dates and all that other crap that her world was made up of. And it was for the better, no doubt about that.

  Didn’t mean I didn’t already miss her though.

  Rows of bikes were parked in front of the rundown dive bar. I pulled my ride into an open spot, the gravel of the parking lot crackling underneath my wheels as I slowed down. A few other Names were out front, puffing on cigarettes, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

  “What’s the word, boys?” I asked as I approached.

  “There he is,” said Mikey, the Name on the left. “The man of the fucking hour.”

  “Shit,” I said. “That bad in there?”

  “Don’t know if ‘bad’ is the right word,” said Mace, the other guy. “But you’re definitely the subject of conversation.”

  “Not sure what to make of that,” I said. “Who’s heading this meeting up? Jay Jay?”

  “Nope,” said Mikey. “You told Suntree, and he’s keeping this to himself as far as I can tell.”

  “I swear,” I said. “Suntree’s going to tear this crew apart if he keeps acting like the old-timers are some other separate thing.”

  “Maybe that’s for the best, you know?” said Mace. “Maybe it’s time for this crew to split. We’re barely staying together as it stands.”

  “Yeah,” said Mikey. “And if Suntree starts some shit with the Hells because of all this without talking to the old guard …”

  He didn’t need to say any more. I took a long breath and let it out.

  “Shit,” I said. “Might as well get this over with.”

  The guys nodded.

  “After you, bud,” said Mace.

  I opened the door and stepped into the place, Mikey and Mace following close behind. Despite it being early afternoon, the bar was as dark as a tomb. Rock music played on a jukebox, and the smell of cigarettes and cheap beer was in the air. The normal clientele had been shooed out; a few dozen of the Names were already seated, beers in front of nearly all of them.

  And in the center of the crowd, as usual, was Suntree. A big, beaming smile formed on his face as I stepped in.

  “There he is!” he said, his palms opened up towards me. “The little fucking scraper himself.”

  The eyes of every man in that room locked onto me. It didn’t make me nervous, but I didn’t care for the attention. I nodded at Suntree and prepared to take a seat.

  “No, no,” he said. “I’m not letting you sit this one out. Come up here and let me get a look at you.”

  That was the last thing I wanted. When I’d schooled the two Hells, I’d done it because it was my duty, not because I wanted some kind of kudos.

  “Got word from our source in the Hells,” said Suntree. “Word is you took those boys out without a scratch.”

  Then his eyes flicked down to my arm. With a slow, fluid motion, he took hold of it by the wrist and turned it over.

  “Well, maybe not so much of a scratch,” he said.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  I had no idea what he was talking about. But then I looked down at my arm and saw that on the underside of my forearm there was a long, red gash. It was clean and neat, like the cut from a blade. I realized then that one of the Hells must’ve nicked me during the fight, and between the adrenaline from the scrap and the frantic search for Hazel afterwards, I hadn’t even noticed.

  “Oh shit,” I said.

  Laughs broke out from the men, and a smirk formed on my face.

  “Now that’s the kind of man I want in my ranks,” said Suntree. “The kind of badass soldier who gets his arm sliced open like a Christmas ham and doesn’t even notice.”

  He was exaggerating—the wound was barely surface level. But the nods of the guys in the crowd made it clear they were fine with his rhetoric.

  “Now,” said Suntree. “Dakota, buddy. Why don’t you tell these guys what you told me earlier?”

  Fuck. If there was one thing I hated, it was public speaking. Again, not because I was shy or any shit like that, but because I was a solider. Theatrics and rhetoric weren’t really my thing.

  But not getting out of it. I cleared my throat and spoke.

  “I was driving near the turnoff for the highway, off of Laramie and 31st. Spotted a couple of Nine Hells low-level guys just fucking around, taking up space on our turf. I told them to get the fuck out of there, but they didn’t seem to be in a listening mood. They stepped up, so I put them down.”

  “That you did,” said Suntree. “And you did the right thing. They’re testing us, wanting to see what our reaction to a trespass like that would be.”

  He extended his hand to an empty seat in the front.

  “Thanks, Dakota,” he said. “Take a seat, and I’ll be speaking with you when I’m done.”

  I nodded and sat down. The guys around me greeted me with eager backslaps as they tried to get a look at my war wound.

  Suntree went into his usual soaring speaking, seizing the men’s attention as he spoke of a potential war with the Hells. And the guys hung on his every word. It was so fucking weird to me that this bizarre hippie-biker hybrid would have such cachet in the crew, but he did. And it was about to tear our club in two.

  When the speech was done, the men were good and fired up. Suntree left us with standing orders to take out any Hells we saw. That meant it was only a matter of time before war broke out, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  The guys broke up, going back to their beers and pool and conversation, war on all of their lips. But true to his word, Suntree wasn’t done with me. He made eye contact with me and flicked his head towards the back room of the bar. A few of his lieutenants formed up at his sides and disappeared in the back.

  And they wanted me to join them. Looked to me like my desire to be just one of the soldiers wasn’t to last.

  I made my way to the back, grabbing a shot of whiskey as I crossed the bar. Once I’d traveled down the narrow, dark halls of the back section of the bar, I soon arrived at t
he open door to Suntree’s office. It was a large space, with strangely nice furniture, all black leather.

  “Dakota, there you are,” said Suntree from where he sat on the top of his desk, his legs crossed. “Come on in, and give that door a shut behind you.”

  I nodded and did as he asked. The lieutenants were seated, and I took my place among them.

  “We were just talking about you, Dakota,” he said. “Talking about your role in the Names. And your future.”

  “That right?” I asked. “Good things, I hope.”

  “Very good things,” said Suntree with a smile. “That is, if good things are what you want.”

  “Depends on what you mean by that,” I said. “Not really a fan of agreeing to things before I know exactly what I’m agreeing to.”

  “Smart man,” said Suntree. “That must be why they call you ‘Prof.’”

  “Among other reasons,” I said.

  The eyes of all the lieutenants were on me, their faces hard. It was like they were waiting for me to screw up and say something out of line.

  “You’re sharp,” said Suntree. “No doubt about that. And your actions today proved that you’re not just smart—you’re bold.”

  He nodded his head at my arm, saying without words for me to show him my wound.

  “Not too bad,” I said. “Looks worse than it is.”

  “Now, don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “Sure, you’re still standing, but you went toe to toe with a pair of Infernal Hells. Didn’t even call for backup or anything.”

  “Figured that if I waited, they would’ve gotten away. And if they’d gotten away, they’d have run right back to their crew and let them know how they were able to hang out on our turf without so much as a dirty look.”

  “Smart kid,” said Shears, one of the lieutenants.

  “That’s right,” said Suntree. “Smart kid. Really thinking things through. That’s what I like to see in my leaders.”

  “I’m no leader,” I said.

  “For now,” said Suntree with a knowing glint in his eye. “But you keep playing it smart …”

  He shook his head, as if focusing back on the matter at hand.