HANDS OFF MY BRIDE

by Claire St. Rose

  She walked into the kitchen and, like the rest of the house, it was surprisingly clean, only a few cups and a bowl in the sink. There was a coffee pot next to the sink and Dakota quickly made herself some, filling the kitchen with coffee’s heavenly scent. Taking a purple cup from a cabinet, she stepped out in Adam’s backyard. Like most of the houses in this neighborhood, his backyard was just a cement slab, but it was larger than most. Adam had constructed a sort of work shed in the back yard. It was made up of unfinished two by fours of wood expertly crafted into a large working desk with several drawers and shelves and roof over it, with plastic sheeting that could be pulled down when it rained. There was what Dakota assumed were an engine and a carburetor on the bench both in various states of either being put together, or taken apart.

  “Hey,” she heard a soft voice say from the doorway.

  She turned and there was Adam, shirtless, wearing only a loose pair of sweatpants. He was leaning against the doorjamb, the rays of light playing along the muscles of his chest. Dakota smiled, knowing he was showing off for her, but she didn’t mind. She could have looked at him all day. “Did you build this?” she asked, gesturing to the shed.

  “That? Yeah, it way easy,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Dakota looked at the open air-tool shed he had built. She didn’t know anyone who could make something like this, certainly no one who would call it easy. Every man she knew would have hired a contractor and still found some way to take the credit for it.

  “Now this,” he said, stepping outside, barefoot just like she was. “This is hard,” he said, holding up the smaller piece.

  “Carburetor?” she guessed.

  “How did you know?”

  “That’s always what people are working on. Carburetors and engines, and even I know that’s too small to be an engine.”

  “Correct, this is from a 1960 Ford Custom State Patrol Car. I found an old one at the dump and pulled some parts out. Collectors pay big money for pieces like this, but they have to work, so I took it apart, cleaned it, fixed it, and put it back together. But it was rusted together, hell of a job.” He gingerly placed the carburetor back down on his tool bench.

  “Don’t you worry about leaving it out like this? Aren’t you worried someone will steal it?” Dakota asked.

  “People know me in this neighborhood, and no one steals from me.” The confidence in his voice sent shivers down Dakota’s spine. Adam needed no bodyguard or security company; he didn’t need to make vague threats about people “he knew;” he was the person that people knew not to mess with. His persona alone kept thieves at bay.

  Adam walked towards her and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up and gently pressing his lips to hers. Dakota smiled and sighed as the kiss broke. She put her coffee down on the table and allowed herself to fall into him. She rested her head against his chest and felt his hands come up and wrap around her, pulling her in close. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in his chest and she closed her eyes and let herself by hypnotized by it.

  His body pressed against hers was nothing but muscle. Toned abs and strong arms, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He was like a tank made flesh and blood, something strong and resilient that could withstand anything. Dakota knew so few people like that. The wealthy of the city were constantly in some sort of crisis. They needed therapy and medication and weeks away from their pampered lives. None of them would ever live like this, in a perfect little house with a tool shed outback. They would surround themselves with expensive things and then worry about them constantly.

  Dakota knew she was different. She could live perfectly happy in this house. Maybe she could start a little garden where she could prune plants while Adam took things apart and fixed them. She could be a normal woman who got up and went to work every day. She could do it if she knew Adam would be there at night when she got home.

  “We said we would go to the police first thing in the morning,” he reminded her.

  “I wanted you to get some sleep. Last night was a late night,” Dakota answered. She was so comfortable and happy. She was fantasizing about a different life she knew she could never have. She wanted the fantasy to last just a little longer. She wanted to be free of a world that had assassins and required bodyguards.

  “For you, too,”

  “Yes, but I don’t have to run a successful night club, so I can afford to lose some sleep.” He smiled at that. “I would also like to go to my apartment and put on some pants,” Dakota said, looking down at her bare legs.

  “Fair enough,” Adam said.

  Two hours later they were both fully dressed and sitting in an ill-lit, cement block room, one usually reserved for interrogating suspects. In the large mirror set back against the wall Dakota looked at her own reflection next to Adam and then felt his hand gently squeeze her leg. They had told Detective Evans everything that had happened in the garage and now the woman was sitting across from them, her hands folded in front of her, thinking.

  “So, you heard about this through Twitter?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but the account’s been deleted. It was obviously someone pretending to be a friend,” Dakota said.

  “And this Andre person. You think he’s trustworthy?” She asked Adam.

  “I don’t know, honestly. I don’t think we can really trust anyone at the moment. But someone is still after Dakota, that much we know.”

  “Do we, though?” the detective asked. “We know you were lured to a location under false pretenses and someone there had a gun and a single shot was fired. It is possible that the person there thought you were someone else, or felt they were in danger.”

  “But we were led there,” Dakota answered.

  “Could have been a prank, could have a member of the paparazzi trying to get a one on one. Look, I’m not trying to discredit you. But I have a man in custody, a man who has confessed to everything, to trying to kill two members of the Kane family. I need more than this to officially reopen the investigation. This stays between us, but busting Martin was good publicity for the police department, and I am aware that Mr. Mendel did most of the work there. If we reopen this case, the media is going to be all over it, it’s going to make my boss look bad, and he is not in the business of looking bad. I’m not saying no, but I need some detail beyond a stranger in a parking who may have tried to attack you, and the word of a known drug dealer.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. The detective was clear in what she needed, but Dakota didn’t have anything to give her. All she had was the fear from last night, the memory of hiding behind a cement partition and praying that the stranger didn’t see her. She could still taste the fear in her mouth; her jaw still ached from holding back tears. She had heard that man’s footsteps. He hand been hunting them; she was sure of it, but how could she prove it?

  “I will officially advise you to continue to seek protection through Mr. Mendel and Scarred Angels. This all might just be residual shockwaves working their way through the community. The Kanes are a well-known family, this has been a huge media event, and people want to capitalize on that. You might just be on a few more radars than you previously were. My advice is to keep your head down and hope this all blows over. I will bring this to my boss and talk about reopening the case. And, if we’re being honest, Miss Kane, one phone call from you to the mayor or the chief and you can probably get whatever you wanted.”

  Dakota looked at the detective, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to have to ask for favors or push her monetary weight around. But she could no longer pretend that nothing was happening, that she was safe, and that the danger was all in her head. She needed to do something. She needed to figure out what was going on. If the police cared more about looking good than actually helping, Dakota would have to take matters into her own hands.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Adam held his cellphone out for Dakota. “Call the mayor, or the chief of police, whoever you’ve given more money to,” he said. They were outside
the precinct; it was a beautiful, sunny day, a stark contrast to the dark night before and the dank police interrogation room.

  “No, I can’t,” Dakota said.

  “Why not!?” Adam demanded, letting the phone drop and staring at her. Why was she so stubborn? Why wouldn’t she let anyone help her?

  “Because I can’t order the police around. If I do, my case takes priority over someone who doesn’t have any money. And what if I’m wrong? What if it was just another guy in the garage? How would that look if I diverted police resources for it?

  “Why do you care so much how things look?” Adam demanded. It was crazy to him that she would put people’s opinions of her over her own safety. There was no question that someone had tried to attack her the other night, both he and Dakota knew it, so why wouldn’t she do what needed to be done?

  “Because when I make a mistake, it’s international news. I just received a condolence card from the Sultan of Brunei!” Dakota yelled, and then her voice quieted, “We don’t use our money to tell the government what to do; that’s not how my father raised me. We support politicians who agree with us, within the bounds of the law, but that’s all. I know it seems stupid and prideful, but I can’t do it, not yet.”

  “All right,” Adam said. She was right, he had to give her that. Her selfless nature wasn’t just something she used for good press; it was a part of her. Even if it led to her death, she couldn’t let it go. Adam, however, was not so prideful, he would do whatever he needed to in order to protect her. “Then I guess I’m going to talk with the Soul Stealers.”

  “Fine, but I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Adam said firmly. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “If it’s that dangerous, you shouldn’t go either.”

  “Dakota, please,” Adam begged. “I’m not implying anything about you. I know you’re tough and strong and resilient, but this is different. These guys, they’re an element you’ve never dealt with before. They’re dangerous, cruel, and mean. They only care about your family name for the price it will get them.”

  “So what’s your plan, then? To just march into their headquarters and demand answers?” Adam opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t find the words. He didn’t have a plan, but if he did, it would have looked a lot like the one Dakota had just described. “Seriously?” Dakota demanded, “How is that not dangerous?”

  “Fine, we’ll think of a better plan, but I don’t want anyone to know about your involvement, just me. I’ll tell them I’ve picked up the case again.”

  “I’ll call the lawyer and have them resend the contract,” Dakota said. “You are actually working for me; it’s only fair that you get paid.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest, considering our history?” Adam asked.

  “Let’s think of it less as a conflict of interest, and more as an extra incentive,” she said reaching out and taking his hand with hers.

  Adam was always surprised when Dakota reached out to him. She was so lovely, and so kind, and so above him. It was like a swan reaching out to a crow. Adam knew he didn’t deserve her, but he certainly wasn’t going to push her away. Her accepted her hand and squeezed it in his.

  “That guy, Andre, you said he liked money, right? I have a lot of money, more than enough to buy the info we need.”

  “He might not have the information we need,” Adam said.

  “Then he can at least tell us who gave him the information. It’ll be a trail we can follow.”

  Adam looked at her, her ideas weren’t bad, but they were dangerous. She was so innocent, she had no idea what hid in the shadows and lurked under the stairs. Monsters and demons were real. Adam met them; hell, he had worked for them. Not that he had ever told Dakota, but now she wanted to get involved. She wanted to meet and question his underworld contacts. What happens when she finds out? he wondered. What happens when she learns what I’ve done in the past?

  “Can you hear me?” Adam asked the empty table around him. The lights above him flashed once for yes and he settled back into the booth stirring his drink. In the end, Adam and Dakota had sorted out a compromise: Adam would talk to Andre in the booth his phone on in his front pocket so Dakota and Joey could hear everything. The phone was on mute, so any noise Dakota made wouldn’t come through and tip Andre off that someone was listening.

  He looked up at the large two-way mirror that lined the west-facing side of Scarred Angels. He reminded himself that no matter what happened she would be safe up there. The steel doors were locked and it would take a rocket launcher to get inside. He could imagine her up there, sitting in front of the light and sound controller, biting her lip from worry. She had promised that, no matter what, she would stay up there, and Adam could only pray she would keep her word.

  Adam had told Andre to meet him at one, so it was no real surprise when Andre swaggered in at one thirty. Dressed in a red tracksuit and spotless, bright white shoes Andre joined Adam in the booth. There was a forty dollar glass of scotch waiting for him, and Andre took a strong sip as he settled in.

  “So, you pick that Kane contract back up?” Andre asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about me. I want to know who gave you the information about the Soul Stealers.”

  “That information was a grand the other night, but the price has only gone up.”

  “Well, I paid you five hundred of that grand already, so let’s remember to knock that off the asking price.” Adam knew that all this negotiating over a few hundred dollars must have been driving Dakota mad. If she were here, she would have thrown the money down on the table and demanded answers, but Adam knew better. This was a dance. Andre trusted no one, not even Adam. So he needed to do this delicately. He needed to keep Andre happy. He needed to get the information without Andre having an incentive to tell the other side that someone was sniffing around. He needed to know who had ordered the hit and get to that person before anyone else could.

  “Five grand.”

  “For what?” Adam demanded, rolling his eyes.

  “For the name of the guy who told me about the Soul Stealers job.”

  “So, this guy isn’t in the Soul Stealers?” Adam asked. “If he were a member, he never would have talked and you wouldn’t have told me. So, you only have a name; that guy has all the real information.”

  “Yeah, well, without me telling you the name, you’re stuck,” Andre said, taking another sip of his drink, “so why don’t you call the Kanes and have them route through their couch cushions to find the money, we both know they have it.”

  “I’ll give you two for it, which is a good deal since the other day you would have told me for one.”

  “Yeah, but as I told you then, that was a one-time offer. Time has passed; the offer has changed.”

  “I’m not giving you five thousand dollars for a name. But I will give you two. That’s a lot of money for a couple of words.”

  “Three, and we’ll have a deal.”

  Adam pretended to think about it. He ran his hands over the table and let a concerned look cross his face. He waited an uncomfortable amount of time, but Andre didn’t care. The other man stared straight at Adam, patient and waiting. “Fine, three. But if the name doesn’t pan out, you owe me for that money.”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

  “And you know that this is my club, you and yours skip the line and get in for free, and that kind of access can be revoked.”

  “This ain’t the only club in the city.”

  “But it is the best one.”

  Andre smiled and said, “The info’s good. I heard from the guy himself. His name is Lance Declor. He used to work at the shipyard, but it didn’t appeal to him. He’s been bouncing around town working here and there, but nobody likes or trusts him enough to bring him on the crew full time.”

  “Nor should they, considering what he told you,” Adam said.

  Andre scoffed in agreement and continued, “He lives with his mom on Second
Street, but he can normally be found at the Black Mark, you know that bar?”

  Adam nodded. He had drank at the Black Mark before. It was a workingman’s bar, cheap beer and they didn’t sell food, so smoking was allowed. Adam had stopped going when he quit the temptation had been too strong.

  “He’s a tall, skinny guy, over six foot, with shaggy brown hair, and a fucking mermaid tattoo on his right arm. My advice, just sit down next to him and shoot the shit, guy can’t keep his mouth shut. He’ll start talking and you can take it from there.” Andre said.

  “Thanks for the info,” Adam said, “your money’ll be at the door.”