We were both quiet for a long time. Finally, Jake said, "I don't know what to do, Dakota. I can't ask you to trust me. But please know I never, never want to hurt you. The thought of anyone hurting you makes my insides curl in anger. The idea that it could be me? Fuck. I’d never live with myself."
He lifted my head and wiped my tears with the backs of his fingers. "So what do we do now, babe?"
I grabbed his jaw again. "I'm not going anywhere. I love you. I want you. I want to be in your life. I want to be yours forever. I trust you."
"I don't deserve it."
"You don’t have a choice, Bad Boy." I pulled him close and kissed him. After a moment, he deepened the kiss and leaned forward, pressing me down to the bed. I threaded my fingers into his hair and held him to me as our tongues danced.
Jake pulled back after a few minutes and looked down at me. He just looked, saying nothing, his azure eyes serious and deep. Finally, I asked, "Tell me, Jake."
He nuzzled my cheek. "I love you so damn much, Dakota. I want to give you the best life. I want to take care of you. I want to make you happy. I want to be the kind of man you deserve."
I caressed his face, tracing my fingers over the curves of his cheeks, the little stubble over his jaw, the lush swell of his lower lip, the straight line of his nose, the heavy ridge of his brow. Then I said, "A life with you is the best life. You do take care of me." I smiled. "Sometimes more care than I'm ready for, in fact. Loving you makes me happy. And you are the only man I want, so you are the man I deserve."
I took hold of his chin and peered into his eyes. "Trust me enough to know that's all true. Trust my love, Jake. Let me love you. Let me be strong for you. Let me be the woman you deserve."
"Dakota…" He dropped his head, resting quietly for a moment in the crook of my shoulder. I wrapped my arms across his back and held him. Then I felt his lips against my collarbone, kissing and sucking. He kissed along out to the end of my shoulder and back, then up my neck, across my jaw, to my lips. He stopped and just looked at me again, and in his eyes I could see.
We were on the same side again, where we belonged, with the whole world feeling as if it had contracted to a point. I didn't need to hear another word from him to know he was with me now, and I bit my lip as his warm fingers slid tortuously down the column of my neck and down along my body, highlighting the flesh with a string of unending, unrelenting sparks.
Later that night, we both fell into our dreams and with ease, tied in each other's promises.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake
I wiped my face with my discarded t-shirt and sat down. I needed a break. It was only the end of April, and it wasn't even noon, but already the weather was hot. We were working in Dakota's garden. She'd decided she wanted to create a new little nook back here, and I'd volunteered to put in the stone path to it. It was hot, backbreaking work, but we were together, and I loved the intimacy of gardening with her, working on what had become our home, even though I hadn't yet officially moved in.
I didn't think the garden would ever really be ours, but that was okay. It seemed more obviously an extension of Dakota than any other space. I was still amazed by what she'd made back here. The yard was large, much deeper than wide, but even so it seemed impossible that so much could be going on.
She had a good-size herb and vegetable garden. An archery range. A little gazebo built for two. A fountain. And meandering paths to all of that plus several private little nooks, each with a bench or chair. Everything was rimmed or filled or draped with flowers. Back here, it was possible to forget that she had neighbors, that there was a world at all beyond these leafy borders. It was breathtaking. Dakota said she felt it was magical. I’d agree. I’d never let the guys know I could feel like this about something. They’d beat me.
I was sitting on a stone bench and my eyes followed Dakota as she worked. She was turning over soil for the new flowerbed. She was wearing ratty, yard-work clothes–tattered cutoffs and a faded, almost transparent old sleeveless t-shirt–but she still managed to look seriously sexy. She had worked up a sweat. She had her hair caught up in a messy knot on the back of her head, and lots of strands had come loose to stick to her face and neck. The muscles in her arms and shoulders and legs were glistening. Her shirt was clinging to her. Her cutoffs were really short, and I could see the swell of her ass every time she leaned into the shovel.
Things had been really good between us–maybe better than ever–since San Diego. After we'd gotten back home, I'd opened up a lot about Ellie. It was the first time I'd ever talked in detail to anyone about my decision to send Ellie away, and in talking it out with Dakota I'd come to understand it more myself. I was still sure I'd made the right choice. There was just too much risk and upheaval in my life, and I wanted better for my child.
But in talking to Dakota I'd come to understand that I'd been living in a kind of parental limbo since we'd gone, feeling guilty even though I felt it was the right choice, and afraid to even think about my kid too much and have to deal with the guilt. Dakota was right. In a lot of ways I was better off, too, because I didn't have to worry that Ellie might get caught in the crossfire. With Marie, Ellie had a consistency that I could never have provided her. And Marie loved Ellie. She hated me, but she loved Ellie. She was in loving hands.
And, honestly, I didn't know how to be a father. I hadn't had a chance to learn how. Finally facing that gave me a chance to come to terms with it.
Though it was one of the first things I loved about her, I thought maybe Dakota's reluctance to pry, her willingness to leave me to my secrets, wasn't always such a great thing. She accepted me and respected my privacy, and she just assumed I would tell her what she needed to know. But my habit was introspection. I didn't really know how or what or when to disclose anything. So we'd fallen into a pattern in which we came up against some huge obstacle before I'd be able to talk about my past. It worried me.
Dakota was much the same. She didn't disclose much, either, except under duress. But she didn't have the monsters in her closet that I did. Her secrets didn't lurk in dark corners, lying in wait for her the way mine did for me. It made me sick to think that I'd threatened her. More than once.
Since San Diego, though, I thought all the big monsters had been chased away. Tina, my kid, my life with the Fire Birds, all of that was in the open now. It helped me a lot to have someone who was on my side, and only my side, to talk to about it all, someone who could handle what I had to talk about. It helped me even more to know that she still didn't judge me or fear me, that she loved me for exactly who I was. I'd never known real unconditional love before. Learning to trust--that was a long road.
"Hey, slacker. I thought you were going to help me back here." I roused from my musings to find Dakota standing next to me, smiling, leaning on her shovel. I hooked a finger into one of her belt loops and pulled her between my legs. She dropped the shovel.
"It’s your fault. You shouldn’t be so damn sexy." I ran my hands over her hips and up under her shorts to cup her ass and squeeze.
"You were like a thousand miles away. Everything okay?"
I lifted the hem of her shirt and kissed her firm, flat belly. She tasted of earth and sweat and the sweetly musky flavor that was just her. I ran my tongue across her taut skin, tasting her fully. "Everything is good, baby." I undid her shorts.
She chuckled, low and sexy, and wiggled her hips to let the tattered denim drop to the ground. No underwear. I opened my jeans with one hand and pulled myself free. She kicked off her garden clogs, slid her work gloves off, and put her hands on my shoulders, balancing herself as she straddled me, her legs over the back of the bench. I held myself steady while she settled on me, sliding down my shaft. She shivered a little and closed her eyes when she was fully seated.
She flexed her hips, and I groaned. "Oh, babe." I ran my hands up her thighs and around to her ass, clutching her close. I leaned in and suckled her collarbone, savoring the salty tang of her. She wove her fingers i
nto my hair. Then she started to move.
It was a while before we returned to work.
***
We headed to the clubhouse in the late afternoon. The guys were playing poker, which meant that the women were expected to cook. I knew that, theoretically, Dakota minded the expectation, but I also knew that, practically, she liked to cook, she liked the guys' hearty appreciation of her cooking, and she liked hanging out here. Usually, she made a little fuss, just for show, and then allowed herself to enjoy it.
She also liked to play poker, but, again, she was willing to concede that she'd shown these guys up enough on their turf. She'd come over and sit on my lap and watch for awhile every now and then, but she didn't ask to play. Dakota and I would play poker together, alone. It often involved stripping.
I felt Dakota's hands on my shoulders. "Okay, boys. You ready to eat after this hand?"
Before she finished her sentence, Mickey, who'd been at the bar and had happened to look up at the security monitor, yelled, "Weston!" We all heard the squeal of tires as a van careened onto the lot.
We leapt up from the poker table just as a storm of automatic gunfire strafed the clubhouse. Dakota! I spun around, grabbed her, and dropped to the floor, covering her with my body, holding her down. The gunfire kept going, strafing back and forth, tearing through the windows and tearing apart the room. I pulled my gun out of its holster. "Stay down, babe. Please stay down. Don’t go all terminator just yet."
I got to my hands and knees and crawled towards the door, bullets and glass raining around me. I heard Dakota yell, "Jake, no!" But I kept going.
I crawled up to Dixon, and we came up into squats just as the gunfire subsided. We stood up and ran to the door. Dixon yanked the door open and we burst out just as the van was turning around and screeching away.
A line of us fired into the van. As it made a sharp turn out of the compound, a body fell out the open side door. Immediately, we all sprinted to the body and pulled it into the compound. We ripped his shirt off to check his ink. Heros Clan... What the fuck?
Fucking goddamn cartel shit. Raining bullets on our loved ones. Again. The Heros Clan were the archenemy of the Drago Cartel. But how were the Fire Birds involved? First Locos and now the Heros Clan. What the fuck was going on? I turned to look at Weston. There was something he was hiding. I could feel it in my gut, but I didn’t have time to think more on the thought.
Sirens. Fucking great.
I ran back into the clubhouse to check on Dakota. She was already helping with the clean up. She didn't look hurt. Thankfully, despite the destruction, it looked like no one had gotten hurt, though Tiffany was circulating to check everyone out. Then Dakota turned around, and I saw that her sleeve was soaked with blood.
I ran to her. "Dakota!" I gently took her arm. "You're hurt. Let me see. Jesus, they fucking shot you!"
She pulled her arm away. "No, Jake. I'm okay. I just got cut by some flying glass. Tiffany's going to fix me all up. You're okay, right?"
I kissed her. "I'm fine. Not a scratch."
"Christ. That was some scary shit."
"I know, babe. I'm sorry." I wrapped her in my arms, being careful of her wound, and held her tight. She hugged me back with her good arm. Tiffany gestured at me to bring Dakota. "Tiffany wants you." I led her over.
Tiffany had her sit on a table and lifted her arm. "I need you to take your shirt off so I can get to the wound."
I looked around at all the guys and shook my head. Dakota smiled and said, "Just cut the sleeve away, Tiffany. Shirt's ruined anyway."
Dixon called over, "Jake! They want your statement. Is she okay?"
I wasn't leaving until Dakota was seen to. "Yeah. I'll be there in a minute." Dixon nodded and went back out.
Tiffany pulled Dakota's sleeve off. She had a bloody gash across her upper arm. My heart raced. I knew it wasn't bad, she'd be fine–she was fine–but still, she'd been hurt on my watch.
Tiffany handed me a thick padding of gauze. "I need to flush the wound, make sure there's no glass fragments in it. Hold this on her arm, right under it." I did, and Tiffany used a big syringe and squeezed some kind of liquid into the cut. It bubbled in the open wound. Dakota hissed but held still. "Fuck me. That's unpleasant."
The gauze I was holding soaked red. I took a deep breath. Blood didn't bother me, which was a very good thing, considering my life. But I was having a lot of trouble watching Dakota bleed.
Tiffany prodded carefully at the wound with a long tweezers. Dakota's eyes were closed, and I could tell by the thin line of her lips that all of this was painful, but she was still and stoic.
Tiffany put the tweezers down. "Okay. It's clean, and it doesn't look too bad, actually. It's not super deep. I want to suture it up so you don't end up with much of a scar, though."
"All righty." Dakota looked at me. "Jake, you look a little pale. Go ahead and talk to the cops. I'm in good hands here."
I stood indecisively for a second, until Dakota raised her eyebrows and gestured towards the door. "Scoot," she said. I smiled a little, tossed the bloody gauze I was still holding onto Tiffany's pile of medical waste, kissed Dakota on the forehead, and went outside.
Giving a statement doesn't take long when you have no intention of telling the cops anything, but I stood with the rest of the guys afterward and talked vaguely about what had happened. We wouldn't talk with any clarity or specificity until after the compound was clear. And that would be hours, so Weston called Lock for the morning.
When I went back in, Tiffany was taping a bandage to Dakota's arm. "If you behave yourself and take it easy on your workouts, we can take those out in about a week, and hopefully you won't have a scar at all in no time." She looked at me. "Watch her, Jake. Don't let her do something stupid and pull her sutures."
I laughed. "You assume I have any control over the terminator, Tiffany. You know better than that."
Dakota coughed. "Sitting right here, people. Sitting right here." She jumped off the table. "Can we go home now?"
"Yeah. Let's get out of here." I stopped. "You going to be okay to ride with me?"
"As long as you don't plan to lay your bike down and drag my arm over the pavement, I'll be fine. Let's go."
She held onto me with only her good arm, so I took the ride easy. I got her home and led her inside. I could tell she was getting impatient with my attention, but I could also see that her arm was hurting, so I didn't care much about her impatience.
She went to change out of her bloody clothes and wash up. I started to follow, but she turned and leveled a pointed look at me, so I stopped and let her handle that on her own. I called from the kitchen, "You want to watch TV or a movie or something?"
"Sounds good. Whatever you want. Would you get me a drink, though? Tequila, maybe?"
"Absolutely." I poured us both a couple of deep glasses and went to wait for her in the living room.
We'd rearranged the room a bit, so that there was a clear sightline from the couch to the TV. Dakota had had it arranged like a single person, so that there was only one chair–what I now knew to be her Eames chair–with a good sightline. We didn't watch a lot of TV, but it was one of my favorite things. A quiet evening, Dakota curled up with me on the couch, a couple of drinks, a fire when the weather was cool. No matter how nuts things were outside this house, I was always able to find some ease inside it, especially when we were just normal like this.
She came into the room, dressed in one of my t-shirts. As far as I could tell, that was all. She settled next to me on the couch, her legs curled under. I handed her a drink and put my arm around her. She settled against my side. We settled in for the evening. I could feel my body relax, as if dimmer switches were being turned down all over me.
About an hour in, I noticed that Dakota was a little fidgety, moving her hurt arm around gingerly. I paused the movie we were watching. "You okay, babe?"
"Yeah. The Novocain or whatever Tiffany shot me up with has worn off, I guess. It's not the cut that hurt
s so much as all the little holes she poked in me sewing it up. I'm fine, though. Just feeling a little whiny."
"Can I do anything?"
"Nope. Just be here with me. All I need. Well, and maybe some more tequila." I kissed her on the cheek and went to refill our glasses.
When we started another movie, Dakota had finished her second glass of tequila and was lying with her head in my lap. Fifteen minutes into the movie, I looked down to find her sleeping. I turned the volume down low and stayed put, not disturbing her. I didn't really watch any more of the movie, though. I watched her sleep and thought about things.
Here in the calm of the living room, Dakota in my lap, I could think about what had happened. I'd forced back the stress and panic I'd felt having her in the middle of yet another attack on the gang. But she was asleep now, and I was calmer, and I needed to think.
I just didn't know how to keep her safe. The clubhouse was supposed to be safe. Hell, Shadowbeach was supposed to be safe. Loved ones and innocents had always been off limits in the various scuffles and turf wars we'd had with other gangs. The cartel shit that had unexpectedly crapped all over our world was changing all the rules.
I knew how she felt about my need to protect her, but I didn't know how not to need it. I loved her. I wanted her in my life. My life was violent. I wanted to protect her from that. I couldn't. There wasn't a place in that equation for her to be safe and me to be calm. It was exhausting.
I thought about what Pops had said earlier in the year: That whether or not I was in her life, I couldn't control her safety. I knew that was true. I knew it was how Dakota felt, too. I just didn't know how to make myself believe it. Seeing her bleed today–because of me, because of the fucking gang–that was hard. Thank fuck she wasn't badly hurt. I didn't know what I'd do if she ever were–or, God, if something worse fucking happened.
Beauty and the Bad Boy Page 18
