Dark thoughts like these weren’t helpful, but they were impossible to avoid after the shit show of her last relationship. The professor had been a jealous lover as well, which made perfect sense in retrospect because he’d been the most unfaithful of them all. Bo could very well be the same.
Dakota slumped into a chair by the kitchen door, stabbing at her takeout box. The door swung open, startling her out of her thoughts. Turbo entered, sniffing the air.
“Whatcha make?”
She glanced up at him, smiling a little. He was one of her favorites. The guy who’d bought her the oil paint starter set, because she might like it. Like her ruffian older brother. “Just heated up some leftovers. What’s up with you? I thought you’d be out with the guys.”
“Bo told you about the mission?” Turbo eased into the chair across from her at the small folding card table, a beer in his hand.
She shrugged, chewing on a mouthful of slippery noodles. “Not much. Just that he had to go with you guys. I thought it was a bad idea though.”
Turbo nodded. “Yeah. Same here. He’s wanted by Demon Seed, in a huge way.”
Dakota frowned, forking at her leftovers to find the perfect next bite. “But why? I don’t get it. Seems like these guys like to cause trouble for no reason.”
“Trust me, they do like to start shit for no reason. But they’re after Bo because…”
Dakota creased her brow. “What? Tell me.”
Turbo hesitated, searching her face. “He took out their president.”
Dakota’s gaze dropped to her takeout box and she stared at the peas in her food for far too long. “Why did he do that?”
“Street rules.” Turbo took a swig of beer, his gaze heavy on her. “That’s all I can say.”
“Why? You think I won’t understand?” She scoffed into her takeout box.
“No. It’s just this is club business. I can’t give you all the details. That’s not how it works.”
Dakota chewed another bite, avoiding Turbo’s gaze. She didn’t want to betray the anger swirling inside her, the way her belly had tightened up like a vice at the news. So Bo kills people all the damn time. The guy at Ink Works wasn’t the first.
Deception lashed through her. What an idiot she was to think that she knew this guy at all. To fall for him without getting the full story. This wasn’t okay—it would never be okay. Unless she wanted to cavort with murderers, which was absurd.
“Seems like you guys have a lot of beef with people.” She tried to keep the comment light before she shoved more noodles into her mouth, but her voice shook, betraying the anger.
“Yeah, well, recently, it’s been a little touchy.” Turbo took another swig of his beer. “It’s not always like this.”
But even if it’s not always like this…it will be like this again. It might get better, but it will also get worse.
Dakota forced a smile, scooping the last few bites into her mouth. She crumpled takeout box into the trash and washed her fork. “I gotta get to bed. I’m wiped.”
“All right, Dakota. Catch you tomorrow.”
She smiled at Turbo before she pushed through the swinging door into the main area. Across the room on the pool table, guys were doing body shots off a couple half-dressed Blonde Angels. Dakota sighed, heading straight for the hallway, eager to shut herself into the quiet sanctuary of Bo’s bedroom.
One more chance to bathe in his scent…to get lost in the quiet wonder of Bo’s embrace, even while he was out on a mission. Because this would be the last time. It had to be.
There was no way in hell she could hang around a killer, someone who invited drama like Demon Seed into his life with any amount of frequency.
He never told you that he was the one who started this fight. He acted like there was no reason for Demon Seed to be after him. Now you know the truth.
Inside the bedroom, she looked at her few things strewn about the room. Outside in the main area was her tattoo equipment, which could be shuffled into her bag easily enough. Because right now, the goal was to slip out without raising any eyebrows.
She reached for her phone, dialing Red’s number for the first time in a long time. Red picked up on the second ring. “H’lo?”
“Red…I need your help.” She swallowed a tight knot in her throat. “I need you to come pick me up at the clubhouse.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Bo and his crew of four had been staked out for over an hour, crouched and rigid still in the shadows of a commercial complex a few miles from the clubhouse. This was Burning Angels territory, but apparently Demon Seed had moved into this abandoned building just a few days ago, trying to push up on the Angels.
All that remained was to confirm the breach of territory. To spot someone, or their emblem. They wouldn’t retaliate today—no, they needed their full force behind them and a solid game plan. But if Demon Seed was cooking up something sinister in this warehouse in the meantime, Bo and his brothers had to know about it.
A light flipped on in the recesses of the warehouse, the first sign of life since they’d arrived. One utility van had been parked near the garage door since they’d gotten there. Bo and the crew had come in their own utility black, painted matte black, which they’d parked about two blocks away just to be sure.
Bo gestured for the others to follow him. They crept up to the side of the warehouse, dry weeds that had pushed up through the concrete crunching underfoot. They gathered beneath the window. Bo slid up along the wall silently, peeking inside.
The window looked into a small, cinderblock room, but through an open door he could see the main portion of the warehouse. The light came from somewhere in there.
Bo crouched down against the side of the building. “No signs of anyone. The light’s coming from deeper inside.” His voice came out a whisper—the place looked mostly deserted, but there was no telling who else might be here. Or what they were using the warehouse for.
Time crawled by, the four of them pressed against the wall of the building. Bo peeked through the window a few more times; exactly nothing had changed. He jerked his head toward the back of the building, and they scrambled to conduct an incognito sweep of the perimeter. No other windows showed signs of life. Question marks sprang to life inside Bo, but he squashed them. Just had to get through the surveillance and then make it back to the clubhouse safe.
Dakota passed through his mind more times than he cared to admit. It was like she’d become his secret talisman to be looked at whenever tension or anxiety streaked through him.
At the other side of the building there was a dark window. Bo peered through it, but saw nothing. He nodded to the brothers and they crept forward, heading toward the front of the warehouse. Bo led the way past the utility van, pointing at the license plate. Butch paused to take a quick picture of it while Bo and the rest continued on. As they headed for the gate, stealthy creeping turning into confident walking, floodlights snapped on.
Bo froze, looking back at Butch, the floodlight illuminating him in stark clarity. Bo gestured for him to hurry and Butch bolted. Their footsteps crunched over the gravel as they broke into a run, heading for the front gates leading to the street.
Over the crunching of their feet Bo heard some voices, and then gunshots rang out. Pum. Pum. Pum. A bullet whizzed past his ear, maybe taking off a microlayer of his hoodie. Bo’s heart leapt into his throat and he ran harder, eyes focused on the gate like willing it to reach out and grab him. Shouts rang out and doors slammed. Bo looked back, finding his three brothers behind him running like hell—and the utility van’s tail lights flashing.
The four of them broke through the gates onto the quiet street, footsteps thudding against the concrete sidewalk. Their van was too far away—they’d never make it there undetected, and they didn’t want to lead the Demon Seed thugs to their getaway car, anyway. He pushed himself as hard as he could, scanning the road for a hiding spot. The van would be pulling out of the warehouse lot any second. They had to act fast.
Bo ran to th
e end of the block and hugged the corner, screeching to a stop. His brothers stopped with him and they crouched in the shadows of the corner, breathing heavily.
“They fuckin’ got me,” Butch said, his voice ragged. He clutched at his side, pain contorted in pain. “Shit hit deep.”
“Fuck.” Bo squinted as tires squealed; the van hurtled down the road, engine revving. His plan had been to crouch while the van blazed past, trying to follow them as though they’d kept running, and then bolt the other way. The van sped down the road, away from them, apparently still hunting for them.
Bo relaxed a little as he watched the tail lights grow smaller. Outwitting the idiots hadn’t been so hard after all.
“Let’s get to the van,” Bo said, jerking his head toward the street. At the very least the pursuing van had gone in the opposite direction of their own parking spot—but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be circling back soon, on the hunt.
The four of them picked up a brisk run, Butch lagging, clutching at a dark stained spot on his shirt. Bo ran as fast as he could, the van in sight. He nearly shouted with relief once his hand touched the handle of the driver’s side, yanking the door open, hopping inside and unlocking the doors.
One by the one the rest of the crew piled in—first Marty, then Tank, then Butch, who was wheezing at this point. The doors slid shut and the silence in the van was punctuated only by their heavy breathing. Butch groaned.
“We gotta get back,” Marty said, pushing up the shirt to inspect the wound. Blood oozed from the bullet wound. “This one is bad.”
Bo started the engine, heart racing as he scanned the area for anything suspicious before pulling out of the spot. He gunned it, eager to get out of this neighborhood and back to the clubhouse. Being out in the open air again was nice, but also made him feel like he had a target over his head, especially if the guys hunting them really were Demon Seed.
Dakota’s worries rang in his head; he could practically hear her saying ‘I told you so’ the second he got back. And in a way, he wanted her to say that—it made him feel warm and fuzzy. Knowing that she cared for him was a relief, because it meant their feelings were mutual.
Bo drove as fast as he could, racing through a couple stop signs and red lights to get back to the clubhouse in record time. Marty kept pressure on Butch’s wound as they wove through traffic. Butch only groaned once when they hit a pothole.
Bo finally relaxed once they burst through the gates of the clubhouse, the van screeching to a stop under the garage overhang. Marty and Tank helped Butch out of the van, and Bo held the door for them as they shuffled inside.
Music pulsed quietly from the stereo, but only a few people remained awake. They’d been gone longer than he expected—the wall clock read five a.m. A few Angels lay passed out on couches, the smell of beer hanging in the air.
“Take him to the sanctuary,” Bo commanded, rushing ahead to hold open the doors. Marty and Tank laid Butch on the sturdy wooden table.
“I don’t know if I can get it out,” Marty said, glancing nervously between Butch and Bo. “It’s really deep.”
“Try.” Bo rummaged through the shelves, looking for their bullet wound first aid kit. He grabbed it and a regular aid kit and pushed them across the table. “Tank, go get the alcohol.”
Tank nodded and hurried out of the room. Bo held Butch’s wrist against the table, looking him in the eye.
“We can get this one out, right buddy?”
Butch nodded, but his eyes were dazed, not focusing well. His voice was weak and distant instead of its usual rumble. “Sure thing.”
Marty got to work sterilizing the wound. Tank came back, holding a bottle of rum. Bo nodded toward Butch and Tank went straight to him, uncapping the bottle, holding it up to Butch’s mouth.
“Say when.” Tank drizzled rum into Butch’s mouth until he gagged. Droplets of rum sprayed through the air.
“When,” Butch croaked out a second later.
Marty held up the forceps, which he’d just sterilized. “Here goes nothing.” Grimacing, he plunged the forceps into the bullet wound. Butch tensed and then groaned, his voice strangled and raw. Bo held onto his wrists with all his might, unable to look away from Marty’s pseudo-surgical procedure. Marty poked and prodded, Butch’s groans growing more haunting, until Marty’s eyes lit up.
“I feel it.” Marty poked his tongue out between his lips, and then gasped. “I got it!”
Bo gritted his teeth, clamping down harder on Butch’s wrist as Marty extracted the bullet. He held it up in the air, the tiny missile glistening in blood and bodily fluids. His laugh sounded somewhere between shock and delight. “This is it!”
Butch groaned. “Gimme some more of that rum.”
Tank fed him the rum as requested and Bo relaxed his grip. “You can sew him up, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve got that.” Marty waved it off like it Bo had asked him whether or not he could spell. “Cakewalk from here.”
Bo nodded, surveying the scene, his panic receding into the background, like a fog disappearing in the morning sun. “Awesome. I’m gonna go check on Dakota. I’ll be back in a bit.”
He slapped Tank’s back on his way out of the sanctuary, stepping over a few errant beer bottles on his way to the bedroom. As he reached for the doorknob, he noticed the gnarly streaks of blood coating his hands. He couldn’t climb into bed with Dakota looking like that. The ‘I told you do’ would be even bigger, and she might never let him touch her again.
He headed for the bathroom, sizing himself up in the mirror as he scrubbed his hands in scalding hot water. A streak of blood had made it to his cheek, as well. He rinsed his face off, dropped his black hoodie into the laundry basket, and then headed back into the bedroom.
Tiredness clawed at him, made him eager to slip into the warm bed with his sleeping lover. He grinned as he turned the knob, already imagining the soft lines of her face as she slept. Dakota was a part of life he could get used to…even though it meant confronting the ugly parts squirreled away deep inside him. She would be worth it. He could already tell.
The darkness of the bedroom greeted him, the covers an inscrutable mess on the bed. Her scent hung in the air, mingling pleasantly with the familiar smell of his bedroom. It was another proof that the two of the mixed together perfectly. Unlike past lovers whose perfumes and smells made him eager to bathe after sex, stinging his nostrils like a chemical.
Bo slipped out of his jeans and socks, tugging his plain white t-shirt over his head. He eased into the bed slowly, trying not to disturb her. The comforters felt strangely cold, so he burrowed into them, reaching for her body.
His palm met the cool surface of his sheets. He pushed himself up onto an elbow, groping the darkness, fingers searching for her warmth.
Nothing.
He swallowed a knot of anxiety that had lodged itself into his throat and swept his hands back and forth over the bed. No Dakota. He leapt out of bed and flicked the lights on.
In the glaring brightness of the room, Dakota was nowhere to be found. He tore the covers off the bed for good measure—like there was a possibliy she might have been hiding at the bottom of a bed like a child—and checked on the other side of the room. He stormed into the bathroom—no one. He stood in the middle of his bedroom, surveying the unnerving absence of another person, when he realized her suitcase was gone too.
“Fuck.” He grabbed for his phone on the night stand, barely able to see past the haze of desperation. Something might have happened to her. Maybe she’d gone out for something, to get a bite to eat, with one of the guys, and never come back. Turbo had been on duty last night—maybe he had some information.
He dialed her number, pressing the phone to his ear. The line went straight to voicemail. He called three more times, and the same thing happened each time. Not even a ring. Her phone was off.
Bo set the phone down, tugging his pants on hastily. Turbo had to know. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation to all of this.
>
He burst out of his bedroom, heading for Turbo’s room down the hall. He knocked softly then pushed the door open, poking his head in. “Turbo? It’s Bo.”
There was a grunt, and then Turbo’s groggy voice. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Dakota?”
The rustling of bedcovers, followed by, “What?”
“I can’t find Dakota. She’s gone. Was she here last night with you?”
Turbo yawned, then sniffed. “Um…yeah. Yeah she was. I sat with her in the kitchen while she ate dinner.”
“Did she mention anything about leaving?”
“No, dude. Nothing at all. I thought she was just gonna hang out and call it an early night.”
Bo pinched his eyes shut. “She’s gone, and her phone’s off.”
HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY Page 27
