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 the 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.”
“Ask some of the other guys out front. They might have seen her. I didn’t hang around long after we talked.”
Bo nodded. “Thanks, brother.” He shut the door quietly and headed for the front lounge, where music still pulsed quietly. The sounds of Marty and Butch in the sanctuary reached him, their voices quiet murmurs.
Bo headed for Jerry, who was passed out on the couch. He grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, shaking him awake. His bright blue eyes popped open, confusion knitting across his face. His curly brown hair was bordered on afro after his stint on the couch.
“Hey. You seen Dakota?”
Jerry blinked up at him, like he might not be sure if this was a dream. “Who?”
“Dakota. The girl who did your tattoo yesterday.” He shook him, to jostle him out of his stupor. “You hung out here last night. Was she around?”
“Bo, nothing happened, I swear. I don’t even remember—”
Bo tightened his grip on his collar. “She’s gone. Did you see her last night?”
Jerry relaxed a little, brow furrowing. “Uh…no. Not really. I was mostly hanging with the Angels last night. Doing shots n’ stuff.”
“Who else was here?”
Jerry sat up a little, gesturing to the girls on the couches across the room. “All of them. A few of the guys left. Turbo was here for a while, but not long.”
Bo released him and stormed across the room, eyes on Nance. She’d carried a flame for him for too damn long, and if anyone kept an eye on Dakota, it would be her, though not for the right reasons. Bo had made the mistake of hooking up with her a few times last year, and she’d stuck like glue ever since.
“Nance. Wake up.” He gently shook her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, clarity searing across her face. She sat up, clearing her throat.
“Bo. What can I do for you?”
“Where’s Dakota?”
She deflated slightly, like maybe she’d been hoping for something a bit more intimate in the early morning hours. “How should I know?”
“You were hanging out here all night.” He searched her face for an answer. “Did you see her?”
“Yeah. She left around midnight I think.”
Dread slunk through his insides. He hadn’t considered the fact that maybe she’d left on her own accord. “What? By herself?”
“Yeah. She had a backpack and whatever. Didn’t say nothin’, just left.”
Bo sat back onto his heels, the news rioting through him. “Nobody tried to stop her?”
“Why would they try to stop her?” She bunched the pillow beneath her head. “After the scene you made yesterday.”
He rubbed at his face. She was right. Nobody would have dared even blink in her direction after what happened with Jerry and his buddies.
“Thanks. Go back to sleep.” He stood and headed for the kitchen, using the bright space and the hum of the fridge as a way to calm his careening mind. He sat tense at the table, wondering what to do next. Where would she go? What had driven her to leave in the first place?
Bo tugged his phone out of his pocket, scrambling to dial Red’s number. It rang and rang and rang—and the finally she picked up, sounded sleepy.
“Hello?”
“Red. Have you seen Dakota?”
There was a pause. “Bo, is this you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Dakota’s gone. Have you seen her? I’m fucking worried sick.”
Another pause. “Do you even know what time it is? I’ve been sleeping since ten last night, dude. I have no idea where she is. Did something happen?”
Desperation cinched his insides, stole his breath. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. She disappeared while I was out on a mission. Some of the guys around here said they saw her leave. Alone.”
“Bo, I’m sorry, but I have no idea. I’ll call her when I wake up. I’m sure she just went home or something. That clubhouse gets intense, you know how it is.”
Her words did little to calm him. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to find even an ounce of her reassurance somewhere inside him. “Yeah. Call me the second you hear from her. I gotta know what happened to her.”
“Sure, Bo. I wouldn’t worry. Just get some sleep.”
They hung up and Bo propped his elbows on his knees, staring at the 70’s block pattern of the linoleum. Sleep wouldn’t come; not for a long while. His mind was way too hopped up to even consider going to bed.
He had to find out what happened to Dakota…why she’d left. Why she’d changed her mind.
Because the cavity in his chest threatened to crack into an abyss if he didn’t get those answers.