Bo awoke with a start. Sleep since Dakota left had been spotty and plagued with nightmares, most of which involved being lost in the creepiest mazes, with the vague sensation that Dakota was waiting for him at the end.
He groaned, rolling onto his side, still wishing her warm body were next to his. She’d been gone for three days and his desperation only grew. He just wanted to hear from her—just to know that she was okay.
She doesn’t want to be with you. You gotta accept that.
But it was a damn bitter pill to swallow, and he kept retching it up no matter how hard he fought to keep the idea down. This wasn’t the end of their story. He knew it, somehow, like it was a secret burned into his bones. Dakota wasn’t out of his life. He just had no idea how to get back to her.
Bo pushed out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Against all his brothers’ wishes, he was making daily trips to Ink Works and Dakota’s apartment, just to check on Red and see if Dakota had shown up. Each visit brought no news, but maybe today would be different. Day four of waiting for her to show up might be different than days one through three.
Call him an optimist, but Bo was holding out for some good news.
After a quick piss and shower, Bo dressed for a good day: black slacks, a spiky silver belt, and a black-and-gray checked button-up that fit nicely under a black vest, which also hid his shoulder holster.
He spent a few moments playing with his hair, smoothing it into something Dakota might like. They always looked good together, but when they both got dolled up they might as well be celebrities walking the red carpet. Maybe she’d see that and remember.
At this point, he’d try anything if meant he might have a shot at Dakota again.
Bo checked his phone—11:30—and headed toward the front of the clubhouse. Turbo and Marty sat on a couch near the pool table, deep in conversation.
Bo clapped both of them on the shoulders as he walked past. “I’m heading out. I’ll be back soon.”
“Boss…” Turbo started.
“It’ll be quick.” Bo headed for the front door before they could give him any shit. Each day it was the same: lay low. Don’t get spotted. And for fuck’s sake, come back alive. He’d do his best, but he couldn’t sit around in the clubhouse twiddling his thumbs while Dakota floated around somewhere.
He swung his leg over the shiny black seat of his bike, sliding a pair of Aviator sunglasses on. She had to be with Red. The knowledge ate at him. Where else would she go? He wouldn’t beg, and he wouldn’t barge in. Red was at least covering for her; maybe she wasn’t at her apartment, but Red had to know where she’d gone. And Bo would press until it came out of her.
The ride to the tattoo studio was bright and bustling, the sun inspiring a little hope that Red might have some information for him. When he pulled into Inkworks parking lot, Red’s familiar beat-up, faded red escort was already there.
He parked his bike next to her car, setting his helmet inside the back bag before strutting inside. Cool, slightly-incensed air greeted him, a smell that felt like home, and he went to the counter.
Red bent over paperwork inside the small front office. She jumped when Bo knocked on the countertop.
“Jesus, Bo. I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“You busy?”
She cleared her throat, pushing away her papers. “Not right now, no. Just on my lunch break.”
“Any word from Dakota?”
Red narrowed her eyes. “Bo, I told you I’d let you know if I heard anything.”
“Well, it’s been too damn long. You’re the closest friend she’s got around here. You have to know something.”
Red sighed wearily, but Bo didn’t feel bad, not for a second. She had to know he’d be pestering her first.
“Have you tried calling her?”
Bo scoffed. “Of course. I call her every damn day. I’ve called her seventy times since she bolted.”
Red shrugged. “Me too. And girlfriend isn’t answering. I don’t know what to tell you.”
Bo paused, rubbing a thumb over his gritty knuckles. “Things good around here?”
“As good as they can be, I guess.” Red let a bitter laugh. “Sure wish Dakota would come back, though. That’s for damn sure.”
A heavy silence fell between them and Bo steeled his jaw, the paralyzing confusion of Dakota’s whereabouts settling back into him. If Red didn’t know anything…then she really had fucking left. And that would be even more devastating.
“Listen, Red.” He lowered his voice, feeling the desperation return. “Me and Dakota…we had a really intense thing. I’m coming around because I miss her. But I also want to protect her. She’s a target too in all of this.”
Red’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘a target’?”
“When they popped Tony, it was at her apartment. She’s marked now, alongside me. If you’ve been keeping her at your place without telling me…” Bo sighed. “You should know that she’s not a safe girl to have around right now. They’re lookin’ for me, and they’re lookin’ for her.”
Red paled a little, jerking her gaze down to the countertop. Tense silence hung between them, teetering on uncomfortable. Bo didn’t know Red enough to spot her guilty tells, but she certainly didn’t look comfortable with what he was saying.
“That’s all I’m saying,” Bo said. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because you’re helping a friend, you know?”
Red shuffled through some papers, avoiding his gaze. The front doorbell rang as someone came in. Bo jerked around to see who it was—an unknown customer. Red flushed and stood, adjusting her high ponytail.
“Listen, Bo. I’ll tell you the second I hear anything, okay?” She seared him with a look, but couldn’t see past the green cloudiness in her eyes. “I promise. Now I’ve got a client.”
Bo pushed away from the counter, nodding at the newcomer. He’d been dismissed, so it was time to move along. Which meant he’d take a drive to Dakota’s apartment, check out the empty shell of her home which still lay half-open and broken just like they’d left it, and then he’d ride on back to the clubhouse, to spend the rest of his day stewing and hoping.
Dakota, where the fuck are you? Just let me know you’re okay.
Bo’s belly knotted into a sick knot as he swung a leg over his bike. As much as it seemed she had to be around somewhere…he might have lost her for good.
He zoomed out of the parking lot with a tight knot in his throat.
***
Dakota sighed, crumpling another piece of paper from her sketchbook. Four days in captivity in Red’s apartment and she was losing her mind. Hiding out and laying low for a while had seemed like a good idea, until it became rapidly apparent that she either had to face the music with Bo or just fester and rot in Red’s apartment to avoid him for the rest of her life.
And somehow, the latter was a better option. At least for now.
Dakota grunted as she began a new sketch. Lines flowed from the tip of her pencil, elegant curves that moved into strange jagged angles. The sketches from the last four days were haunting, edged with something. Her repressed desire for Bo, no doubt. Each day that passed without him made the whole thing feel like a mistake.
But if she stepped out of hiding now…what would she even say to him? Somehow it was worse to admit she’d been a coward and bailed. Especially now that Bo had made it his daily ritual to go the Ink Works and check on her whereabouts.
It was sickening, actually. Sickeningly sweet. The bad boy biker had fallen for her.
And you fell for him too.
Dakota’s pencil stilled and she gritted her teeth. “Had” was the key word. She had fallen, but could now un-fall. If only she could stay out of his line of sight a little while longer.
Even if she might go crazy inside Red’s apartment and need to be admitted to a hospital simply due to her own brute stubbornness.
Her phone dinged with a new text. She picked it up—from Red. “Girl, Bo just came in again. He made it sound like you’re in a lot of trouble. What is going on?? Call me when you can.”
Ice coated her belly and she re-read the text as many times as she could stand. Yeah, she was in trouble all right. Trouble that all stemmed from Bo. This exact fear had been gnawing at her since showing up at Red’s apartment, and every day she wondered if hiding out here would endanger Red. The same way Bo had endangered her.
She tapped out a quick response. “Nobody knows I’m here. I’ll explain when you get home.”
That was the best she could do. Explain how she’d been unwittingly ensnared in Bo’s circle of violence. Nobody was after her really—they just wanted Bo. Which was why she had to distance herself from him, immediately.
Everything will be fine. You’ll see.
Despite the calm rationalization and the supportive words, the knot in her belly wouldn’t uncinch, not for anything. Even though Bo was the source of the problems…he was also the solution. And that was some confusing shit to make sense of.
Dakota pushed away the sketchbook. She’d drawn until she went cross-eyed most days, and had watched enough movies to consider herself an amateur movie critic. What else remained? Eat herself into a coma?
She went over to the window, pushing aside the curtain to look out at the bright day, reflected tantalizingly in the bleak asphalt parking lot surrounding Red’s building. Even the cracked black surface there inspired nostalgia. Four days in her apartment. Some people went a lifetime in solitary confinement. This was the sort of stuff that pushed people to insanity.
So she wasn’t happy being cooped up, and the only alternative was to make her return into public. And if that didn’t please her, the other option remained: just leave.
Except she couldn’t. For some reason, the mere thought made her insides squinch up, like she’d eaten something disgusting. Leave again…and do what? Running away from an unsavory situation with a man for a second time in a row would be even a bigger failure. And that might be the only thing worse than finding the courage to face Bo.
Dakota sighed, going into the kitchen. She’d get a head start on lunch, as a way to take her mind off things. Cooking up a fun meal was one of the few options she had during her strange, self-imposed lockdown at Red’s. And damnit, she’d made the best of it.
She rummaged through the cabinets, looking for the strangest ingredients available. Why not make it really strange…really outside her culinary comfort zone? She found a forgotten box of jasmine rice in the cupboard, and snagged a hunk of ginger in the fridge. Yeah, this could really shape up. She reached for her phone, humming while she did a quick search for recipes, to see what else she might be able to combine for a truly fascinating lunch.
While she scrolled through her phone, a light knock sounded. She froze, eyes darting to the door. Had that been Red’s apartment. She blinked, waiting for it to sound again. It could have been the neighbor. Or maybe from outside. Or maybe in her head.
Knock knock knock. Dakota swallowed, tongue sticking to her throat, and set her phone down. That was definitely Red’s door. She tip-toed toward the door, measuring her breaths while she leaned to peek out the peephole.
It took her a second to silently align herself without touching the door or grunting with effort, but when she did, her breath evaporated in her throat.
Ray was outside.
She straightened, panic slicing her in two. Ray shouldn’t be here. It would make no sense for him to be here. He always went to the studio when he needed to talk to Red, and since Tony’s death, well…there was no business anymore with Red.
Unless there is, and you don’t know it, and he’s just stopping by for some reason, and…
She stepped quietly away from the door, grimacing as she struggled not to elicit a creak or groan from the floor. She wasn’t opening that door, not in a million years. Ray or not, nobody could know she was here. But just the sight of him caused a sinuous anxiety to bloom, something that made her limbs heavy and sweaty on sight. Not a good sign. She paused in the kitchen, looking at the few ingredients she’d placed on the countertops. She had to wait for him to go, just in case he overheard a chopping knife or scraping pot or anything that might alert him that someone inside avoided him.
Dakota headed for the back room—she’d wait it out on her bed, listen to music, try to ease the sense of dread that had filled her the second she looked out the peephole. On her way to the bedroom, the front door jiggled, and then the door swung open.
Her mouth fell open and she ran for the bedroom, heart leaping into her throat. Panic made her wobbly and blind but she darted into the bedroom, half-closing the door behind her, and tried to sneak into the closet as quietly as she could.
Heavy footsteps fell in the main area of the apartment. She grimaced as she squeezed into the closet, doing her best not to jangle the metal hangers or stub her toe against the wall. She crouched down into the dark space on the other side of the closet, eyes pinched shut as she awaited the outcome to the most horrible game of hide-and-seek she’d never wanted to be a part of.
“Dakota?” Ray’s voice sounded foreign and gruff inside Red’s apartment. She shivered, crouching tighter. Please don’t let him find me.
Footsteps came closer; heavy boots that bore the trademark of a horror movie. Her bedroom door creaked open and she winced, waiting for something, waiting for that horrible moment of discovery.
Thud. Thud. His footsteps came closer to the closet, and she could almost hear him breathing, unless that was her own breath. The closet door jiggled and moved; she froze, sending up every last fervent prayer that she had, and waited.
The closet door slid open, a shaft of light slowly revealing more and more of the closet space until the shaft touched her.
She gulped, looking up, finding the dark, hard gaze of Ray waiting for her…the sardonic smile on his face sending her stomach into a freefall.
“Gotcha.” Ray’s grin turned toothy and he grabbed her by the arm, ripping her out of the closet and to her feet. Her shoulder banged against the wall as he forced her up and she whimpered, raising her palms in surrender.
“Ray, I don’t know what you want, but leave me out of it.”
“I want you,” he hissed, his sour breath reeking of alcohol. He brought his face close to her, dark eyes darting like a snake. “And it’s time for you to come with me.”
His fist connected with the side of her head and she plummeted to the ground, her cheek hitting the hard carpet. She blinked, her vision growing blurry, a protest burbling in the farthest reaches of her mind. She tried to push herself to sitting but couldn’t get the signal to her arms.
Another blow landed at her temple, and then everything went gray.