Dakota peered around the corner of her booth, struggling to get a grip on what was happening. She should be prepared, in case something happened. She definitely didn’t have a gun on her like Bo did—obviously he found himself in skirmishes like these with frequency. Did Bo bring the violence? Her mind spun as she searched the booth for something heavy or useful. Her gaze landed on an emergency fire extinguisher in the corner and she crawled toward it, yanking it out of place.
This will have to do. She scooted back to the corner, hiding out of sight if anyone were to walk down the hall and look in her booth. Fuck, this was scary. What did those guys even want? All she had to go on was lizard brain and a perfunctory knowledge of first-person shooter games. She had the weapon in her figurative tool belt—the extinguisher—and at least 90% energy. Maybe she could scoop up a fallen weapon along the way for extra points. But really, in this first-person shooter game, she’d escape the first chance she got instead of racking up points by entering the fray.
Heavy breathing arrived when Red darted into the room. She pressed herself against the wall, eyes wide. “The girls are fine, they’re hiding in the cabinet.”
“Thank God.”
Red opened her mouth to speak but she screamed instead when a bullet zinged past her head. She dove into the room and a man appeared in the doorway, face shrouded with a black plastic mask, wild eyes visible through the holes.
“Don’t try to escape.” His vice came out a muffled growl and he raised a gun, aiming at Red. Dakota blanked out and swung the fire extinguisher with all her might, knocking the guy in the knee caps. He groaned and fell to the ground, and while he was distracted she swung the extinguisher into his body, as hard as she could, wherever she could. She got him in the ribs, the stomach, the groin, and the face. Red reached for his fallen gun while Dakota walloped him; after a moment she sat back, heaving wildly, surveying the damage.
He lay motionless and bleeding on the ground, fingers twitching. She watched with horror, covering a mouth with her hand. “Holy fuck, Red.”
Red heaved, pressed up against the wall, eyes darting between the attacker’s body and her. “You saved my life, baby.”
The click of a gun forced her to look up. She stared at the barrel of a gun, another masked man holding it. Something about the way the mask sat on his face told her he was sneering beneath the neutral plastic. Her mouth went dry.
“You’re gonna pay for doing that to one of my brothers.” His voice came out raspy and dark. Panic slid through Dakota’s body and she was rooted to her spot, unable to even look away from the barrel of the gun.
Here it is. The ending to your move to L.A.
A gun fired and she squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as she waited for something: pain, a slithering trail of blood from her forehead, a gasp of shock, anything. When she opened her eyes a moment later, Bo stood in front of her, his lips contorted into a sneer as he eyed the dead man in front of her.
“Jesus, Bo.” Red’s chest heaved as she surveyed the scene. Dakota’s gaze bounced from the limp man in front of her to Bo, back and forth, unable to wrap her mind around it. He almost killed me…and now he’s dead. She scampered back as a trickle of blood meandered from the side of his head over the floor, almost reaching her knee. She swallowed a sick, dry taste.
“They’re gone,” Bo said, stashing his gun in the waistband of his pants. His eyes met Dakota’s, cloudy and heavy. “It’s taken care of.”
His words sunk into her. “What the fuck just happened?”
Red pushed herself to standing, reaching out for Bo’s arm when she almost fell. “We gotta get this cleaned up.”
Dakota scoffed, eyes wide. “You mean we gotta call the police!”
Red’s eyes narrowed and Bo stiffened. Both looked at her like she’d suggested they eat the limbs of the man in front of her.
“We can’t do that,” Red said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She stepped over the guy’s body on her way into the hallway, heading back toward her own booth. The low undertones of her voice carried through the hallway, no doubt as she alerted her clients the danger had passed.
“How could you not call the police after something like that?” She blinked up at Bo, but he remained unswayed.
“We don’t call the police when stuff like this happens.” His gaze flicked down to the corpse between them. “We take care of it ourselves. That’s just how it works.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
Bo’s heavy silence only frustrated her. She sighed, pulling herself up with the tattoo chair. “Whatever. This is fucking bizarre.” She stepped over the body and headed for the front office, so she could get some space, and stop looking at the back of that dead guy’s head. Fuck—he might have almost killed her, but what if he had family? Some kid might be wondering where his dad was, and he’d never know because Bo said they couldn’t call the police. That was some fucked up stuff.
She reached for the phone at the front desk, gnawing on her lip as she considered calling 9-1-1. But what would she say?
“Dakota.” Red’s voice pierced through her indecision. She leaned in the doorway, Bo standing behind he with his arms crossed.
“What?” She retracted her arm.
“We can’t call the police.” Red came closer, gesturing to the phone. “This will be taken care of. We just can’t get the MC in trouble.”
Dakota furrowed a brow. “What MC?”
“Burning Angels.” She jerked her head back to Bo, who stood expressionless in the doorway. “They’ll take care of it. But for now, we just gotta lay low. Play it cool.”
“That’s why all this happened then.” She said it like a fact, but meant it more like a question. Like maybe someone would step in to tell her that the incredibly sexy client she’d just touched up wasn’t really a fucking criminal evading the law. Looking at Bo, she said, “Your club caused all this.”
He scoffed, sneering. “I don’t need to hear this shit. I just saved your life. You should be thanking me.”
“My life wouldn’t have been in danger if I hadn’t been working on you,” she countered, her voice cracking. The adrenaline rush of what she’d dodged flooded her, made her vision grow spotty. You almost died. And maybe Bo had saved her, but he sure hadn’t helped things by being a fucking criminal.
“Dakota, just be cool, baby,” Red said, her voice soft. “I know this was scary, but listen, things are gonna calm down.”
Dakota swallowed hard, heading back toward her booth. If this was how Ink Works operated—on the fringe of safety just because some of their clients were gang bangers—then she needed to be somewhere else. Someplace where her life wasn’t in danger just from doing a touch up. She pushed through the doorway, bumping shoulders against both Bo and Red. They let her pass and she rummaged in her booth, gathering her tattoo gun and some other important items.
“Don’t do this,” Red said, leaning in the doorway. Dakota ripped a couple pieces of art off the wall, arranging them into a pile. All the things she’d brought with her would leave with her—come hell or high water. Because this wasn’t the type of place she wanted to be involved with, amazing mentorship or not.
“Red, I can’t work here if this is what it’s like.” She shook her head, shoving her things into her backpack. “You won’t call the cops, because you want to protect his club. That’s weird, right?” She hefted with a laugh, grabbing her cell phone charger, stuffing it into her bag. “I mean, that’s fucked up. I almost killed a guy today, and why?”
Her question hung heavy in the air. Bo’s steely gaze never wavered from her, no matter how many times she attempted to shake it off or ignore it.
“It’s not like this, though,” Red insisted, coming to her side as she packed the last of her things in her backpack. “I swear it’s not. These flare-ups are rare, maybe only once a year. And it’s—”
“Once a year? It only takes one bullet to die, Red.” Dakota slung the backpack over her shoulder, looking her friend up and down. They�
�d had a good run together for three weeks. And maybe she’d miss Red—a lot. But her safety, her integrity, was more important. “I can’t work here anymore. I have to go.”
“Oh, come on, Dakota! Don’t do this! We need you here.”
Bo stepped out of the doorway when she approached, his jaw set. She met his gaze for a moment then yanked it to the ground, stepping around the fallen man’s body, fighting a wave of nausea.
No job was worth with type of risk. Not even the job of her dreams.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bo hung up the phone after he’d let his club brother know about the damage at the tattoo studio. A couple extra guys were on their way to help with clean-up, though the brothers he’d come with had done a good job of gathering the dead bodies into one place in the waiting room.
“I can’t believe she left.” Red paced the front office. She’d locked the front door after Dakota walked out, hesitant to let any innocent bystanders wander in.
“Her choice.” Bo shrugged, pocketing his cell phone. And maybe in a way he admired it. She could walk away from this—he couldn’t. “You’ll find someone else.”
“Dakota is talented, Bo. You don’t get it.” Red ran a hand through her bright hair. “We look for years for talent like that, and she just rolled up to our front door. And now she’s gone.” She scoffed, leaning against the front counter. “Tony’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Why? Because he lost talent, or because he lost eye candy?”
A dark look crossed Red’s face. “Why would you say that?”
Bo reeled back, like she’d slapped him with that look of hers. “Just saying. She’s a pretty little thing. Maybe Tony was hittin’ it.”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “He wasn’t.”
He shrugged again, but relief swelled through him. “Whatever you say, Red.” Truth was, he wanted to know for selfish reasons. He wouldn’t go after Dakota if she was already Tony’s girl. And especially not if Tony had anything to do with today’s attack. Whoever these guys were, they’d known he was at Ink Works. They’d been led there with a treasure map. There were only two culprits—Tony or Ray—and both of them looked mighty suspicious at this point.
Tony better have a damn good excuse when he finally showed up, too. None of that naked Easter egg hunt shit, either.
The whoosh of heavy rain battered the feeble roof of the studio. Bo looked up at the ceiling, measuring how heavy it was falling out there.
“Oh, God,” Red moaned. “And Dakota’s out there on her own.”
“She doesn’t drive?”
“Doesn’t have a car. She’s been using Tony for her ride home each night.” Red tutted, burying her face in her hands. “God, this has been a shitty day.”
Bo flexed his jaw, mulling his options. It didn’t sit right with him that she’d just bolted after seeing something like that. He needed to talk to her, make sure she didn’t end up going to the police after all.
And maybe he wanted to get one last look at her, too.
“I’ll go find her. What way does she go to get home?”
Red looked relieved. “Oh, Bo, that would be so nice. She takes Anaheim Boulevard east. Just hang a right out of here. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
Bo nodded, grabbing for his heavy leather coat hanging over a chair in the waiting room. He shrugged it on, nodding at Red. “Guys will be here soon to take care of this. Sorry for the mess.”
Red sighed. “Tony will be glad he got locked up.”
“When does he get out?”
“I don’t know. He’s gonna try to post bail later today.”
Bo nodded. “He better make sure his story checks out.”
Red’s face darkened, brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
“This attack today came from someone who knew I was here.”
“And you think Tony would give you up like that?” Red scoffed, her face flushing. “Bo, I thought you two were closer than that. If anyone it was Ray. You know that as well as I do.”
Bo held her gaze. “I know. You’re probably right. But when shit like this goes down, I gotta look at all my options. Because whoever is responsible will pay.”
Red ran a hand through her hair, gaze drifting away. “I know, Bo. Go get Dakota and take her home. I’ll be here.”
Bo unlocked the door and pushed out into the dreary rain. Puddles formed a ring around the cement patio, water sloughing off the roof in narrow flumes. He zipped his jacket up and hurried to the bike, tugging his helmet on. He grabbed a towel out of the leather storage at the back and wiped off the seat before he sat down. The Harley rumbled to life and he maneuvered out of the uneven parking lot of the tattoo studio, cars whizzing by kicking up sprays of water.
He squinted into the rain as he pulled into traffic, searching for Dakota. Anaheim Boulevard was busy and not pedestrian friendly. Braving this road, in this weather, was a desperate measure. At the very least, he’d give her a ride home and a stern warning to keep her mouth shut. Though really, he’d like to give her a few other parting gifts if today was the last time he’d see those ruby red lips.
Up ahead, black pedal pushers yanked at his attention. Dakota walked, tenting a zip-up hoodie over her head, black backpack hanging over her shoulders. He passed her and then pulled onto the shoulder, blocking her path. Harley rumbling, he jerked his head toward the bike.
“Get on.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”
He fought a smile. She wanted to play the tough girl part, and it was cute. Made him want to give her a parting gift even more. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“I can walk there.” She paused, looking hesitant. Even her words sounded shaky. “It’s just a few miles off.”
“In this rain? You’ll get sick.” He walked the bike around to face the flow of traffic and cut the engine. He swung a leg over the body and pulled open the storage compartment, yanking the spare helmet out. He handed it to her. “Just get on.”
She took it hesitantly, biting at that plump bottom lip. He wiped the seats off again and stowed the towel, then swung a leg over the bike.
Dakota tugged the helmet on and then shrugged the hoodie back on over her shoulders. He made the Harley roar to life and then she hopped on the back seat. He could sense her trying not to touch too much of him, like keeping her distance would be possible on the back of his bike.
“You’re gonna have to hang tight,” he said, glancing back at her. The rain came down harder now, and this ride would be mostly unpleasant. Made slightly better having her pressed up against him. “I go fast.”
She settled into place and then grabbed onto the edges of his jacket. He grinned, though she couldn’t see it.
“Suit yourself,” he said, and kicked into gear. The Harley rumbled forward and he maneuvered back into traffic. When there was enough space, he nailed it, the force kicking them both backward. Dakota’s arms snaked around his waist—exactly what he’d been hoping for—and they roared off down the road. Rain hit his face like sleet. At the next stoplight, while the engine idled, he turned to her.
“Where do you live, darling?”
She tightened her grip around his waist, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “After the overpass, take a right onto Madison and it’s the second block.”
He nodded, gaze dropping to her hands around his waist. Something about her made him desperate for more. To feel those hands smoothing over his skin…to feel them wrapped around his cock. To feel the brush of her pretty lips against his cheek. He cocked a grin, accelerating once the light flipped to green. Maybe he could coax any number of those things out of her. She didn’t seem like a fan, but maybe that could change.
They didn’t talk the rest of the ride to her house. Her grip around his waist pulsed like a homing beacon, ratcheting up the tension enough that he had a semi by the time he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. The place was shitty, even by L.A. standards. Cracked asphalt bore wild weeds; the
apartment building itself was brown and dingy, broken shutters and air conditioners dangling half-positioned out of windows. He pulled into a spot near the door and parked it, cutting the engine.
Dakota unwrapped herself from him and climbed off the bike. Eyeing him, she unhooked the helmet and handed it to him. “Thanks for the ride.”
He received the helmet, arching a brow. “Can I come in?”
“Do you need to?”
God, he loved her lip. “Thought it might be polite to let me dry off before I hit the road again.” He feigned offense, running his tongue over his teeth. “But maybe that’s old school of me.”
Wild & Free: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Burning Angels MC) (No Saints in Biker Hell Book 1) Page 3