“Finn? He’s fine. He wasn’t with us.”
I let out my own sigh of relief, a flicker of surprise registering. How did I get so attached to these people I barely know? There’s just something about them that drew me in. “That’s...good,” I hedge.
“Debatable,” Cole remarks blandly, and it sounds like there’s a story there somewhere beneath his muted words. How can I feel like I know someone so well but barely know anything about them? “Take care of yourself, Dakota. I’ll be there when I can. And by the love of all that’s holy, don’t trust Lance Jacobs. With anything.”
My jaw hardens. “No worries there.”
“Excellent. See you soon, baby girl.”
I hang up the phone and glance around the room at three expectant faces. “He’s back home. He has to do some cleanup but then he’s going to come here to tell his story.”
“Good. We’ll get some answers,” Wyatt remarks.
Stone walks up to me and wraps a curl of hair around my ear. “We’ll get through this,” he promises. “Together.”
“Not without some enchiladas,” Lucas smiles. He takes a throw pillow from the white couch and chucks it at Wyatt.
“Yeah, yeah,” Wyatt responds, plucking the pillow out of the air and dangling it from his fingers. “I promised, didn’t I?”
“You sure as hell did. I think I milked out several meals from this.” He teases the bandages with his fingertips and his face immediately sours. He’s been dealing with irritation and itchiness due to the wounds healing.
I start toward him, and Wyatt groans. “I don’t know why I agreed to the food milking. You’ve had enough milking it from all the time with Dakota.”
He’s not wrong. I spent all three nights in the hospital with Lucas, curled up by his side. As of yesterday, I can cross off hospital sex from my risqué to-do list.
This brush with death solidified a few things for me. With it now firmly behind us, I don’t intend to take time for granted. The lingering looks I get in return make me think we’re all on the same page about that.
3
Acouple of days later, Wyatt walks into the main room as I perch nervously on the couch next to Lucas. My cowboy slips his gun under the sofa across from us, below where he plans to sit. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “Just in case. I’m not in theCole’s-a-good-guycamp yet. I need to hear whatever story he has to tell first. I wasn’t a fan of your father but I didn’t kill him.”
I take in a shuddering breath, eyes closed as if to ward off the truth in his statement. All last night I ran through scenario after scenario in my head, trying to guess what Cole’s going to tell me. The facts as I know them so far are: Clark wasn’t my father and Cole killed him.
I don’t know why he killed him. What I do know is that Cole will be one hundred percent honest with me today. He always has been in the past, and I expect it of him now. He’d planned on coming clean with me even before Stone’s mother opened her mouth to reveal his secret.
“Good idea,” Lucas states, placing his arm around me and pulling me into his side. “We’ll make our judgments about Cole after all of this, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.”
Stone walks in next, inspecting where we’re all sitting. He drags his gaze over the room in a once-over as if he’s preparing for a major meeting—which I guess that’s exactly what this is. “I’ll sit on the other side of Dakota. Wyatt you’ll be good there. I think we need to let Dakota do the talking since this is between her and Cole. He hasn’t been aggressive yet, but we’ll definitely step in if necessary.”
Wyatt huffs. “Yeah, I mean I only got stabbed by one of his guys. I guess that’s okay.”
“Quit your bitching,” Lucas teases. “I almost got decapitated.”
The four of us laugh, but it’s riddled with nervousness. It’s really not a funny situation, and Wyatt’s right, Cole has done some fucked up shit to us.
That’s the thing about dealing with Cole, we don’t really know where we stand with him because we don’t know what his objectives are. My gut is telling me he’s not someone to fear, however, I could be completely wrong. We might walk out of this meeting with another enemy, and the last thing we need are the Dragons as foes.
The doorbell rings, and I almost come out of my seat. I really fucked myself over by waiting to hear what Cole had to say. Now the anticipation is cutting me up inside, filleting me open with little slits across every nerve in my body. At least we’ll have more information at the end of this, and as Cole once told me, knowing all the answers makes you powerful.
Stone strides toward the door in a button-up shirt and a pair of dark khakis. He’s the best dressed out of the four of us. I think he wears those fancy outfits because it makes him feel like he’s in control even when he might not have any.
“Just say the word,” Wyatt says after my eyes lock with his. I swallow. He’s prepared to take Cole out if I want him to. My gut wrenches at the thought, like it already knows that would be the wrong decision. But if our situations were reversed, I’d feel the same way. We don’t know anything about Cole, really.
Stone walks ahead of Cole down the short hallway that leads to the open-plan living and kitchen area. Unlike the son of the businessman, Cole is dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, sneakers scuffing the tile floor. Ink wraps up his arms, culminating in the fiery tattoo scoring his neck. A five o’clock shadow matures his face, making him appear angrier and meaner than he has in the past. His dark eyes soften when they find mine, brightening a little as we connect. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, shoulders drooping as if he’s been carrying the weight of my safety around.
He moves toward me, and Lucas stiffens. Cole’s demeanor flips to the hostility in which a gang leader should possess. “Chill, Govern,” he sneers, holding up a wooden box. “The answers to Dakota’s questions are in here.” He holds out the hinged, pale-wood container to me that couldn’t be more than six inches squared. I take it from him, hands shaking, Placing it on my lap, I stare at it like it’s the shadow in my closet that I don’t ever want to go near.
Eventually, my curiosity wins out. I let my fingers trail over the darker knots in the finish. A small bronze clasp keeps the lid closed, and I’m afraid to flick it open. The weight of the box feels like a giant elephant decided to prop himself on top of me.