Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
Either Way - Tawnted
I’d hoped a night in the chair would make Dakota see what kind of situation he’s in. But in the morning, he just gives me a lethal look. He looks exhausted but not at all like he understands who’s in charge. He did wake me last night with the thump of his chair hitting the floor. Unlucky for him, I’m a light sleeper. I got him righted and went back to bed. He didn’t say a word to me, but I stayed half awake after that, keeping track of Dakota’s movements.
I’m aware that Ronan left the knife in Dakota’s pocket. I watched him pat the shape of it down and then move on.
Staring up at the ceiling, I can’t help but feel a mix of anger and amusement. Ronan is fucking reckless. What I can’t figure out is—did Ronan mean for Dakota to use that knife on me or himself? Anxiety fills me for Ronan. I can’t seem to break him out of this borderline suicidal behavior.
And during all this, Dakota just watches us silently. It makes me take him a bit more seriously. Dakota might be pretty, but he’s not stupid. He’s determined to live, and he’s been studying us quietly, most likely cataloging our weaknesses and how much we’ll allow.
It makes me excited. I love that he’s not a pushover.
When I roll out of bed for the morning, Ronan is still snoring, clutching Buffalo, and sleeping off the alcohol. I get re-pissed. Ronan is gambling with his life. He doesn’t care that we’re sleeping with the enemy. He just doesn’t care . Deep down, I know Ronan isn’t done purging. Ronan still drinks himself to sleep every chance he gets, and he’s happy with his trigger finger, which scares me, considering Dakota is a cop. At the same time, being with Dakota is our best option. Why would Callum and Vox look here for us? I doubt they want to interact with cops.
I heave myself out of bed and find some toothpaste in the bathroom. I use my finger to scrub my teeth while I look at myself in the mirror. Maybe separating Dakota from us isn’t the wisest choice. It’s easy to fight someone you see as the enemy. Maybe it’s time for a different tactic. To make him relate to us.
I’m about to leave the bathroom before I notice a bottle of sunscreen on the counter. I freeze, staring at it. Suddenly, I can smell it all around me, and my hat feels tight. I feel a burning in my eyes.
Greyson.
No. I have no capacity to think about him right now. I just have to keep Ronan safe from the cops, Dakota, and himself. Shaking my head, I march out of the bathroom.
I have to get Dakota more on board. I know what that means, but it doesn’t mean I’m excited to do it.
Dakota tenses as I approach him. I crouch down, getting the knife that Ronan left out of Dakota’s pocket. I speak while I cut his ties, “If you hurt us or try to get away, my first stop will be your mom’s house. You know, the one on 134 Mound?”
Dakota tenses, and his eyes light up with hatred.
“Now you get it.” I pat his leg. For his sake, I hope he gets it. “Get up. Let’s make breakfast.”
Letting Dakota go is a calculated risk. But I don’t want the first time he’s free to be outside of our supervision. I want him to show me he can obey.
There’s a moment where I know Dakota’s thinking about attacking me. But then a wash of emotions moves across his pretty face, and when I motion for him to leave the bedroom, he does.
Dakota’s food situation is abysmal. Which is surprising because the rest of his house is pretty put together. It’s decorated in shades of gray, with wall decor and all kinds of accent lights. It’s masculine in a pretty way, just like Dakota.
I have Dakota sit at the small dining room table while I search through his food. Mostly because I want to see if he’ll obey.
He does. And I can’t help the zip of pleasure that gives me. I keep my eye on him as I make scrambled eggs and freezer-burnt sausages. There’s also syrup in the pantry, and I pull that out too.
“Not much of a cook?” I slide a plate of food in front of Dakota. He just watches me distrustfully. He looks like he thinks I poisoned it. Which makes me snort. Why would I waste all this time training him just to kill him?
“You watched me make it.” I wave at the food. “It’s as safe as old freezer food can be.”
Dakota is silent, staring defiantly at me. It’s interesting. He’ll obey, but just barely.
The overwhelming urge to take him over my knee and spank him till he submits washes over me.
What the hell?
I shake myself back into focus and dig into my own food. I prepared enough for Ronan, but he won’t be up for a bit.
The room is silent except for my chewing. When I’ve finished, I lean back with a sigh. Dakota’s gaze hardens as if he thinks I’m going to interrogate him. I want to. I want to force him on his knees in front of me. Want him to pay for those defiant looks.
What is with this guy? He doesn’t seem like the kind of person I would peg for a cop. Plus, I can’t get that smell out of my nose. The sunscreen .
Dakota isn’t that pale. His skin looks golden and sunkissed. So why does he wear it?
“What’s up with the sunscreen?”
Dakota stares at me for a second, then blinks.
I look him up and down. Suddenly, I wonder if Pretty Boy has freckles in places other than on his face. I glance down at his body, but he still has his long-sleeved work shirt on.
“I need to go to work.” Dakota’s voice is quiet but full of venom, and he’s glaring at me from under his lashes.
Finally, he speaks. I grin, feeling like I won a round. “Need or want?”
“Need.”
I shrug. “Tell them you’re sick.”
Dakota frowns, looking like he wants to leap across the table. But I don’t think he will. I’m wondering if Dakota wants to do a lot of things but holds himself back for some reason.
“If you’re gonna fight me, don’t spill the food.” He won’t, but just in case, I yank the plate toward me. “If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll give it to Buffalo.”
There’s a flash of confusion across Dakota’s face, and then it goes back to impassive. Well, his face itself is impassive. Dakota’s eyes can’t hide what he’s thinking. They’re the most beautiful honey brown, and they shift with every emotion. Right now, he looks…angry.
“You didn’t answer my question.” I lean back. “What’s with the sunscreen?” I can’t help but ask. I’ve never known a grown man in this cloudy-ass state to wear sunscreen on a regular basis.
“My tattoos,” Dakota growls.
“Oh?” I sit up straighter. “Let me see.”
“L-l-l-” Those pretty eyes widen in fear, and Dakota locks on my face. He gets this look every time he stutters. Some tiny part of my frozen heart hates that he feels afraid. So he stutters—so what? I have time.
I just sit back, waiting for him to finish.
“Let me go,” Dakota finally finishes.
“No.” I smile at him sweetly.
Rage flashes across his features, his pretty lips drawing down in a snarl.
That act of defiance fills me with a thrill. Fucking hell, I’ve always been a sucker for the straight boys who hate me. Although, I’m not convinced Dakota is straight. I saw him watching us last night. And I mean damn, I know Ronan and I are objectively hot even to straight people, but the way Dakota was absolutely glued to our show said something else.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask.
“What?” Dakota’s mouth drops open
“A boyfriend?” I shove my chair back on two legs. “You know? Someone you love and plan a future with?”
It looks like Dakota has stopped breathing, and that makes me want to laugh, but I don’t. I just keep my look level. I love watching him squirm.
“I don’t…I’m not dating…I’m s-s-straight!” His face is red, and I laugh.
Oookay. “Whatever you say, champ.”
I hear the sounds of shuffling, and then a door closes. Ronan comes stumbling into the kitchen. Even mussed from sleep, he’s still strikingly handsome, looking like ragged sex appeal. My dick hardens just looking at him, remembering what we did last night. I want to put it inside him again, but this time, I want it to last longer.
I pull out a chair, and Ronan stumbles into it, grabbing the plate of food Dakota rejected.
I shove the pancake syrup in front of Ronan. He pauses, shoving his face full and staring at me. “It’s eggs.”
“It’s for your sausage.” I give him a wink. It takes Ronan a second, and then his cheeks go red. Even his eyebrows get a little pink, and he mutters, “Fuck off.”
Dakota’s gaze darts between us. I can tell he’s confused by the dynamic.
“Boyfriends.” I put my arm around Ronan’s shoulder.
“What? No, we’re not; get off me.” He shoves me off, still shoveling the food into his mouth.
I grin.
Ronan tosses the empty plate my way and leaves the table. ”It’s too early for this.”
I grin after him. “Love you too.”
The rest of the morning is spent in tense silence. Well, Dakota and Ronan are tense. I’m not gonna lie; it’s making my dick hard watching both of them try to figure out the best way to fight me.
There’s something very wrong with me. Outside of the glaringly obvious. But I haven’t felt this alive in…since Greyson. And that sends a mixture of both happiness and sadness through me.
Dakota is still stiff as hell, looking like he has a million different things he wants to do, but he’s frozen.
I stare at the piano next to the tank. There’s also a guitar on top.
“You play?” I motion at them. I ask nonchalantly, but the question has been burning since yesterday. It’s like an itch under my skin that I can’t get rid of. I just need to know if Dakota plays.
Dakota glares at me. Like he isn’t going to answer. Instead of dissuading me, it makes me sit up straighter. I can see the invitation in his eyes. He wants the fight.
Then, Dakota shifts his gaze away in slight submission. “Yeah.”
Disappointment fills me. I want to see that fight again. “Play something.”
Dakota glances at me, and Ronan groans. He’s been ignoring us on my tablet, and now he throws his hands over his eyes. “Jesus, dude. Do you have some weird fetish when you meet new people?” He puts on a show voice, “Sing for me.”
“No. Only when I kidnap them. Now.” I turn back to Dakota. “Play me something.”
Dakota flushes slightly. “I don’t…”
“Just pick something, dude,” Ronan groans. “Can’t be worse than Sweet Home Alabama.”
Dakota looks completely lost.
“Play.” I watch him, seeing if he’ll fight me. He watches me, probably gauging how serious I am.
Deadly serious. In a masochistic kind of way.
And then, slowly, Dakota gets up. He moves across the room and then pulls out the piano bench. Watching him obey fills me with a sweet thrill. I know he doesn’t want to, but he is.
“The guitar,” I demand.
Dakota shoots me a look, finally speaking up. “Why?”
I grin at his defiance. For some reason, I don’t want to squash it. I want him to feel safe to defy me. Just a little bit. Just enough to make it fun.
“Because I said so, Kota.”
Dakota’s gaze narrows, and then he looks to Ronan. I glance at Ronan too, suddenly anxious for some reason. Is he going to back me up? Of course he won’t. He doesn’t think of himself as my boyfriend. If anything, he’s a half-prisoner himself.
Suddenly, I’m full of sadness, and my stomach drops. I’m not sure why. The facts have always been the facts.
Then, Ronan raises an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it, guitar hero.”
Wait, what? I stare at Ronan, and he flicks his hazel gaze to me. He gives me the tiniest wink, and then my whole body soars.
Ronan is backing me up. Ronan is backing me up! And I didn’t force him to.
Just as quickly, Ronan turns his deadpan gaze back to Dakota, putting on a show voice again, “Play.”
Dakota sighs but takes down the guitar and fiddles with it. He strums and adjusts some strings, muttering, “It won’t be good.”
I shrug. I don’t give a flying rat’s ass. I just want him to play.
And then, slowly, he does. And instantly, the room is filled with beautiful music. I don’t recognize the song, but it’s in some minor key, the sounds melancholy and…lonely. My heart clenches. Because this is exactly the kind of music Greyson would have liked.
The song ends, and I realize my throat is tight. I clear my throat. “Another.”
Dakota shakes his head, but he starts in on another one. This one is just as pretty and just as sad. I fucking love it. I get caught up in the music, asking Dakota for song after song. Ronan seems just as caught up in the music, although he pretends not to be. He’s looking at the tablet, but his gaze is unfocused, and he hasn’t scrolled in a long time.
Dakota also seems to come alive. He seems to forget that we’re here, and his whole body relaxes. He melts into the music, rocking his head back and forth and closing his eyes. Then, a miracle happens: Dakota starts humming.
And the sound is the most perfect mix with the music; I almost didn’t hear him at first. His voice is deep and melodic, quiet and unassuming but powerful in its own way.
And then, in a particularly sad song, Dakota just stops. He stares off into space, his entire body frozen.
I don’t breathe, wondering what set him off. Then Dakota glances at us, and his face flames. “That’s all I know.” Quickly, he puts the guitar back on the piano, and then he stands, staring as if he isn’t sure what to do. Then, he awkwardly sits on the edge of the couch.
“That,” I clear my throat. “Uh, you’re pretty good.”
Dakota says nothing. He’s stiff, and I can almost feel the anxiety radiating off of him in waves.
Then, Ronan breaks the silence, “You have weird kinks, my man.” He shakes his head at me. “What will it be, feet next?”
If I wasn’t paying attention, I would have missed the tiny flare of pink across Dakota’s cheeks.
“Maybe.” I shrug, sitting back, taking them both in. Dakota is quiet. He’s a tortured poet that I just want to protect. On the flip side, Ronan is aggressive. He’s the fight that I love so much. They’re like two sides of a coin. Two sides of Greyson.
My heart clenches in something odd. Something fucking possessive .
I just want to make both of them safe. I want to make Ronan feel safe to be soft. And I want to make Dakota feel safe to be hard.
I couldn’t do it back then. But maybe, just maybe, I can do it now.