Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
Devil Himself - LaLion
I’m not a huge fan of blackmailing a victim. I know, I know. Withhold the Medal of Honor—it won’t fit next to my alcohol dependence and mommy issues. But this whole thing with Dakota makes me itchy. He’s the grown-up version of the kids I tried to protect.
And that thought makes me tired. Exhausted, actually, but still somehow feeling every fucking thing.
I need another shot of whiskey.
‘No drinks. You’ll puke them up,‘ Buff groans from his place on the kitchen table.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
Dakota sits stiffly on the couch while I search his pantry for anything to make the loudness in my head get quieter. Logan has gone to take a shower, leaving us alone.
I thought about letting Dakota go. And then I remembered how much I don’t want to go to jail. That is not going to make it onto my: never want to do again list.
Hearing a phone chime, I glance around. It doesn’t sound familiar, and there’s a phone on the counter that must belong to Dakota.
“I’ll get it.” Dakota gets up, and I immediately feel defensive. If he wants the phone, then I definitely don’t want him to have it. So I take the phone.
“If I have to go, I’d prefer it not be at the hands of a SWAT team, freckles.”
SWAT teams are pompous assholes. They think they’re the best of the best. They think no one can tell them no. And that’s the problem. Almost no one can tell them no. Suddenly, I’m paranoid it’s one of Dakota’s SWAT buddies checking on him.
I check the phone. It’s a Tinder notification. I can’t see what it says ‘cause the phone is locked, but I bark out a laugh. “Tinder, huh?”
“Who was it?” Dakota is up, standing stiffly.
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
“Was it L-l-l,” he gets hung up on the word for a second. “Laris-s-sa?”
“Larissa?” I blink slowly, then turn to look at him.
‘That’s a girl’s name,’ Buff says, horror in his tone. I’m so surprised that I say the same thing out loud but with less horror and more surprise. Dakota isn’t straight. He’s a gentle man. His skin is soft, without a hint of facial hair, and everything about his muted behaviors and soft voice screams feminine. Not that you’re gay if you’re feminine, but I certainly thought he was fruity. Considering he hasn’t been able to stop ogling Logan and myself.
Then Dakota speaks, and there’s a sudden venom in his voice, “I’m not a faggot.”
Time grinds to a halt, and instantly, heat flares under my skin. I turn slowly so I’m facing him. “What did you just say?”
Dakota’s face gets red, but he just stares at me.
‘What the fuck?’ Buffalo is screeching now. ‘He did not!’
I feel an odd sense of protectiveness. Not that I’m gay gay, but Logan is. And that’s just not fair.
“If you ever say that again, I’ll grind your face into the floor,” I say, my voice dropping low and dangerous. “What do you think, Buff? If I press hard enough, will his eyeballs make a nice gloss for the wood?”
Buff cackles, and I even crack a smile. Dakota has gone white, but to his credit, he still sneers at me.
I grab the whiskey and take a pull right from the bottle.
Why the fuck do I care? This is stupid. I used to call Logan the same thing.
And yet, I still care. I more than care. It’s pissing me off.
‘Eyeball pledge.’
“Enough,” I growl.
Dakota looks unsettled, glancing at Buffalo. I was going to introduce them, but after that bullshit, Dakota doesn’t deserve to speak to Buffalo.
‘Hypocrite,’ Buffalo whispers.
I scowl, finding some Cheetos in the cabinet and eating them. They’re hot as fuck and burn my mouth, but for some reason, I keep eating them. The burn distracts me from my anger.
Sure, I may be a hypocrite. But that little issue needs to stand in line behind some of my other, more serious crimes.
Dakota watches me, swallowing. He looks like he wants the food. Like he’s starving for it. An unexpected bolt of power rushes through me.
I have something he wants.
‘Maybe you should fuck the attitude out of him.’
“Buff!” I bark, but he just cackles.
‘Just saying. He’s hot.’
I mutter quietly, “And ‘straight.’”
‘Nah. I have a sense for these things.’
“You’re a stuffed animal.”
‘So you should be even more concerned that I have better judgment than you.’
Jesus. This fluff-filled fucker has gotten way too loud. Maybe I need to stop drinking?
Nah.
I hold the bag of Cheetos out to Dakota with an eyebrow raised. Will he accept a Cheeto from a ‘fag fucker’? It would be a mistake to. Because now I want to fuck with him. A forbidden thrill runs through me.
I want to fuck with Dakota Stewart, the cop with the bad attitude and the pretty face.
Dakota looks between me, Buffalo, and the food. He’ll have to come to me to get them.
“I hear Cheeto dust kills cooties,” I say, deadpan. “But who am I to say for sure.”
Dakota huffs, “Does it kill the crazy?”
I let that comment slide. Mostly because it’s a valid one.
Despite his comment, Dakota moves forward. As soon as he’s within my reach, I step out and push him between myself and the counter, dropping the bag there.
Dakota sucks in a gasp, looking like an animal cornered by a wolf.
I stare him down. “I wanted to see…and it’s true.”
“W-w-what?”
“To see if you’d look as flustered as you did last night.” I grin. I noticed Dakota’s reaction to Logan and I fucking. I saw when his pretty eyes would lock on what Logan was doing to me. He couldn’t stop watching, his entire body tense.
“You were fucking in front of me,” Dakota sputters. “What else was I s-s-s,” he struggles for a second, then finishes, “supposed to do?”
“Hmmm,” I press into Dakota, noticing how he doesn’t push me away. He’s just…frozen. Being this close to him is making my stomach flutter. His pretty, long lashes brush his freckled cheeks as pink spreads across them. He looks like a trapped fawn. All helpless and trembling.
Fuck, I’m hard, all the blood rushing to my groin. What is my deal with freckles? First, Logan’s eye freckles, and now Dakota’s cheek freckles.
‘Fucked for freckles,’ Buffalo sings.
“Why’d you become a cop?” I stare at Dakota, but he won’t look at me.
“Get off me.” He tries to shove me away, but I just press into him harder. My dick is hard as hell. I can’t help it. I have some dysfunction when it comes to hot people, I guess.
“Ronan.” Dakota’s voice has an edge of…something in it. It’s not fully fear, and there’s a rasp to it.
“What, freckles?” I smirk, remembering what Logan had done to me. “I’m not hurting you, am I?” I add an edge of mocking to my tone.
Dakota has almost melted into my body.
Okay, so now you really can take my Medal of Valor away. Because I like forcing Dakota to submit to me. A thrill runs through me again, mixed with a little confusion. I thought I liked being the one submitting, but this is just as fucking good.
“Get…off.” Dakota seems to remember himself, kneeing me in the balls. I laugh, doubling over. Oh fuck. That was way more fun than it needed to be.
Dakota backs up, scrambling to the edge of the kitchen, when Logan pops out of nowhere. “What are we doing?”
He looks between me and Dakota.
I grin. “Dakota here was hungry. But he didn’t want to eat my ‘fag’ Cheetos.”
“Oh?” Logan takes an extra second to watch both of us, then turns to Dakota. “That true?”
For a second, I want to pout. Logan doesn’t believe me?
Dakota raises his head. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. You’ve made yourselves very clear.”
“Hmmm.” Logan looks like he’s mulling it over, then turns to me. I catch the tiniest hint of a smirk. “I think I heard that he wants to crawl to you.”