8. Dagger
8
DAGGER
I ’ve been following Laina for two blocks now, and I’ve gotta say—she’s a hell of a lot better at pretending not to notice me than most people. Either she’s oblivious, or she’s really good at keeping her head down and shoulders squared, even when she knows someone’s watching. My money’s on the latter.
She’s striding forward with purpose, arms crossed tightly over her chest and boots clicking against the cracked sidewalk in a way that tells me she’s not just wandering. There’s intent in her steps like she’s on a mission. Or maybe she’s just running.
Either way, Ash told me to keep an eye on her, and when Ash gives an order, you don’t ignore it unless you’ve got a death wish.
But here’s the thing—Ash doesn’t know what I know. And what I know is that Laina isn’t like the others. The ones who poke around the edges of our business, asking questions they shouldn’t be. She’s not some journalist fishing for a headline or a cop looking for an easy bust. No, Laina moves like someone who’s already been burned—like someone who knows exactly how dangerous this game is but keeps playing anyway.
And that’s a hell of a lot harder to fake than curiosity.
She pauses outside a narrow storefront tucked between a laundromat and an antique shop. A quaint shop that looks like it exists outside of time—faded signage, dust-streaked windows, and a little brass bell above the door that probably hasn’t been dusted since Reagan was in office.
Greenbriar Books.
The kind of place that smells like mildew, ink, and regret.
She hesitates at the door and glances over her shoulder. I freeze mid-step, managing to duck behind a parked car just in time. My body is crouched low and hidden in shadows. She doesn’t see me, but her eyes skim over the street, and for a second, I catch a flicker of something in her expression—is it fear? Or maybe just exhaustion.
A moment later she pushes the door open, and the bell above the frame gives an annoyed little chime.
I wait. Thirty seconds. A minute, then two minutes pass before I cross the street, my boots silent against the pavement, and slip inside after her.
The bell above the door lets out its rusty shriek again, and I wince. Nothing stealthy about that.
Inside, the bookstore feels like a different world. Warm with dimly lit mismatched lamps scattered throughout the space, and filled with rows upon rows of uneven shelves that sag under the weight of their contents. It smells exactly how I thought it would, like old paper and wood polish. Faint strains of jazz music crackle through an ancient speaker somewhere in the back.
I spy Laina ahead of me, moving down one of the narrow aisles, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books.
She’s not browsing. She’s looking for something specific.
I keep my distance, half-shadowed behind a towering display of mystery novels, my eyes glued to her movements.
She’s dressed in a fitted black jacket, dark jeans, and boots that look sturdy enough to walk ten miles in. Her hair falls in loose waves down her shoulders, catching faint hints of gold in the lamp glow.
I can’t stop looking at her.
And yeah, I know that makes me a bit of a creep, but I’ve never been good at pretending I don’t notice beautiful things when they’re right in front of me.
She stops near the back of the shop and crouches down in front of a low shelf stacked with old file boxes. Her fingers skim over the faded labels, her brow furrowed in concentration.
I take a step closer, moving slowly and keeping to the shadows. She doesn’t notice.
Her lips move soundlessly as she reads the labels, her brows knitting tighter. Whatever she’s searching for, she’s not finding it.
Ash told me not to talk to her, just figure out why she’s trying to hunt down Reynolds. He doesn’t think she’s working with the serial killer, but he needs to be sure.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
To hell with it. I’m talking to her.
I lean against the end of the bookshelf, cross my arms over my chest, and ask, “So, find what you’re looking for?”
She jumps at the sound of my voice, knocking over a small stack of books in the process. Her head snaps up, startled eyes locking onto mine.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
“What the hell?! Are you guys all following me now?”
Her voice is sharp and defensive, but there’s an edge of fear in it too.
I shrug, and reply casually, “That depends. Are you doing something you shouldn’t be doing?”
“I’m not doing anything illegal, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Illegal? No. But sneaking around warehouses and poking through dusty files in the middle of nowhere? That’s… a little bit suspicious”
She crosses her arms, mirroring my stance, her chin tilted up defiantly. “You guys are the ones following me! I don’t owe you any explanations.”
“True.” I grin, slow and sharp. “But I think we’d both feel a lot better if you gave me one anyway.”
“I’m trying to find answers,” she says tightly. “That’s all. Answers about Reynolds. About what he’s done. About what he’s still doing.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for something—what, exactly, I’m not sure. But whatever it is, she doesn’t find it.
“You’re wasting your time,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Whatever you think you’re going to find in a place like this—it’s not here. And it’s not going to keep you safe either.”
Her lips part slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking.
“How would you know?”
“Well for starters, criminals don’t publish records of what they’re doing for the public.”
“I’m just doing some research, checking records on properties purchased outside the city. Why do any of you care?”
“Because I think we’re chasing the same ghost.”
For a long moment, we just stare at each other before she rolls her eyes.
Her lips twitch up for half a second before her expression hardens again. “You’re wasting your time, Dagger. If you think you’re going to get anything out of me, you’re not.”
“Maybe I’m not trying to get anything out of you.”
She looks up, her dark eyes locking onto mine. They’re sharp, searching, and maybe just a little afraid.
“You expect me to believe you’re here because you’re just… curious ?”
I shrug. “Curiosity’s killed more dangerous men than me.”
She huffs a breath and turns back to the files. For a moment, there’s nothing but the faint crackle of jazz on the speakers and the sound of her fingertips brushing against old cardboard.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly.
She stills, her fingers freezing mid-motion.
She turns toward me again, and this time, there’s something raw and unguarded in her expression. It punches me square in the chest.
“I don’t believe Reynolds is dead,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I know what they’re saying. I’ve seen the reports. But I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”
I take a moment to digest her words then ask quietly, “What makes you so sure?”
“How the hell do I know I can trust you? Your club was working with him.”
“We didn’t know about the murders! He promised to help us take out our rivals. Promised we’d be running the whole territory and then some with no Hellfire Riders in the way.”
Laina hesitates, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.
“So?”
“So…he cost us big time. We lost men because of him, lost our hold and now we want to make him pay.”
“You think he’s alive too?” Her eyes widen in surprise and light up. Her soft lips part slightly.
I wonder if I’ve said too much, but Ash’s idea of stalking and waiting was leading us nowhere.
“Yeah. Afraid so.”
Finally, she exhales and whispers, “I know how he thinks. He wouldn’t go out like that—not in a cell, not by suicide. And before… before they arrested him, he said something to me.”
Her gaze locks onto mine again, wide and haunted.
“He said he’d always find me. No matter where I went or how far I ran.”
There’s a tremor in her voice now, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and pull her into my arms and promise her that she’s safe. Because the truth is—she’s not.
“And now there’s… movement ,” she continues. “People are talking, there are rumors about shadows in places they shouldn’t be. Someone’s stirring up the ashes he left behind, and I can feel it, Dagger. I can feel him out there.”
I exhale through my nose, my jaw tightening. Ash wasn’t going to like this one bit.
“Laina,” I start, but before I can finish a flicker of movement outside the window catches my eye.
A tall man dressed in a dark jacket, the hood pulled low over his face. He’s standing across the street, half-shadowed beneath a flickering street lamp. I frown as I study him, something about his posture feels wrong; his body is too stiff and still. Almost like he’s waiting.
For us?
“Don’t move,” I murmur to Laina, as I slightly shift my body to block her from view.
“What is it?” she whispers, her voice tight with fear.
“Someone’s watching us.”
The guy doesn’t move. When I meet his gaze squarely through the grimy window, he doesn’t even flinch.
“Back door,” I say quietly. “Now.”
Laina hesitates, and I can feel her staring up at me, her breath catching in her throat. But she nods and steps backward, disappearing into the shadows between the aisles.
I follow behind, glancing back once to find the hooded figure still standing there, unmoving, like a goddamn statue.
The back door is rusty and barely hanging on its hinges. I shove it open with my shoulder, and we spill out into a narrow alleyway lined with dumpsters and scattered trash. The air smells like mildew and stale beer, and the faint glow of the streetlights barely reaches us.
Eyes wide with fear, Laina presses her back against the wall, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. I take a step toward her, my hands on either side of her against the wall, leaning in just enough to shield her from view.
“Stay quiet,” I murmur. “I just want to be sure.”
For a few tense seconds, we wait and listen intently to the sounds of the alley; the distant hum of traffic, the faint rustle of wind through the trash, the scampering of rats and squirrels.
But no footsteps and no voices.
But that didn’t mean we were safe, yet.
When I finally pull back, our faces are inches apart. Her dark eyes are locked onto mine, and I can feel the frantic beat of her pulse in the narrow space between us.
“Breathe, Laina,” I murmur, my gaze searching hers. “Just breathe.”
She takes in a shaky breath, then another, her hands coming up to grip my jacket like it’s some kind of lifeline. “Who was that? Why were they watching us?”
“I don’t know. But I’m gonna find out.”
“We should call the police.”
I almost laugh out loud. The police in this town are about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Besides, the kind of trouble Laina’s in – the kind of trouble we’re all in now – cops won’t do shit to help. They’ll only make things worse.
“No cops,” I say firmly. “Not yet. Not until we know what we’re dealing with.”
She bites her lower lip, looking up at me with uncertainty. I can practically see the gears turning in her head; trying to decide whether to trust me or bolt. I don’t blame her. I’d be skeptical too.
I lean in a little closer. “Listen to me, Laina. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me. But right now, I’m your best shot at staying alive and figuring this out.”
“Why do you care what happens to me?”
It’s a fair question. One I’m not entirely sure how to answer.
“Because you’re not the only one who wants answers,” I say finally. “And because letting Reynolds win, isn’t an option. Not anymore.”
Something flickers in her eyes; recognition, maybe. Or understanding. Her grip on my jacket loosens slightly.
“What do we do now?”
“Now?” I glance toward the mouth of the alley, making sure it’s still clear. “Now we get you somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would think to look for you.”
She huffs out a shaky, humorless laugh. “I’m pretty sure ‘safe’ isn’t in my vocabulary anymore.”
“Tough shit,” I mutter. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Great.”
“Come on,” I say, tilting my head toward the far end of the alley. “Let’s get you out of here.”
We move quickly, sticking to the shadows, and keeping low as we head toward my bike parked two blocks away.
I keep thinking of the alley and the way Laina had looked at me—like she was giving me the most fragile pieces of herself, trusting me to safeguard them.
And here’s the part that really screws me up, this wasn’t just about orders for me anymore.
It was about her .
“Let’s get you home.”
Laina stares at me defiantly, her dark eyes flashing with fear and determination. “I’m not taking you to my home, Dagger. I barely know you.”
“Okay,” I say with a shrug. “Then I’ll just take you to the clubhouse.”
Her eyes widen in a slight panic. “The Dead Demons clubhouse? Are you insane?”
“Probably. But it’s also the last place anyone would think to look for you. Trust me, no one fucks with us on our turf.” I step closer to her, ducking my head to meet her gaze directly. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She holds up a finger and presses it into my chest.
“You can take me home, but you’re not allowed inside.”
A million images flash through my mind of being alone with her in the intimacy of her apartment. I hate myself for it—for letting my head go straight to bending her over.
Laina’s finger on my chest feels like a branding iron—searing me through my leather jacket. I try to ignore the flare of the heat and push away thoughts of us alone in her bedroom. I had no business entertaining these thoughts right now.
I raise my hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll take you home. But I’m walking you to your door. No arguments.”
“Fine. But that’s it. You don’t come inside, and you leave as soon as I’m through the door.”
“Yes ma’am,” I drawl, giving her a little salute which earns me yet another glare.
We walk in tense silence to my bike. I swing one leg over and hold out a helmet for her. She eyes it warily.
“Is this the part where you tell me you’re an excellent driver and I have nothing to worry about?”
I flash her a grin, revving the engine. “Nope. This is the part where you hold on tight and pray for dear life.”
She mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like asshole before jamming the helmet on her head and climbing on behind me.