Page 73 of Wild Ride
We vote, and it’s unanimous, because after I can comprehend what he said, I agree as well. I don’t want to leave some innocent girl out there to be nabbed by the fucking cartel. That is that. We are taking care of shit today.
“What about Oregon?” Shocker asks.
He’s been ready to ride since he heard about the Willamette Haven and their sick and twisted shit. I have to admit, it’s been put on the back burner, but only because the other shit that’s happened hasn’t been able to be put off for even a fucking minute, let alone the few weeks it would take to get to Oregon and handle the cult.
“I’m ready to tackle that. Now that Dakota’s friend is here, it’s the perfect opportunity to escort her home and take care of business. I am going to put the team together on the East Coast and get a timeline. I want to leave in five days.”
Shocker jerks his chin, his eyes finding mine, and I see something akin to respect in his gaze. Not that he doesn’t respect me or hasn’t respected me, but I’m under no illusion that although I’m forty-two years old, he sees me as a punk-ass eighteen-year-old prospect still. Because when I look at Maverick and Goose, who are in their late twenties, I see them the same way.
When I end the meeting with our shit somewhat figured out, I ask Viking to get me an outline of what we’re doing next so we can contact clients with new or different delivery dates. I figure he’s already working on that, and I’m correct when he confirms he is.
Shocker doesn’t leave the room. His gaze continues to focus on me, and I would feel uneasy beneath his scrutiny, but I don’t because I know he wants what’s best for every fucking person involved.
Instead of feeling defensive or uneasy, I arch my brow and drop my chin slightly to urge him to continue. Thankfully, he does because it’s clear he’s got words for me on the tip of his tongue.
“That girl visiting is going to be a problem,” Shocker mutters. “She doesn’t want Dakota to stay.”
Yeah, I fucking clocked that shit immediately.
“Dakota knows what she wants,” I say, hoping to fucking God that she does and that she feels strongly enough about me, about us, and about the men in this club that she can tell the bitch to kick rocks.
“Hate to see a woman not make it out of a cult standoff,” Shocker mutters.
And as sick and fucking twisted as that is, I can’t deny that I was thinking the same fucking thing. If the bitch has to go, the bitch has fucking got togo. I hope she doesn’t, for no other reason than it would upset Dakota, but if she’s going to be a complication, she is not fucking wanted, nor is she needed.
CHAPTER THIRTY
DAKOTA
I know how to mourn.I’ve been doing it my whole damn life. My father, my mother. Then, once I got out of the commune, I mourned the life it seemed everyone else in the world had around me while I lived in a seemingly alternate universe.
Now that I’m here and I feel the void that had been inside of me filling with emotions of hope and love, I am forced to mourn the loss of my best friend.
The woman who saved me.
The woman who helped me get into community college classes and find a job I could support myself on. My roommate, my family. For a long time, she was everything to me, and now she doesn’t want to be in my life.
Bishop is standing in the hallway, his eyes fixated on the door to his bedroom when I open it. Finding him there is like a balm to my raw soul.
Wordlessly, I move toward him, one foot in front of the other, shuffling barefooted on this no doubt disgusting floor until mybody collides with his. He wraps his arms around me, and the moment his muscles flex, my breath escapes in an exhaled sigh.
His lips touch the top of my head before he speaks. “I got you, baby,” he murmurs. “Right here, I got you.”
I’m not sure if he knows how much just those simple words mean to me, but when I raise my head, my eyes meet his, and it hits me like a ton of bricks. He knows. He knows everything. I cup his cheek with one hand, then the other, wrapping my fingers around the side of his neck.
Sliding my thumb along his bottom lip, I rise to my toes and touch my lips to his in a chaste kiss. When I back away a bit, his gaze shifts from mine as he looks over my head, no doubt to Briana, who stands behind me.
He shuffles me to his side, and I wrap my arms around him as I face Briana. Her gaze scans us, and her lip curls in what I can only describe as disgust. If Bishop notices, he doesn’t react to her expression.
“I’m going to take Dakota to her motel room so she can put on some clothes and shoes. Fucking hell, baby, you’re not wearing shoes.”
I almost laugh. It’s like he just noticed that I’m not wearing shoes when I haven’t been this whole time. Before I can say anything in response, he bends slightly, slides his arms beneath me, and cradles me like his bride, which he’s asked me to be, so maybe this is good practice.
I almost giggle to myself at that thought but decide against it. Instead, I wrap my arms around him, and my breath hitches when I look into his eyes.
“I’m not wearing shoes,” I agree on a whisper.
“Then let’s get you the fuck to the motel. We’ll go in the pickup. I don’t want you on the bike with no fucking shoes.”
