Page 38 of Mimic
Dakota expected me to come at him swinging. That was his mistake. He expected me to fight fair. I might be a kid, but I’d watched enough movies my mother didn’t know about, to know you had to catch your opponent off guard if you had any hope of getting the upper hand.
I dove for his legs, wrapping my arms around his knees, and took him to the floor. He might have been surprised by my move, but he recovered quickly and flipped me over so I was under him. His fist came at me fast, and I turned just in time for the blow to glance off my chin rather than hit me full-on in the face.
I swung my arm and caught him on the shoulder. A small grunt let me know I was stronger than I thought. He went for my face again, and this time he landed a blow to my nose. The sound of bones snapping, followed by my cry of pain, echoed through the room.
“DAKOTA!”
Dakota jumped off me and turned around. His father stood in the doorway; an icy glare directed at his son.
“You are supposed to be teaching him how to fight. Not beating the shit out of him.”
“He’s gotta learn how not to get hit first.” Dakota sneered.
“Do I need to find someone else?”
“No,” Dakota growled, his hands fisting at his sides.
“Then do what you’re fucking told. If I need a fucking babysitter for you, I’ll send you back to the fucking desert.”
George left, and Dakota’s black eyes focused on me. “Get the fuck up.” The deceptive-looking smile on Dakota’s face wasn’t just sinister; it was pure fucking evil.
My eyes stayed closed as my body woke with a start. I lay in my bed until my heavy pants decelerated into slow, even breaths. I was so fucking tired of this shit.
I envied my brothers, who could drink a bottle of whiskey and pass out. What I wouldn’t do to get blackout drunk and maybe get a full night’s sleep for once.
My legs swung over the side of the bed, and I held my head in my hands. Normally, I would sneak into Indie’s apartment and watch her sleep. Just seeing her at peace let my own body relax enough to rest. I didn’t need more than a few hours of sleep. But waking up in a cold sweat from the damn nightmares had my body coiled up. Indie was the only thing that uncoiled the tension I’d lived with all these years.
Knowing she was here in the clubhouse wasn’t enough. I needed to see her. I pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt and left my room to search her out, only to find Archie standing outside her door.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“King asked me to guard her door.”
“Guard her from what? She’s in the fucking clubhouse. No one can get to her here.” Archie lowered his eyes to the floor. “What?” I growled.
“King said not to let any of the brothers into her room.” He cleared his throat and added, “Especially you.”
“Goddammit.” I turned and walked away, heading to the kitchen downstairs. Pushing the door open, I went straight to the coffeepot, leaning against the counter as I waited.
Indie had disappeared after she stormed out of church and locked herself in the room Brandy had put her in. When she didn’t come downstairs for dinner, I tried to make her a plate to take up, but King caught me and sent Jade in my place. Reminding me again that he had ordered me to stay away from her.
Fat fucking chance!
I took my coffee and sat at the bar. The guys wouldn’t be up for hours. There had been times through the years I would come down in the middle of the night and find Amber sitting here in the dark. We didn’t talk much beyond the common“couldn’t sleep?”and“me either,”but it was comforting having someone else in the room.
For a few months, Bane had joined us occasionally. He also stayed quiet, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Thinking back to the months he spent here, I wondered if he’d known then that Amber and Dante were his kids.
This world was so fucked up. Amber and Dante weren’t much different from Rose and me. They hadn’t known who theirparents were at all. Hell, they didn’t even know about each other. At least Rose and I had been raised by our mother.
Until Dakota fucking kidnapped her.
We didn’t know who our father was, though. Even now, all we had was a name. Justin Peterson. AKA Shame, a brother in the Soulless Sinners. Same as Bane. Same as Dakota.
Did they know each other? Were they friends? What kind of man was Justin Peterson?
“Mimic?”
“Hey.”
