Page 42 of Retribution
They ambled toward the rock in silence, the only sounds coming from the gentle lapping of water on the shore, the slight rustle of leaves, and the twitter of birds. Cobra climbed up and reached out his hand to her. Dakota grabbed it, and he hoisted her up on top of the boulder. It gave them a perfect, unobstructed view of everything, including the vast mountain range that seemed to stretch toward the sky in the background.
Cobra moved to the center of the rock and sat down.
“Come here,” he said, extending his arm.
Dakota gripped his wrist, and he tugged her forward and arranged her in front of him so that she sat between his legs with his arms wrapped around her waist and her back curled to his front. “That’s perfect,” he muttered.
Comfort soaked through her body, and Dakota tipped her head back and looked up at the clouds. If she squinted hard enough, maybe she could find some shapes. It was a silly game she used to play when she was young and carefree … and before everything in her life flipped upside down.
The wind murmured through the space, making small shushed and hollowed noises through the foliage. It was as if everything in their world was magnified, waiting to be captured with every breath.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” Dakota said, looking at the ripples in the lake as she sagged back into his tight embrace. “Ba-boom, Ba-boom, Ba-boom.”
Cobra laughed at her silly mimicry and squeezed her around the waist, nuzzling his nose into her hair.
“You smell fuckin’ awesome,” he whispered next to her ear.
All the small hairs on her body stood on end as her skin became charged from the sweet and caring gesture. Rather than overthinking what it meant, she gave in to the feelings, the inner peace that seemed to be weaving through both of them in that moment.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Yeah.” He placed his chin lightly on the top of her head.
For several minutes they sat entwined together, listening to the sounds of nature, relishing the quiet time with each other. Then Dakota ran her fingers over his forearm and felt the light ridge of raised skin beneath them. Her hand froze in place, and she remembered the same imperfections on his otherwise perfect body across the width of his back. Scars. Had he been in an accident?
“Whatcha thinkin’?” Cobra grasped her hand and moved it away from his forearm.
“How wonderful it is to be with you right now.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Ditto, sweetheart.”
Dakota bit the inside of her cheek, inhaled, then slowly exhaled. “Have you ever been in a motorcycle accident?”
“Yeah. Shit … every biker I know has been in one. Usually it’s because a cager isn’t paying any fuckin’ attention to the road, or the biker’s speeding, drunk, or just not watching out.”
“What’s a ‘cager’?”
“People who drive cages—vehicles.”
“What happened with you?”
Cobra shrugged. “I didn’t see an oil slick and wiped out. I got scratched up pretty bad, but I wasn’t going that fast because the weather conditions weren’t that great. It wasn’t anything major like some of my friends have had.”
“Did you scratch up your back?” she asked.
“No, just my left side. Why?”
Dakota swallowed hard. “I thought maybe that’s where you got the scars on your back.” She felt Cobra stiffen behind her.
Several minutes passed without him saying a word, and she was just ready to fill in the silence when he cleared his throat.
“I got those from my old man.”
A simple enough statement that carried so much behind-the-scenes sadness.
“Your father did that?” she whispered.
“Yeah. He was a strict disciplinarian—a Marine. He ran the fuckin’ household like a goddamn bootcamp.”
