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CHAPTER 1
KNOX
For the first time in what felt like goddamn months, things were chill. Not the end-of-March chill that made the women shiver in their chairs around the firepit at Grant’s place, but the kind of calm that came from lack of action.
It was relieving as much as unnerving.
Walter Bates and his psycho Wolverines were lying low, lurking in the shadow of Reno where the Devil’s Luck couldn’t yet see—his daughter, Caroline the sadistic bitch, included.
But it was hard to focus on impending doom when my brothers were sipping beers by the fire, half of them warmed not just by alcohol but by their women.
Half the club hadn’t shown up yet, busy with their own shit, so we were just waiting for the texts.
In the meantime, my gaze raked over Jackson and Sam. She had one arm resting over her baby bump that had grown over the past month, casual but unmistakable in its protectiveness. She’d smash a bottle over anyone’s head who made the stupid decision of getting too close. Speaking of close—she leaned into Black Jack from his chair, eyes fluttering contently from the warmth of the fire.
Jackson Black, the President of the Devil’s Luck MC, had been hardened by years as a SEAL. He had returned to find his kid brother murdered, and he had seen death so many damn times, surely they were old pals. He shot first and demanded questions later—and he was whipped as hell by the owner of the bar, Samantha Lye.
No one would have guessed the horrors he’d seen when he gently tucked the blanket around his girl—his growing child—tighter. She yawned.
It made Elouise yawn from across the pit, cuddled in Abel’s lap, and made her glare indignantly. “Hey, don’t yawn, or I’m gonna yawn.”
Sam snorted good-naturedly. “You already did, Mayfair,” she said affectionately.
Abel’s broad hand splayed across his woman’s more subtle baby bump as reverently as Jackson did to Sam, nuzzling her cheek with his, damn near purring. They had come a long way from where they’d started, too. “You tired, baby?”
Grant, Gabriel, and I barked identical laughs, breaking the peace.
“You serious, Snake?” Grant razzed, sipping his beer. “Gone soft as hell.”
Abel whipped his head toward us and glared. “Shut up, single dicks.”
Gabriel, grinning, turned to me as Grant leaned forward to stoke the flames. “Feel left out, Flush? We can cuddle.”
I rolled my eyes. “In your dreams, bastard.”
Elouise, unaffected by the banter, smiled lazily. “Mm, maybe. Take me home, Snake Eyes.”
Sam, equally unfazed, stretched, glancing at Jackson, and mused, “I hear bed calling my name, Black Jack.”
“We should get going,” Jackson agreed, rising. “It’s late.”
Grant and Gabriel jumped at the chance to give the president a hard time. “Black Jack’s been domesticated!”
“Daddy Jack!”
I couldn’t help but join in, flashing a cocky grin. “Fearless leader trading his bike for a pregnant lady and a rundown truck.”
Jackson helped Sam stand up, a gentle action compared to the death glare he shot his brothers. “Keep running your mouths and see what happens. I ain’t putting my girl on the back of a death trap.”
“Since when is your bike a trap?” Grant raised a brow in disbelief.
“Since when do you ask so many stupid questions?” Jackson growled, ushering Sam toward the truck.
Abel and Elouise weren’t far behind, leaving us “single dicks” behind.
My grin faded as I watched the lovestruck fools retreat into the night. The sense of calm and camaraderie seemed to sour, curling in my gut like dread. I’d been able to put a hell of a lot of shit at the back of my mind the past few months, loyalty to the Devil’s Luck and all the blood we’d waded through keeping me focused on everything but myself. I loved my MC to my last breath, but as the dark swallowed Jackson’s broad back, I knew my loyalty had a crack. It was ironclad but not unquestioning.
Sometimes, certain things needed to be done another way.