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“The fuck? Why? Vane! Move, you jackass. We’ll climb out the damn window?—”
“Vane” cleared his throat. And said, in a low, knee-weakening growl, “Try that, and I’ll jam a glass shard through your last good eye.”
Bates went still.
Because that wasn’t Vane’s voice.
It was Jackson Black’s.
Very much alive.
Walter Bates had just been locked in a room with the Devil’s Luck president.
He didn’t just ring his own death knell.
He fucking asked for it.
CHAPTER 37
KNOX
I hated—hated—watching Caroline act like nothing had changed. She chatted with Bates like we hadn’t met, and they were just daddy-daughter murderers. I knew it was an act, and she would never do this unless absolutely necessary, but part of me was still thrown off by it.
Caroline was my girl, not Walter Bates’s. And if he tried to hurt what was mine—well, I would forget Jackson’s dibs on Bates’s life.
It was difficult to just lie low behind some boxes on the mezzanine, watching them chat, watching Mason and Brody play dead. They looked too dead and it sent ugly chills up my spine. I had already lost too many brothers. My overimaginative mind didn’t need more tragic scenarios to conjure up.
Luckily, I was looking forward to violence. Caroline was going to lock Bates up inside the office with Jackson. Abel would dive through the shattered window and start a riot with the Wolverines. Mason and Brody would jump back to life. Jameson and Grant would rain bullets from above.
Me? I was supposed to be a sniper, too.
But would I follow that plan when Caroline was in the line of fire?
Probably fucking not.
Then Bates said some pretty famous last words. “As long as Black Jack’s corpse is cooling somewhere, nothing’s stopping me from peeling that barmaid out of her maternity jeans and fucking the attitude out of her.”
My jaw dropped to the floor.
Jameson wheezed. “Holy fucking shit. He’s dead.”
Everything after that happened really fucking fast.
Caroline shoved him into the office and barred the door with a knife to the doorknob. Jackson revealed himself and gave a badass one-liner. Abel, who hadn’t really been tied up, parkoured out of the shattered window like his ass was on fire.
And then the wild bastard fired a shot into the air and howled, “Surprise, motherfuckers! We do not die easy!”
The final battle between Devil’s Luck and the Wolverines exploded into chaos.
There were nine Wolverines, including Bates. With Jackson preoccupied, it was eight against six.
“Easy peasy,” I growled. “Let’s go, boys.”
Jameson and Grant burst into action. We ran to the rail, already shooting. Mason and Brody hauled themselves up. Abel leapt on the nearest Wolverine like a maniac.
They were caught off guard, shouting in surprise like chickens with their heads cut off, scrambling to reconcile the fact that Brody and Mason had come back to life.
But it didn’t take them long to start firing and punching back. Bullets were flying everywhere. Few, unfortunately, hit targets.