Page 37

“That’s not who I mean.”
It took Knox a second to realize who I did mean. Then his jaw clenched. I watched the muscle feather there. “The Devil’s Luck.”
I nodded. “Your president doesn’t know you’re involved with me and my fuckups, but my father might go after your MC regardless, assuming it was club business. He doesn’t know you were there independently.”
Knox reached for his phone, as if he were going to call or text the Devils to warn them. But then he stopped and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I fucked up. I didn’t even… Didn’t even think about…”
The thought struck me: he forsook the Devils’ safety for mine.
It didn’t sit well in my chest. No one was supposed to be selfless for the daughter of Walter Bates.
Knox scrubbed his face, then ran his fingers through his knotted hair. “Well,” he said with a steadying exhale, “looks like we’re both on the run.”
I pressed my lips together. “Looks like.”
We sat in silence for a while. I was too lost in my own thoughts to really register the forest around us, but as the sound of the rain pulled me out of my head, I started to take it in. There was so much greenery, and it all smelled so fresh and pure. It was so different from the chaotic sights and smells of Reno. I hadn’t lived in this city my whole life like Knox or any of the other Devil’s Luck, but I had lived in plenty of others, pulled along wherever Father’s gang work took us.
Almost thirty years’ worth of travels, never staying in one place too long. Five years here was the longest stretch of time we’d settled. It had gone smoothly until the Black brothers started to cause trouble. Until Jackson returned to reclaim his presidency after my father killed his younger brother. From then on, that was when my father began to decline.
“You’re spiraling, spitfire.”
I started at Knox’s deep, annoyingly soothing voice. “Huh?”
“You’re thinking too much. Start talking it out.”
I gave him a flat look. “What, are you a therapist now?”
Knox flashed a quick smirk, but it was half-hearted. “No, but I’m a good listener when I’m not running my mouth. I am capable of that, by the way. I make good money by running this mouth with a few sticky fingers, but I can lend an ear.”
I never talked about my feelings. I never could and I never wanted to. I kept it bottled up, like every person who came and went in my life. No one ever offered. Even if they did, it was a trap. A ploy.
Knox? There was something about him that made it easy to talk. But I was too conditioned to fall for something that good. Anything good that I encountered usually died pretty fast.
So I deflected. “Can I have a clean ear?”
Knox touched both his lobes as if I pointed out dirt. Little flecks of blood came off, though. He grunted with mixed emotions. “I’d kill for running water.”
“Water jug,” I reminded him, forcing humor into my voice. “You gave me your childhood trauma story. I’m not giving mine until I can talk to a civilized-looking man.”
“I’m plenty civilized looking. Civilized for a Reno MC.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go wash up and smell like must with me.”
Knox stood and winked. “You got it, blondie. Try not to go wandering off.”
“I have no interest in traipsing off into a national park, thank you.”
“Good. I’m also banning access to my keys.”
“I’m too fancy to drive a Ford pickup.”
“Fair. You do look good in my clothes, though.”
With that, Knox went inside the trailer, leaving me to clamp my hands around my neck to hide the heat creeping up it.
Bastard.
I grabbed one of the water bottles on the ground between us and drank half the thing in two chugs. I needed to keep hydrated. It was the only source of energy I would get if I were on the run like some criminal.