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She bent to retrieve a clean glass for the regular, set it on the bar, and then placed it under the tap. As soon as she pulled the lever, she looked up.
We made eye contact.
Sam overpoured the glass. Beer spilled all over her hands, the bar, and off the counter. She cursed and looked down. I assumed the beer had spilled onto her shoes. Then she apologized profusely to the regular before calling in a strangled voice, “Jackson.”
Sam grabbed a towel and started cleaning up, but her stare never left me. Her expression was blank, but hostility and fear radiated from her. One hand rested on her belly protectively, as if she expected me to charge her or something.
Knox took a step forward. He was trying to be casual, but the bar was now thick with tension. He cleared his throat. “What’s good, Sam?”
Her eyes flicked to him sharply, unsmiling. “Hi, Knox.”
“How’s business?”
“Booming,” Sam said deadpan, looking at me again pointedly.
It was a jab. Like, Yeah, it’s doing great after the first place was burnt to a crisp by your shitty-ass dad.
“Samantha,” I began before I could stop myself.
I didn’t get further than that.
Jackson came around the corner, striding in like he was already aiming for a fistfight. “Don’t fucking talk to my woman.”
Like reflex, Knox stepped in front of me like a living shield. Jackson noticed the protective motion, then stopped short when he saw us holding hands. His jaw tightened so hard it was a miracle he didn’t crack all of his teeth.
“I thought,” the Devil’s Luck president said slowly, dangerously, looking between me and Knox. “That you two would follow my orders.”
I remembered crystal clear what Black Jack had said.
“I’m not gonna kill her, but I sure as hell am gonna make her understand what she cost us. You’re gonna get her out of Reno, Knox. Tonight. And if she’s still here by morning… There won’t be a conversation next time.”
Before either of us could say anything, Jackson continued. “In case you two forgot how time works, ‘tonight’ was a whole fucking week ago.”
Jackson Black was the definition of a military man—tall, broad, hella fucking fit, especially in a ripped tank and jeans—but he had grown out his brown hair and stubble in the past few months. His brown eyes burned with a bone-deep hatred directed at me.
I could feel Knox coiled like a spring, but he kept his voice measured and light, as if it were a white flag of surrender. “Yeah, I remember that from elementary school, Jack. Good reminder. Just don’t expect me to do fractions.”
Jackson crossed his huge arms over his chest. Behind him, Sam was halfway through a door next to the bar. I assumed it led to the kitchen. “We haven’t even buried him yet.”
Knox winced.
“I have half a mind to ban you from here, Knox. You already are,” Jackson continued with a sharp jerk of his chin at me. “See yourself out before you find my foot in your ass.”
“Jack.” Knox’s voice tightened. “She’s not going anywhere?—”
“You don’t have that right,” Sam snapped suddenly. “I can’t believe you would betray us like this, Knox! Do you know what she put us through? What she put me through?”
I flinched.
Jackson noticed. “Yeah, that’s right,” he snarled. “I’m surprised you have a heart to feel guilt.”
“Jack!” Knox barked. “We’re here for a reason?—”
“Yeah? The fuck would that be?”
Knox glanced down at me briefly as if asking for permission to continue. I nodded once. Knox looked between Jackson and Sam, then said with a heavy implication of the future of the two MCs, “Caroline wants to help us kill Bates.”
Suddenly, more than half the eavesdropping patrons got up and made themselves scarce. Others straight up left, including the regular at the bar who’d been talking to Sam.