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Black Knights Inc.

Britt loaded Haint’s saddlebags and checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

What the hell is taking so long?

It was a long ride up to Traverse City, Michigan. It would be even longer because they were journeying on the backroads in the dark. And every minute they remained at BKI was one more minute that he made his friends and teammates complicit in his endeavors.

He wanted to be hell and gone like… yesterday . But they’d decided to wait until after dark to make their move. There were fewer cars on the roads after dark, which meant fewer chances for accidents that would require the cops to arrive on the scene. It also meant fewer folks awake to make note of two whimsical motorcycles riding down the road.

In his line of work, darkness was always preferential to daylight. And when it came to spiriting an ex-con across state lines and up the entire east coast of Michigan, darkness wasn’t just preferred; it was required.

The hours he’d spent waiting for the sun to set had been filled with brainstorming sessions with his team. It had been decided that their best course of action was to get Knox and Sabrina out of Dodge, squirrel them away somewhere safe and secure and far from the prying eyes of the feds.

Hunter had offered the use of his off-grid cabin outside Traverse City, Michigan. It had all the amenities of home while remaining completely untraceable. Knox and Sabrina should be comfortable there while Ozzie did what Ozzie did best: use his wunderkind hacking skills to pinpoint the true traitor.

After Ozzie had found the guy—or gal, Britt wasn’t sexist— then Knox and Julia could take their proof to the folks in the bureau. That, along with Sabrina Greenlee’s testimony, should be enough to clear Knox’s name.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Except, Britt couldn’t shake a growing sense of foreboding that somehow, in some way, this whole thing was going to go tits up.

His track record as a soldier was top-tier. He’d led his Ranger unit on dozens of successful missions without losing a man. And he was proud to say the same was true since he’d become a Black Knight. But his track record as a civilian? Particularly once his family was involved?

That was an entirely different story. And it was those odds that made him feel like someone had tied his knickers in a knot.

He paced the length of the shop twice and only stopped because Eliza suddenly appeared in his path.

“What’s with you?” She canted her head and frowned at him.

“What do you mean?” He could feel his eyebrows pull toward the center of his nose.

“You mainline adrenaline like it’s ice water running through your veins. Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected no matter what sort of shit is hitting the fan. But look at you now. Someone might think you have ants in your pants.”

The truth was his lazy, devil-may-care coolness only applied to situations where he felt in complete control. Where he had a plan and parameters and every procedure memorized backwards and forwards. And this? This wasn’t a base jump off a cliff that he’d studied six ways from Sunday or a mission he’d poured over for hours so he knew all the ins and outs. There were a lot of what-ifs and unknowns here.

Too many what-ifs and unknowns. He shifted uncomfortably.

Instead of answering her question, he posed one of his own. “What’s the holdup? Why aren’t we on the road already?”

“Your brother is brushing his teeth, and Sabrina is getting dressed. My feet are bigger than hers, so I made her double up on socks to fit my boots. As long as she doesn’t have to do any running, I think she’ll be fine.”

“If she’s running from something, that means we’ve got much bigger problems than boots that are too big.”

She made a face and then handed over a small bag. “I put a few changes of clothes in here for her. Nothing fancy. Jeans, socks, and a couple extra flannel shirts.”

Britt shot her a side-long glance as he added the small duffel to his saddlebags. “When do you ever wear flannel?”

She sniffed in feigned offense. “I can do rustic.”

He glanced over the expensive tailoring of her shirt and the intricate weave on the material of her slacks. His expression called bullshit, even if he was smart enough to keep his trap shut.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms. “The flannels were a gift from Becky two Christmases ago. I’ve never taken them out of the package.” She scrunched up her elegant nose. “I think she envisioned I’d wear them on the nights we sit around the firepit. But why would anyone choose a scratchy flannel shirt when there are Merino wool sweaters to be had?”

Britt took a peek down at the flannel shirt he’d slipped over his tee, then looked back up at her and grinned. “Peasants, am I right?”

“Pfft.” She flapped a hand, and he took that as his cue to secure the buckle on his saddlebag.

Stepping back, he admired his ride.

Each Black Knight had their own custom Harley. It was one of the perks of working for BKI. They’d consulted with Ozzie and Becky on the design for each bike. And then they’d gotten a crash course in mechanics by building their own pieces of rolling, roaring, road-eating art.

Haint was named after the paint color used on porch ceilings down South. The Gullah—a subgroup of African Americans who lived in the coastal regions of Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina—believed haints, or ghosts, couldn’t cross water. So they painted their porch ceilings a pale, oceany blue-green to repel any spirits who approached their homes to haunt them.

The tradition had spread past the Gullah community and had been adopted by just about every self-respecting Southerner. It was one of the quaint, everyday things he missed about his hometown.

Well, that and okra soup , he thought with a longing sigh.

He could fry up green tomatoes with the best of them, brew up a mean pitcher of sweet sun tea, and devil crabs like nobody’s business. But he had not made a decent pot of okra soup since moving to Chicago.

He blamed it on being unable to find fresh okra and dealing with the frozen stuff.

Great. And now I’m hungry for fried green tomatoes.

He ignored his grumbling stomach and straddled Haint’s leather seat—which Becky had dyed a deep, rich, moccasin brown. After unscrewing the gas cap, he swayed the motorcycle to and fro. This allowed him to see the fuel sloshing in the large tank. Once he was assured it was topped off, he replaced the cap.

His gas gauge had never let him down. But he’d learned his lesson about not relying on the reader and instead always putting eyes on his fuel level because the one time he hadn’t checked the tank on his dune buggy, he’d been forced to walk fifteen miles through the Agafay Desert back to Marrakech.

Not only had he been dirty and dehydrated by the time he’d reached civilization, but he’d also been sunburned all to hell and had nearly stepped on two separate desert-horned vipers.

He checked the fuel on the production bike Knox would ride. Checked the oil too. And then he double-checked the route he’d marked on his encrypted phone—the one he usually used while on a mission.

After that, there was nothing left but to get to it.

Time to put out the fire and call in the dogs.

“Mind hanging onto this for me until I get back?” he asked Eliza.

“It would be my pleasure.” She accepted his personal cell and shoved it into the hip pocket on her slacks.

If anyone—namely the folks after Knox—tried to track Britt via his cell phone, they’d find themselves at Black Knights Inc. and be faced with his coworkers who, conveniently, wouldn’t have the first clue where he’d scampered off to.

“You’re a saint,” he told her by way of thanks. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Her grin was positively devilish. “Certainly not Fisher.”

He held up a hand. “Please stop. It’s like when your parents talk about having sex.”

“Except you’re three years older than I am, so comparing me to your mom is absurd.”

“Doesn’t matter. You and Fish are family. So…” He shivered. “Same difference.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Speaking of sex and people who are a far cry from saints, how was that kiss you shared with Agent O’Toole in the kitchen?”

So good it made my jeans feel two sizes too small , he thought as images of Julia with her hair tumbled down over her shoulder and her cheeks flushed with passion screamed through his brain.

Aloud, he only admitted, “Better than it had any right to be, seeing as how we were two feet away from where my ex-con brother was sitting on the pantry floor.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “It was like being inside a welding factory the instant you two stepped into the kitchen together.”

“I’m not following.” He frowned.

“Sparks, Britt,” she explained. “Tons of sparks. I was tempted to shield my eyes.”

“Yeah, and that’s the kind of fire I got no business playing around with,” he declared staunchly.

Eliza narrowed her eyes. “That’s an odd sentiment coming from a man who’s made risk-taking his entire personality.”

“There are risks, and then there are risks ,” he countered. To distract her—and himself—he frowned at the empty staircase. “I’ll go get Knox. You mind checking on Sabrina? Make sure she hasn’t passed out again?”

“Give her a break.” Hew appeared at the top of the stairs. “She’s been on the run for two days.” He tromped down the metal treads, his biker boots booming like thunder. “You can be patient for five more minutes and let her catch her breath before you ask her to go on the run again.”

Britt jerked back his chin when Hew headed toward his own ride. The former Nightstalker wore his riding jacket and had his overnight go-bag slung over one shoulder.

“Where are you off to?” Britt demanded.

“I’m going with you.” Hew’s response brooked no argument.

Britt argued nonetheless. “Bullshit. It’s bad enough Hunter is letting us use his cabin and Ozzie is sticking his neck out by hacking into the lives of the folks on the joint task force. I don’t want you?—”

“See, that’s where you got things all wrong,” Hew interrupted as he opened the tour pack on the back of Freedom, the gray-blue chopper Britt had recently helped him refit with a big, twin exhaust.

Britt frowned in confusion. “Did I miss something? Did Hunter rescind his invitation? Is Ozzie not going to?—”

“No,” Hew cut in again. “You’re wrong if you think I give a fiddler’s fuck what you want.”

Britt’s growing apprehension had the hairs on his arms lifting like little semaphore flags. “This entire situation is a five-star screwup if ever there was one. There’s no guarantee the feds won’t find us.” He was desperate to mitigate the fallout from the bomb Knox had detonated by coming to Chicago. “And you don’t need to be there if they do. If anyone has to go to jail for helping my brother, it should be me.”

Hew crossed his big arms over his even bigger chest. “Two things,” he said in that Mainer accent that sounded curt and cutting. “One, martyrdom isn’t a good color on you. That’s just a fact.”

“Yeah,” Britt muttered, “if you’ve suddenly changed the definition of fact into shit you just made up .”

“And two,” Hew continued, “I’m a big boy. I can make my own decisions. I’m coming with you.”

“Damnit.” Britt ran a hand through his hair. “What happens if push comes to shove and I’m forced to stand my ground to protect my brother?”

“I know my specialty might be piloting war machines through the sky, but I can outrun, outgun, and outmaneuver with the best of you.”

“I know you can. But have you considered that that outrunning, outgunning, and outmaneuvering you’re so good at will involve the feds? As in the Federal Bureau of Investigations?”

“You mean the same Federal Bureau of Investigations with a rat in their house? The same Federal Bureau of Investigations itching to put your brother in the ground for something he didn’t do? You expect me to stand by and watch an innocent man go down just because he’s not my brother?”

Britt tried one last time to change Hew’s mind. He made sure his expression was as earnest as his tone. “I can’t have you on my conscience if things go pear-shaped. This is my mess to clean up, and I?—”

Hew interrupted with, “Your mess, my mess. None of that matters. We might not share blood, but we share a common goal: to keep everyone who works here alive until Madam President leaves office and we’re no longer in her service. If this situation with your brother does go pear-shaped, you’ll have a better chance of keeping your head on your shoulders with me by your side. Besides…” Hew grinned. “I’ve been itching to see this cabin Hunter has kept so secret. He says he has a first edition of A Wrinkle in Time .”

“Ahhh.” Britt nodded. “So the truth comes out. This is about a book. I should’ve known.”

“What?” Hew blinked innocently. “Can I help it if I’m motivated by loyalty and literature?”

Britt tried and failed to come up with another argument that would sway Hew’s decision. The truth was, despite not wanting to involve his teammates more than he absolutely had to, he was glad for the company. Glad he’d have another set of eyes and ears on-site…just in case.

“I don’t know whether to kiss you or tell you to go fuck your own face,” he finally told Hew, shaking his head in defeat.

“Spoken like a true prodigy.” That one corner of Hew’s mouth quirked. “I’ll take a pass on the kiss. And the other? I don’t bend that way. Believe me, I wish I could. Because what’s one more sin in a life already filled with transgressions?”

Britt guffawed while Eliza gasped. Her expression was scandalized. “I swear I’d love to shove all your heads in soup pots and kick them around the kitchen.”

“Are you including Fisher in that fantasy?” Britt asked her with a teasing wink.

She lifted her chin. “My darling fiancé quotes poetry. He doesn’t openly opine the sad fact that he can’t suck his own dick.”

Now, Britt was laughing in earnest. “Did you just say dick ?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just because I don’t curse six times in each sentence like the rest of you doesn’t mean I don’t know what the words mean. And just so you know?—”

She was cut off when Knox and Sabrina appeared at the top of the stairs.

Knox looked better after having showered and stolen a few hours of sleep. He’d borrowed a pair of Britt’s jeans and wore the faded, scuffed leather jacket Hunter had left behind when he moved out of the old factory building into a condo with his wife in the Streeterville neighborhood.

Sabrina, on the other hand, still looked awful. The woman wore her fear like a fashion statement. Britt would swear he could see a heavy cloud of sorrow hanging above her head.

He clocked the dark, freshly-pressed jeans she’d borrowed from Eliza. And sure as shit. The flannel shirt she wore still had the creases in the arms from where it’d been folded up at the factory.

Sabrina had pulled her dark hair back into a sleek ponytail, and her huge, doe eyes were still shadowed and bruised-looking. But the expression in them was nothing shy of…Britt decided the word was hopeful …when she saw Hew latching the fasteners on the back of his tour pack.

“Are you coming with us?” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her above the sound of Knox stomping down the stairs.

Hew didn’t speak. He nodded his head once as he watched Sabrina Greenlee descend the stairs.

Britt regarded his teammate’s expression with a raised eyebrow.

Hewitt Birch had exactly three emotional settings: boredom, casual sarcasm, and extreme hypervigilance.

The first two Britt was used to seeing. Hew made his boredom known by keeping his face buried in a book. The casual sarcasm was something the big ape whipped out and used against his teammates when they least expected it. But the extreme hypervigilance? Well, Hew usually saved that for when he was behind the controls of their Black Hawk helicopter.

And also, apparently, when he’s got eyes on Sabrina Greenlee.

“You’re riding with me.” He made a come-on gesture at Sabrina when she stepped off the last tread.

Britt blinked his surprise. Eliza and Sabrina both did the same. It was only Knox who frowned and shook his head. “I’ve been looking after her for the last three days. I should keep on keeping on if you don’t mind. That’s what Cooper would want.”

“You’re still suffering an adrenaline crash,” Hew explained casually as he swung his leg over Freedom’s black leather seat. “And this is going to be one long-ass ride. It’ll be a lot harder and a lot more exhausting if you’re having to balance a passenger. Besides, the bike we got you on only has a camelback seat. No backrest for the second rider. I got a king and queen seat on my ride.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate his seat setup. “She’ll be a lot more comfortable with me. Unless…” He lowered his chin and aimed his next words at Sabrina. “You’re not okay with that idea?”

“I-I…” She twisted her fingers. “I want to do whatever’s best for everyone.”

“Good.” Hew bobbed his head decisively and patted the cushion behind him. “Mount up.”

“You need help with your ride?” Britt asked his brother when Sabrina shrugged into the heavy leather jacket Eliza had scrounged up from somewhere and then scurried over to Hew to do as he commanded.

“You were still in diapers when I was riding that two-stroke pocket bike Dad bought me.” Knox clapped a hand on Britt’s shoulder. “I reckon I can handle the luxury units y’all build here. It’ll be all soft and comfy, like driving a Lincoln.”

Britt stared into his brother’s eyes. It was like looking in the mirror at himself. Only it reflected an image fifteen years in the future.

Knox might’ve only had four years on Britt. But prison was brutal on a man. It had aged Knox prematurely, blotching his skin, furrowing his brow, and dimming the light in his eyes.

The guilt of that ate at Britt. But maybe, just maybe, this was his redemption arc. Maybe if he kept his brother safe until Ozzie could find a way to clear Knox’s name, then he could finally pay Knox back for the sacrifice Knox had made for him all those years ago.

“I didn’t say it earlier, but—” He had to stop and clear his throat. “But it’s good to see you, man. I’ve missed you.”

Knox’s eyes looked suddenly overly bright. “Just wish I was here under better circumstances.”

There was a burn behind Britt’s eyes when he nodded. “Me too, brother. Me too.”

“I was trying to play it straight this time.” There was no mistaking the note of anguish in Knox’s voice. “I swear, I was, Britt.”

Knox rarely called Britt by his name, preferring to use brother or bro . This meant that when Knox did use his name, it felt particularly poignant, as if the divide between big brother and little brother disappeared, and they were simply two men who’d known each other their whole lives and who had loved each other just as long.

“I know you were.” Britt swallowed loudly. Then he figured he better inject some levity into the conversation before they melted into twin puddles on the floor. “As for the circumstances, aren’t the bad ones what usually bring us together?”

Knox grunted. “Seeing as how the last time you came to see me was the day I was sentenced to that stint in Kershaw, and the last time I went to see you was when I got compassionate leave to visit you in the hospital after that bullet nearly took you out, then yeah. I reckon you’re right. We might never cross paths if it weren’t for bad circumstances.”

Knox nudged him with his elbow. “Speaking of that bullet, are you ready to tell me how you got it? Because even outta your head on pain meds, you refused to give me the story.”

Britt smiled and shook his head. “Classified information doesn’t suddenly become unclassified just because I waved farewell to my Ranger unit.”

“Speaking of…” Knox lowered his voice and glanced around. “I came here hoping you could help me hide. Or maybe help me get out of the country. I never expected you and your friends to help me find whoever double-crossed me. I never thought you’d even know how .” He shot Britt a side-long glance. “Is there something you haven’t told me about what it is y’all do here?”

Britt couldn’t lie to his brother. But neither could he tell Knox the whole truth.

“We don’t have a lot of money here at Black Knights Inc., but what we do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills we’ve acquired over very long military careers. Skills that make us a nightmare for people like your rat,” he said, having bastardized the famous speech in Taken .

“Okay, Liam Neeson. Keep your secrets.” Knox chuckled, and Britt had forgotten how much he enjoyed that sound. It had been too long since he’d heard his brother’s laugh. Then, another noise cleaved through the quiet of the shop. And that one wasn’t nearly as sweet.

The hairs on Britt’s scalp lifted so fast and so high it was a wonder they didn’t all jettison clean off his head.

“What’s that?” Knox asked as the eee-ooo-eee-ooo-eee filled up the space.

Sam and Ozzie appeared at the railing on the second floor, staring down at them in alarm. Fisher ran in from the kitchen, his hair looking as wild as Ozzie’s. And Eliza scurried over to the security monitor by the front door.

“That, my dear brother,” Britt grumbled as he threw on his jacket, “is the dulcet tones of the shit hitting the fan.”

“The feds are at the front gate!” Eliza yelled. “Six vehicles and a bunch of men in tactical gear! Get out of here!”

Britt didn’t need to be told twice.

Freedom roared to full-throated life, and two seconds later, the production bike Becky had loaned Knox did the same. Britt had already rolled aside the large Craftsman toolbox that concealed the button that activated the hidden door to the Batcave. So, all that was left to do was push it.

“Yo, Fish!” he yelled as he straddled Haint and reached for his helmet. “Open sesame, will you?”

“On it!” Fish’s long legs carried him to the brick wall and the button in half a dozen strides.

Britt didn’t need to look to know Fish had smashed the button or that the bricks on the wall had separated to reveal the yawning black maw that was BKI’s secret exit. He could see the truth in Knox’s wide eyes and Sabrina's slack jaw.

“Who the hell are you people?” Sabrina squeaked as Britt tightened the strap under his chin and thumbed on his pride and joy’s engine.

“The folks who are trying to save your ass,” he yelled above the noise of the alarm and the motorcycles’ engines. Then he walked Haint to the lip of the tunnel and was slapped in the face with the smell of wet concrete and freshwater fish.

“Agent O’Toole is talking to Manus at the front gate!” Eliza called. “She’s showing him papers! I think they’re warrants!”

Britt caught Eliza’s stare and mouthed, I’m sorry .

She shook her head, gave him a wink, and then made a shooing motion with her hand.

“ Go ,” Fish said from beside Britt. The man’s hand was poised to press the button and close up the wall the instant the three bikes were in the tunnel. “Don’t worry about us. We got this.”

Britt hated, absolutely hated leaving his friends in the lurch. But the best thing he could do was get his brother far, far away from them and the agents poised to bust into the place.

“Thank you. I owe you.” He nodded at Fish before nosing Haint’s fat front tire over the lip of the chasm.

Julia O’Toole was at the gate with warrants, proof she knew about his brother. And proof she knew he’d played her earlier.

Knowing what she must think of him had bile burning in the back of his throat.

But he shouldn’t care, right? He’d already written her off, told her in no uncertain terms there would never be anything between them. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him.

And yet, as he twisted the throttle and started down the steep incline, he couldn’t escape one simple truth. He did care.

More than cared. It felt like there was something vast and heavy pressing down on him. And as someone who took pride in being self-aware, he didn’t shy away from labeling what that something was.

I will spend every day missing a woman who was never mine to begin with.