Page 6 of Doomed (Blackwood Brothers #2)

BIANCA

I watch Knox disappear into the crowd, my skin still tingling where his breath touched my ear. His words echo in my head:

I always get what I want. Always.

“Holy shit,” Michelle says. “That was intense. Are you okay?”

I drain my martini in one gulp. “I’m fine.”

But I’m not fine. My pulse races, and it’s not from anger. The way Knox looked at me—like I was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve—sends heat coursing through me.

An hour passes. Then two. The dance floor pulses with bodies, the music throbs through my chest, but Knox doesn’t reappear. I keep scanning the crowd, telling myself I’m making sure he stays away.

The only problem with that—I know I’m fucking lying to myself.

Michelle tugs my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. Her words slur, and her cheeks are flushed from too many cosmos. “That guy over there keeps looking at me.”

I follow her gaze to a tall man with dark curly hair who’s watching Michelle with blatant interest.

“Go talk to him,” I say, nudging her forward.

“You sure?”

“I’m a big girl. Go have fun.”

She hesitates only a moment before weaving through the crowd toward him. Within minutes, they’re dancing, his hands on her waist, her arms around his neck.

I order another drink, my third of the night, and try not to think about Knox’s mouth against my ear or the thrill that shot through me when he promised to get what he wants.

By midnight, Michelle is practically wrapped around Curly Hair, giggling as he whispers in her ear. I catch her eye and motion that I’m leaving. She breaks away and stumbles over to me.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, though her gaze keeps darting back to her dance partner.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re having fun.” I grab my purse and stand. “I’ll catch a cab. I’ll see you at home.”

“You sure?” She bites her lip, torn between concern for me and desire for him.

“Positive. Text me when you’re on your way, okay?”

She hugs me, whispers “Thank you,” and then rejoins her new friend on the dance floor.

As I push through the crowd toward the exit, I can’t help scanning the faces one last time, looking for a pair of dangerous blue eyes.

I push through the club’s doors and step into the night air, grateful for the reprieve from the pounding music. The October chill wraps around my bare arms. It’s a welcome change to the stifling heat inside Purgatory.

The street is quieter than I expected for a Friday night. A few people stumble out of nearby bars, their laughter echoing against brick buildings. I move to the curb, scanning for the yellow flash of a taxi.

One drives past without slowing. I wave my arm higher, but another cab zooms by, its light clearly on.

What the hell?

“Come on,” I mutter, pulling out my phone to check the time. Almost one in the morning. I could call an Uber, but the surge pricing will be ridiculous.

A third taxi approaches. I step further into the street, waving both arms now. The driver makes eye contact, then deliberately looks away, accelerating past me.

“Are you kidding me?” I shout after it.

The streets are emptying now, leaving me increasingly alone. A knot of unease tightens in my stomach. Maybe I should call that Uber after all?—

Warm hands suddenly grip my hips from behind. I freeze as breath tickles my neck.

“Need a ride?”

Knox’s voice sends electricity down my spine. I rip away from his grasp, whirling to face him. My heart hammers against my ribs as I fumble in my purse, fingers closing around the small canister of mace I always carry.

“Back off,” I warn.

Knox’s eyes widen for a split second before his mouth curls into that infuriating smirk. Before I can press the nozzle, his hand clamps around my wrist, squeezing hard enough to make my fingers go numb. The mace drops to the sidewalk with a clatter.

“That’s not very nice,” he says. “And here I was, offering to help you.”

I try to wrench free, but he holds fast. “Let. Go.”

He studies me with that same intensity from the gallery. “You’re not having much luck with those cabs, are you?”

I stare at Knox’s smug expression, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. The taxi driver made direct eye contact, only to drive past. The way the street emptied so quickly. The convenient timing of his appearance.

“You had something to do with this, didn’t you?” I narrow my eyes. “The taxi drivers are ignoring me. That was your doing.”

His smile widens, neither confirming nor denying.

“Michelle told me how your family operates—how you practically run this town.” I tug at my wrist again, but his grip remains firm. “What did you do? Pay off every cab driver in the area to ignore me?”

Knox tilts his head, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting piece of art. “You’re smart, princess. I like that about you.” He steps closer. “Let’s say people in this city know better than to poach what belongs to a Blackwood.”

“I don’t belong to you, and I’m not a princess,” I hiss, anger flaring hot in my chest.

“Not yet,” he says. “But the night is young.”

I glance around, realizing how isolated we are on this empty street. No witnesses. No passing cars. Just me and this dangerous man who orchestrated the whole situation.

“This is kidnapping,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Kidnapping?” Knox laughs, the sound rich and genuine. “I’m offering you a ride home. How is that kidnapping?”

I take a deep breath and wrench my wrist from his grip, stepping back to assess my options. Knox still has that smirk on his face, clearly enjoying how helpless I am. I place my hands on my hips and observe him. He knows he’s won this round.

“You planned this,” I say.

“I prefer to think of it as creating an opportunity.” He gestures toward the empty street. “So, what’s it going to be, princess? Walk home alone in those pretty heels, or accept my generous offer?”

I look down at my feet wrapped in the strappy black stilettos Michelle convinced me to wear. They’re already pinching my toes, and the thought of walking five blocks makes my arches ache in protest.

“Where’s your car?” I ask.

Knox’s laugh is low and rich. “No car tonight.” He points to a sleek motorcycle parked in the shadows—neon blue with red accents gleaming under the streetlights. “Hope you’re not afraid of a little adventure.”

I sigh heavily, weighing my limited options.

Call an Uber and wait alone on this deserted street?

Try to walk home on these torture devices that Michelle calls shoes?

Or climb onto the back of a motorcycle with a man who’s basically a stranger—a dangerous stranger who orchestrated this entire situation?

“Fine,” I say, my voice tight with reluctance as I lean down and grab my can of mace to put it back in my purse. “But this doesn’t mean anything. You’re giving me a ride home because you eliminated all my other options. Dick move by the way.”

His smile widens. “Whatever helps you sleep tonight, princess.”

“Stop calling me princess.”

“Sure thing, baby.”

I roll my eyes, but follow him to the motorcycle. “I’ve never been on one of these before,” I admit, eyeing the machine.

“Don’t worry,” Knox says, handing me a helmet. “Put this on.”

I stare at the helmet in Knox’s outstretched hand, hating everything about this situation and that I’m forced to accept his “help.” He manipulated circumstances to manufacture this scenario. Still, most of all, I hate myself for the thrill that runs through me despite my anger.

“I’m not getting on that death trap,” I protest, even as I take the helmet from him.

“You afraid?” His voice is teasing.

“No,” I lie, struggling with the helmet strap. “I don’t trust your driving.”

Knox steps closer, pushing my fumbling fingers aside to fasten the strap beneath my chin. His knuckles brush against my throat, and I swallow hard, refusing to acknowledge the goosebumps racing across my skin.

“There,” he says. “Perfect. Now, where do you live?”

I bite my lip, unsure about giving this asshole my address, but it’s not like I have another option, so I reel it off to him.

He swings his leg over the motorcycle, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “Hop on, princess.”

Gathering what’s left of my dignity, I awkwardly climb onto the seat behind him, my dress riding up to the top of my thighs. I tug at the fabric, but it’s impossible to maintain any modesty.

“Where do I...” I start, unsure where to put my hands.

“Around my waist,” Knox instructs, reaching back to grab my wrists and pull my arms around him. “Hold tight.”

I reluctantly press against him, my chest flush against his back, thighs hugging his hips.

I hate this—hate how solid he feels, how the muscles in his back flex as he adjusts his grip on the handlebars.

Most of all, I hate how I respond to his warmth and the faint scent of his cologne mixing with leather.

“Ready?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Just drive,” I mutter.

The motorcycle lurches forward, and I instinctively cling tighter, pressing myself against him. Every curve in the road, every stop at a light, forces me to hold on, to feel the hard planes of his abs beneath my fingertips, the strength in his thighs as he balances the bike.

I close my eyes, hating how good it feels.

The motorcycle slows as we pull up in front of my apartment building. I feel electrified, every nerve ending awake and humming. The vibration of the engine between my legs, combined with the way I’ve been pressed against Knox for the past fifteen minutes, has left me in a state I’m not proud of.

I’m aroused. And I hate it.

Knox cuts the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. He swings his leg over the bike and turns to me. “Need help?” he asks, offering his hand.

I want to refuse, to prove I don’t need his assistance, but my legs feel like jelly. Placing my hand in his, I try to ignore the warmth that spreads from his touch.

“Let me get that for you,” he murmurs, stepping closer. His fingers brush my neck as he unbuckles the helmet, sliding it off gently. His eyes never leave mine, watching for my reaction, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say stiffly, stepping back to create distance between us. “Goodnight.”

I turn to leave, but before I can take two steps, his hand wraps around my wrist, tugging me back. I collide with his chest, his face inches from mine.

“How about a proper thank you?” His eyes drop to my mouth. “A kiss for your knight in shining armor?”

I scoff, pulling my wrist free. “You’re no knight. And I already said thank you.”

“Come on, princess. One little kiss.” He traces his thumb along my bottom lip. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Touch me again without permission, and I won’t hesitate to slap you a second time.”

His eyes spark with challenge. “Maybe I like it rough.”

“Maybe you like having an ego bigger than your brain.”

Knox laughs. “There she is. I was wondering where that fire went during our ride. Thought maybe you were enjoying being pressed against me too much to stay angry.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “You’re delusional.”

“And you’re beautiful when you blush.” His gaze softens for a moment before the cocky mask slides back into place. “Rain check on that kiss, then?”

“Definitely, schedule it for the second Tuesday of the third week of never,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

Knox’s smile doesn’t falter. Instead, he winks at me, slow and deliberate. “I’ll change your mind, princess.”

“When hell freezes over,” I shoot back, turning on my heel.

My keys jingle in my hand as I walk away from him, determined not to look back despite feeling his gaze on me. It crawls up my spine, making my skin prickle with awareness.

I push through the door of my building, relief washing over me as I step into the familiar lobby. Just as the door begins to swing closed behind me, Knox calls out.

“That might be sooner than you think, Bianca!”

His voice echoes in the quiet street, following me inside like a promise—or a threat.