Page 7 of Doomed (Blackwood Brothers #2)

KNOX

S tanding in our warehouse on the docks, I watch Remy and Lars unload boxes from their carnival truck. The operation runs like clockwork—they deliver product hidden among carnival supplies, and we buy it and distribute it; everyone profits.

“You look like shit, Blackwood,” Lars calls out, hefting a crate labeled “COTTON CANDY SUPPLIES” with his tattooed arms. “Woman troubles?”

I flip him off casually. “Focus on not dropping the merchandise, Lars.”

Tyson laughs as he checks items off his clipboard. “I’ve heard he’s been moping since that artist slapped him. Vane said he’s never seen a woman get under his skin.”

Fucking Vane.

“Fuck off,” I say without heat. “At least I’m not the one with a cock piercing.”

“Hey,” Lars glares at me, “Alice loves my hardware. Maybe you need an upgrade to impress your artist.”

Tyson snorts. “Yeah, nothing says romance like metal through your dick.”

Jenson approaches from where he has been supervising our men, helping them unload. “Everything on schedule, sir?”

“Right on time,” I nod. While Jenson maintains the professional facade expected of our organization’s spymaster, despite practically being a brother to me, he’s not a Blackwood by name or blood. Ty’s crew operates under different rules since they’re independent in their own right.

“Three crates and we’re done,” Lars announces, wiping sweat from his brow. “Then I’ve got a date with a bottle of whiskey.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket while I’m checking inventory numbers with Jenson. I pull it out, seeing Vane’s name on the screen.

“What?” I answer, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I initial another form.

“Your pretty little artist just walked into Purgatory,” Vane says, amusement evident in his voice. “She’s delivering her first commission to Xavier. Thought you’d want to know.”

My pen freezes mid-signature. “Bianca’s there now?”

It’s been two weeks since I last saw Bianca—two weeks of her ignoring my texts and calls. Two weeks of self-inflicted blue balls since she’s taken up rent-free residence in my head.

“Looking all professional and fuckable at the same time. Xavier’s giving her the VIP treatment.”

Apparently, while ignoring my calls, she answers Xavier’s without a second thought. Since she is commissioned to paint six pieces for Purgatory for a pretty payday, I don’t imagine she would avoid the one with the checkbook.

I’m already pocketing my phone and grabbing my leather jacket off the chair. “Jenson, I need to head out.”

Lars looks up from where he’s counting product. “What’s the rush? We’re almost done here.”

“Business at Purgatory,” I mutter.

“Business, huh?” Lars’s smirk makes me want to punch him. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that artist who’s been ignoring your texts, would it?”

“Fuck off, Lars.”

“Never seen you this whipped, Blackwood,” he continues. “It’s refreshing, actually.”

I flip him off while checking my watch. If I hurry, I can catch her before she leaves.

“Jenson can finish up here,” I say, already heading toward the exit. “Everything’s counted and signed for. Just need the final transfer.”

Jenson nods. “I’ll handle it, sir.”

Lars calls after me, “Tell her I said hi. And that there are better Blackwoods to fuck!”

I ignore him, pushing through the warehouse doors and striding to where my motorcycle waits. The engine roars to life beneath me, and I’m peeling out of the lot before the warehouse door fully closes behind me.

I weave through traffic like it’s standing still, running red lights and taking corners so sharp my knee nearly scrapes the pavement. The speedometer climbs past ninety on a forty-five street, but I don’t care. After two weeks of radio silence, I’m not missing this chance to see Bianca.

I pull into Purgatory’s underground garage with a screech of tires, cutting the engine while the bike’s still rolling toward my reserved spot. My Aprilia glides into place beside Vane’s green Kawasaki, perfectly aligned, like we’ve done a thousand times.

Pulling off my helmet, I run a hand through my hair and check my reflection in the bike’s mirror. I look desperate—because I fucking am. Two weeks of silence have me acting like a teenager with his first crush.

I take the private elevator up to the club level, fingers drumming impatiently on the wall as it ascends. The second the doors slide open, I’m moving with purpose through the back corridors of Purgatory, past security who know not to stop me.

The club is already pulsing with early-evening energy—music vibrating through the floor, colored lights slicing through artificial fog, bodies writhing in hedonistic abandon. I scan the VIP section where Xavier usually conducts business, but I don’t see him or Bianca.

“Look who decided business could wait,” Vane’s voice cuts through the music as I pass the main bar.

I turn to find my brother leaning against the counter, tumbler of whiskey in hand, smirking like he’s caught me with my pants down.

“Where is she?” I demand.

Vane shakes his head and laughs. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Rushing over here in the middle of a shipment because a woman who slapped you might be around.”

“Did I miss her?” I ask, ignoring his jab.

“Xavier took her up to his office to sign the paperwork,” Vane says, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Never thought I’d see the day Knox Blackwood would be this whipped for pussy he’s not even getting.”

I laugh and clap Vane on the shoulder harder than necessary. “Hey, at least I’m chasing something with its own pulse. When was the last time you had anything but your hand for company?”

Vane’s eyes narrow. That’s always been our dynamic—pushing buttons until someone snaps. Usually, it’s him.

“Besides,” I continue, grabbing a random drink off a passing server’s tray and downing it in one go, “business wasn’t going anywhere. Those crates will still be there tomorrow. Bianca, on the other hand...” I wiggle my eyebrows.

“You’re a fucking child,” Vane mutters.

“A child who’s about to bag me a very talented artist, while also making sure the deal goes smoothly.” I straighten my leather jacket, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. “This isn’t about getting laid. It’s... multi-tasking.”

Vane snorts. “Multi-tasking. Right.”

“Some of us can think with both heads at once,” I shoot back with a wink. “It’s called talent.”

I’m already scanning the club, bouncing on the balls of my feet. The energy buzzing through me isn’t just sexual frustration—it’s the thrill of the chase. Bianca’s resistance makes her a prize worth winning.

“She’s not interested in you,” Vane says. “You know that, right?”

“Not yet,” I correct, flashing my most confident smile. “No woman slaps a man she’s not at least a little interested in. That’s passion, brother. And that passion needs a little redirection.”

Vane shakes his head. “One day, someone’s going to teach you what ‘no’ means.”

“When that day comes,” I say, already backing away toward the stairs to Xavier’s office, “I’ll send them your way for lessons in being a buzzkill. It’s what you do best!”

I leave Vane flipping me off and head straight for the stairs leading to Xavier’s office. Taking them two at a time, I’m riding an adrenaline high.

The hallway to X’s office is intimidating—dark, with recessed lighting that casts shadows. The heavy oak door at the end is designed to make people hesitate before knocking.

I don’t knock.

I push the door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall, announcing my presence in the most obnoxious way possible. Xavier looks up from his desk, pen frozen mid-signature. Bianca sits across from him, her back straight, turning to see who stormed in.

“What the hell?” Xavier’s voice is as sharp as a blade. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

Bianca’s eyes lock with mine, surprise shifting to annoyance.

She’s wearing a black blazer over a simple white top, her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun that somehow makes her look both professional and irresistibly enticing.

It makes my fingers twitch with the need to pull it loose to weave the strands through my fist.

“A meeting I should be present for,” I say, strolling in like I own the place, which, in some capacity, I do. “Since I arranged the deal.”

Xavier’s jaw tightens. “You found the artist. I’m handling the business end.”

“And when would I ever miss all the fun parts?” I counter, moving to stand directly behind Bianca’s chair. I place my hands on the back of it, not quite touching her, but close enough that she shifts in her seat.

“Mr. Blackwood was explaining the payment schedule,” Bianca says coolly.

“Call him Xavier,” I say, leaning down. “And I’m Knox, in case you’ve forgotten during the two weeks of you ignoring my texts.”

Bianca’s gaze is as cold as ice as she turns to look at me. “I didn’t reply to your texts because they were unprofessional and completely inappropriate. This is a business arrangement.”

Her voice is clipped, but there’s a slight flush creeping up her neck that tells me she’s not as unaffected as she wants to appear. I’ve gotten under her skin—just not the way I want to yet.

Xavier raises an eyebrow. “Please tell me you didn’t send unsolicited dick pics to our new artist, Knox. We have a reputation to maintain.”

Bianca’s face flames red instantly, and she shifts uncomfortably in her chair, clearly mortified by the turn in conversation.

“No, I haven’t,” I say, maintaining eye contact with Bianca as I lean closer. “But maybe I should. Might get your attention.” I punctuate the suggestion with a deliberate wink.

The color drains from her face, replaced by a flash of anger.

“You do that, and I’ll call the police. Surely even here in Ravenwood Hollow, there are laws about sending unsolicited child porn electronically,” she retorts.

The fact that she just called me a child is not going unnoticed.

She will pay for that little snipe when the time is right.