Page 3

Chapter three

Knox

I wasn’t in the mood to spend the night drinking at Thorn and Thistle, but I let Cash talk me into stopping in with everyone for a beer. With the roads clear, we’ve all been taking our bikes out as much as we have time for. Spring is like fucking Christmas for bikers who live on the East Coast.

Linc said the girls were there having drinks with Mia. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable with me being there—because she usually seems on edge any time I’m around, but it’s not exactly like I could tell my brothers that. They’d probably look at me like I’d grown two heads or something. I’m not generally the type to give a shit if I make people feel uncomfortable, but Mia is different. And that’s a can of worms I’m not ready to open.

When I walked in, I was on the phone with Ozzy. He wanted to make sure I was going to be around tomorrow so we could talk about some new business with an outfit in Michigan. The Monaghans have been busy brokering new gun deals, and they’re still throwing plenty of business our way, so we need to iron out some details.

I hung up with Ozzy and walked to the little table that Cash was sitting at behind the girls and my brothers when I overheard Lucy say something about someone giving Mia a hard time. Instead of sitting, I walked over and stood behind her, wanting to know if she was in some kind of trouble. I’m not sure what made me do it, but hearing that someone is giving her grief doesn’t sit right with me. Of course, she said she could handle it. That seems to be her MO from what I’ve witnessed from her since she came sweeping back into town. Mia’s here to take care of her grandmother—although from what I know of the woman, she doesn’t need it. She works full-time, is involved in community events almost as much as my mom, pitches in when Maizie needs a sitter for her son—hell, I don’t know when the woman sleeps.

Not that I’ve been paying attention or anything.

We didn’t exactly run in the same circles in high school, but I was well acquainted with her brother Nolan. He played on the football team with us and was friends with Ozzy’s sworn high school nemesis. He never started any shit with us like that prick did, but he didn’t exactly try to stop it either. When he graduated, Nolan came to some parties at the clubhouse, but we threw his ass out when he was caught dealing at a party. That shit didn’t fly then, and it wouldn’t fly now. That’s one of the things we don’t allow in Shine. We keep the streets of our town safe from the bullshit that a lot of other MCs would gladly welcome, which is why we’ve been able to mostly fly under the radar and the citizens of our town aren't raising pitchforks or some other stupid shit to try to run us out. That, and my mom throws herself into every charity event she can and ropes us all in right along with her.

It was always Mia picking her brother up from parties when he was too drunk to drive, and she was the one who would be cleaning up at their house when their parents were out of town and Nolan would throw a high school kegger. Not that we attended many, but there were a few team parties that Linc would convince us to go to back then. Mia reminded me of a silent little housekeeper, making sure spills were cleaned and any broken bottles were quickly disposed of so no one would cut themselves on the glass. But she never partook in the festivities. I didn’t think much about it when I was a dumb eighteen-year-old guy in high school. I was just there to make sure no one fucked with my brother or my best friend. But thinking back to that time, that’s what stands out to me.

As usual, my presence seemed to make her even more uncomfortable, and she left soon after I arrived, offering her seat at the bar to me along with a double thumbs-up. I had to hide my chuckle at the awkward gesture because I didn’t want her to think I was laughing at her. I took the seat when she walked out the door but wasn’t really in the mood to be sitting at a bar. My brothers like to give me shit about being a hermit or a loner, but the fact of the matter is, when I don't feel like being around a group of people, I don’t. It’s not uncommon for me to leave a bar or party to go home to my quiet house on the other side of town. I love my brothers. Love my club. But I love my solitude just as much, and I’m not one to be pressured to hang out when I’m not feeling it. And tonight, the last thing I feel like doing is sitting in a bar.

“I’m heading out,” I say a couple minutes after Mia leaves.

“Shocking,” Linc replies with a grin.

I shrug because it’s not as though I can argue, but I really don’t care. Standing from my seat, I throw a couple twenties on the bar.

“You taking care of the round?” Maizie asks.

“No, Cash is,” I reply. “That’s for you.”

She doesn’t argue but gives me a grateful smile when she puts the money in her tip jar.

Cash gets up from the table behind him and stands next to me. “Since I’m apparently paying, how ’bout another round, darlin’?” He shoots Maizie one of his oh-so-charming Southern boy grins, and Wyatt shoots lasers at him with his eyes. Good. Maybe if he thinks Cash is flirting with her, he’ll get over whatever’s holding him back and finally make a move. The knowing smile Cash gives Wyatt tells me that was the point.

“See you fuckers in the morning,” I say and head out the door to my bike.

The night has become chilly, but that’s never stopped me from taking the long way to my house. Cold air I can deal with, ice and snow? Not so much.

I’m a couple miles out of town when my headlight illuminates a familiar car on the side of the road. And a familiar ass—I would know since I’ve stared at it more times than I’m willing to admit—is sticking straight up in the air as Mia rummages around her trunk for something.

I pull over and park my bike. Mia straightens, her skirt unfortunately covering what has to be the most bitable backside I’ve seen in a long while before she turns toward me.

“Need some help?”

Mia closes her eyes and dips her head, mumbling something to herself before looking back at me.

“It’s just a flat. I’ve got it covered, but thank you.”

Walking over to her car, my arm brushes against hers that are crossed over her chest as I reach into her trunk to pull out the spare. “Mia, there is no way in hell I’m leaving you on the side of the road to change a flat, so deal with someone helping you.”

She inhales a sharp breath at the light contact but takes a step back to allow me to lift the tire.

“This is awfully light,” I say with the spare in my hand. “I think it’s flat.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters, scrubbing her hands over her adorably freckled face.

“Afraid not, sweetheart.”

Mia’s body sags for a moment before she lets out a long exhale, then she stands tall—well, as tall as she can at barely over five feet—and pulls her phone from her pocket.

“Who are you calling?”

“Um, a tow truck?” She says the words as though the answer is obvious.

“In Shine? At ten o’clock at night? I can guarantee Rusty is about five beers deep by now if he's not already asleep.”

That’s one of the things about a small town like Shine. One tow truck driver who promptly clocks out at six p.m.

“Dammit.” Her already tense jaw clenches tighter before she shakes her head. “Okay, I’ll call a cab or an Uber then. It’s fine. You can go.”

“Did I not make myself clear earlier? I’m not leaving you alone.”

Damn, this woman really isn’t used to anyone doing something simple to help her out, is she?

It’s obvious she wants to argue, but she stays quiet and gives me a quick nod before pulling up a rideshare app on her phone.

“Shit, they want an address,” she says and lets out an adorable groan of frustration.

I look around the deserted road and the empty field on either side. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“It’s fine. I can call Lucy or Charlie.”

“They’re each about four sheets to the wind, never mind the usual three. Come on.” My head tilts toward my bike. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Mia releases a heavy sigh as her hand grasps the red stone pendant she always wears around her neck. She slides it back and forth on the dainty chain like I’ve seen her do so many times when she’s uncomfortable.

“On that?” she asks, pointing to my Harley.

“I don’t see any other mode of transportation around,” I reply, taking a dramatic look up and down the otherwise empty street.

Her light-brown eyes close on a pained exhale, and the pendant drops as she bites her bottom lip. The urge to release that lip from her teeth with my thumb is strong, but instead of reaching out to touch her, I ball my fists at my side.

“Hold on one sec,” she says, then leans back into her trunk, pulling out something long and black. “Turn around.”

I do as she asks, and a few seconds later, she tells me it’s okay to face her again.

“Do you carry a wardrobe in there with you?” I ask, noticing the tight black leggings she pulled on under her skirt.

“I had some workout clothes in my trunk. Figured I’d rather not flash all of Shine my ass cheeks.”

Mia rubs her arms, trying to warm them through her thin sweater. “We should go. It’s not like it’s going to warm up anytime soon.”

“You don’t have a jacket stuffed in there, do you?”

“Unfortunately, no. I was in a hurry to get to the bar and forgot it at work.”

She closes her trunk, and I walk back over to my bike. When she turns back around, I’m pulling my cut off and hanging it on my handlebars so that I can remove the thick sweatshirt underneath.

“Um, what are you doing?” she asks when I pull the material over my head.

“What’s it look like?” I ask, handing it over to her. “You can’t ride with a sweater and nothing else. You’ll be a popsicle by the time we get back to your place.”

She takes my offered shirt, and I turn to grab my cut and put it on over the flannel I was wearing underneath. Facing her again, Mia is wearing my too-large sweatshirt, and I swear for a split second it looks like she’s smelling the collar. She looks at me and releases the fabric before I can be sure that’s what she’s doing, then quickly turns back to her car.

“What about my stuff?” she asks, grabbing what looks like a computer case and a large purse.

“That’s what saddlebags are for, sweetheart.”

She walks over to where I’m standing next to my bike, and I get a good look at her practically swimming in my sweatshirt. Shit, I like the look of that a lot more than I have any right to.

After she hands me her things and I have them locked tight in the leather saddlebags hanging on my bike, I hand her my helmet.

“You ever ridden before?”

I don’t know what Mia has done with the last ten years of her life. For all I know, she could have been riding around with God knows who when she was living God knows where for the last decade.

“Nope, I’m a virgin.” Her eyes close, and her adorable nose scrunches at what she just said. “That’s not…I didn’t mean…” she stutters out.

“I know what you meant, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.” I toss her a wink and watch her already rosy cheeks turn a deep crimson.

When Mia has the helmet on and fastened, I step forward and graze her neck and under her chin to make sure she has the strap snug enough. Her breath hitches at the contact as heat races up my arm.

“Just making sure you're locked in. Since it’s your first time and all.”

Mia closes her eyes for a moment and lets out a sort of chuckle-groan combination. “Please don’t ever tell anyone I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t kiss and tell.”

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead as her widened gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes.

“You know what I mean,” I say, but now all I can do is think about having her full pink lips pressed against mine.

Turning away from the woman who is tempting me in all kinds of ways—even though she’s doing nothing but existing—I throw my leg over my bike.

“Put your hands on my shoulders for balance, and get on like I just did,” I instruct.

When she steps up to me, we're nearly eye level considering I’m six-three and sitting, and she can’t be more than five-four or so. Her small hands slide over my shoulders, and when I inhale, the light floral scent of Mia’s perfume invades my senses. She smells like the spring that’s blooming around us. It’s distinctly feminine and sweet, just like the girl settling in behind me.

“You can put your feet here,” I say, pointing at the pegs, “but steer clear of the pipes. They’ll burn the shit out of you.”

Mia nods and rests her feet on the pegs like I showed her, but her hands are resting on her thighs. That’s not going to work.

I kick-start my bike then settle into my seat. “Your arms go around my waist, sweetheart. Don’t need you falling off the back.”

She places her hands at my waist, but she’s holding herself stiff behind me. I slide my hands over hers and pull them to my front. “I won’t bite, honey.”

Her front presses lightly against my back as she clasps her small hands together, and my entire body warms with the gentle pressure.

“You lean when I lean, yeah?” I turn and look at her, and she nods. “Okay, hold on.”

I put the bike in gear, and we glide onto the street before I open it up and begin flying down the dark road. Mia lets out a squeal and presses herself completely flush against my back, squeezing me around my waist tighter than she was before. Much better.

Though I try to contain it, I chuckle at her reaction and place one hand over hers, which are gripped together at my front. “Relax, sweetheart. This is supposed to be fun,” I call back to her.

“Do you know where you’re going?” she asks over the noise of the wind rushing past us.

“Yup.”

When some shit went down with another club who tried to take Lucy back to the cult compound where she grew up, I followed Mia home to make sure she got there safely. That night is burned into my brain, and part of me regrets the way I spoke to her after it all went down. It was the beginning of her avoiding me like the fucking plague.

Riding with Mia isn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m not one of those guys who will only allow an old lady to ride with him. That shit is stupid, if you ask me. But having this girl behind me who has barely spoken to me, the sweet girl who gets so fucking uptight around me, I wonder if she doesn’t like me or if she’s scared of me. And yeah, there’s a twisted part of me that feels like maybe a little corruption is in order. I imagine her tied in my ropes that I’ve only used with women who understand things like safe words and…and why the hell am I letting my mind go there? This is a simple ride home for Chrissake. Mia is so far from the other women I’ve played with or simply had any sort of sexual relationship with. She’s kind, innocent, and, let’s be honest, out of my league.

But that thought doesn’t make me remove my hand from hers or stop me from wishing I was taking her back to my place instead of dropping her off at hers. From the moment I saw Mia Dawson back in town—all grown up, carrying herself with a certain self-confidence I never remembered her having—I wanted to know what she looked like under that adorable-as-fuck skirt and sweater set that screams school librarian . The woman must have about thirty of them hanging in her closet. Then I went and screwed the entire thing up by scaring her last year when the club needed her to stay quiet about a couple things she saw. Since then, I’ve made sure to steer clear, but there was no way I was leaving her on the side of the road tonight.

We pull up to her grandmother’s house and she directs me to the back, where a small cottage sits a good bit away from the main house.

The second I stop in front of her little walkway and turn my bike off, Mia hops off like her hair is on fire. She stumbles a bit, which is perfectly natural if you aren’t used to riding a bike, but I whip my hand out and catch her by the arm before she face-plants onto the dirt road.

“Thanks. Shit, my legs feel like Jell-O,” she says with a shaky laugh.

If she were any other girl, I’d show her how easy it would be for me to make her feel like that over and over. There’s nothing I love more than watching a woman come undone under my ministrations. Especially when they’re tied up and can do nothing but succumb to every last drop of pleasure I wring from their bodies. But she’s not…and I need to stop imagining what she would look like at my mercy, with nothing stopping me from making her fall apart over and over again.

I’m quickly realizing that having her this close to me for the ten minutes it took to get her home may have been a mistake on my part.

“Okay then…thanks for the ride,” she says, more uncomfortable than she was when she got on my bike. She's taken my stony silence and me trying to talk myself out of doing something that would be monumentally stupid—like wrapping her small frame in my arms and slamming my mouth to hers—as me being an asshole. Again.

Mia begins undoing the buckles of my saddlebags to retrieve her belongings as I clear my throat, trying to will down my half-hard dick.

“I’ll have Rusty tow your car to the shop in the morning.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Mia. It’s as good as done. I’ll have the tire fixed and the car dropped off here tomorrow.”

She wants to argue. I see the urge clear as day on her face, but I hold her stare and she finally relents, giving me a soft smile, then shakes her head.

“Thanks, Knox.”

When she turns, I realize she’s still wearing my sweatshirt. I could ask for it back, but the thought of her wearing my shirt, even if it looks more like a dress on her, does something inside of me that excites me—and maybe even scares me a little. I never intended to allow myself to have any feelings for the little librarian, to bring her into a world she’s too sweet for, but what’s that they say about the road to hell?

When she gives me a shy wave before stepping through her doorway, I have to force myself to stay seated on my bike. I want to press my lips to hers in front of her door, to feel her hands on me again like they were when she was hanging on for dear life. When the door shuts behind her, I let out a sharp exhale.

“Get it together, fucker,” I say out loud to myself as I start my bike and head down the dirt roadway that will take me back to the main street and away from temptation.

“You look worse for wear,” Cash comments as I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee the next morning.

“And you’re up early. Are we in the habit of talking to each other about our sleeping schedules now?”

Cash’s head rears back at my irritation. “Sorry, Mr. Grumpypants.”

It’s not like he’s wrong, though. I saw myself in the mirror before I rode over this morning, and it was not pretty. The little bit of sleep I did manage wasn't the most restful I’ve had in my life. Thoughts of a sweet librarian in my shirt and nothing else kept racing through my thoughts, then my dreams when I did manage to get a couple hours. Half the time was spent telling myself all the reasons why starting any sort of anything with Mia was a terrible idea, while the other half was spent shooting down every reason I have for not wanting to involve her in this life, in my life. Basically, I fought with myself for an entire night, and I’m paying the price this morning. And taking it out on everyone else.

“Fuck off,” I say, rather than apologizing to our club treasurer without any heat behind the sentiment. “Why the hell are you up this early anyways?”

He scoffs. “Oh, now you want to know?”

“I’m beginning to regret asking,” I reply.

Cash sends me a half smile before taking a long pull from his coffee mug. “I have to take Cece to the shelter. You and her seem to share the same sleeping habits, but when she can’t sleep, she bakes. A lot, apparently.”

“Why can’t Jude or Lucy do it?”

Cash shrugs. “I don’t know. She called and asked me.”

“Are there still many women from the compound there?”

Last year, when the club saved Lucy from her insane father’s cult compound, all the men were killed in the attack—and rightfully so. But that left families with no way to survive without some help. Good thing we had a place we could relocate them to. Some had distant relatives they were able to contact in the outside world, but not many.

“Not really, but there’s other women there with kids who are partial to Cece’s baked goods.”

Several yips sound from the hallway, followed by a baritone, “Get back here, asshole.”

I look at Cash, who rolls his eyes as a golden fluff ball runs past me, looks around, then squats in the middle of the clubhouse and pees on the concrete floor.

“Oh yeah, so that happened last night.” Cash tilts his head as Wyatt walks toward the puppy.

“Bad dog,” he says to the puppy, who is now sniffing his way around every available surface. He walks over to the dog and picks him up, carrying him through the slider to the back of the property.

“Ozzy know about this?” I ask.

“He does. And he isn’t thrilled,” the man himself says, walking out of the hallway, presumably from his office, and looking at the widening puddle in the middle of the floor. “Goddammit,” he mutters, walking behind the bar, grabbing a roll of paper towels and cleaning the spot.

“Make the prospects do that shit,” I say when he stands and throws the soiled towels in the trash.

“Wyatt’s dog, Wyatt’s responsibility,” Ozzy grumbles.

“Looks like you're the one cleaning his messes,” Cash adds, being an unhelpful asshole.

“I just don’t want the clubhouse smelling like piss. But Wyatt knows he’s on dog duty.”

Ozzy is pouring himself a cup of coffee as Wyatt returns with the skinny puppy in his arms, scratching him between the ears. “I couldn’t leave him there, Oz.”

“At least take him to the vet and make sure he doesn’t have rabies or some shit,” Ozzy grouses.

I watch the puppy in question lick Wyatt’s face enthusiastically. “I think you're good on that end. How did this come about?”

“Poor little guy was eating trash outside of the bar last night. Didn’t see his mama or any other pups around, so I brought him back here. Gonna head to the vet in a bit, then to the pet store.”

“He have a name?” I ask.

“Not yet. Nothing’s seemed right,” Wyatt answers.

Ozzy shakes his head as he sips from his cup, then leans against the bar. “This is an MC clubhouse, not a fucking animal rescue.”

“He could be the club dog. Kind of like a mascot,” Wyatt says, setting the dog on the floor. He immediately starts running his nose along the ground. I really hope he isn’t looking for somewhere to relieve himself again. I don't think Ozzy would take too kindly to the dog using the concrete as his own personal pee pad.

“I think I’ll refrain from having a puppy who pees everywhere as a fucking mascot, Wy,” Ozzy says, then looks at me. “Let’s talk.” He nods toward his office, signaling for me to follow.

Ozzy settles behind his large oak desk that's been here since Trick was president—hell, probably since Gramps was—as I get situated on the black leather chair in front. This office hasn’t changed since his old man used to run things. Same brick walls with the same pictures hanging from them. Only difference is a few more pictures have been added throughout the years Ozzy’s taken over.

“The Monaghans have some new deals with an MC in Michigan, the Iron Disciples. Want us to be the middlemen. We’ll be responsible for delivery.”

“Monaghan is working his way across the country?”

“Michigan isn’t that far. After the bullshit with the Bone Breakers, I think he’s playing it a little safer. Wants to deal with clubs that we already have a good rapport with.”

The Bone Breakers were the fucking assholes who tried to kidnap Lucy, and she and Jude ended up putting three of them to ground for their efforts.

“Figured you wouldn’t mind heading up the run since I seem to recall you having a particular fondness for one of their bunnies,” Ozzy says.

“Amber still around?” Not that I’m interested anymore. And not that I’m going to tell Ozzy that.

Ozzy shrugs. “One way to find out.”

“When are we headed out?”

“End of next week,” he says, then arches a brow. “After your birthday party.”

I groan and swipe a hand over my face. “I hate celebrating my birthday.”

“I know, but Tanya loves this kind of shit. And what makes her happy makes my old man happy. And what upsets her—like you possibly thinking you can blow the entire thing off—upsets my dad. The man may be too broken to ride, but he ain’t too broken to kick both of our asses.”

“Why would you get a beating?”

“Because I’m your prez, and he’d be just as pissed at me if I let you skip it.”

Trick has never laid a hand on either of us, but there’re some men you just know not to fuck with. Not that I’d ever defy him, even though I no longer answer to him. Trick and Gramps were the family I never had while growing up. The first to show me and my brother how real men treat the people they care about. I’m as likely to purposely disappoint either of them as I am my own mother, who is also Trick’s old lady.

“Linc already made me promise to be there,” I concede.

“Oh, you poor bastard, having everyone here to celebrate you and the day you were born. It must be so fucking hard for you.”

I grin at my president and best friend. “Asshole. Just wait until you marry Freya and all eyes are on you.”

“Fair. I’m still trying to convince her eloping is the way to go.”

Last year, Ozzy and the club were charged with the task of protecting his high school sweetheart who he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Worked out pretty well for both of them, if you ask me.

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that going?” I ask.

“It’s not.”

I laugh because if there’s anyone who hates attention as much as I do, it’s the man sitting across this very desk.

“Alright, I’ll get with Monaghan about the particulars of the pickup from Boston,” I say.

“Cillian’s handling this one. Seems both of us are getting used to delegating a few things.”

Cillian Doyle is Finn Monaghan’s second-in-command and, as luck would have it, is now Nova Reed’s fiancé, making us one big, happy family of criminals.

“Thought Cillian ran the casino and the brothel?”

“Looks like even Finn’s lieutenant is working on the whole delegation thing, too. Plus, he and his woman have been helping Liam’s brother with a few things.”

That’s one thing I’m happy to not be a part of anymore. Liam Ashcroft is Jude’s brother and has been a major player in taking down all kinds of sex trafficking rings throughout the world. We’ve helped out a few times when shit was too close to home, but I don’t have the patience to deal with all the undercover shit that comes along with it. If you deal in selling women, I’d rather show up and kill every last one of the assholes, which is basically how we would help. But having to shake hands with those pieces of shit to get intel? Yeah, I doubt I could stomach it and would probably put a knife in their gut instead of playing the games Liam and his team do.

“I’ll give Cillian a call, then,” I say, standing from my chair. “That all?”

“No, can you smack Wyatt upside the head on your way out?”

“What for?”

“Plenty of reasons, I’m sure, but this particular time is for bringing that fucking dog home.”

“Nah, think I’ll look into getting him a little sidecar, though. Then he can take his new buddy out with him.”

“If you do that, I swear to God I’ll strip your patch. And his.”

I shrug but can’t help the chuckle that escapes. “We’ll see.”

“Party in three days, fucker.”

“Yeah, yeah.”