Page 10 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

CAROLINE

W hen I agreed to let Knox take me to a safe place, I expected it to be off the grid, expected it to be illegal, but I did not expect to have to ride a motorcycle through a goddamn national park.

Once I saw the trailer and pickup truck in a dirt clearing with nothing but miles of forest and half an hour’s drive away from the city, I almost let my guard down.

There was certainly the possibility that I could be murdered and no one would ever find my body, but I was too exhausted to play out the scenario in my head.

As long as Vane couldn’t find me, the forest would make a great hideout.

Besides, I doubted Knox was a threat. With how beat to shit the Devil was from fighting Vane, the last thing he wanted to do was chase after me through a forest at night.

He was already moving around the campsite (if you could even call it that).

I loitered near the bike while he began stacking logs in a small brick fire pit that he retrieved from a stack under the trailer.

He tossed some strewn pine needles in, then lit them up with a lighter he pulled from his pocket.

I blinked at the sudden light after so long in the dark of the night.

I watched Knox pull out two folding chairs from the truck bed, dusting them off to pop them open in front of the fire pit. They were metal and slightly rusted from being out in the open. But that wasn’t what made me want to get nowhere near them.

They looked far too similar to the one I was bound to in the warehouse. So I just stared Knox down until he shrugged and moved on.

He unlocked the trailer door with a key and went inside. I glimpsed a light flick on and heard rummaging until he returned with an oversized coat in one arm. Lumped in his other arm, he carried a medical kit, two bottles of water, and one glass of tequila, all of which he set on the picnic table.

Then Knox patted the bench for me to sit. When I didn’t move, he sighed heavily. “What you got against help, woman?”

A snarky remark jumped to my tongue, but it died when he walked over, holding up the jacket. The inside was sherpa-lined. I shivered involuntarily from the slight breeze that cut through the forest. Knox tried to rest it on my shoulders.

I snatched it from his hands. “No.”

Knox chuckled as I draped the heavy thing on. “Suit yourself,” he said, not unkindly, and retrieved the first-aid kit the other Devil insisted we bring. He set it next to the other one and propped them both open, digging inside. “Get over here, tough guy. Let’s get patched up.”

I stared at all the medical supplies that could both heal and hurt like a bitch—looking at you, hydrogen peroxide—and suddenly felt like I was a starving man, and that was the first scrap of food I’d seen in days.

I had no intention of walking around looking like a battered victim, and if a Devil was the only one who could clean up my wounds, then so be it.

This was all temporary. I was just getting what I needed to survive. Then I’d be as far away from these shitheads as possible.

“Let me guess,” I said, finally padding over. “All of you know your way around a needle and thread.”

Knox snorted as I sat at the opposite end of the bench. “Nope, that’ll be our fearless doctor, Brody. We call him Chips. The rest of us can barely put a band-aid on without getting it stuck to itself.”

“That does not inspire confidence.”

“No, but would you rather do this all yourself?”

My first instinct was to snap, Yes , but then I caught a glimpse of my wrists in the firelight. No, I couldn’t do it alone.

I focused on the night sounds of the forest, the rustling trees, the crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl—anything to distract from the rough hands and fingers of my greatest enemy so gently tending to my scrapes and gashes.

Every dab of alcohol on the cuts on my wrists and arms made me hiss through my teeth.

I expected Knox to make comments on me being a girl for wincing at every little pat, but he didn’t.

He just worked silently and efficiently, as if he had done this a dozen times, despite his claim of incompetence.

But when Knox moved to tend to my split lip, I recoiled. Vane’s face flashed in my mind’s eye. He had gotten this close to me. I would not let any man get this close.

Knox froze, gaze dropping slowly to the trauma shears I’d grabbed without thinking, holding them up like a knife. He huffed a low, incredulous laugh.

“You gonna stab me or let me finish? Put that shit down before you hurt yourself. Or you can help me cut gauze for my arm. Don’t forget you got to patch me up, too.”

Fighting embarrassment, I chucked the shears into the kit, making everything inside rattle. “Don’t expect me to be any better than you.”

“Definitely don’t,” he said, grinning at my sharp glare. “But I ain’t risking either of us getting infections from that glass. How old you think those fluorescents were?”

Knox’s tone was conversational, but I didn’t have the energy for that. I leaned in slightly for him to tend to my busted lip. “Just be careful.”

Knox was still and quiet for a moment, then cleaned it up with such tenderness that I thought I was imagining it.

“See, I’ll never hurt you, sw—” He stopped short for the second time on sweetheart . I didn’t know whether to be annoyed that he was still trying to be cocky or appreciate the catch. But those words? I had never heard them before. At least, not in this context.

My throat tightened, and I had to look away. Knox sighed again and moved on to my next injury.

Lucky for both of our social skill levels, that bottle of tequila was sitting just a foot away.

“Are you going to open that, or what?” I asked.

“Thought you’d never ask.” Knox popped the cap. “I have cups in the?—”

I took it from his hand and poured it down like water, and not something that could light my throat on fire.

Three swallows in, Knox snatched the bottle out of my hand. “Christ, Caroline!” He set it out of my reach and glared. “You trying to puke all over me?!”

I blinked away the burn, my head going fuzzy for a moment. I could hold my alcohol. But in my current condition, maybe not as much. Plus, I didn’t usually chug it down.

I propped my elbow on the table and dropped my cheek into my hand. “I’m trying to forget,” I said bluntly. I closed my eyes, but that made the world spin, so I forced them open.

Knox was watching me intently, scrubbing at his stubbled jaw in thought. Then he said, voice low, “I shouldn’t have brought that out. You drink like that, you’re gonna end up choking on your own spit while I try to stop you from swallowing your tongue.”

I reached for the water bottle and drank it less recklessly. It didn’t do much to help the lingering burn. “Better than remembering.”

“Hey,” he began quietly but firmly, but I cut him off.

“I’m not your problem.”

Knox’s jaw ticked in frustration. “No, you’re not. But you’re not nothing either.”

We stared at each other for a long time—or maybe no time at all. I had no idea. I just knew I couldn’t look at him too long or I’d try to punch his nose in.

I snatched the hydrogen peroxide and unused cotton balls.

Before he could withdraw his arm, I poured a splash onto the cuts from the glass.

He hissed in pain and tried to yank away, but I caught him fast. “Stay the fuck still, you pussy ass Devil,” I said, not showing him the same compassion he’d shown me. “I’m patching you up.”

“That’s what you call this? Take it easy on the?—”

“ Stay the fuck still .”

Unlike me, Knox was quicker to obey commands. After my admonishment, he took the stings like a man and let me wrap the bigger cuts in gauze, but he watched my every move when I tended to his split lip and bloody nose.

“There,” I said finally, sitting back. “That’s as good as you’re going to get. You’re not any prettier but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Knox smiled and nodded in thanks. “I’ll take it. You hungry?”

“No,” I lied.

He snorted and gathered up the medical stuff. Standing up, he tossed the bloodied supplies in the fire pit. The alcohol soaked cotton flared blue and disappeared.

“Guess I should stop asking you shit because you’re always going to say no, huh?” he said. “Not good at accepting help. Do you like ramen? Or do you only do steak and asparagus with wine?”

I snorted. “Is that what you think is a fancy meal?”

“Another not on a paper plate is fancy to me.” Knox shrugged and went into the trailer and retrieved the sad excuse for noodles.

Then I watched him with begrudging respect as he pulled out a medium-sized pot, a grate, and a milk gallon jug filled with water.

It didn’t take him long to have the makeshift kitchen set up.

“You need to eat,” Knox said as the water started to boil. “I don’t know when your last meal was, but you chugged half a beer and some tequila. I’m not having you pass out after all the shit we’ve been through. I’m not having you throw your guts up, either, so eat slow.”

I hated to admit he was right. The tequila was fucking me up more than I already was. For my own survival, I had to accept his offer of a meal.

Eventually, Knox was handing me a chipped bowl. I didn’t remember when the ramen was done or when he’d gotten bowls and silverware. I didn’t realize he was sitting in the folding chair instead of beside me on the bench.

My vision was a little hazy when I forked a mouthful and brought it to my lips—until Knox barked, “It’s fucking hot, woman! Wait a second for it to cool.”

I managed to make out the aggressive curls of steam coming off the noodles. I halfheartedly blew on them, then shoved the fork into my mouth.

Damn that’s good.

Also… Ouch. Add scalded roof of mouth to the list of injuries. I wasn’t about to let him start poking around in there.

Knox sighed heavily. His fork clinked against the edge of his bowl. “You’re impossible. I told you to eat slow.”

“I’m not going to puke,” I mumbled around the next bite.

“That’s what they all say.”

I swallowed hard—the noodles and my bone-deep pride. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“The fuck ?”

I startled, jerking my head to the side— ouch —to stare at the wild disbelief in Knox’s voice. His eyes blazed with defiance. How had that survived Vane’s beating? “What?”

“Why the hell do you think that?”

“Because I am,” I fired back. “You saw what my father did. You see how I look. You saw me try to chug tequila. I don’t even remember you cooking these disgusting noodles. What’s not pathetic?”

Knox didn’t answer. He just leaned back in the metal chair. Watching. Waiting. Patient.

The lack of malice made me continue to lash out. “What are you thinking I am?”

“A survivor.”

I scoffed. “Sure.”

“Ask me what I’m really thinking about.”

I knew he wasn’t going to let up. “Fine. What are you thinking about?”

Knox turned to the fire, the light and shadows a dark dance on his face—though not darker than the look in his eyes. Even in my state, I felt the intensity of his gaze. A shiver climbed up my spine.

“I’m thinking about how much of a sick fuck you have to be to tie up your own daughter and leave her to…” Knox stopped abruptly, his jaw ticking again.

I stared at the muscle flexing there and the way his clenched fists turned his knuckles white. He’s seething . Knox nudged a log with his boot, sending sparks flying. I winced at the angry action, but I wasn’t afraid.

“Why do you care so damn much?”

Knox turned to me, and his look pierced my soul.

My breath caught. Fuck, his eyes were hypnotic.

“Because unlike a Wolverine, us Devils have a code and a moral fucking compass. I could hand you over to Black Jack right now, and even though he hates you to the marrow of his bones, he’d never do what your own daddy did to you. He’d protect you from that.”

I almost laughed. “You really believe that?”

Knox ran a hand through his black hair, which was unruly with sweat, wind, and maybe some blood. He turned to the fire again, eyes burning just as fiercely as the flames, but his voice was exhausted when he said, “I have to.”