Page 27 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

CAROLINE

I didn’t get nervous about things. I walked through fires in heels and got what I wanted with wit, cunning, and threats—and the armor of my father and the might of the Wolverines.

Without that now?

I cursed my fluttering stomach like I could intimidate it into settling. Maybe I could have convinced myself into thinking it was the apple that didn’t agree with me or something—any stupid excuse to wear new and improved armor of confidence and badassery.

It had been a whole week since Gabriel’s death and our arrival at the hotel.

We spent one third planning, one third eating out for meals, and one third of the time, Knox was eating me out.

By the third night, we were kicked out of our room and moved to another after numerous complaints about the noise—bed springs, moans, curses, slap of skin on skin…

It was a miracle they didn’t ban us for life.

It took me that long to understand what life could be like outside of MCs.

Staying up till three in the morning fucking a man who kissed me like it was medicine to my broken heart.

Lounging by the pool in a skimpy bikini Knox bought, grinning every time Knox growled at any guy who looked at me a second too long.

Going to a bar in the evenings, sipping girly drinks and grinding my ass against Knox’s hard crotch on the crowded dance floor.

Shopping for new pantsuits and then suddenly carrying civilian clothes that Knox dropped into my arms to the changing rooms.

“Flannel and jeans,” I said disbelievingly.

He grinned crookedly. “Yup. No more business casual, woman. You’re not going to an interview for some depressing corporate job. You’re gonna learn what comfy means.”

“Oh, you’re a fashion expert now?” I snorted.

“Far from it, baby girl,” he said, ushering me to the back of the store. “But it’s the first step to the new you.”

The new me ?

I searched Knox’s eyes, finding only a cocky kind of sweetness.

Then I lifted my chin and gave him a small smile.

“The new me.”

When I looked in the changing room’s mirror, I didn’t see Walter Bates’s negotiator. I didn’t see a battered captive who was tied to a chair in a warehouse. I didn’t see a disgraced heir wearing musty, bloodied men’s clothes.

I saw a woman wearing everyday clothing with her hair down and bruises faded. I twisted this way and that, getting used to the sight of casualness. I feared I would look like a country bum, but no. I looked good .

A new Caroline Bates.

I went out to model for Knox. His face lit up, and it made my heart flip in my chest.

“Suits you perfect, baby girl. Let’s get one in every color.”

I gave his shoulder a light shove to hide my embarrassment. “You’re making a big deal out of this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Before I could change back, Knox caught my chin between his fingers and lifted his face to mine. He kissed me so slow and soft I damn near melted into a puddle like some lovestruck teenager.

Knox slowly broke the kiss, leaving me dazed. He chuckled. “You deserve this, Caroline.”

Just as I was about to reciprocate the tender moment, he dropped another outfit into my arms. “ That should do to impress the Devil’s Luck.”

Two hours later, Knox pulled into the Well’s parking lot. He cut the engine but didn’t get off—mostly because I had my arms around his torso so tightly I was restricting his breathing.

Knox patted my hand. “Care, I like the ability to breathe.”

“What? Oh.”

I released him, and he swung his leg over the bike. He held out a hand for me to take. My new boots—thrifted, faintly scuffed, twenty-dollar biker boots—hit the gravel with a satisfying crunch.

“Hits different than kitten heels, hmm?” Knox teased, hand going to the small of my back. “Beautiful March afternoon to show off the new you.”

It was beautiful out. The slight breeze didn’t bother me with the flannel and jeans.

What did bother me was the fear that my father and the Wolverines would jump out from around the corner and make a move in broad daylight to wipe the Devils out once and for all. I felt exposed, unable to help scanning for any Wolverine lurking somewhere, keeping any kind of tabs on me.

As if Knox could sense my discomfort, he yanked his chest to mine and kissed my temple. “You worried about a threat, or just afraid someone’s gonna see how good I make you look?”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, slightly put at ease.

Knox smiled, too.

My heart did another flip. I really liked that stupid grin. Almost two weeks ago, I wanted to claw it off his face. Now it was so… disarming.

Two weeks ago, Nathaniel Knox did nothing but rub me the wrong way. He barged into the poker den, calculating and rough, ready to throw fists before thinking.

But now I saw all the other things about him.

That stupid grin, the way his eyebrow arched when I said something that impressed him, the way he never shied away from meeting my gaze and holding it—the way no one else ever did.

He never looked at me like I was a bitch, or a burden, or a pawn in a game.

His looks didn’t hurt, either. Bruises aside, I never got tired of watching the muscle in his jaw that flexed when he was thinking, or frustrated, or pissed off. His tattoos. His hands. The tendons in his arms. His biceps. His?—

“Care?” he asked.

“Huh?”

Knox chuckled, and his smile widened. Immediately, my nerves eased.

But a smile couldn’t protect me from Black Jack holding a gun to my head for not getting out of Reno a week ago.

Knox’s hand slipped into mine, and we started walking. I had no choice but to follow.

The inside of the Well was dark compared to the bright daylight outside.

I blinked to let my eyes adjust as Knox led me through the entryway.

It was a casual, wood cabin-inspired bar.

Cute, rustic. There were a few patrons scattered around the tables, mostly bikers or small groups of buddies downing beers.

I did a cursory scan for any of the other Devil’s Luck members, but didn’t see or hear them among the low chatter.

No sign of Black Jack.

A woman’s laugh at the bar made me spook like an anxious dog. Knox squeezed my hand tighter.

The bartender I recognized was conversing with an older biker, talking like they were the best of friends.

Samantha Lye. The owner of the Well and the bar before it—which I helped burn down. She was a pretty woman with blunt black hair and lively green eyes, wearing jean shorts and a black tank top.

And she was very pregnant. The tank top was stretched tightly over her belly, just barely peeking out.

My gut twisted. An unborn child was in the crossfire of two MCs who wanted each other dead.

She bent to retrieve a clean glass for the regular, set it on the bar, and then placed it under the tap. As soon as she pulled the lever, she looked up.

We made eye contact.

Sam overpoured the glass. Beer spilled all over her hands, the bar, and off the counter. She cursed and looked down. I assumed the beer had spilled onto her shoes. Then she apologized profusely to the regular before calling in a strangled voice, “Jackson.”

Sam grabbed a towel and started cleaning up, but her stare never left me. Her expression was blank, but hostility and fear radiated from her. One hand rested on her belly protectively, as if she expected me to charge her or something.

Knox took a step forward. He was trying to be casual, but the bar was now thick with tension. He cleared his throat. “What’s good, Sam?”

Her eyes flicked to him sharply, unsmiling. “Hi, Knox.”

“How’s business?”

“Booming,” Sam said deadpan, looking at me again pointedly.

It was a jab. Like, Yeah, it’s doing great after the first place was burnt to a crisp by your shitty-ass dad.

“Samantha,” I began before I could stop myself.

I didn’t get further than that.

Jackson came around the corner, striding in like he was already aiming for a fistfight. “Don’t fucking talk to my woman.”

Like reflex, Knox stepped in front of me like a living shield. Jackson noticed the protective motion, then stopped short when he saw us holding hands. His jaw tightened so hard it was a miracle he didn’t crack all of his teeth.

“I thought,” the Devil’s Luck president said slowly, dangerously, looking between me and Knox. “That you two would follow my orders.”

I remembered crystal clear what Black Jack had said.

“ I’m not gonna kill her, but I sure as hell am gonna make her understand what she cost us. You’re gonna get her out of Reno, Knox. Tonight. And if she’s still here by morning… There won’t be a conversation next time .”

Before either of us could say anything, Jackson continued. “In case you two forgot how time works, ‘tonight’ was a whole fucking week ago.”

Jackson Black was the definition of a military man—tall, broad, hella fucking fit, especially in a ripped tank and jeans—but he had grown out his brown hair and stubble in the past few months. His brown eyes burned with a bone-deep hatred directed at me.

I could feel Knox coiled like a spring, but he kept his voice measured and light, as if it were a white flag of surrender. “Yeah, I remember that from elementary school, Jack. Good reminder. Just don’t expect me to do fractions.”

Jackson crossed his huge arms over his chest. Behind him, Sam was halfway through a door next to the bar. I assumed it led to the kitchen. “We haven’t even buried him yet.”

Knox winced.

“I have half a mind to ban you from here, Knox. You already are,” Jackson continued with a sharp jerk of his chin at me. “See yourself out before you find my foot in your ass.”

“Jack.” Knox’s voice tightened. “She’s not going anywhere?—”

“You don’t have that right,” Sam snapped suddenly. “I can’t believe you would betray us like this, Knox! Do you know what she put us through? What she put me through?”

I flinched.

Jackson noticed. “Yeah, that’s right,” he snarled. “I’m surprised you have a heart to feel guilt.”

“Jack!” Knox barked. “We’re here for a reason?—”

“Yeah? The fuck would that be?”

Knox glanced down at me briefly as if asking for permission to continue. I nodded once. Knox looked between Jackson and Sam, then said with a heavy implication of the future of the two MCs, “Caroline wants to help us kill Bates.”

Suddenly, more than half the eavesdropping patrons got up and made themselves scarce. Others straight up left, including the regular at the bar who’d been talking to Sam.

Jackson’s expression didn’t change, but Sam’s eyebrows went sky high in shock. “Is that true?”

I nodded, taking a step out from behind my shield. “Yes. Knox and I?—”

“There is no Knox and you ,” Jackson interrupted. “And don’t talk to my fucking woman. ”

I got miffed at that. “I’m not going to hurt you.

I’m not going to hurt any of you. We just want to talk.

Yes, it’s true. I want Walter Bates gone as much as the rest of you.

I’m here with a peace offering and a plan to put him six feet under.

Believe me or don’t, but hear us out.” I met Sam’s eyes again.

There was less fear and anger in them—maybe something close to understanding replaced them. “Please. For the sake of your baby.”

Sam sucked in a soft breath.

Jackson went to hurl more insults, but Sam gasped, “Jack, let’s hear them out.”