Page 37 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

CAROLINE

M y idea to lure my father into the warehouse was stupidly simple. But the Devils were nothing if not good at backup plans.

We created scenarios A to D in record time. None of them were polished, but all ended with Bates’s death. All of them started with me playing the part of a repentant daughter with an unshakable loyalty.

Why did I get an icky feeling from that?

It would be the performance of a lifetime—with actual lives on the line. If I didn’t play the perfect actress, we could be riddled with bullets in seconds flat.

With everyone in position, I slammed my fist into the control station to open the warehouse’s big-ass garage door. It trembled and screeched as it opened, allowing a flood of late afternoon sunlight to illuminate the multitude of blood stains on the concrete.

Back in the day, this place took in trucks and machinery. Then it was used for police recruit training. And now it was home base for bikes, brawls, and battle plans. Basically, it was a breeding ground for testosterone.

By the end of the day, we could only hope it would become a graveyard.

I limped onto the gravel road leading to the main street, smeared in blood—my own, courtesy of a knife slice to the ribs to really sell the story: Vane’s blade, but Mason’s hand.

I’d asked him to do it in the name of catharsis, just another thing to prove I was on their side.

He had narrowed his eyes, and I took the hesitation as a good sign of a shred of trust.

He made the injury quick. Blood bloomed from the cut and stained my shirt. I winced, but I had taken a lot worse—even in just the past week.

It seemed to hurt Knox more. He flinched, clenching his jaw and fists so hard I felt it.

“Relax, Royal,” I teased. “You can patch me up yourself after this whole thing is over.”

Brody’s head snapped up. “If you want to be scarred for life.”

Now, I leaned into the pain as the rumble of engines echoed in the near distance. And when the Wolverines came into view, I staggered toward the warehouse wall and slumped against it.

Thus, the act began.

Dust kicked up from tires as they rose closer like charging metal rhinos. The ground shook under my feet as nine Wolverines started to slow—nine, not fourteen. Almost a fair fight. Perfect. That was what we planned from the beginning—the road spikes worked like a charm.

My heart pounded in my throat as I scanned for my father. For once, he wasn’t leading the pack.

The dust clouds burned my eyes. I coughed, wincing as it irritated my new wound, but didn’t let it affect my brashness.

“Finally you fuckers are back!” I shouted over the dying engines.

None of them looked like happy campers. Some had road rash on their arms and faces from wiping out on the spikes. I felt a sick sense of satisfaction but hid my smile.

“The fuck you been?” Heel’s voice barked. He was at the lead, getting off his bike and storming toward me with a nasty rash on his right side from his jaw to his temple.

Some of the last words Heel had spoken to me were, “ Still think you’re the tough chick, huh ?”

And I couldn’t wait to prove it.

“Here and there,” I said. “Where you been? Eating through every crumb in the fridge while I was busy infiltrating the enemy?”

Heel snorted. Three other Wolverines joined him, curling their lips in disdain. After I escaped, they saw me as a traitor. But they were as dumb as bricks. I could convince them of the lie.

“You sold that tight-ass body to a Devil ?” Heel asked scornfully. “What a waste of a pussy.”

My fingers ached to whip out the knife in my back pocket and hurl it between his eyes.

“Yes, please reduce me to a sexual object. It will make me want to sleep with you tonight.”

Heel’s shoulders straightened in excitement as if he really believed my sarcasm. Dumb as fucking bricks.

“No one is fucking my daughter.”

Adrenaline shot through my veins, raw terror coursing through them at the sound of my father’s voice. It was like a death knell. You heard that smoke-ruined voice, and the Reaper wasn’t far behind.

Heel and the Wolverines stepped aside to let their leader pass through. The sun glared down, throwing Walter Bates’s shadow across the warehouse floor. He puffed his newly lit cigar and walked slowly toward me.

“You have some nerve coming back here. Thought you’d finally figured out how to keep your legs closed. Guess I was wrong. Must’ve gotten tired of Devil dick. So. Which one pumped you full of betrayal?”

Around him, his Wolverine snickered like high schoolers.

My own father’s words were so vulgar, I wanted to throw up. I wanted to rip his tongue out of his throat.

But I refused to buckle under the weight of his gaze—one sharp blue, the other milky like smoke was trapped underneath. Real smoke curled up from his cigar.

“Glad to see you, Father,” I said. It felt like speaking poison. “I spread my legs as wide as possible to gain the Devils’ trust. I gave my body up to bring them down in our name.”

He only observed me, savoring his cigar like it was more important than his own daughter. “Doesn’t matter which one. All it took was a quick fuck—well, a subpar fuck,” I added, which made the Wolverines snicker again.

It hurt to talk about myself so low, but it was even worse to claim Knox was nothing to me when he really meant so much more. “It wasn’t easy to get them to trust me, but with some Bates charm to get them to?—”

“Why are you bleeding?”

I showed him my bloody palm. “They weren’t grateful for my double-crossing. I don’t know the name of whoever got the nick in. I’m fine. Doesn’t matter.”

I darkened my voice, walking toward him. “Vane took care of them, Father. Look for yourself.”

I gestured toward the two bodies of Mason and Brody—they had taken the worst beatings from Vane and were most convincingly dead. Walter eyed them, but when I thought he would approach, he jerked his head for his men to check.

Shit, Caroline, act fast.

“They don’t matter, either, Father,” I said loudly enough for the men to stop and look back questioningly whether to proceed or not. “Vane has a bone to pick with you over it.”

Walter snorted, waving off the men, who fell back in step behind him. “Why? He knows he’ll get his money.”

“He’d better. Black Jack is dead.”

A sudden, unnatural silence filled the warehouse. The Wolverines suddenly started whispering among themselves in shock, restless.

Walter’s eyebrows rose—that was the only indication of surprise. He had been attempting Black Jack’s murder for years. Now he learned about it as casually as announcing the weather.

“That so?” he said slowly.

I nodded. “I watched the light leave his eyes with my own, Father. Vane’s aim is impeccable—right through the Devil bastard’s chest. That stain?”

I pointed to the large bloodstain that came from Vane’s head. “Black Jack bled out right there. That’s Devil blood.”

Walter flicked his half-finished cigar on the ground. “Where are they?” he demanded. “Why isn’t Vane with you telling me this shit?”

“Jack’s body is in your office,” I told him smoothly. It was all too easy to lie when it was the truth. “Vane is watching over it. Bastard loves dramatics—wants to show you. He’s also trying to break one of the others while he waits.”

He barked a short, sharp laugh. “This, I gotta see. Take me to them, daughter. Once I see that Devil dead, we can bury his corpse where nobody will ever find him.”

I looped my arm in his when he offered it. It felt slimy and wrong. “Without Black Jack, we can finish off the remaining Devils, and you can be the undisputed king of Reno once again.”

“Of course I will,” Walter said with a dark chuckle. “His death is long overdue. With him gone, I can pay my sweet girl a visit.”

Disgust coiled in my stomach so violently that I really did almost vomit. Why is he so obsessed with Sam? I colored my voice with disdain. “Is she even worth it now, Father? She’s pregnant with Black Jack’s heir?—”

“I don’t give a shit,” Walter interrupted. Before I could apologize, he laughed. “There they are in that stupid little office. Look at those windows. Must have been a real shootout.”

“Vane” had his back to us through the shattered windows. Visible just behind him was Abel, playing the convincing role of thrashing and resisting—then stilling when a knife tip was suddenly pointing between his legs.

Through the open door, Abel croaked, “Hey, man, I got a kid on the way. What if I want more? I kinda need that part. You gotta know?—”

“Vane” put a second knife to Abel’s throat and growled to shut the fuck up.

It was quite convincing.

Walter stopped, turning to me. “I’ll let him continue in peace. Black Jack’s body ain’t going anywhere.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I must ask, do you really expect me to believe this isn’t a trap? You’ve been with them for days.”

“Yes, I have,” I said firmly. “Getting intel. Learning their patterns. Earning trust by getting their cocks to do the thinking. We should have done this months ago.” I smiled widely, putting as much gross pride into it as possible.

“You should be proud of me, Father. A thank you would be splendid but I guess that’s too much to ask. ”

“Hmm,” was all he responded with. His gaze started scanning the warehouse as if searching for movement, even if the warehouse was silent beyond Abel’s groveling.

“This is what you’ve always wanted, right?” I continued, more forcefully. “Black Jack dead. His brothers dead or scattered. Frankly, I believe I’ve earned my rightful place at your side.”

Walter crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

He watched me for an excruciatingly long moment. It made me feel like my insides were peeled outward.

Was he going to believe me? Was he going to believe I decided to go out on a solo mission to infiltrate the Devils without permission—especially when I had never done reconnaissance before? After I escaped from being his prisoner?

Then he began to smile, and I thought?—

My head jerked to the side. My cheek stung like a bitch and my ears started ringing.

He hit me.

I want to hit him back.

I kept my composure. I straightened, pretending to be unfazed.

“Bring me to the corpse,” Bates ordered as sharply as a scalpel. “Once I confirm that Black Jack is dead with my own eyes, I’ll figure out what to do with you next. You think I’m going to fall for that shit, you naive little brat?”

Before he could shove me, I led him to the office where Abel and “Vane” were still convincingly interacting. The door was open. Walter dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder. I almost startled right out of my skin.

“Vane,” Walter snapped. “Stop playing executioner. Where’s Black Jack’s body? Show me the hole in his chest and I’ll fill your pockets right now.”

My heart hammered. I couldn’t breathe. This had to work. We were too far in to fuck it up now.

“Vane” didn’t move. Abel played his part like a pro. “Bates!” he shouted. “Call off your damn attack dog! My president is dead. Isn’t that fucking enough for you?”

Walter strode toward the office, observing the bullet-riddled walls. “I couldn’t give the smallest shit about you,” he said coldly. “As long as Black Jack’s corpse is cooling somewhere, nothing’s stopping me from peeling that barmaid out of her maternity jeans and fucking the attitude out of her.”

Oh.

That was a bad choice of words.

He took one more step.

I lurched forward and shoved both palms into his back. He stumbled into the office with a grunt of surprise. Before he could turn, I yanked the door shut and drove my knife into the keyhole.

Locked inside.

He spun on me, furious. “You lying little cunt! Open this goddamn door!”

I smirked. “I’d rather be called a cunt than your daughter, Daddy. But I really hope you didn’t mean what you said about Samantha.”

“The fuck? Why? Vane! Move, you jackass. We’ll climb out the damn window?—”

“Vane” cleared his throat. And said, in a low, knee-weakening growl, “Try that, and I’ll jam a glass shard through your last good eye.”

Bates went still.

Because that wasn’t Vane’s voice.

It was Jackson Black’s.

Very much alive.

Walter Bates had just been locked in a room with the Devil’s Luck president.

He didn’t just ring his own death knell.

He fucking asked for it.