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

CAROLINE

I was locked up in a cage like a misbehaving puppy.

The difference was that it wasn’t a little crate in the corner of a living room. No, I was handcuffed to a chair in one of the warehouse offices gutted to be only an empty box for me—and for Heel, who was sloppily digging into a greasy cheeseburger from the joint down the street.

My stomach growled, which was a betrayal of my own body, considering Heel scarfing the junk food was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen. And I had seen a lot of nasty shit in my life as an MC boss’s daughter and righthand man.

My wrists burned, and my ankles ached from the tight, abrasive coils of rope.

I had been bound in this torture device of a metal chair for twenty-four hours.

It wasn’t a long time, but it wasn’t a short time, either, to be tucked away in the dingy, damp, uninviting warehouse Father dared call a clubhouse.

I sustained a split, swollen lip that stung like a bitch.

I could still see the look in Wesley’s eyes, still see the regretful line of his mouth.

He hadn’t wanted to hit me. We had history; he was one of the few Wolverines with a semblance of morality.

Then again, I had a history with most of the club members.

Some I had shared non-MC conversations with, others I shared beds, and others I had threatened more than once.

Even though I wanted to hate Wesley as he struck me and hurt me, I couldn’t. An order was an order. If Wesley even tried to refuse Father’s demand to teach his daughter a lesson, he would be in the same position—self-preservation at its best.

So Wesley made my head explode in pain and drew blood and then walked away.

Leaving me with a slob of a bodyguard.

Every so often, a limb or digit would start to go numb. I had to adjust and wriggle just to keep the blood flowing.

“Stop squirming already,” Heel barked around a mouthful of burger, leaning back in his own far more comfortable desk chair.

I curled my lip. “Shut up and eat your burger, Heel.”

The bastard was in his mid-forties, covered from head to toe in tattoos, and deceptively fast despite that gut. He was one of Father’s most trusted men after proving himself ten times over to be one of the most ruthless Wolverines.

And trusted him to watch over his daughter, who could be ruthless in other ways than brute strength and the ability to fire a gun.

Heel narrowed his eyes and tossed a soggy fry at me. It bounced off my nose and landed by my foot. It wasn’t much of a threat, but it was mildly humiliating. “Still think you’re the tough chick, huh? You’re as delusional as your old man.”

I smiled slowly, the kind of smile that made men wary about their next words.

Heel wasn’t fazed, but he did eye the blood that oozed from the reopened split in my lip.

“You’d better watch your mouth, Heel. If my father heard you talking about him like that, he’d use me as a battering ram against your skull until we’re both dead. ”

Heel just laughed like a dunce. A dollop of ketchup dropped on his shirt.

I rolled my eyes even if I wasn’t in the position to be acting so haughty. Useless man.

Voices sounded outside the office. I heard my father’s voice before I saw him, and when I did see him through the grimy windows, it was to slam the door open with a bang that made Heel start and let go of his box of fries.

They scattered all over the floor. One of them came dangerously close to my father’s boots.

Most ruthless. Yeah, right, he can’t even hold a damn French fry.

I kept calm and collected. It was how I was raised to be. Obedient and quiet, unmovable in any situation. Flinching could mean the difference between escape and getting shot.

But it wasn’t my father that made my heart lurch into my throat.

The rhythm of Father’s heavy footsteps was as familiar as my own face, but it was the second set behind him that seemed to funnel all the air out of the office.

His face wasn’t familiar—this tall, muscled, built-like-a-tank man who wore violence like a second skin.

He followed Father into the office. Every step was like a death knell, vibrating the concrete beneath his booted feet.

In the dim fluorescents, I saw the glint of metal—his personal arsenal.

He was armed to the teeth. Guns in holsters under his arms, a knife in a leather sheath on his hip, and another smaller hilt peeking out from the edge of his dusty leather boots.

He wasn’t a Wolverine. He wasn’t some scrappy street muscle Walter Bates wanted to initiate to give him a found family.

No, this guy—this beast of a man—was professional. Precise.

The way he moved, lumbering yet silent, his dark skin smooth, his black hair shaved close, it was terrifying. And his eyes? Fuck .

They flicked to me, and the stare he fixed me with shook me to my core.

But I couldn’t let any of these men know that.

I flattened my gaze, schooling my features into disinterest, sliding my attention to Father. “Who’s this brute?”

“Your babysitter.”

I blinked at my father’s dismissive tone. “Excuse me?”

My father moved forward like a shot, dropping to a knee before me, catching my chin in a rough, unforgiving hand. The sudden aggression made me want to flinch, but I held my composure. Even if adrenaline sluiced through my veins like ice water. I didn’t want to admit it was fear.

I stared into his eyes— eye . The blue one bored a hole in my head while the milky white one wandered, slightly lazy.

“You’ve broken my heart, baby girl.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I tried to speak, but his fingers squeezed my jaw.

“You shook my trust in you.” He paused, letting it sink in. Then his lip curled. “And all because of a Devil,” he hissed.

He rose to his feet, releasing my jaw with a shove that twisted my neck to the side. It hurt.

The stranger let out a low grunt. I whipped toward him, hoping my glare masked the queasiness making my head airy. But he just stood there like a wolf waiting for its master to give an order.

“Heel,” my father barked suddenly. “Get the fuck out. Go be a slob elsewhere.”

Heel hightailed it like Father lit his ass on fire, taking the remains of his food with him. Unbearable tension swelled.

The stranger stepped further into the office and shut the door with a decisive click.

Father claimed Heel’s empty seat like a throne—slouched back, legs spread, his aura dripping with lazy male ego. He watched me for a moment and observed me chained to a chair, bleeding, starving. His own daughter bound by rope in his— our —safe house.

I just watched back.

After an eternity, Father leaned forward, the chair creaking with the motion. He rested his forearms on his thighs and said, “You disappointed me, Caroline. That is why you’re here. We cannot trust a Wolverine in here with you. That’s why Heel is not here.”

Another unbearably long pause before Father continued. “My men cannot be trusted watching you—not with the bonds you’ve forged with them. I don’t need them bending to your feminine wiles. No getting distracted by a smile or…”

He gestured vaguely—at my face, my body, my existence . Like being a woman was some liability.

I wanted to recoil in disgust. But the last thing I could afford right now was a display of weakness. I wouldn’t be what he—what any of these pigs—expected me to be. I wasn’t just some conniving bitch. I wasn’t just a whore.

My father’s gaze lingered a second too long on me. Then he clucked his tongue and turned to the brute. “Say hello, Vane, to my beautiful daughter, Caroline. She is twenty-five, I believe?—”

“I’m thirty,” I snapped without thinking.

It was as if he didn’t hear me. “—inherited her mother’s looks and her bratty attitude. Don’t miss that bitch.”

I clenched my fists so tight my nails pricked skin. My mother died when I was only three years old, you dickwad. She wasn’t a bitch. She just didn’t like your attitude.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Father continued with a wave of his hand missing its pinky. “Say hello to Vane, sweetheart.”

I did no such fucking thing. I stared Vane down.

He stared back, drawing a thin, small blade from the inside of his jacket sleeve.

He twirled it effortlessly, the blade glinting even in the ugly lights of the office.

Then, wobbly and awkward like he had never done it before, he smiled, baring a mouth full of pristine white, straight teeth stark against his dark skin.

“So mercs use whitening strips,” I snarked.

Ignoring me again, Father said, “No pleasantries. Love it. Vane is going to keep an eye on you while I figure out how we move forward.”

He rose to his feet. My sneer faded when he added in a low voice, “If we can move forward at all.”

Vane twirled the knife in his fingers again and exchanged places with my father. The chair groaned under his weight as he leaned forward.

“Let’s get to know each other, Miss Bates.” His tone was a deep, rumbling purr, and yet it was somehow smooth and monotonous, void of any cadence or anything that would make him sound human.

I knew in my marrow that this man was a monster—a killer —and that he had no business here. No business following the orders of Walter Bates to hold his own daughter hostage just for being seen with a member of the Devil’s Luck.

Did I fuck up by breaking a Wolverine code? Yes. Did I deserve to be tied to a chair and punched by a fellow club member? Fuck no. Did I deserve to be looked at like an icon of sin by my father? Fuck. No.

Was I going to get out of this alive?

Fuck. Yes.

Mr. Flippy-Knife here wasn’t going to intimidate me into some whimpering little girl promising she’d never betray Daddy again. He could try. He could make me bleed and cry and beg. But it would not break me. Not now, not ever .

Could I try to reason with my father? No, he would never see sense in letting anyone go scot free after fucking even the smallest thing up. But I could try.

“Father.” I kept my voice even and firm but edged it with a plea. I was still Daddy’s little princess, and I always got what I wanted. “I repent, Dad. Let me go, and I will prove my loyalty. Give me a gun, and I will put a bullet through Royal Flush’s skull. Give me?—”

My father whipped around and cracked his hand against my cheek. The front legs of the chair lifted off the floor before slamming down, jerking me forward. I yelped in pain when the ropes bit into my skin.

“The only thing you will give , Caroline,” my father snarled, “is your absence from my operations. You’ll go nowhere near the Devils unless I explicitly order you to. Is that understood?”

My cheek smarted like a sunburn as my gaze flicked up to meet his. I hoped he saw the wrath in them.

If he did, he didn’t care. He snorted derisively and left the office, slamming the metal door behind him.

I watched him stalk away. A few moments later, I heard him bark an order that had bikes roaring to life in the back of the warehouse. They were heading out to god knew where.

Leaving me alone with Vane.

I turned the glare to the sneering bastard before me. He just smiled wider.

I had been afraid plenty of times in my life. But this was different.

All those times, I had power. I had the protection of my father on all sides.

But now, tied up and beaten at his order, left with a killer…

I had never felt more powerless.