Page 7 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

KNOX

“D ude, Black Jack is going to be pissed off if he knew we were doing this.”

I looked up from my phone at Gabriel. “That’s why I’ve already given you multiple outs.” My voice was rough. If I were just a little mean, maybe they’d back out of helping me. “I don’t want you guys’ necks on the chopping block. This is my problem to fix.”

“Yeah,” Grant noted with a snort from where he sat across from me and Gabriel on an old table in the corner of his shop. “And you are our problem, even when you dive fists first into helping the daughter of our worst enemy.”

“Better not be dick first,” Gabriel muttered.

I chucked a random bolt at his head and he ducked it with a chuckle. It pinged off the wall.

“Screw you, man.” I turned my attention back to my phone. My thumb flew all over the screen, going back and forth between my maps app and browser, tracking down any lead to the hazy window behind Caroline. “I have no intention of ever fucking a Wolverine.”

“No one said that.”

“Look, Gabe,” I snapped suddenly, making the man—my brother in arms—jolt in surprise.

I never snapped. I never yelled. “I appreciate your humor. I do. But this is my fault. I don’t care that she’s Bates’s daughter.

I just care about doing right by my fuck-up.

I told you I’m not getting either of you in trouble with Jackson. So just…”

The fire that had flared up in me flickered and died.

My grip on my phone went slack, and I tossed it on the table.

Neon light from a random sign of a bike reflected off the phone’s surface.

Grant’s shop had all sorts of wacky shit hanging up.

Suzie Black once said its “vibes were immaculate.” Whatever the hell that meant.

I passed a hand over my face. I had never felt so conflicted before.

Not with anything. I didn’t do shit half-assed.

Gabriel was right; I always went in fists first, or guns first, or good old charm.

But that was because I was Devil’s Luck, and my only loyalty was to my brothers.

They were my heart and soul, no matter how corny that sounded, but I never had reason to doubt myself.

Now, I was torn between continuing to hate the enemy and being a halfway decent guy. A woman’s life was in danger because of me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let her die.

Rest assured, Walter Bates was capable of killing his own daughter.

Grant and Gabriel watched me like they hoped to see inside my mind.

My gaze drifted to the Polaroid next to my phone.

I swiped it from the trash behind Sam’s bar when Jackson wasn’t looking.

Sam was my lookout. Then I made to storm out of the Well and drive to my place like hell was on my heels, planning to crash at my place and search for the location like a damn hacker.

Grant and Gabriel stopped me before I even reached my bike. They convinced me far too easily to go to Grant’s shop. Once we got there, Grant rifled through some drawers until he found tape and handed it to me with an oddly kind, understanding expression. Brothers helping brothers.

But that was two hours and two beers ago, and we were no closer to finding the location than we were to the North Pole. The wall clock with an image of a pinup girl on a bike read five o’clock, and the sun was already setting, slivers of it showing through the cracked-open garage.

Who knew if Caroline was still alive? With the ripped paper badly taped together, it was damn near impossible to determine what warehouse had that shaped window.

It was covered with a tarp. She looked like she was in some kind of office with glass windows.

Had Bates taken the photo himself? Why had they sent it to me—what did they expect me to do when I saw it?

Too many questions for a guy who always had a one-track mind.

I took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I just…”

Gabriel dropped a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Hey, man, we get it.”

Grant walked over and sat beside me on the bench, offering a fantastic piece of advice: “Yeah.”

I snorted, feeling my stress level decrease just marginally. “Thanks.”

Let Jackson feel what he feels , I thought with unexpected bitterness. Protecting his feelings wasn’t worth letting Caroline die. Not to me.

I understood Jackson’s hatred toward Caroline.

It was only warranted, considering her father was the one who shot and killed William, his kid brother, who was the former president while Black Jack was in the SEALs for ten years.

Jackson could only feel hatred. He couldn’t care less if Caroline died.

An eye for an eye was an acceptable form of justice.

The memory of seeing William taking the bullet to the chest and collapsing on the street flashed in my mind’s eye. The raw edge of his death would always linger. I shook my head, shoving the scene down.

Completely ignoring my warnings, Gabriel and Grant picked up the search on their phones. I sighed again. There was no stopping them now. I could only appreciate their dedication.

After a few minutes, Grant sighed dramatically.

“I wonder what life would be like if we didn’t have to think about the Wolverines.

Or trouble at all. Hell, I can’t even remember what life was like before Bates rolled into town.

What could my days be if they were mine and mine alone and not the club’s? ”

Gabriel raised his brows. “Careful, bro. You almost sound like you want out of the Devils.”

I looked up, too, studying the mechanic. He was a hard guy to read sometimes.

Grant shrugged one shoulder. “Nah, ‘course not.”

We left it at that and went back to searching—and searching and searching.

Until an image of a murky window on the side of a warehouse on Maps made me pause. No way.

I zoomed in, my breath catching, and compared it to the picture of Caroline.

No fucking way.

“I found it,” I muttered. “Holy shit. This is it.”

I scanned the address. My heart was pounding.

Did I just find the Wolverines’ hidey hole they’d been using for almost two months?

It was the perfect location for a Wolverine hideout.

If my memory of all Reno’s shadiest spots served me correctly, it was used to run police training drills.

Bates had friends in the department. It added up.

I pushed to my feet, throwing on my leather jacket—the one without the Devil’s Luck emblem—to shove my phone and Polaroid in its pockets. I caught Gabriel and Grant exchanging looks that suggested they were worried for my sanity.

“I’m going,” I said before either of them had the chance to talk me out of it. “Rat me out to Jackson, or don’t. I don’t give a damn. Won’t blame you if you do. Just give me a five-minute head start. That’s all I need if he comes after me.”

Gabriel barked a laugh. “That’s all you need?

Man, you’re walking into a warehouse of who knows how many Wolverines.

Fifteen? Twenty? Maybe more? All for her?

” He gestured to the picture in my jacket.

“She’s a bitch, and you know it. I know you don’t like to see a woman hurt.

None of us do. But is she really worth the risk? ”

“Yes,” I said flatly.

Grant exhaled slowly, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured them despite my own doubt beneath the surface of my confidence.

“I’ll roll in quiet. Lights off. Engine dead.

There’s a back road to this warehouse. Last I was down there, it was full of abandoned cars and junk.

Poor line of sight. If they’ve been hiding out here all these months, they’ll be confident. Comfortable. They won’t expect me.”

“Or they’re waiting for you because they sent the picture,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Maybe,” I admitted with a shrug. “But I don’t have the luxury of time and neither does she. I got nothing else going on except trying to be a hero.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘suicidal,’” Gabriel muttered. “We can’t in good conscience let you go without backup.”

“Or at least take a gun,” Grant said, getting up to head to the trap door to the basement where the club stocked all their hardware. “Whatever you want from the armory.”

Okay, I can’t deny that sounds appealing.

I followed Grant down, Gabriel close behind.

The stash was impressive, with rifles, handguns, and shotguns lined along the walls.

Stacks of ammo filled shelves beneath all the weapons.

I browsed the secret room until I found a nice Glock I thought could put an even nicer bullet through a Wolverine’s head if need be.

“So,” Grant said slowly as I loaded some magazines.

“If you somehow make it out with all your digits and organs intact, what’s your plan?

If you walk out with Bates’s daughter, what then?

Are you gonna hide her somewhere? Take her to her place and patch her up?

Bates will come after her—he’ll come after you and rain hellfire. ”

“Right,” Gabriel said, sounding serious for the first time since getting to the shop. “He won’t take kindly to you taking what’s his.”

“She’s not his,” I growled.

“She’s not yours, either, dude,” Gabriel reminded me. The gravity of his words didn’t fall on deaf ears. “But hey, why not put our necks on the line for a whore who’s tried to kill us a hundred times?”

Grant, clearly still intent on bringing me to my senses, said, “Remember they sent you this photo on purpose. They wrote your name in fucking blood. They’re going to expect you to show up, banking on our honor, and shoot you dead.”

“Which is crazy of them,” Gabriel noted. “To think you’ll be lured in by the woman he sends to kill us every so often. They must think you two are awfully cozy.”

“We’re not.” I shrugged again, feeling my temper rise. I climbed back out into the shop and made to push the garage open. Chilled March air rushed in, stirring the random papers on the floor. Our parked bikes were at the end of the drive behind the choppers Grant was working on.

I stalked between them and swung my leg over my bike, dropping down on it with a sense of belonging.

Whenever I felt unsure or stressed out, this was the place I found myself.

The hunk of metal and leather and gas, definitely a death trap, definitely a dead giveaway to someone who was trying to do reconnaissance.

My brothers followed me out, and Gabriel just had to point that out.

He crossed his arms. “Do you have some kind of silencer you can install on that beast?”

“I’ll park down the street and walk,” I said, putting my hands on the handlebars but not reaching for the keys.

“You can hear that bastard a half mile away.” Grant sighed as if getting tired of finding ways to talk me out of this. “You’re better off taking a regular bike. Suzie’s got one.”

He pointed to the back wall where a pink bicycle hung with those beads that clicked obnoxiously with each roll of the wheels. It had Lola plastered on it.

I couldn’t help a bark of laughter. “Fearsome Royal Flush on a pink bicycle. Wolverines will shoot me as a mercy kill. Not like I’ll be a hard target to hit.”

Grant flashed a smile but then grew serious again. “Seriously, Knox, you don’t need to do this.”

“Even if I don’t, I’m still going to do it.”

He sighed. “Thought so. Can you at least come back in and we’ll help you come up with a plan that won’t get you killed on sight?”

I looked between my brothers, who were ride or die despite my idiocy.

I sighed. I couldn’t exactly say no. They’d drag me by my fingernails if I tried to make a run for it.

“Fine. Fine. Let’s figure this shit out, you lovable bastards.”