Page 8 of Knox (The Devil’s Luck MC #6)

CAROLINE

V ane left the office only to yank the tarp off the warehouse window. The last rays of the fading daylight poured in, and I blinked and winced at the light as if it burned. It took my eyes a moment to adjust. I had been locked in dark and flickering fluorescents for almost two days now.

I knew Vane did it so I could see him better. See how much of a brute he really was, all height and muscle and violence. I knew he wanted me to look at him, but I had no such intention. Staring at a broken tile in the corner of the room was far preferable to his cold, savage gaze.

We’d been at it for a while—the same song and dance of someone stubbornly resisting interrogation. Neither of us had moved or spoken much; it was a psychological interrogation. Father brought in Vane to intimidate me into learning a lesson.

My mind, however? It was working a million miles a minute on how to escape this hellhole.

I was a Wolverine the second I was born, raised and groomed to be a weapon. I didn’t just use guns and knives but words. Threats, purrs, shouts, whatever it took to survive. If I had to use my body, fine. If I had to play parts, fine. And I did it all for my father.

I did everything for my father. I was everything. I was his little girl. He was my hero.

But now, as I sat there tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse with a man who could snap an arm like a twig, that had changed.

I never thought of leaving. Never thought of even considering anything outside of the Wolverines. What I could be outside of Walter Bates’s shadow. What I could be beyond a psycho bitch.

I could be a better leader, that was what. I could do a better job running the club than my father.

Walter Bates’s glory days were legendary, sealed with blood and fire.

But when we rolled into Reno and started trying to swallow the town whole, he lost sight of his own principles that the Wolverines were built on.

He used to walk the line between brutality and progress.

He brought in those who needed a home and gave them one.

If the violence didn’t move him forward, it wasn’t worth it.

Now?

Now, violence was an impulse he couldn’t resist. It had become his nature—and his obsession.

Ever since he killed William Black and Jackson Black returned, he’d been obsessed with making the Devil’s Luck bleed until the streets ran red. And I helped him. I did despicable things to their members. Two of them were several months pregnant at this point, and Father still wanted them dead.

I prided myself on my heartlessness. But that was a line not to be crossed.

“ You might be loyal to Daddy, but you’re looking for a way out. You want this whole thing to burn down, don’t you ?”

Knox’s words came back to haunt me. They set my teeth on edge— he had set my teeth on edge. What a cocky, know-it-all bastard who didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

“ You go back to him now, ” he had said with such intensity that it had sent a shiver down my spine, “ and he’s gonna make an example out of you .”

And he ended up being right.

“ I don’t have a choice ,” I had told him.

And I had been right too.

Vane leaned back in the chair, his massive arms crossed. I glanced up, then back at the chipped tile.

“ Bullshit. You always have a choice .”

I hated that the Devil was right. I hated that he had shone a damn spotlight on the feelings that had been festering in my soul for months.

If I wanted to get out of this life, I had to do it cunningly and slowly.

Vane’s low but booming voice startled me out of my thoughts. “Your old man do this shit often?”

The nonthreatening question disarmed me for the briefest moment. I looked up at him. “What?”

He was still playing with his blade—threatening. Vane pointed it at me and the chair I was bound to. “Tie you up and leave you for the dogs?”

I considered not entertaining any kind of conversation, then said coolly, “First time.”

Vane’s smile was Joker-like. He kept his eyes pinned on me as he rested the edge of the knife on his knuckles.

And then cut his own skin open. I watched a line of blood ooze from the slices and slide down his hand.

Who the fuck is this guy? Where did my father find him? Better yet, after finding him, why did he decide to hire him?

I knew it wasn’t just to be a bodyguard. My father, even if he was losing his mind, wouldn’t have hired this brute if it wasn’t for a bigger, more deadly purpose.

The lighting in the office shifted as the sun set over the distant skyline.

Only the dull fluorescents provided illumination, buzzing faintly like they might give out any minute.

It cast an ugly yellow sheen over Vane as he sheathed the knife in his boot—as he moved toward me in slow, measured steps and made me feel a sharp pang of something I hadn’t felt in a long-ass time.

Fear.

Vane loomed over me like a living shadow, hulking, weapons hidden in the dark. I lifted my chin, hiding my terror behind a defiant glare.

Fear . The daughter of Walter Bates didn’t feel fucking fear . It was a weakness I’d buried years ago, along with a slew of others. The trick to surviving men like my father was to feel nothing at all.

But Vane wasn’t a normal man.

He moved like a shadow, too, slow, smooth, predatory, like he had all the time in the world. I knew what men did to women when they were alone and helpless.

My pulse hammered in my throat. My wrists ached as I fruitlessly tugged against the ropes, hoping to slip free before Vane could touch me.

He crouched in front of me. I forgot how to breathe, and I hated myself for it.

Then his hand—the one smeared with his own blood—came up and his knuckles scraped over my jaw like he was just curious to see if it would make me recoil.

But I’d be damned if I gave him the satisfaction.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Neither did he.

The rough, split skin of his fingers felt ugly on mine. When the pad of his thumb ghosted over my lower lip, it was like sandpaper.

I jerked my head away, gnashing my teeth. To my surprise and relief, Vane withdrew.

Only slightly.

Vane bared his teeth, snow-white against his dark skin, and some part of me knew he could chomp another man’s thumb off and never lose that smile.

“Look at that,” he said under his breath, husky and dangerous.

“Wolverines really do bite.” His gaze roamed my face.

“But I’ll take my chances while your claws are sheathed. ”

Vane’s fingers slid into my unbound hair. They twirled around a fistful, twisting slowly, tugging slightly. Maybe testing it to see how easy it would be to drag me by the roots. My jaw locked so tightly it hurt.

He would have to untie me first. Then I’ll show him what my claws can do.

I wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Don’t fucking touch me .”

Vane ignored me and leaned closer. His breath was hot and smelled like smoke. Disgusting fucking habit. I jerked at my bonds again. If I could just kick his shin?—

“Your father didn’t give me ground rules,” Vane said, sliding his fingers free only to stroke his knuckles down my neck.

I’d been stripped of my jacket when I got to the warehouse after the Lair, so I was only in a gray tank top and jeans.

“Must’ve done it on purpose. More important things to do than reprimand his baby girl.

Must’ve known… how I’ve been wanting company. ”

I stiffened when both hands were on me, sliding down my arms with perverse reverence. When they reached my thighs, his thumbs pressing down the inside of my thighs, that was where I drew the line.

No man touched me without my permission.

I didn’t think. I just acted.

With every ounce of hatred boiling in my chest, I snapped my head forward and drove my skull right into the bastard’s nose.

The crack split the air like gunfire, making my stomach churn.

Stars burst behind my eyes as pain exploded in my forehead like I’d slammed my head into a brick wall. God, that fucking pain…

But it was Vane’s shout of fury that made me unrepentant.

He snarled and stumbled back, blood already running hot and fast between his fingers as he cupped his nose. “You fucking bitch ,” he growled nasally.

My head pulsed like my skull had been cracked down the middle, but I blinked past the throbbing to glare at him. “Fucking bastard,” I spat back. “Touch me again, and I’ll?—”

“You’ll stay fucking still for me, woman,” Vane began, turning to lunge toward me.

I braced myself for a blow that never came.

Bang!

The office door flew open when the handle took a bullet. Vane and I turned our heads so fast it gave us both whiplash. In the doorframe, in head-to-toe leather, was a man holding a smoking handgun. Even in my swimming vision, I recognized him.

Nathaniel “Royal Flush” Knox.

“Hey, asshole.”

Crippling relief made my limbs turn to water—and then taut with panic. All hell was about to break loose.

Vane moved inhumanly fast. He whipped one of the guns from the holster under his arm, spun, and lifted. Knox burst through the door like a wrecking ball and slammed straight into him. They both crashed to the floor in a tangle of muscle and violence.

Vane fired. The shot ripped a scream from my throat and one of the fluorescents shattered above us. Glass rained down in jagged shards. One of them sliced my arm.

The office wasn’t big enough for two giant men grappling like pro wrestlers. Barbarians.

This was my chance. I had to get the fuck out of here. Knox wasn’t going to save me. I was. He was just a convenient distraction.

I threw my body weight to the side. I landed hard on the tile floor. Glass dug into my shoulder but the pain was a distant murmur compared to the determination now overtaking every instinct. Vane had dropped his knife.

My fingers fumbled for it, taking an eternity to get a firm grasp on the leather-wrapped handle. The men were so busy beating the shit out of each other to notice what I was doing. Even if they did, they were too full of ego to stop until one or both of them were unconscious.

I sawed at the rope. All I could hear was the hish hish hish of the fibers, flesh beating flesh, and my own breathing loud in my ears.

Faster, Caroline, fucking faster ? —

Snap!

My hands were free. Vane slammed Knox’s head against the window so hard it cracked.

I scrambled to free my ankles, sawing and yanking at the raw rope. Then I was free and buzzing with self-preservation.

I rushed for the door.

Vane roared, “He’ll kill you if you run!”

That didn’t matter. More commotion was followed by heavy footsteps. A hand grabbed my waist. Terror flooded me anew. I turned with the knife raised.

“I got you,” Knox rasped, eyeing the blade.

Bang bang bang!

Three shots were fired from behind us, pinging off the warehouse walls ahead of us. “Get the fuck back here !”

Vane’s bellow made my heart lurch into my throat. But then Knox and I flew through the warehouse doors, and Knox slammed them behind him. I barely registered two men surging forward and sliding a two-by-four through the handle. Shots kept firing inside. Vane slammed on the door, trapped inside.

“Get on my bike,” Knox ordered. “Stab me later if you still want to. Once we’re somewhere safe.”

I was too rattled to process this puzzling turn of events. Without arguing, I limped to his bike, barely able to swing my leg over behind Knox. As the metal beast roared awake, I leaned forward to wrap my cut-up arms around his waist.

I rested my cheek on his back and closed my eyes, glad none of the men could see me cry.