Page 2 of Beyond the Badge: Nox

He paused on the second-floor landing and stared down at Cross now waiting at the bottom. Sucking on his teeth, Nox slowly followed.

Every step he took down the stairs felt weighted. As if he wore cement blocks instead of boots.

When he got to the foot of the stairs, Cross opened the building’s side door and waved him inside.

He met the man’s eyes for a moment, took a breath and then walked through the BAMC’s meeting room, the only way to get into their church besides the rear entrance.

Two ways in.

Two ways to escape.

With Cross close on his heels, Nox stepped out of the room where the executive committee met and into the clubhouse’s common area.

There, he stopped short and took them all in.

Grim expressions. Nervous gestures. Perched stiffly on the three couches and some chairs set around that sitting area.

All eyes turned toward him.

This was not a goddamn BAMC meeting. “What the fuck is this?”

Cross was suddenly crowding him and pressing a firm hand to his back, urging in a strong voice, “Go have a seat.”

Nox’s nostrils flared and his jaw flexed. “No. We had no meeting scheduled, so I don’t know what the fuck this is.”

When he turned, Cross quickly blocked him from leaving the same way they came in.

He spun on his heels and was about to head toward the back door when, just as quickly, Decker was there, blocking his path.

“Get out of my way, brother,” Nox warned just loud enough for Decker to hear. “Don’t fucking do this.”

Decker’s lips pressed together so tight, they were nothing but a slash.

Nox’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. “Deck…”

“Have a seat,” Jamison called out.

With a glance over his shoulder, Nox saw the club president pointing to the only empty spot on the center couch. The middle cushion, of course, so he’d be flanked by two of his brothers.

“Is this task force business?” he asked Crew, not bothering to mask the betrayal in his voice. He already knew it wasn’t because only BAMC members were in the room, but he was looking for any way to stall what was about to come next.

The task force leader answered, “No, but you still answer to me.”

“Not off the clock,” Nox reminded him.

Before Crew could respond, Jamison rose from his seat. “If you want to be that way, you do answer to me. I’m not only your sergeant at SVPD, I’m your prez.” He jabbed a finger toward the couch. “Now sit the fuck down.”

Nox’s spine snapped straight, and his chin lifted in defiance. “You can’t force me to do shit.” He turned again, only to find himself toe-to-toe with Cross. “Get the fuck out of my way.” His fingers curled into fists, an automatic reaction to the flight or fight instinct since no one was letting him leave.

Cross shook his head. “No, brother, I’m not going to do that.”

“Nox,” Jamison called out. “Do us a favor and give us a few minutes of your time. That’s all we’re asking.”

“You’re not asking. You’re telling. I don’t like being ambushed.”

“And we don’t like having to ambush you,” Crew insisted.

“But you did it anyway.”

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