Page 29 of Knox

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Can’t a man appreciate an attractive woman?”

“Of course,” Caroline said, suddenly syrup-sweet, “when she doesn’t look like shit.”

“How do you know you look like shit?”

“Because I feel like it, and your sob story isn’t going to make me whip out my tits for you.”

“Don’t expect you to, spitfire.”

“Well, what if I did?”

Caroline curved her shoulders forward, pressing her breasts together. They weren’t visible through her tank top, but the idea that they were there and pushed up like that was enticing enough. My throat went dry real fast.

I was impressed by her ability to drop her voice to a silken purr. “So… are we doing this or what?”

She reached across the table. I caught sight of her raw wrists, poorly wrapped thanks to yours truly. It was like I was doused in ice water.

I gave her my own coy smile. “Doing what?”

Caroline’s eyes flashed with sudden impatience. “Do I have to spell it out for you, or has it really been that long since you got laid?”

“I would enjoy seeing you try to spell anything in this state,” I said with a wink, avoiding the question. “What’re you willing to do for it?”

To emphasize it, I stood up. Caroline’s eyes immediately flicked to my crotch. I damn near burst out laughing, but I managed to keep my composure. She would slit my throat if I actually laughed at her.

I sat back down.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, spitfire,” I said, quieter now. “Ask me something else.”

She was clearly put out by the dismissal. She crossed her arms over her chest impetuously, pouting like the spoiled princess she was. Definitely threw tantrums in toy aisles. Probably always wanted the newest Barbies.

But damn was that pout cute.

If any of the Devil’s Luck knew what was going on in my brain right then, they’d gut me like a pig. If Jackson knew what my cock was trying to do, I’d be a eunuch in the blink of an eye.

This is all temporary, Knox, I told myself. Help her on her feet, then rid your hands of her. Easy as that. Then move on. The MC is more important than wanting to cop a feel on the tits of the Devils’ biggest enemy.

The thoughts felt like slime on my skin. Caroline wasn’t some charity case. She wasn’t a pawn to take Bates down, either. Shame heated my skin more than the tequila. It wasn’t too long ago that I’d volunteered to use her for Bates’s downfall. Now it was the last thing I wanted to do. I was a man of honor. Respect. Sure, I could throw myself in the mud for some shit, but I had lines I never crossed.

Like screwing a drunk woman who just escaped literal torture.

“What else did your father do to you?”

Memories of my shitty upbringing came flooding back. “Locked me in my room for dumb stuff a lot. Never let me have a birthday party.”

“My tenth birthday, I spent watching my father beat one of his men with a wrench.”

“Oh, damn. What for?”

“Probably nothing.”

“Hm. Did you keep a knife under your pillow?”

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