Page 92 of Knox

“I trusted you,” the mechanic croaked, sounding like a chronic smoker as he pinned me with a forearm to my chest. “And you let Gabe get shot dead. My best friend. Was Will’s death not enough?”

The world narrowed to me, Grant, and his words. I didn’t know what to feel because I was feeling everything at once, and I was so overwhelmed that all I could think was nothing.

“Grant, I-I?—”

“Enough!” Jackson snarled, pushing Grant off me. He stood between us, glaring like we were bickering siblings. “Enough, all of you.” He sighed, exasperated. “We did our job. The Wolverine left. Knox, let’s ride.” Jackson raised his voice. “The rest of you, positions.”

Like nothing had happened, the Devils dispersed. Grant stormed off into the backroom.

The Well had long since emptied out, and only Caroline was left at the bar. I wanted to rush to her and kiss her until her lips were swollen, and the look she was giving me from across the room suggested she felt the same—but Jackson shoved my shoulder toward the door.

“No distractions, Royal,” he growled. “We ride hard and fast, avoid detection. Get locked in or I’ll?—”

“I got it, I got it,” I told him. “I’m focused, chief.”

We were on our bikes and peeling out of the lot in one minute flat, riding like hell to catch up to the Wolverine.

His bike was a heavy Harley-Davidson, muscle meant for show, not racing. The Devils’ engines were all custom jobs and we hauled fucking ass.

We caught up fast, even with Grant’s freakout. Jackson and I weaved among traffic, ignoring the horns, slipping ahead or falling back in rotation—always keeping eyes on the Wolverine, never letting him know we were there.

This was it.

The beginning of the end.

We were finally going to track down Bates’s rat nest and tear through it like a goddamn wildfire—and rain holy hell on him until he and his MC were nothing but a red smear on the concrete.

We veered off when the warehouse came into sight. Caroline told us where the back road was that led to an overlook of the warehouse for a bird’s-eye view. We killed our engines to watch the scout pull into one of the docking stations and disappear.

Now we wait.

There was plenty of noise from Reno behind us, but between Jackson and me? Stone-cold silence. And it stretched longer and more awkwardly until I was being eaten alive.

“I’ll understand if you exile me from the club,” I said, leaning forward on my handlebars, staring ahead at the still warehouse. “It is my fault Gabe’s gone.”

Jackson didn’t even tilt his head toward me. He was like the Queen’s Guard or some shit, unmoving, unflinching. Seemingly uncaring.

“Right now isn’t the time to settle your conscience.”

I dropped my head briefly on the gas tank. “Yeah. I guess.”

“And stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself. Be a little bitch later, once these fuckers are dead.”

I sat up. “Yessir.”

Just then, a snarling monster of revving engines. Wolverines started pouring out of the front of the warehouse—fourteen in all, most of them riding those heavy-ass Harleys while some rode others built for speed.

My heart jumped when I made out Bates leading the pack. And then my gut roiled violently when I saw who brought up the rear. The sicko who tried to hurt Caroline the night I saved her, turning MC tension into total fucking chaos.

Vane.

I pointed him out to Jackson, growling. “That’s the one we have to watch out for. Vane. Mercenary.”

Jackson took my warning seriously. He narrowed his eyes at the bastard in the distance. “Ex-military?”

“Maybe,” I said. He would know better than I would. “Doesn’t matter as long as he’s dead as Bates.”

I revved my bike to life like I was going to drive after him, but Jackson’s question made me freeze.

---