Page 125 of Misrule
“You’d be an arms dealer,” Knox sneered. “You wouldn’t make a fucking cold call to a stranger and ask for help.”
“You’re a private investigator. I’m sure you know a lot of people. You can’t tell me all your cases are on the up-and-up.”
“I can’t tell you anything about other cases.”
Amfinger sighed. “I heard you were affiliated with an MC.”
“That doesn’t mean I have illegal dealings,” Knox snapped. “Who gave this information to you?”
“It isn’t important.”
“You’re goddamn right. I really don’t give a fuck. You could be a cop, a federal agent, using me as a pawn to get to a club youheardI was affiliated with.”
Amfinger fell silent, then sighed again. “I’m an old friend of your Uncle Avalon. He told me about you.”
“I don’t ever want to hear that bastard’s name again.” Knox tightened his grip on the receiver. Amfinger knowing Avalon was worse than any other scenario Knox could’ve imagined. “Avalon is no uncle of mine.” He’d kidnapped Roxanne and Charlotte, and intended to kill both of them. Avalon had even injured his own brother—Knox’s father—in his quest to bring down the Death Dwellers to hide his own double-dealing with the club.
“What Avalon did was pathetic,” Amfinger agreed. “But please don’t penalize me for his actions.”
“Amfinger—”
“As part of the deal, I have two crates of Kalashnikovs. I would be willing to include them as a bonus. A sign of good faith.”
Knox scrubbed a hand over his face. AK-47s—Kalashnikovs—were so numerous that many dealers didn’t bother with them. Prices varied wildly. On the dark web, they were sold for nearly three grand a piece. In some countries, where they were locally made, one rifle mist go for under two hundred dollars. The dealers who ran or traded them usually used them as Amfinger proposed—loss leaders. Guns to give away to build a relationship.
“Mr. Harrington, I understand you originally went to investigate the club to see them behind bars.”
“Avalon couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.”
“If not for your uncle, you wouldn’t be engaged to a member’s mother-in-law.”
Knox frowned. “Roxanne and I recently got engaged, so Avalon wouldn’t have known that.”
“You’re a Harrington. The announcement was in society columns everywhere.”
Knox huffed out a breath. “Okay, fine. What’s your point?”
“If you want to get in good with the club, imagine what bringing this deal to them would do for your standing.”
Would it also show Roxanne how sorry he was for being so critical of her, the club, and the members? Everything and everyone important to her, he’d complained about.
“Give me your phone number, Amfinger,” Knox ordered. He needed to think on this.
“You’ll help me out?”
“I didn’t say that.” Knox chose his words with care. If this was some type of setup, they couldn’t get him on anything because he hadn’t agreed to work with him. Most important, money hadn’t exchanged hands.
After Amfinger gave Knox his number, the call ended.
“Knock, knock,” Cam greeted, pushing open Knox’s ajarred door and walking into the office.
Deciding not to involve Cam in this—one way or the other, Knox ripped the paper with Amfinger’s number from the notepad and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.
Cam set his briefcase on one of the chairs in front of Knox’s desk, glancing at his phone. The wide smile told Knox Cam had gotten a message from his wife. Knox sighed. The simple gold band on his ring finger lowered Knox’s spirits even further. Lost in whatever Jordan had sent to him, he barely glanced at Knox.
“Did you review footage of Kendall?” Cam asked in that same distracted manner.
Knox shook his head. “No,” he mumbled.
