Page 209 of Misrule
“Suppose you do all of this and she still doesn’t take you back? What then?”
What, indeed. If Roxanne didn’t take him back, Knox…no!Shehadto give him a second chance. He couldn’t imagine life without her forever. The past few weeks had been so hard on him. He’d never missed anyone as much as he missed Roxanne. Even Callie, by the time they’d separated, he’d been so tired of their constant arguments, that he’d been relieved to be away from her rather than regretful they were no longer a couple. As the mother of his son, he’d always hold her in the highest regard. Once upon a time, he had loved her. They just hadn’t been meant to be together forever. “What if I end up alone, Cameron? I can’t see myself with any other woman but Roxanne. What if she doesn’t forgive me?”
Cam looked at Knox, his friend’s assessing expression sending discomfort through him. Roxanne and Jordan talked on a daily basis. Had she shared something with Jordan, who, in turn, told Cam, and now, the man saw him in a different light?
“What?” Knox demanded. “What do you see under the microscope you’ve placed me?”
“That,” Cam responded. “You, Knox. We’ve known each other most of our lives. If you spoke to me the way you talk to most people, we wouldn’t have ever become friends.”
“What are you talking about? I talk to everyone as I always have.”
“That’s the point. You talk to everyone with an air of superior condescension.”
“I do not!”
“You do,” Cam insisted.
Pain tore through Knox. That his best friend saw him in such a light, crushed him.
“Knox, listen to me. You’re my brother from another mother. I love you as if you were my own flesh-and-blood, but let’s be real for a minute. The world is yours to own. You went into law enforcement because that was your way of thinking you were giving back to society. You were a decent officer, but it was the Harrington money that moved you up the ranks. Donations. Politicking. Shit people like me don’t have. We do what we have to do to get where we want to be. Instead of being grateful for the opportunity, you weaponize your status. And you’re allergic to anyone not in your tax bracket.”
“I’m not allergic to you,” Knox cut in, cold and hostile.
Cam nodded. “No, you’re not. Let me point something out to you. All the people in the club that are closest to Roxanne, you despise. Johnnie isn’t that thrilled with her, yet, you consider him a friend. What does that say about your feelings for her?”
“Who Roxanne associates with has nothing to do with how I feel about her.”
“Show me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are.”
“Fuck you. All these years, I thought you felt the same respect and admiration for me that I feel toward you. I’ve just been a laughingstock to you, Cameron.”
“I don’t associate with people I don’t like and respect. I love you, Knox,becauseof who you are. I don’t allow you to treat me the way you do everyone else. You’re spoiled and entitled and you throw fucking fits when you don’t get your way. I told you this when your relationship with Callie started to disintegrate. All of this—” He waved his hand to encompass the motorcycle and Knox— “don’t mean a goddamn thing if you still look down on everything about the woman. Her friends. Her family. Her car. Her life. The change has to come from inside. You need to respect other people’s opinions. You need to come to terms with the two different sides to Mortician, Outlaw, and even Johnnie. They’re killers. They’re underworld overlords. But they are also loyal family men and faithful friends. Most of all, they have street smarts. Outlaw wouldn’t have gotten as far as he has without staying a step or five ahead of the law.”
The door to the clubhouse opened before Knox responded. Mortician, Digger, Val, Johnnie, and Outlaw streamed outside, heading to where he stood with Cam.
Digger clapped Knox on the back and held out his hand. “Welcome to the other side!” he said, pumping Knox’s hand in an exaggerated handshake. “Bruh, I think I’m going to call you Earp from now on.”
“Earp?” Val asked, puffing on his cigarette, then taking a sip from the pint of rum he held. “Why not Clouseau? You know? From the Pink Panther?”
“You mean fuckin’ Clue No, huh?” Outlaw snickered, drawing on a joint, then passing it to Mortician. “Howfuckinever, the motherfucker ain’t part of the fuckin’ club, so he don’t need a new fuckin’ name.”
“He has a new attitude, Prez,” Mortician countered, handing the weed to Digger, “so he need a new identity.”
“Would you want a road name?” Johnnie asked, sipping from a bottle of whisky.
“Double-oh-fuckin-zero,” Outlaw suggested, nudging Mortician, both of them laughing. “Triple Zee.”
“Let me guess,” Knox said with sarcasm. “Triple Zee forzero.”
“You might have a fuckin’ brain after-fuckin-all,” Outlaw said, sounding truly impressed, as if he thought Knox a moron.
“I like Sherlock or Watson,” Johnnie said. “Maybe, even, Magnum P.I. or Dick Tracy.”
“Okay, why all the fucking cop names?” Knox demanded. “Why can’t I be Bull or Horse or Gator? I even like Warbucks.”
Outlaw glared at him. “I take my fuckin’ words back. You still a stupid motherfucker.”
“The road name reflects your personality, Knox,” Cam explained.
