Page 43 of Knot My MC
I shake my head at that and run my hand over the scruff on my chin. “She’s not ready for that.” And that’s the goddamn truth. If I thought she wanted us in there, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. “Grief is personal,” I finally say. “And she’s still pissed at us.”
“We shouldn’t have left her.” Jag picks up the butterfly knife on the coffee table and flips it open and closed. “We should have texted her back.”
Gritting my teeth, I ignore the not so subtle accusation hidden in his words.We shouldn’t have listened to you. There was no good choice in that situation. Axel’s not right in the head, and as much as I wanted Kiki, I couldn’t risk something happening to her. I knew that as long as Kiren was there, she’d be safe.
“We all agreed,” I begin with a growl, but Jag points the knife at me.
“That’s your own guilt talking. I’m not blaming you, Knox. I only wish things weren’t like this.” He holds my stare, malice filling his gaze. “Axel’s going to regret touching her.”
“I’ve already planned his death.” Crow brutally chops an onion.
One guess as to who he’s imagining under his blade.
“We’ll have to be smart about it.” I run my hand over my jaw. “Wrecker can’t be a part of the plan.” While they did take part in the attack on us, that was on Axel’s command. He’s using his alpha influence over his people, and we can’t punish them for that. I’m not dumb enough to think all those guys are innocent. Axel is the only one who hurt Kiki. Then again, if they stood by and let it happen… “Or we can have another plan for the rest of them. Only Axel dies.”
Jag hums in agreement. “It’s as good as declaring war.”
I glance at him, a cruel smirk tugging at my lips. “It’s only war if the soldiers fight.” And my plan is to make sure that doesn’t happen. An open act of violence against Wrecker won’t go unnoticed, but the other MCs in the area aren’t brave enough to go against us. At least, they won’t be once they see what we’ve done.
No one likes war. A good Prez makes sure his crew is protected. The only way to keep Kiki safe is to deal with Axel.
* * *
As much as it pains me, I stay out of Jag’s room. I know better than to force my presence on Kiki. It kills me a little on the inside each time she starts crying, but it’s the silence that follows the bout of tears that worries me more.
What is she thinking?
While I didn’t like Kiren on principle, by all accounts, he’s a good guy. A criminal, for sure, but otherwise good. Nothing like Axel. My phone rings and cuts through the quiet, filling the living room. Jag glances up from the worn paperback book—some weird dragon story. He’s been reading the same book for years, never able to get much further than a dozen or so pages before giving up and finding something better to do like working out or throwing his knife. I admire his tenacity though. He’s never given up trying to get through the behemoth of a book.
Crow closes his sketchbook and tucks it back inside his backpack at his feet. He, on the other hand, has gone through several drawing pads. He can lose himself for hours if he has a pencil and paper.
A familiar name flashes across my screen. “Yeah?” I answer and put the call on speaker so the guys can hear. I turn it down a little so the conversation doesn’t bother Kiki.
“We’ve got a problem.” Stocky, a prospect, releases a hard breath. “It’s Nova.”
I sit a little straighter. “Nova Thornhill?”
Jag closes his book and Crow’s eyes narrow.
“Yeah,” Stocky says. “She’s been working for Curtis.”
“How long?”
He pauses. The only reason for that pause is if he knows he did something wrong. My grip tightens on the phone.
“You know I don’t like repeating myself.” I may not be like Axel, but I don’t tolerate bullshit either. Stocky answers to me.
“A while, Prez. She’s strung out on something.” Air crackles over the line and I picture him sucking on a cigarette, using it to help carry him through the conversation.
“What was your job, Stockton?”
Stockton Moroni came to us at seventeen. A high school drop out with a penchant for stealing. He was thick headed and stubborn, but I saw potential. Crow and Jag did too. He must’ve reminded us of our younger selves.
“Monitor Curtis’ club,” Stocky mumbles. I never liked Curtis, but I never really had a reason. I put Stockton on him to keep tabs on what the fucker got up to. Apparently, I should have asked someone else to do it.
“And what exactly have you been doing every night?” Jag asks. Strands of his blond hair fall across his face. He needs a damn haircut.
“I’ve been watching. I never saw her come or go.” There’s a slight panic in his tone now.
