Chapter 6
6
Knox
I t’s moving fast.
This thing between Robyn and us. Or maybe it’s moving the way it’s supposed to move given the four years of pushing and pulling we’ve done. Maybe it was bound to happen like this, with precisely this intensity. I like it but, on a deeper level, it scares me. However, I feel as though I’m gladly tumbling toward the edge of a cliff, enjoying the ride.
“What are you thinking?” Jagger asks.
I’m staring out the window of our office. It’s early morning and, downstairs, the clubhouse is closed. Most of our guys are still sleeping off Saturday night.
“Knox.” Diesel’s voice almost startles me.
“Yes?” I reply and turn in my chair to face them. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Jagger raises an eyebrow.
Diesel laughs, a smile dancing over his lips. “Brother, you are whipped and then some.”
“Look who’s talking,” I shoot back.
Jagger groans and rubs his face with his bare hands, leaning back into his seat by the coffee table. “We’re all whipped,” he says. “No doubt about it. And we need to figure out what the fuck we’ll do when Calvin finally shows up. It’s a matter of when, not if.”
Whipped.
That’s code for falling in love. Because that’s what it is, whether we’re ready to admit it or not. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now that it’s here, we’re trying to take it one step at a time, except every step leads us back into Robyn’s arms and deep in the hot, simmering heaven between her legs. I can’t get that raspy cry of hers when she comes undone, shaking and twitching and holding on to us for dear life, out of my head.
“How far do we take this?” I ask Jagger.
“This what, exactly?”
“Calvin. How far is too far?”
Diesel rolls his eyes. “We could just lay it out so he understands he can never set foot anywhere near her ever again. We all know he doesn’t give a shit about the restraining order.”
“If we go to him first, he’ll suspect something’s going on,” I remind him. “Calvin knows about our lifestyle. He’ll put two and two together, and for a possessive narcissistic piece of trash like him, it’ll blow back on Robyn.”
“It’s preemptive,” Diesel insists. “Put the fear of God in that bastard. He’s afraid of us. I made sure of it.”
Jagger chuckles dryly. “You sure did.”
Diesel did most of the damage when we confronted Calvin about his abuse toward Robyn. He beat the living shit out of the fucker. I wasn’t sure Calvin would survive to see his day in court since we’d already convinced Robyn to file abuse charges against him along with the divorce. It got worse when Calvin ran off, got drunk, and killed a guy in a fit of rage.
Sometimes I feel responsible for that lost life.
“We need to find out what he’s doing first,” I tell Jagger and Diesel, “what his movements are, where his money is coming from, if he got a job or if he’s back to his old games. There are plenty of MCs and gangs in the district for him to work with, and he knows Redwood is off limits for any kind of drug or gun business.”
“We’ve had our guys searching for him all over the place. We still can’t pin him down anywhere in particular,” Jagger says. “I agree with an informed approach, I do. But he keeps slipping, man. He’s up to something for sure. And if we don’t get to him before he makes his first move, Robyn might get caught in the crossfire. We can’t lose her.”
“We’re not going to lose her,” I say, my tone clipped.
Diesel’s gaze wanders off to the side. “Kyra deserves better.”
“She’s an angel,” I say with a smile. “Did you see her this morning?”
“Oh, yeah.” He laughs lightly.
“I never put my clothes on as fast as when I heard her calling out for her momma on the other side of that door,” Jagger quips. “It was a close one.”
“A close one? Did you not hear Robyn’s explanation as to why the three of us were in her mommy’s bedroom?” Diesel replies.
“They were fixing my window,” I mimic Robyn, prompting all three of us to burst into laughter. “God, she was sweet. They are both so goddamn sweet.”
“Which is why we need to protect them,” Jagger says stoically, resuming his stern tone.
I nod once. “You don’t have to tell me that, brother. I know. We’ll keep our eyes open. We’ll pay some of the kids down in Wilderville and Rogue River to tell us if they see Calvin passing through. Somebody will say something if they can make a buck off of it.”
A knock on the door causes the three of us to sit up straight.
“Who’s up so early?” Jagger mutters.
“Come in,” I call out.
Samson walks in. The sour, exhausted look on his face makes Diesel stifle a chuckle while I try to understand precisely how much the old man had to drink last night—and what is so serious that it meant sacrificing staying in bed for at least another hour.
“Samson, what’s wrong?” I ask.
He comes over and plays a video clip on his phone. We all stare at the screen with a growing sense of dread and disbelief. It’s a news piece on a gang-related shooting in Grants Pass. I hear mentions of drugs, the hard kind, and a few locals I know, for a fact, to be affiliated with the Hughes family.
My stomach churns as I consider the implications. It’s not the first time I’ve heard about such incidents over the past couple of months.
“That can’t be right,” Jagger says. “Grants Pass? That’s literally across the road from Redwood. What the fuck is going on?”
With a heavy thud and a tormented grunt as if every part of his body aches, Samson sits on the sofa next to Diesel. “Man… I knew this day would come. I was just hoping it would come long after I’m six feet under with a trail of pretty ladies crying at my grave.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Jagger says.
Diesel cuts in, then takes Samson’s phone to watch the footage again. “And unrealistic. A trail of pretty ladies? These are definitely Hughes’ associates. I recognize them.”
“That’s why I came over so early on a Sunday morning,” Samson replies, pointing at the phone. “I’ll have you know I was balls deep in a fiery redhead when Paulie sent me the link.”
“A fiery redhead?” Diesel questions.
“She’s a tour guide at the Oregon Vortex,” Samson replies. “So, yeah, Hughes’ guys, which means—”
“Marlo Hughes is definitely picking up where her daddy left off,” I conclude. “Despite our original agreement and repeated warnings.”
“Marlo? Really?” Jagger sounds doubtful.
Samson chuckles dryly. “Don’t let that prissy manicure and snazzy pantsuit fool ya, brother. Marlo is still a Hughes through and through. They were never gonna make the same fortune in real estate development. Come on. I told you this was bound to happen.”
“They got caught smuggling twenty kilos of H across state lines,” Diesel says. “They recognized the seals on the packs from a gang in Idaho. Shit… It’s gonna bring the Feds.”
“You know what that means,” Jagger sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The FBI and DEA will be swooping in soon.”
And I was bragging about the statute of limitations expiring on some of our MC’s past activities just the other day. It’s almost infuriating to think about the repercussions. “If the Feds come into Redwood, we’ll have to close ranks and be really careful about every operation.”
“Including our street policing initiatives,” Diesel says. “I’ll talk to Sheriff Bentley about this. Pull our lieutenants and prospects off the streets, at least for a while.”
Samson shakes his head. “That’ll give Marlo a green light to start sending her boys into town again. You know that’s the first thing she’ll do as soon as she sees the Riders pulling back.”
It sounds like a lose-lose scenario and it’s coming at the worst possible time. First, Calvin gets out on parole, putting Robyn on edge and now this. It’s as if the universe is conspiring to make our lives a living hell. We had four years of fucking peace. Would it have been so hard to just leave it at that?
“We need to get ahead of this,” I tell the guys.
“What, talk to Marlo?” Jagger says, picking up on my immediate thought. “We could try that. She may be shrewd and a Hughes down to the bone, but we handled her family before. We’ll do it again.”
“I guess we’ve got more to lose now,” Diesel chimes in.
Samson gives him an amused smirk. “You boys are so whipped; it’s fucking hilarious.”
Whipped. There’s that word again.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Diesel asks. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, but his Marine pride blinds him at times.
“Trying to bullshit a veteran bullshitter, son,” Samson says and laughs. “The others haven’t picked up on it yet, but I figured it out as soon as I saw Robyn walk into the clubhouse the other night. You boys have finally done the right thing, and now you have to protect what you’ve got.”
I give Samson a hard look. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, old man.”
“It’s almost insulting,” he scoffs. “You think I didn’t know about your monthly visits to Robyn’s house? You think I didn’t see the care packages you put together for her and Kyra? Or the money you slipped into those gift bags? Come on, Knox. It’s written all over your faces. I know you better than you know yourselves.”
“Samson, don’t breathe a word—” Jagger starts to say, but Samson cuts him off.
“Don’t be stupid. Of course I wouldn’t. I’m a Rider ’til death. And rest assured, even if this does get out, every man and boy wearing our patch will take your secret to the grave. But just to keep things on the level, allow this old bag of bones to give you a piece of advice. Make it official.”
I lean forward, elbows resting on the edge of my desk. “Official?”
“Well, not all three of you, obviously. One of you needs to step forward and claim Robyn. Publicly. You’re her man. Her protector. Word’s gonna get out to Calvin. That should be enough to keep that fucker away. You won’t have to worry about him with everything else that’s about to come down on Redwood like a shitstorm.”
The guys and I exchange glances. We did consider the possibility. All the sneaking around can be exhausting, and I’m pretty sure Robyn is running out of excuses with Ellie when it comes to last-minute babysitting requests for Kyra. It would be easier on everyone, truth be told. One of us would be the front guy. The official guy. And then everything else would fall into place.
“I’ll reach out to Marlo Hughes and organize a sit-down as soon as possible,” Jagger says.
“You’re the VP,” Samson replies. “Let Knox reach out directly. If the president of the Rogue Riders tells you he wants to talk, especially after this particular news segment, you’re gonna wanna listen to what he has to say.”