Chapter 8 #2
Frankie's grin flashes. "Welcome to the circus.
He usually only disappears for club business.
This time he went dark for two days and turned up with you, so, you know.
" She tips her head, eyes dancing. "Respect.
" Heat crawls up my neck. Frankie looks me over once, sharp and thorough. "You hungry?" she asks.
"Kind of," I admit.
"Translation: she's starving," Maggie mutters.
Frankie nods once. "Maggie feeds your body," she says. "I do ink, smokes, and quiet when you need it. You need any of those, I'm your girl."
"Thank you," I say.
She taps two fingers against the bar. "Eat. Then freak out. Freaking out on an empty stomach sucks." East bumps her arm, exaggerated and playful. She hip-checks him back. He clutches his chest and pretends to swoon. They both laugh, bright and real. I almost laugh with them before I catch myself.
I sink into the chair Maggie points at, back to the wall, with a clear view of the room. My shoulders drop an inch when I can see the door.
Knox takes the seat beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine.
Maggie sets a glass of water in front of me. "Drink," she orders gently. "Then chili. Then we can yell at Knox for not feeding you well."
"You don't have to—" I start.
"Honey, you're shaking and trying to apologize for existing," she says, hand on her hip. "That earns you extra bread in this house."
My eyes burn. I blink fast and reach for the water instead.
"You sleep last night?" Maggie asks as James arrives with bowls. I choke on the water. Last night flashes behind my eyes, Knox's hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck.
"Yeah," Knox offers too casually. "We caught some."
Maggie squints. "Define some."
He lets his mouth tilt just a little, the smug bastard. "Enough to keep the car out of a ditch. We stayed in a motel the first night. I stayed up, and she crashed. Last night we were closer, so I called it and grabbed a real bed before we pushed in."
Heat spikes to my ears. Frankie, who absolutely hears that, chokes on her drink. East coughs out a laugh and pretends it's the TV.
Maggie glances between my face and Knox's and sniffs. "Mm-hmm. You'll both live. Eat. Court tomorrow. I need you upright, not wobbling."
Court. The word drops into my stomach even as James sets a bowl of chili in front of me, and the smell makes it growl.
"Thank you," I murmur.
"Try it," James says. "Then you can decide if my chili gets to stay on the menu." I take a careful bite. Heat and spice spread over my tongue.
The room hums around me. Pool balls crack. The jukebox rolls to a new song. Malachi's low rumble carries from the far corner, and Nash answers with a shorter, sharper sound. I keep waiting for the noise to become pressure, the way rooms always do. It doesn't. Maybe I'm too tired to flinch.
"You have questions," Knox says quietly beside me.
I look at him over my spoon. "You're the vice president."
"Yeah."
"What does that actually mean?"
"I run security and operations. Logistics, some money, personnel. Malachi makes the big calls. I make sure those calls land the way they're supposed to. If trouble comes, I intercept first."
My father's face flashes. His men in that Chicago lot. "You've seen that kind of trouble before," I say.
"Too many times," he answers.
"And you still…"
"Brought you here?" His gaze never wavers. "Yeah."
Maggie drops a piece of bread on my plate. "Less staring at each other, more chewing," she says in a brisk voice. "You two can brood about fate and responsibility later."
I obey because saying no to her feels like challenging gravity. Somewhere under the noise my brain keeps counting routes and exits. How many steps to each door, which hallways lead where.
James appears at my elbow a few minutes later. "Need a breather?" he asks quietly.
I glance up. The room tilts just enough to answer for him. "Yeah," I say.
He nods toward the side door. "Come on."
Under the table, Knox's hand slides over my thigh.
I tap his fingers, then push my chair out and follow James along the wall.
We step into the slender space between the clubhouse and the garage.
The sound drops several decibels. The air smells of asphalt, hot metal, and James's chili. A fan hums overhead.
"You okay?" he asks after a beat, leaning against the brick.
"I can't tell," I say honestly.
"Fair." He tucks his hands into his pockets, watching the street beyond the alley mouth. "You know hospitals," he continues. "Busy halls, bad news, people hanging on by fingernails."
"Yeah."
"This house works the same way sometimes.
Different uniforms. Different weapons. Same idea.
You will see shouting, cussing, nights where tempers bleed all over the floor.
" He pauses. "You will also see people show up with casseroles when someone loses a dog.
" A shaky half-laugh escapes that surprises us both.
"You're braced," he adds. "Like a hit's coming.
" He pauses. "Give it a few days. See what happens. "
My throat aches. "I want this," I admit. "And that scares me more than anything my father ever did."
"Means you've got skin in it. That's not the worst place to be," he says.
I stare at a crack in the pavement. "I’ve already lost so much."
"You're still standing," he says. "That counts."
Through the open side door, I see East in the garage, arguing with someone over an invoice, hands flying theatrically.
A younger kid leans against a bike, laughing so hard they have to wipe tears off their cheeks.
I watch them and my throat tightens until I can't swallow.
That kid's laugh, those greasy hands, the easy weight of belonging I can see from here.
Footsteps scuff behind me. Knox's presence fills the doorway without effort.
"You disappear and they all start hovering," he says to James.
"You brought home a stray," James replies. "We check on strays."
The word stings. Then settles.
Knox closes the distance. "How's your head?" he asks me.
"Crowded," I say. "But better."
He searches my face. Whatever he finds confirms what he needed, and the tension in his shoulders eases a fraction.
"We'll finish eating, then I'll get you out of the noise for a while," he says.
"To… your house?"
"Yeah. You met the club. Now you get to see where I sleep."
James pushes off the wall. "I'll have Maggie pack you leftovers," he offers. "She'll say it's for court day. Really she just likes knowing her food is in your fridge."
"She's going to text pictures of pies, isn't she?" Knox says.
James grins. "Already picked which ones." He slips inside, leaving me alone with Knox and the hum of the fan.
"You're quiet," Knox says.
"Everyone in there looked at me like I was already part of it. And I keep—" I stop. Start again. "I keep waiting for the other version. The one where somebody tells me what it costs."
His jaw flexes. "Nobody in that room charges for giving a shit, Sloane."
"I know that. Up here." I tap my temple. "The rest of me is still running the old math."
He watches me for a long moment, then takes a breath and lets it go through his teeth. Knox doesn't try to fix it. He just stands there.
From inside, Maggie's voice rises sharply. "If any of you even think about starting a fight before dessert, I will throw this spoon and hit every single one of you."
Frankie laughs. East fires back. Malachi's rumble cuts across them, followed by a hush, then another wave of noise.
"Come on," Knox says gently. "Eat a little more. Then we'll go."
I follow him in. The chili is still warm. Frankie catches my eye from the bar and lifts her drink an inch. In a salute, or a dare, or both. I pick up my spoon.