Chapter 22 #2
That night, the clubhouse hums. Different energy than we've had lately.
Less edge, more crackling chaos. Voices tumbling over each other.
A playlist that can't decide if it wants to be classic rock or unhinged pop.
Pizza boxes stacked on the bar, half-empty bottles, the comfort of too many bodies in one shared space.
The girls commandeered one of the couches. Ruby is draped like a feral cat, Frankie tucked into the corner with bare feet on the cushion, Candace perched on the arm, Darla sprawled on the rug in front of us. I'm wedged between Frankie and Ruby with a plate of fries in my lap.
East is across the room with the guys, but Darla's eyes track him every time he moves. We all look perfectly innocent. We are not innocent. Across the room, the boys are unraveling.
Malachi stands near the pool table, arms crossed, staring at the air vent like it insulted his mother. A tinny, distant giggle is the offender. A child's laugh track Ruby found and Frankie rigged into the ductwork. Every time it plays, his jaw flexes.
Nash sits at a high-top, shoulders hunched, eyes locked on his phone. Looks like he hasn't slept in two nights. Also smells faintly of sage, which means Frankie absolutely convinced him to smudge his room to "remove negative energy."
James is at the bar, talking to Kyle, increasingly disturbed as he explains how his milk mysteriously turned to mayonnaise.
East limps past, rubbing his ankle. Someone swapped the insoles in his boots for something lumpy and unforgiving; he'd spent fifteen minutes ranting about "slipper sabotage" before anyone admitted nothing.
And Knox? Knox is pacing. Back and forth in front of the TV, hands on his hips. His gaze sweeps the room like he expects a clown to drop from the ceiling. Every third pass, his eyes snag on me.
Every time, my body goes hot and tight. I pretend to listen to Ruby rant about eyebrow hexes. I'm mostly counting Knox's steps.
Ruby leans in, eyes forward. "Who do you think breaks first?"
"Knox," Darla says immediately from the floor. "He's already halfway to a TED Talk about clown-induced trauma."
Frankie sips her drink, deadpan. "My money's on Malachi. Men that controlled usually crumble spectacularly. He's one jump scare away from a Latin exorcism."
I picture it. Six-foot-something Malachi Latin-praying at the air vent while Candace quietly takes video. A giggle bubbles up.
Ruby nudges my knee. "What about you, Nurse Chaos? Place your bets."
I chew a fry, eyes drifting to Knox just as he snaps at Nash about cameras in the bedroom. "I think they're all gonna break. Just in different ways."
Ruby grins, wicked and delighted. "God, I love us."
None of us care that they're absolutely going to pay us back. Because for the first time in too long, all of them are alive in the same room. The girls are plotting. The guys are swearing. No one's bleeding. Or being sold. No one's alone.
The emergency meeting happens the way all "not a big deal" meetings happen. James clears his throat. Malachi tips his chin toward the war room. Nash mutters about demons. The air shifts. The men peel away one by one.
Malachi first, all coiled calm. Nash next, muttering. East goes with them, hand brushing Darla's shoulder as he passes. James follows, scratching his beard. Knox comes last. He pauses by the end of our couch, fingers brushing the cushion near my shoulder.
"Try not to burn the place down while we're gone."
Ruby gives him a wounded look. "We'd never."
Frankie snorts. "We absolutely would."
His gaze flicks over us, lingering on me a heartbeat longer. Then he turns and follows the others.
Ruby waits exactly three seconds. "You think they know it's us?"
Candace snorts. "Malachi knows. He's just letting it cook."
"They're definitely planning payback," Frankie says.
"Good," Darla murmurs, head tipped back. "Then we all have something to look forward to."
I look around at them. At these broken, brilliant, feral women who have seen too much but are somehow still here laughing over mayonnaise milk and sabotaged boot insoles. They're not flinching. For once, neither am I.
When the war room door opens, we all go still without meaning to, tracking footsteps. Malachi comes out first, expression in that familiar neutral that isn't neutral at all. James follows, brows furrowed but eyes calmer. Nash looks murderous but slightly less unhinged. East rubs his temples.
Knox steps out last. Tired. But different. Less explosive, more settled. Whatever they decided scraped the sharpest edges off his anger and left resolve, heavier but steadier. He scans the room automatically. His eyes find me.
Shoulders drop a fraction. Then his gaze sharpens, darkens, goes predatory in a way that makes my thighs clench.
He crosses the distance with purpose. His hand finds my hip, thumb pressing into that spot above my waistband. Instead of sitting, he leans down, mouth close to my ear.
"Come with me. Now."
"Knox—"
His fingers tighten. "Now, Sloane."
Ruby's eyes go wide. Frankie smirks. Candace covers her mouth.
I don't argue. Just stand, heart hammering, and let him guide me away from the couch, his hand possessive on the small of my back. He steers me down the back hallway, past the war room, past the bathrooms, to the supply closet at the end.
"We can't—" I start, but he's already pushing the door open, dragging me inside, locking it behind us. Tiny. Shelves stacked with cleaning supplies, paint cans, old bar rags. One bare bulb hanging overhead. Barely enough room for both of us. Perfect.
"Knox, everyone's right outside—"
"Exactly," he growls.
He crowds me into the wall and kisses me hard, catching my mouth before I can finish the sentence.
My hands grab his shirt automatically, rough and impatient.
He breaks away only to drag his mouth down my jaw, beard scraping my skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. My head tips back before I can stop it.
"You've been driving me insane all night." His hands slide up my thighs under my skirt.
My breath catches. "I was literally just sitting there—"
"Sitting there in this skirt." Rough fingers finding the edge of my panties. "Laughing with Ruby. Looking so fucking happy I couldn't think straight."
Heat rushes through me, sharp and sudden. "That's not—"
"You know what it does to me?" His thumb hooks under the lace, dragging it aside. "Watching you laugh like that? Watching you be part of this?"
His fingers slide through my wetness and I gasp. "Fuck, Sloane. Soaked. Already dripping for me."
"Your fault," I manage.
"Yeah?" Wicked in the dim light. "Good."
He drops to his knees.
My hands fly to his shoulders. "Knox, we don't have time—"
"Then you better come fast." He yanks my panties down in one swift motion.
I barely step out of them before his mouth is on me. The sound I make is too loud. Way too loud. His hand clamps over my mouth instantly, muffling the cry as his tongue drags over my clit, thorough and unhurried.
"Quiet," he growls against me, the vibration shooting straight through my core. "Unless you want everyone out there to know what I'm doing to you."
My fingers dig into his hair, hips rocking helplessly. He works me with devastating precision: tongue circling, sucking, two fingers sliding inside and curling just right. Every nerve lights up, pleasure coiling tight and fast. I bite down on his palm to keep from screaming.
He groans against my clit. "That's it, sweetheart. Bite me. Mark me up. I want to feel your teeth tomorrow."
My teeth sink deeper as his tongue flicks faster, fingers pumping harder, dragging me right to the edge.
"Come," he demands, muffled and commanding. "Right fucking now. I want to feel you fall apart on my tongue."
I shatter. The orgasm rips through me so hard my knees buckle. He holds me up with one arm banded around my hips, mouth still working me through every aftershock until I'm shaking, boneless, and wrecked. He eases back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied.
"Good girl," he murmurs, standing and kissing me. I taste myself on his tongue.
"Your turn," I gasp, reaching for his belt.
"No time." He catches my wrist, grinning. "We've been gone too long. They're gonna know."
"Knox—"
A knock makes us both freeze. "Yo, Vice?" East's voice, amused and knowing. "Supply closet's occupied, huh?"
My face flames. Knox's grin turns feral.
"Give us a minute," he calls back, not trying to sound innocent.
East laughs. "Yeah, take your time. Ruby owes me twenty bucks." Footsteps retreat.
I bury my face in Knox's chest, mortified. "They know."
"They absolutely know," he agrees, sounding way too pleased.
"This is your fault."
"My fault?" Eyebrows raised. "You're the one who wore that skirt."
I shove at his chest, but I'm smiling. "You're impossible."
"And you love it." He kisses me again, softer, hands gentle on my face. "Fix your hair. I'll go first. Wait thirty seconds."
"Very smooth."
"I try."
He tucks a strand behind my ear, thumb brushing my cheek. His eyes go soft for just a second. An unguarded flicker crosses his face before he locks it down. He unlocks the door, checks the hall, slips out with a backward glance that promises this isn't over.
I lean against the wall, catching my breath, legs still shaky. My panties are somewhere on the floor. My hair is a mess. I can still feel the imprint of his mouth, wet and aching. And I'm smiling so hard my face hurts.
When I emerge, panties retrieved, hair smoothed, face flushed, Ruby takes one look and cackles.
"Supply closet, huh? Classy."
Frankie doesn't look up from her drink. "At least it wasn't the bathroom this time."
Candace grins. Darla raises her glass in a silent salute. I drop onto the couch, cheeks burning. Knox is across the room with the guys, arms crossed, completely unbothered. But when his eyes find mine, there's heat. A promise. Later.
Ruby leans in close. "You have beard burn on your neck."
I clap a hand over my throat. "I do not—"
"You absolutely do," Frankie says, finally looking up. "And your lips are swollen."
"Scandalous," Candace adds, delighted.
I glare at all of them, but I can't stop the smile. Because this, this chaos, this laughter, this reckless joy, is mine. For the first time in my life, I'm not afraid to claim it.
We leave together when the night has thinned around the edges, streetlights spilling long shadows over the pavement. Knox settles my helmet over my head, fingers careful at my jaw.
"All clear?" I ask, eyeing the bike.
He gives me a long look. "With you around? Doubtful." Then he swings over and crooks two fingers. "On, wife."
I climb on behind him. The engine roars to life. Wind grabs my hair as we pull out, the night opening up in a blur of streetlights and shadows.
I curl closer, fingers fisting in his shirt, breathing him in. For a while, there's nothing but the road, his solid weight, and the steady thud of his heart under my palm.
The engine dies in the driveway. I slide off, hand finding his shoulder for balance. He follows, tucking the helmets under his arm.
We walk in shoulder to shoulder. Knox slows just over the threshold, scanning corners as though he expects a clown ambush.
I step around him with a snort. "No balloons. No clowns."
"Yet," he mutters. "You miss your little terror projects already?" he asks, eyes glinting.
I lift a brow. "Maybe I like seeing you rattled. Reminds me you're human."
He steps in, palms finding my hips, pulling me against him. Mouth at my ear, breath hot. "Oh, I'm very fucking human. You want another scare, sweetheart? Turn off the lights and get on the bed. I'll give you something to scream about."
I shove at his chest lightly. "We're not destroying the bed again. I like that bed."
He smirks. "Couch, then."
We end up tangled on it, some dumb action movie playing in the background. My feet in his lap, ankles cradled in his hands. He kneads steady circles into the arch of my foot, eyes on the TV but attention half on the way my body melts with each touch.
I lean my head back and let my thoughts drift. The girls laughing in Frankie's shop. Candace standing tall in that hallway after Chuck. Darla wrapped in East's sweatshirt, bruised but safe. Ruby plotting chaos with a sparkle instead of fear. Frankie's steady hands. Maggie's quiet ferocity.
Knox, letting me prank him and still choosing to sit here with his hands on me like I'm not a ticking bomb. Maybe, just maybe, if the truth ever detonates, they won't run. Maybe this wild, ridiculous, haunted little family will plant their feet and stay.
My eyelids grow heavy. Knox shifts, tugging gently at my hand. "C'mere," he murmurs.
I let him pull me sideways until I'm tucked against his chest, cheek settling over his heart. His arm comes around automatically, hand settling on my thigh. It belongs there. I fall asleep like that. Curled into him, his scent in my nose, his heartbeat a drum under my ear.