Chapter 35
Knox
The goat chaos has been contained, in the most literal sense.
Kyle and Rider are at the fence line with a post hole digger, a roll of welded wire, and the grim focus men reserve for bomb disposal.
Nasty Nash Jr. stands a few feet away on a short rope, chewing as though he's reviewing their work and finding it lacking.
Kyle measures twice, taps a stake, checks his line again, acting as if this pen is a test he can pass or fail his way out of the club.
Rider drops to a knee and drives another post, calm as a heartbeat. He's the newest patch, but he moves as though he's been here forever. With steady hands, no wasted motion, eyes lifting to sweep the perimeter.
"Solid," I tell them, and mean it. "Make the corners tight. If that thing gets out, Nash is declaring war on farm animals."
Kyle lets out a breath that might be a laugh. "Yes, sir."
Rider's mouth twitches. "Goat's persistent."
"I noticed." Nasty Nash Jr. tugs at the rope as though he's testing physics.
Footsteps sound behind me, soft, familiar. My body turns before my brain finishes the thought.
Sloane comes out onto the gravel as if she's stepping into a space that already knows her.
Hair braided back, sleeves pushed up, cheeks faintly pink from the cold.
She pauses beside me, eyes flicking from the half-built pen to the goat to my face, and that small, private smile shows up, a blade sliding free.
"You look as though you're deciding if the goat is a threat to national security."
"I'm evaluating variables."
Her gaze dips to my mouth, and she closes the last inch.
Her fingers slide into the back pocket of my jeans as if they've always lived there, her other hand resting light against my left side where the gauze sits under my shirt.
Checking without checking. To anyone watching, she's just standing there, but my whole body goes tight and hot.
"Jesus," I breathe.
She blinks up. All innocence and sin. "What?"
"You do that on purpose."
Her fingers flex right where she knows I'll feel it. "Maybe I enjoy what it does."
Kyle clears his throat while pretending he's fascinated by fencing staples. Rider looks down at his post, studiously respectful, but I catch the faintest pull at his mouth.
I hook two fingers under her chin. "We're going inside."
"Because you have a meeting."
"Because if you keep touching me that way, I'm going to forget we're in public."
I kiss her. Quick. She tastes of coffee, mint, and the heat that's lived between us since Chicago, sharper now that the words are out.
For Kyle's sake, I point at the pen. "Build it. Tight corners."
He nods fast. "Yes, sir."
Rider gives me a silent acknowledgment that carries both respect and warning.
Sloane's hand stays in my pocket as we head in, and I let myself have it. Let myself be the man who walks into his own clubhouse with his wife touching him as though she belongs there.
Inside, voices overlap, chairs scrape, and someone laughs in the kitchen loud enough to carry through the walls.
The room has shifted since the goat chaos. Malachi's cleared the table and spread maps and folders across it, pinning down a beast with paper. The laughter has thinned into focus.
Victor is already at the table, Olivia beside him, both settled in since arriving earlier this morning. His gaze sweeps the room once, cataloging, locked on Malachi and waiting.
Arden moves from his spot against the wall and crosses to Frankie. "How's the stray?" he asks quietly.
Ruby lifts her head. "What stray?"
Frankie doesn't look away from Arden. "Difficult. Adjusting."
His gaze holds hers a beat longer than casual. "Eating?"
Her jaw flexes once, releases. "When he feels like it."
Ruby leans in, delighted. "Okay, hold on. Since when do either of you take in strays? And why does this one sound a person?"
Frankie's eyes cut to Ruby. Flat. Warning. "Ruby."
Ruby holds up both hands, grinning. "Fine. Mystery stray. I respect the secrecy."
Arden lets his gaze linger one beat longer, something old passing between them, and he turns toward the room as if none of that happened.
Malachi raps his knuckles once. The room tightens around the sound. "All right. We've got work."
Sloane slides into a seat. I take the chair beside her, knee touching her thigh. Her hand finds mine under the table, fingers threading through. I turn my palm up and hold her properly. She exhales, and her shoulders drop a full inch.
Malachi's voice is steady. "Victor's been digging into Donovan and his connections. Alice Brighton's still in the mix. The corruption didn't just happen. Someone built it. Maintained it."
Victor's gaze is hard. "Donovan's reach wasn't just money. It's pipelines. Protection. People on payroll. And Alice Brighton's family didn't invent the auctions, but they refined them."
Sloane's fingers tighten once. I know that grip. She's remembering.
Victor shifts a folder. "Savannah," he says, and the word lands with the weight of a coordinate. "That's where the modern auctions consolidated. Where the council operates with the most control." Even Ruby goes still. "Savannah is where things stopped getting worse and started getting quieter."
Malachi's jaw sets. "And Phoenix Stone is part of that."
Candace doesn't flinch at the name. Phoenix. Her brother. The man who got Amelia and Felix out when the rest of us were still piecing together that they existed. Candace goes rigid every time his name surfaces, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead, still working out what he is to her.
Victor nods. "Phoenix graduated Brighton Academy years ago and has attended every auction since. Got council access fast, faster than anyone I've tracked, and started shifting things from the inside."
I file that. I don't trust altruism. I trust patterns.
"Rule changes," Victor continues. "Language cleaned up, buyers vetted harder, women given the option to walk away. Penalties for violations that actually stick." He flips a page in the folder. "The structure is the same. The way people move through it is different."
Across the table, East's gaze goes distant and Darla's fingers curl around his forearm, anchoring him without a word.
Malachi's eyes flick to Arden. "And you. You said you had contacts. What do you actually know about Phoenix?"
"I've had eyes on Brighton's world for a long time. My nightclubs put me in the same rooms as their money. Savannah included. That's where I started hearing Phoenix's name before anyone here said it out loud."
"Meaning?"
Arden is quiet long enough that the room feels it. "He watches. He listens. When he does buy, it's for a reason." A pause. "That's as far as I'm willing to go right now."
Malachi holds his gaze. Nods once. Doesn't push. Frankie's pen stills. Just for a beat. Sloane shifts in her chair.
I lean until my mouth is near her ear. "You okay?"
She squeezes my fingers once without looking at me. "You're right here. I'm okay."
Malachi's gaze cuts to me. "Knox." I lift my head. "We need your lane. Your part."
"Tonight. Me and Sloane dig into Harrison Mercer. Deep. Contacts, finances, routines, who he's paying, who's protecting him. We'll bring it back."
Sloane's voice is quiet but firm. "I want proof. Paper trail. Something he can't charm his way out of." That's my wife.
Malachi nods once. "Good."
Victor keeps talking. Timelines, access, the next auction, mapping council power. My jaw clenches because every word that isn't "go now" feels wasted. But I know how this works. You build the picture before you kick the door in.
I look down at her hand in mine. At the slight tremor she doesn't realize she has. The way she holds on anyway.
Through the open window, I can hear Kyle and Rider's hammers thudding in steady rhythm as the pen takes shape.
The meeting sharpens into plans, routes, roles, timing. I keep my hand locked with hers and let everything else fall into the background.
Harrison Mercer is still breathing. I'm going to fix that.