Chapter 13
KNOX
When I shove open the door to the boathouse and wheel my bike out, I’m greeted with rain. But it’s not the punishing hard rain of a hurricane; it’s lighter.
Mistier.
I’m gonna get wet riding back to the clubhouse, but I focus on the fact I can grab a club girl, fuck Maren right out of me, then shower the scent of her off my skin.
Because holy fuck. What did I just do?
I look up at the sky that still clings to the cloudy washed-out gray as I get buffeted by the wind.
Fronds of palms are scattered all over the place like roadkill.
As I walk past the side of Maren’s building that faces the water and look towards the heart of the town, I can see branches sagging low, putting pressure on power lines.
A couple of inches of dark water has crept over the road, telling me the wetlands have spilled out of their banks.
I’m gonna have to ride slow, avoid any debris that might be in that water, so I don’t end up eating dirt. And, thankfully, the air intake on my bike is higher.
Dragging my bike in damp clothes in the rain is fucking miserable, doubly miserable given the gnawing temptation to go back and finish what I started. Which would involve me slipping my cock, raw, into Maren Caldwell’s fucking delicious pussy.
I turn the corner of the building and stop rolling the bike for a second and rub my hand over my face.
God, she was delicious. I swear I can still taste her on my tongue. The way her body responded to my touch, those little whimpers and moans she made, the way she gripped onto my hair and rolled her pussy against my face.
Leaving all that saliva and juices from her orgasm behind and not sliding my dick into them is a criminal offense.
I knew as soon as she came, I had a decision to make: Stay and fuck her, all day, for however many days it would take to get her out of my system.
Or leave before I did more damage than either of us could repair.
And seeing I was ten seconds and five pumps away from coming inside her, I opted for the latter. My cock aches as a reminder.
I climb onto my bike in the parking lot, and it starts with a throaty roar. Usually, a ride clears my mind, but I don’t think it’s gonna work today. Not when I lick my lips to taste Maren all over again.
The memory of her face when I climbed off the bed to get dressed keeps flashing through my mind, only to be replaced by the way she looked at me in the shower.
And the worst part is, despite the existential crisis, it doesn’t truly feel like a mistake. Not deep down in the burrows of my chest where the whispers of my true feelings sit, even though I crossed a line I’ve spent years making sure I never did.
But I can’t even explain to myself why Maren Caldwell started being Maren Caldwell to me. Mistakes are easy to deal with. You walk away and file them under shit you should never do again.
But this?
Fuck. It’s so much better and worse and impossible, all at the same time. Of all the women in this county. Hell, the country.
And yet, I got a glimpse at her loneliness because of who her father is. And she cooked me food. And even as both of us knew I was walking out on her, she asked me if I was okay.
And, fuck, I never asked her the same question. Instead, I left because I was about to walk back my decision and climb back in bed with that sweet mouth, kind heart, and giving body.
I tighten my grip on the handlebars. “You could have left yesterday, Knox,” I mutter.
After I got her safely in the boathouse.
Or after she explained about the apartment.
After she looked at me in the bathroom in the moment before I stepped into the shower.
Before she gripped my cock. Before I knew what it felt like to sleep with her wrapped in my arms and what she tasted like and what it felt like to make her come.
Instead, I stayed. And now, I need a really big fucking drink so I can wipe it all from my mind.
I look toward the entrance of the lot, and that’s when I see Sheriff Caldwell’s truck pull in.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I consider how I’m gonna get out of this clusterfuck. I glance up at the cameras that cover the exterior of Maren’s store. And I wonder, if something goes down here, will Maren share the footage with the cops or my brothers?
Havoc would laugh his fucking ass off if he knew I was thinking that my tongue was so fucking magic, it would make Maren see sense and be on the club’s side.
Caldwell hasn’t seen me yet, but there’s no way out except asking him to move his truck.
Plus, I haven’t built my reputation by running away from a fight.
So, I sit where I am, right in his line of sight, and pull a cigarette from the packet in my cut pocket.
Takes me a second to light it in the wind, but I know the moment Caldwell sees me because he switches on the red and blue lights above his truck.
I’m sure he thinks that’s intimidating.
He steps out, hand poised over his weapon. “Put your hands on your head.”
Just to fuck with him, I do it, then lower the one holding my cigarette to my mouth to take a long draw before moving it back.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
“Storm-damage check,” I answer.
Caldwell puts his hands on his hips; someone ought to tell him that his shirt is about two sizes too small because the buttonholes are clinging on for dear life. “This early in the morning?”
“I’m an early riser.” I think about the way my cock rose for Maren and bite down the grin that’s forming.
“Did you sleep here?” He overenunciates every word.
“Did you?” I tip my chin in the direction of the police truck.
“You slept here in my daughter’s bed.” The words are a statement.
I meet his gaze. “You got an official reason to be asking me that question? And if you do, what is it?”
His face blooms red, like one of those kids who find it funny to pinch their nose and puff out their cheeks until you think their eyeballs are gonna pop out.
I give up on the farce of holding my hands over my head and suck in another long draw of nicotine, praying it evens my keel.
“Ah, right,” I say when he doesn’t answer, then blow the smoke out. “You’re one of those weirdo dads who wants to know who their twenty-eight-year-old daughter is fucking.”
His breath comes out so fast, it’s almost like a snort. “And are you? Fucking my daughter?”
I meet his gaze. I don’t smile. I don’t deny it. “Maybe she’s not your little girl anymore. Maybe she wants someone new to call Daddy.”
Caldwell steps towards me, but not so close that I could reach him. The coward knows I’d win in a fight. “You think this is funny?”
“What I think is it’s none of your business where I dip my wick.”
His eyes flash. “It is when a member of a criminal enterprise spends the night under my roof.”
I glance up at the building. “Pretty sure it’s her roof.”
His jaw flexes, and I see the controlled anger just below the surface. “You don’t use her to get to me.”
I take in the polished badge and crisp, pressed uniform. “If I wanted to get to you, I wouldn’t use your daughter to do it.”
My words hang there between us, but Caldwell’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“You think you’re clever,” he says finally. “You think you can take whatever you want in this town without consequence. Ruining everything you touch.”
I flick ash into the flooded gravel, but the wind picks it up and blows it onto the hem of Caldwell’s brown pants. He splashes around, trying to kick it off. Pity his polyester pants didn’t go up in flames.
“I don’t think, Caldwell…I know. You don’t like me. I fucking hate you. But you don’t get to dictate who your daughter spends her time with.”
His lip curls. “She doesn’t know who you really are.”
I huff at that. “Pretty sure she’s got a real good idea.”
“She’s grown up around decent men. Her grandfather. Me. Not men like you who are…”
“Say it,” I goad. “Outlaws? Criminals? Big scary bikers.”
His eyes flash. “I was thinking more like parasites.”
At least he was original.
His hand drops to his belt again. “You stay away from her.”
“Or what?”
Caldwell steps closer this time. The temptation to reach for his shirt is high. I’d be off this bike in a heartbeat, my hand around his throat. “Or I’ll make your life in this town very difficult. Road checks. Inspections. Every little thing your club does. I’ll be there waiting.”
“Sounds like a full-time job. You do what you gotta do, Sheriff, but we all know where the real power of this town lies, and it’s not you and your part-time deputy. And you don’t scare me. Never have.”
“Pretty sure your brother was scared in the end, as he lay on that floor, bleeding out.”
My fist is out and wrapped in his shirt before I can stop myself. I might even have his skin. Because his knees buckle as he tries to grip my wrist.
“Knox,” Maren shouts, splashing and kicking water as she runs barefoot in our direction. It’s not a yell of anger; it’s a shout of warning.
Shit.
The cameras.
I shove him away from me, and for a second, I think he might take a swing at me, but he doesn’t.
He stands there, soaked in the rain like I am, and stares me down.
I tip my chin toward Maren, still headed for us, and I’m grateful she can’t hear what I say next. “You’ve got a better chance of controlling a hurricane than you do your own daughter. Watch how you sleep, Caldwell.”
And with that, I roll the throttle, the bike roaring to life beneath me, and manage to find a path around the truck without looking back.