Chapter 34
KNOX
The following evening, I barely make it three steps into the clubhouse before the ribbing begins.
“Well, look who finally remembered he’s the president of a motorcycle club,” Havoc calls from the bar, lifting his beer glass in my direction in a mock toast. “Thought we’d lost you to domestic bliss.”
I should have known.
But I was up most of the night. Maren and I ate. Then, we sat on the back porch and talked.
Like, really talked.
About life and goals and art.
It seems something else cracked open when I chased her and fucked her. Something so deeply rooted inside her, it was painful to dig out.
She wishes she’d studied art.
And she thinks that because she didn’t, because she never went to college where some stuck-up asshole with college degrees of his own could tell her whether she was good enough, she believes she isn’t.
And I don’t know exactly how I’m going to fix that, but I am.
Some plans I thought of and dismissed, like stealing a few to take them to a gallery in Miami to see what people thought. Some I thought of and might just do. Like, the store side of the bait shop is so big, it could be refitted to create a small gallery space.
She talked about painting the water by my house. And I thought about building a small but covered space for her to sit and paint outside.
I fell asleep with her in my arms. And when I woke, there was a note on my pillow that told me she loved me and that she’d gone to work. So, I’d slept in, caught up with some house shit. Made a few calls I needed to.
And then, showed up here.
“Not domestic bliss,” Sunny cuts in, grinning like he’s been waiting all day to haze me. “That shit with Maren looked spiritual. He’s like a man reborn.”
I flip him the bird but can’t help but grin.
“Jesus Christ, he’s smiling,” North says from the pool table. “Magical pussy finally released you from your confirmed bachelorhood spell, Prez?”
I shake my head. “You are all way too interested in my fucking sex life.”
Sunny chuckles. “In fairness, Prez, you kind of presented your sex life to us on a golden platter downstairs.”
Ridge shrugs. “And you’re less fucking grumpy now that you’re getting laid.”
“I got laid before,” I say, before realizing I don’t have to explain myself to these shits.
Lock shakes his head. “That’s a bit like comparing low-alcohol beer to the real thing. Drinkable, but doesn’t have the same effect.”
“What’s the difference between low-alcohol beer and making love in a canoe?” Havoc asks.
“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” I reply.
Havoc grins. “They’re both fucking close to water.”
I roll my eyes, and a few of the others laugh as I grab a stool by the bar and tap the counter to get a beer. As I wait for it to come, the laughter and playful ribbing continue.
Reaper sits next to me. “You really like her, Prez?”
I take a sip of my beer and think about the conversation Maren and I had outside the house, when I asked her if she wanted to be my old lady, and she said yes.
“Yeah. I do. And for the record, when Vandal gets here, I’m gonna want a vote on her becoming my old lady.”
Cheers erupt, and my men give me yesses, even though it’s not officially the right time. Makes my heart full, though.
“I’ve never bought into this whole sins-of-the-father bullshit,” he says. “She’s never given the club trouble, and you can’t choose who donated the DNA to make you.”
My phone rings and I see Vandal’s name on the screen. I pick it up and answer it. “What’s up, brother?”
“You need to come out in three seconds,” a strange voice says. “Unarmed. Or he’s dead. One…”
“Trouble outside. Vandal. No guns.”
“Two…”
“I’m coming, you motherfucker,” I shout, and I run for the door.
When I hit the stairs, I see Vandal on the ground, one step from dead.
He’s beaten so badly, I wouldn’t know it was him if I didn’t recognize his build, ink, and rings.
If the fucker’s lucky, he might get to keep his eyes.
His nose is broken, I can see the bend from the steps as I run down them.
His body shakes from adrenaline and pain.
There’s a man standing over him, foot on his head keeping his cheek to the dirt, gun pointing down at Vandal’s chest.
Where the fuck are the…?
Then, I see the prospects who were meant to be on duty lined up against the wall by two men, armed to the teeth, dressed in all black. It’s the two men that have been riding around town dressed like lumberjacks.
Before I can even formulate a plan, there is a red dot on my chest, and that means there is a sniper hidden out there, somewhere.
“Three.” The voice belongs to a man in a black suit who throws Vandal’s phone onto the ground next to him.
He’s tall, with olive-toned skin and slicked-back hair. He looks…manicured. From his polished black shoes to his groomed moustache.
My brothers pile out behind me, weapons raised, regardless of my warning.
“Ah, ah, ah,” the man says, gesturing to my men to lower them. He points to a van parked in front of an armored car on the street. The side door slides open. Inside is a man with…
Dear fucking God.
He’s holding some kind of missile launcher aimed straight at my clubhouse.
Who the hell has this kind of money and arsenal in my town?
“Van,” Havoc yells, his voice utterly raw. And that one word contains every emotion the rest of us are feeling. “I’m gonna kill you motherfuckers.”
He charges forward, but North grabs him from behind. It’s not enough to stop Havoc, but Ridge steps in front of him, banding him around the chest.
“Stand down, Havoc,” I say, gesturing to all of those with weapons still raised to lower them, even as I promise myself I’m going to kill this asshole for what he’s put Vandal through.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
“My name is Mateo Alvarez. Do I have your attention, Mr…?”
“Knox. Just fucking Knox.”
A faint curve of recognition touches his lips. “Well, Knox. I’m here with a proposition.”
I gesture to Vandal on the ground. “Let me help my brother, first.”
Alvarez shakes his head. “He’ll live…hopefully. We should lay out the terms.”
Fury roils inside me. It needs to be let off its leash, but we’re outmaneuvered. As much as it sucks to admit it, Alvarez overcame what defenses we had, because I wasn’t prepared for an assault of this nature.
Fuck.
“What terms?”
“I want Sidekick.”
I shake my head. “Haven’t seen the man you know as Sidekick in years. We stripped his patch and that road name, then, too. Now, that name means nothing to us. He’s Jonathan Paltrow.”
Alvarez strokes the trigger of his gun. “Well, Sidekick, or Paltrow, was here. Recently. He owes me money. Said a biker called Jackal owed him cash and got a lead on his location. Maybe seven weeks ago.”
At the mention of the money, my heart drops. I can’t make sense of the story that’s being told. I didn’t know about Paltrow being here, and I’m wishing I hadn’t had Pax dropped into the middle of the fucking Gulf. “Where are you going with all this?”
“Sidekick is yours.”
“Was,” I fire back.
Alvarez brushes away my words like they don’t matter. “I don’t concern myself with internal politics. The man borrowed a significant amount of money from me and then ran.”
Silence stretches between us, but there’s no way I’m speaking first this time. Alvarez nudges Vandal with the toe of his shoe and he groans in agony. While I feel for my brother, it’s a relief to know he’s alive.
“He came back here,” Alvarez continues when he sees I’m not speaking. “We’ve confirmed he visited his mother. Reconnected with old ties, according to her. She told me he was scared and was trying to resolve things before his time expired. About reconnecting with some bikers.”
Alvarez smiles, as if he knows something we don’t. I don’t remember Paltrow’s mom, or him ever talking about her.
“You think we’re hiding him?” It’s a ridiculous question, given I know the man is dead.
“I think,” Alvarez says, stepping a fraction closer to me, “that men like him run to what they know when they are scared. And what they know is you.”
“The guy abused his own sister. We saved her. And took his patch and burned the ink off his skin before he escaped. If he were here, believe me, I would have killed him myself.”
Alvarez takes a step back, then violently nails Vandal in the ribs with his foot.
The cry of pain echoes through the lot.
If it were just the red dot on my chest, I’d take a chance and throw myself at the man, but the missile launcher aimed at the clubhouse could take down everyone.
“You have seven days,” Alvarez says calmly. “Produce Sidekick or produce the quarter of a million dollars he stole from us. I don’t care which.”
“And if we don’t?” I ask.
Alvarez glances to the clubhouse. To the structure I helped build that has withstood hurricanes. To the men still inside. Everything we’ve built.
Then, back to me.
“I’ll be forced to remove everything you value. Seven days, Knox. Use them wisely. Oh, and should you think to follow me tonight, know I’ve set up snipers on our exit route. You’ll be sitting ducks.”
He walks back to his armored car and disappears before everyone else pulls out. The red dot on my chest lifts as the van with the missile launcher disappears.
As soon as it’s gone, I run to Vandal, but Havoc beats me there. He drops to his knees next to Vandal’s head and smooths his best friend’s hair. “I got you, Van.”
I crouch down next to them and take Vandal’s hand. There’s none of the usual solid strength in them, instead they’re cold and clammy. “Brother. It’s Knox. They’ve gone.”
“Can’t fucking see, Prez,” Vandal slurs. There are tears on his cheeks, and…
Jesus Christ.
There are burn marks over his skin, likely from a cattle prod.
“One step at a time, Vandal.” My other hand hovers over him for half a second, but I don’t even know where to start helping him. Maybe we should get an ambulance over here…I don’t care what heat the club faces because of it.
Reaper is there a second later. “We need to get him inside.” He winces because, like me, he knows this is going to hurt. But better to do it now while he’s riding the adrenaline of what happened.
North looms over us. “We should go after them, Prez. Now!”
I make the decision in a split second. “We’re gonna fucking kill them all,” I assure him. “But not now. I don’t know if there are snipers on the road or not, and by the time we figure it out, they’ll be gone.”
“But, Prez,” Lock begins.
“I said no. New enemy. New rules. We save our brother, defend first, and then plan. North, lock this place down.”
“On it,” he says and begins firing off orders.
“We’re gonna lift you on three,” I say as Havoc and I position ourselves to haul Vandal to his feet even though it’s unlikely he can walk well. “One, two, three.”
The guttural yell Vandal makes shoots through every one of us. His body goes tight and his boots drag before he forces himself to move.
“It’s just like that time you fell off the rope swing when we were eleven,” Havoc says, his voice ripe with emotion as we drag Vandal to the stairs. The man is seconds away from tears of his own. “Remember your mom gave me two bucks for carrying you home?”
I don’t know if it’s deliberate that they took down the biggest and strongest among us to make a point, but it worked.
“Stairs, Van,” I say. And with Herculean effort, he pushes his toe forward until his boot feels the first step, then climbs them with us.
Alvarez isn’t an enemy to underestimate.
Fuck, I let this man down. I let my club down. “How the fuck does Alvarez exist in our state, with that kind of bankroll, and we don’t know about it?”
As I look over my shoulder to North, he shakes his head. “No fucking idea, but they just worked us over good.”
Sunny steps in front of us once we get in the clubhouse. “Where are your room keys, Van?”
“Leg pocket… fuck, my bike. Ran me…off it…by Brody’s bar.”
“Is it drivable?” North asks.
Vandal shakes his head, but even that makes him wince and hiss.
“Lock, find three prospects and tell them to take the flatbed from the garage and go get his bike.”
“On it,” Lock says. I leave the logistics of who he sends to his judgment.
We get Vandal through the doors and to his room. Reaper reappears with a collection of medical supplies.
“What happened?” I ask Vandal once he’s laid out on his bed.
“Knocked me off my bike. Grabbed me…a van.” He winces and tries to move, but the action causes him to grunt in pain. “Questions about Paltrow.” He sucks in a sob, and my fucking soul breaks in half. “Tortured…me. Can’t…fucking see, Prez.”
Reaper nudges at my chest. “Prez. Let me get him comfortable.”
But Vandal reaches for my hand. “Didn’t tell ‘em…he’s dead.”
I squeeze his hand. “You did good, brother. Anything urgent you think we ought to know?”
He shakes his head, and sobs.
“Rest up, brother. You got him?” I ask, turning to Reaper.
“Yes, sir.” The former navy medic salutes.
“The rest of you, church. Now.”