Chapter 6 — Knox #2
I cross to where Francis is standing with Sydney and the other women. They're talking about something ordinary, maybe Katherine's school year starting, and Francis is nodding along but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
I put my hand on her lower back and she relaxes slightly, leaning into the touch.
"Ready?" I ask quietly.
"For what?"
"To make this official."
She takes a breath. "Okay."
I lead her to the center of the room. The talking dies down as brothers notice, the attention shifting to us. Clint steps forward, and the room goes completely silent.
"Francis," Clint says. "Knox is claiming you as his woman. That means you're family. You're under Vigil protection. Anyone threatens you, they're threatening all of us. You understand what that means?"
"I understand," Francis says.
Her voice is steady, clear. I feel pride move through me sharp and unexpected.
"Then welcome," Clint says.
The brothers nod, murmuring approval. Sydney comes forward and hugs Francis. Then Natalie, then Anna, then Katherine, then Carina, then Sienna.
The women integrate her quickly, pulling her into their circle with a warmth that makes something in my chest ease.
I find Clint afterward, standing outside on the porch where it's quieter.
"You look different," he says.
"I am different."
"Good different or complicated different?"
"Both."
He lights a cigarette, takes a long drag. "Perry's death hit you hard."
"Hit all of us hard."
"Yeah. But you especially. You've been restructuring defensive positions for three weeks. Haven't slept more than a few hours at a time. Started looking at the rest of us like you were cataloging who might be next."
I don't deny it. "Perry died alone. No one waiting. No one who noticed for two hours."
"And now you've got someone waiting."
"Yeah."
"That'll make you more prudent or more reckless. Haven't decided which yet."
"More prudent," I say. "I've got something to come home to now."
Clint nods, drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot. "Chuck's got a lead on Crane's property. House in the next county, rural area, registered under his late wife's maiden name. We're confirming the address tomorrow. If it checks out, we move on it Tuesday night."
"Understood."
"This is endgame, Knox. We go in there and Crane dies, it's over. Marrow scatters. But it has to be clean. No witnesses, no evidence, no way for this to come back on Bloomfield or the club."
"Who's going?"
"Me, you, Tate, Cain, Chuck, Axel. Six of us. In and out in under an hour."
"What about the women?"
"They stay here. Roan and Holt on security. We're not leaving anyone unprotected while we're gone."
I nod. Tuesday night. Three days from now. Three days to prepare Francis for the fact that I'm riding out to kill a man and might not come back.
"She know?" Clint asks.
"That we're planning to kill Crane? Yeah. When it's happening? Not yet."
"Tell her before Tuesday. She deserves to know what she's signed up for."
He goes back inside and I stand on the porch alone, looking at the dark fields beyond the security lights. Somewhere out there Victor Crane is planning his next move. Somewhere out there is a property where he thinks he's safe.
Tuesday night he'll learn he's not.
Inside the clubhouse I find Francis sitting with the women, listening to Sienna tell a story about Diesel trying to cook dinner last week and nearly burning down their kitchen.
Francis is laughing, genuine and relaxed, and seeing her fit into this space makes something settle in me that's been restless for years.
I catch her eye across the room. She smiles, small and private, just for me.
Yeah. I'm different now.
And I'm not sorry about it.
Later, after we've eaten and talked and Francis has met every brother and their woman, after she's exchanged numbers with Sydney and promised to have coffee with Anna next week, after Ava has shown her the picture she drew of a fairy princess and Francis has told her it's beautiful, we drive home in comfortable silence.
"That wasn't what I expected," Francis says.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Something harder. More hostile. But they were... nice. Normal."
"They are normal. Just normal people who live outside conventional boundaries."
"Sydney told me you've been alone the whole time you've been in the club. Seventeen years and no one."
"That's true."
"She said the brothers used to worry about you. That you were too closed off."
"They probably still worry."
"She said you look different now. Lighter."
I glance at her. "You make me lighter."
"I don't know how. I'm terrified half the time and confused the other half."
"That's not a bad thing. Means you're paying attention."
We pull into the driveway. Her house is dark but mine has the porch light on from the timer I set years ago. We sit in the truck for a moment, neither of us moving to get out.
"Tuesday night," I say. "We're going after Crane."
She goes still. "You're telling me now?"
"Clint said you deserved to know before it happens."
"What if you don't come back?"
"Then Tate will come tell you. And Sydney will make sure you're taken care of."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant. But I can't promise I'll come back. I can only promise I'll do everything I can to make sure I do."
She's quiet for a long time. Then she says, "I'm going to be awake all night waiting to hear from you."
"I know."
"I'm going to sit in my house or your house or somewhere and imagine every possible way you could die."
"I know."
"And if you do come back, I'm going to be angry at you for making me go through that."
"That's fair."
She turns to look at me. "I love you. And I hate that loving you means living with this."
"I love you too. And I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just come home."
We get out of the truck and she follows me to my house instead of going to hers. We don't talk about it, don't discuss whether she's staying. She just comes inside and takes off her shoes and gets into my bed wearing my t-shirt and nothing else.
I join her there and pull her against me, feeling her body warm and solid in my arms.
"Three days," she says into the darkness.
"Three days."
"Then it's over?"
"Then it's over."
She rolls over to face me. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
"Promise me you'll come home."
"I can't promise that. But I want to. More than I've wanted anything in years."
She kisses me. Soft, lingering, like she's trying to memorize the taste of me.
We fall asleep tangled together and for the first time in weeks I don't dream about Perry dying alone in a parking lot.
I dream about coming home to someone who's waiting.