He had to get control of himself. He was more fucking traumatized than Megan. What the fuck was fucking wrong with him? No matter what the fuck he did, his girl’s kidnapping haunted him. And he yelled. And cried. And screamed. And trembled.
His boy had done right to call him a bitch-ass-fucking-baby. He was a baby-ass-fucking-bitch.
Disgusted with himself, he kicked at one of Megan’s stilettos. It was white.
It fucking figured. Snarling like a rabid dog, he picked up the unkicked motherfucker, then went to the kicked motherfucker and got that one too, before slamming both into the waste basket.
Every piece of white clothing Megan owned, he’d fucking burn to fucking smithereens. No, he’d blow those motherfuckers the fuck up. He never wanted to see her in white again.
White walls in the house had to fucking go. White décor. Bedding. Plates…but most especially those white fucking clothes.
He stomped to her closet, found a fucking white leather dress, and grabbed it with all the fury in him. Without thinking this through, he took it to the bathroom, and threw it into the tub. Once he found rubbing alcohol, he poured it on the leather, lit a match he’d also brought with him, and threw it onto the dress.
Flames overtook it almost immediately, and he grinned, wishing pieces of Mystic was in the conflagration. His fucking hands for taking Megan. His fucking brain for thinking of the plot in the first fucking place.
“Boy, what the fuck are you doing?” Roxanne’s voice broke through his madness. “Turn that fucking water on before you burn down this goddamn house. Fuck! I’ll be right back.”
Obediently, he did as instructed. Roxanne returned before she was even missed, holding a fire extinguisher and quickly doing the work that the water seemed to be failing at—containing the flames.
He looked at her. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he saw her swollen red eyes, her pain…but before it fully registered, she gave him a gentle smile.
“Oh, sugar. Your woman is fine. Nobody is taking her away from you.”
She held out her arms.
Christopher hesitated. He looked at Megan’s ruined dress. The motherfucker had been new. Now, it was fucking burnt pieces and smoking embers. She was going to have his fucking ass.
At least she was alive to do so.
Sucking in a breath, he looked at the ceiling, and couldn’t stop the tears sliding down his face. He hated himself for being a weak bitch, and he hated Megan for making him a weak bitch.
But he loved her so fucking much.
“Roxanne, Megan can’t never leave me,” he said in a broken whisper, blinking. “But one day we gotta leave each other. We all gotta die. All I want is for me to be fuckin’ first. I can’t fuckin’ make it without her.” He drew in a sob. “And I fucking hate her for it.”
“Come here, baby,” Roxanne responded.
His nostrils flared, but he gave into the temptation of the comfort she offered and stepped into her arms, leaning down to rest his head on her shoulder. She tightened them around him, and he relished her motherly embrace. His mother had hugged him in such a manner on rare occasions, and he’d missed this since her death.
“I’m a grown-ass motherfucker, Roxanne, actin’ like a weak-ass bitch.”
Roxanne sniffled. “No, baby, you acting like a human motherfucker.”
She sounded so very sad. Suddenly, the devastation that he’d noticed in her face fully registered and he stiffened. An image of Knox fucking Harrington rose in his head, giving him something else to focus on.
Maybe, even, a motherfucker to make bleed.
Roxy had arrived at the house, just as Meggie was complaining about something burning. She was going to head upstairs and investigate since everything downstairs seemed to be fine. But CJ wouldn’t let her out of his sight, so Roxy told Meggie to stay downstairs while she investigated.
This being a Saturday, all the Caldwell kids and Rory were there, so Roxy wasn’t sure if they all would’ve followed Meggie.
Roxy had come to talk to Outlaw. After running away from Knox a couple of hours ago, and going to her quarters to cry her eyes out, she’d realized she had to do one last thing on his behalf. She didn’t want the boys to kill him. Motherfucker that he was, he really didn’t deserve to die. Maybe, have his ass beat. By her. But even that wasn’t worth it. She was just too hurt to muster up the strength to kick his cock in.
As she’d rushed upstairs, Meggie had yelled to her, “Christopher had another nightmare.”
“Okay, sugar, I got this. Just take care of the kids.”
The fact that she was needed refocused her attention away from her and Knox’s breakup. And she arrived not a moment too soon. The flames had fascinated Outlaw so much that he hadn’t even recognized they were beginning to creep up the sides of the bathtub.
She’d taken care of that fire. Now, she had to take care of the emotional one. Duke might not want her, but these boys here needed mothering, too. Outlaw cried silent, bitter tears. Here, in this moment, she believed he did hate Meggie just as much as he loved her.
Roxy knew those conflicting emotions. At the moment, she was in the same predicament. She hated Knox for being a motherfucker. But she loved him, too. That’s why she wanted to save his life. She had broken up with him, but it was his words that brought her to that action.
Suddenly, Outlaw stiffened. Straightened. And stared down at her.
“What the fuck that motherfucker done?” he demanded as if a light had gone off in his head.
Stepping back, she turned away from him. “Knox didn’t do anything,” she lied, damning her voice for breaking. “I did it to him. I broke it off.” Tears threatened again. “I realized I don’t want to marry no motherfucker ever again.”
Silence greeted that firm-ish statement, then he barreled to her and narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t wantin’ to marry Knox fuckin’ Harrington?”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Nope.”
He contemplated her, and Roxy squirmed under the intensity of that cold, green gaze. “You a fuckin’ liar. I’m dialing Mort, tellin’ him to bring the fuckin’ chainsaw, so we can split Harrington down the fuckin’ middle and kill him.”
“What the fuck kind of statement is that? You cut Knox down the middle with a chainsaw, the motherfucker will be deader than fucking dead already. You won’t have anything to kill, Outlaw.”
“I’ll still have pieces to rip apart.”
She frowned at him, unable to believe that this chillingly murderous man now before her was the same heartbroken husband she’d walked in on. That was the beauty of Outlaw. Of Mort. Johnnie. Digger. Val. They lived in a world of violence that the love for their women tempered. They could be killers one moment, and family men the next. More important, they were as significant to her as their wives.
Why couldn’t Knox see that?
“Why you standin’ up there cryin’?” Outlaw demanded.
Angrily, she swiped at her tears. “We don’t belong together,” she said, not believing it while having no choice but to find a way to accept it. “Please, leave Knox alone. He doesn’t deserve your wrath or Mort’s.”
When the boy scratched his bare chest, she realized he stood only in pajama bottoms. He glanced at Meggie’s ruined dress, then back at Roxanne, and shifted his weight.
In that moment, he reminded her of CJ, and she couldn’t help but feel a little more tenderness toward him. Outlaw must’ve missed his mother something fierce, and Roxanne was more than happy to step into the role as a surrogate. She needed to pull herself together, though. He considered her as much of a family member as Mort did, and they’d protect her with berserk fierceness.
She drew in a deep breath. “Just let him be. Our breakup was my decision.”
“What about Bailey wantin’ to remarry Mort the same day you and Knox got hitched?”
Fuck. She’d forgotten about that. Goddamnit! “I’m going to talk to Bailey.” She forced lightness into her tone. “I need you to talk to M
ortician. We can convince them to still go ahead with their vow renewal.”
The silence stretched, before Outlaw nodded. “Ima do that shit for your ass, after I talk to fuckin’ Knox.”
She struggled to keep the panic out of her face. Even though she didn’t want to, she’d have to call Knox and tell him to let the story stand as she’d told it—that she’d broken off the engagement because she’d decided another marriage wasn’t for her.
Otherwise…she didn’t want to consider the otherwise.
“Get the fuck outta here, so I can take a fuckin’ piss, Roxanne.”
Hurrying away and closing the bathroom door behind her, Roxy gave in to the tears that had been threatening to fall for the past few minutes.
Chapter Thirty
Had he fucked up so bad that he’d lost Roxanne?
Did his dislike of the club president, the club, trump his love for his woman?
Of course not!
He stared at the ring that sat on his desk. According to her, she was no longer his woman. She never wanted to see him again.
He should never have gone over to Mortician’s house this morning. Or, at least, so early. He’d challenged Mortician and…and ruined his relationship with the woman he loved as much as life itself. Worse, he’d spewed pure venom at her, when he’d meant none of it.
How could he make her forgive him? How could he express how absolutely sorry he was? Even as he was yelling at her, his words—along with regret—began to sink in. They’d been unworthy of him, her, and their relationship. Yet, they’d kept coming, as if he had no control. His heart had told him to stop. His anger, pride and frustration egged him on. He’d only thought of her lame reasons for placating Mortician. His ego suffered that she hadn’t missed him enough to arrange another secret meeting. Either at the clubhouse or at her quarters. Fuck, his self-respect smarted because their meetings had to be in secret.
All her words, reasons, had seemed like excuses. That she’d said the same thing time and again should’ve alerted him that this really was an issue for her. He should’ve looked for ways to put her at ease. Damn it, he should’ve listened to her and just went along with Mortician.
His phone indicated an incoming text message. Listlessly, he picked it up. Roxanne. Calling him a motherfucker as only she could? If he wasn’t so desperate to stay connected to her, he would’ve ignored the text. It would kill him to read how much she hated him. Seeing a text message from her felt like a lifeline, no matter what she wrote, so he opened it.
For your own safety, tell everyone I ended our engagement.
She had, though, so why would he lie about it?
You did, he responded. The words nauseated him, made him dizzy. Another piece of his heart shattered.
So I did. Just don’t tell them why. You will die.
Oh. Right. Mortician would kill him for all the things he’d said to Roxanne. More than that…Outlaw.
In some mystifying way, he respected Outlaw’s…intelligence…?...instinct…?...suspicious nature…? What about the man drew him to accept cases and even take his advice? He sounded so ignorant and acted so belligerent.
Maybe, it just came down to plain, old envy. Outlaw said what he wanted, did what he wanted, wherever and whenever. Women found the brute overwhelmingly gorgeous and sexy. Knox wasn’t pulling this from his ass, either. He’d overhead conversations during parties at the club. Whether they feared him or were fascinated by him, women wanted to fuck him. Because of his intense green eyes…his silky black hair…his height…his muscles…blah, bla-blah, blah, blah.
Roxanne was a woman. Had she ever seen him as more than just a friend? More than just an adopted son?
The man every woman wanted had bought Knox’s lady a custom-made Navigator.
Added to that insult was the fact that his upbringing forbade him the same freedom of expression that Outlaw was known for.
Sighing, Knox glanced at the wall clock in his office. He’d been here for an hour and hadn’t gotten one thing done. Thoughts of Roxanne consumed him. He’d fucked up so bad.
Roxanne was a proud, no-nonsense woman and he’d hurt her to the depth of her soul. He’d mocked her. Bullied her. Berated her.
His phone lay silent. He hoped for her forgiveness, yet he couldn’t fathom the words he, himself, had spoken. To humiliate and crush. He should be killed. Closing his eyes, he willed another message to come through from her. But, nothing. Unable to stand the thought she’d shut him out, he decided to take a risk. She’d taught him how to be more open and to show his feelings. Grabbing his phone, he started typing words poured from his heart.
I’m so, so sorry, Roxanne. Please forgive me. Give me another chance. I’ll do anything you ask of me to prove how much I love you. Please. I’m begging you.
Just when he thought she wouldn’t respond, her reply came.
Forgiven.
The one word instilled such hope in him that he released a laugh-sob.
Then you’ll take my ring back? I love you.
Another long stretch before she answered.
No. We’re through. We don’t belong together, Knox. We’re too different. You want a prenup. I don’t. You hate my family. I don’t. You’re rich. I’m just a gold digger.
Knox winced. He’d been a sonofabitch. He hated himself as he never had before. He’d do anything to rewind the clock and take the words back. Impossible, he knew. Once said, the spoken word could never be recalled.
Please, he typed.
I can’t.
He shuddered at the simple words.
I’m so sorry, Roxanne.
Me, too, Knox.
Her words were poignant. He’d bet she cried as she texted them. He wanted to hold her and comfort her. As he should have when he saw her tears earlier. Instead, he’d sneered at them. He needed an ass-kicking. The type that Outlaw had given him so many months ago. Knox had been hospitalized as a result and needed plastic surgery. Confession would be his penance.
Maybe, I should tell Mortician and Outlaw myself, all the god-awful things I said to you. I’ll take whatever they dish out.
DEATH!
That warning came immediately.
They will kill you. Gruesomely. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t survive to regret.
He almost regretted being born, at that particular moment.
I’ll think about it and discuss it with you when I see you this evening.
Another immediate response.
Let me know what time you intend to pick up your things from the clubhouse, so I can be long gone.
No. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t give in without a fight, so he stared at his phone, as if he could find the answers to his misery. One thing was certain, if he didn’t respond, he knew she wouldn’t. She considered herself done with him.
The ringing of the office phone startled him and he jumped, on edge and out-of-sorts. He thought of ignoring it and allowing the answering service to take the call, but he needed something to distract him. On what would’ve been the fifth and final ring, he snatched up the received. “Harrington.”
“Mr. Harrington.”
This better not be a telemarketer. “Yes?”
“This is Joyner Amfinger. I was calling because I have a small case I’d like to hire you for.”
Losing Roxanne crowded out most of Knox’s other memories, so it took him a moment to place the name.
“I asked you to provide me with a new identity,” Amfinger reminded Knox just as the thought popped into his head.
“Did I hear you say a small case?” Knox couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. He’d said the same thing the last time. Just what did the man consider a big case?
“To me.”
“I’m still not interested,” Knox said with irritation.
“Good, because I’m calling in regards to another matter.”
Knox didn’t want any other cases right now. Outside of the Kendall job, he needed to use every other working moment winning Roxanne
back. If today wasn’t the day for Johnnie to cross paths with Emily Riser, Knox wouldn’t have even come to work.
“Just hear me out,” Amfinger said into the silence.
Knox didn’t know why he wasted his time, listening to whatever scheme Amfinger needed help with this time. The jackass was lucky Knox had merely declined him, and not called the police. A man didn’t decide to change identities if he wasn’t into some serious crimes.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“Five,” Knox conceded.
“I have light arms to get rid of,” Amfinger announced.
It took a moment for the man’s meaning to dawn on Knox. “Guns?” he gasped.
“Machine guns. Light and sub,” Amfinger clarified.
Knox straightened in his seat. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he shouted. “Where the fuck did you get my number and why do you think I’m willing to break the law?”
“Gun-running isn’t illegal, as long as it is done through the proper channels.”
“You’d be an arms dealer,” Knox sneered. “You wouldn’t make a fucking cold call to a stranger and ask for help.”
“You’re a private investigator. I’m sure you know a lot of people. You can’t tell me all your cases are on the up-and-up.”
“I can’t tell you anything about other cases.”
Amfinger sighed. “I heard you were affiliated with an MC.”
“That doesn’t mean I have illegal dealings,” Knox snapped. “Who gave this information to you?”
“It isn’t important.”
“You’re goddamn right. I really don’t give a fuck. You could be a cop, a federal agent, using me as a pawn to get to a club you heard I was affiliated with.”
Amfinger fell silent, then sighed again. “I’m an old friend of your Uncle Avalon. He told me about you.”
“I don’t ever want to hear that bastard’s name again.” Knox tightened his grip on the receiver. Amfinger knowing Avalon was worse than any other scenario Knox could’ve imagined. “Avalon is no uncle of mine.” He’d kidnapped Roxanne and Charlotte, and intended to kill both of them. Avalon had even injured his own brother—Knox’s father—in his quest to bring down the Death Dwellers to hide his own double-dealing with the club.
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