Misrule

by Kelly, Kathryn C.

  Members would be stopping in soon, on their way to work for coffee, breakfast, gossip, or the smorgasbord.

  She had to get a move on. She flipped on the lights, righted a chair that must’ve been knocked over and forgotten about, then adjusted the thermostat to remove the chill from the air.

  It didn’t take long for her to start the coffee to brewing. Afterwards, she headed to gather what she needed for breakfast. Today’s menu would be simple: scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast.

  In the midst of cracking eggs and allowing the contents to fall into a big bowl, she saw Knox sprawled on the ground, heard the awful words he’d spoken to her, and felt the weight of his great-great grandmother’s ring, back on her finger to save his life.

  She paused and held out her hand. The center diamond sparkled and gleamed, the brilliant appearance a direct contrast to her hollow feeling.

  Knox had honored her with it. If he felt as he did about her and the prenup and so many other things that had shocked her, why would he give her a Harrington family heirloom?

  Drawing in a deep breath, she leaned against the butcher block table, so fucking angry with him. However, she was even more hurt, and very afraid. If she made one misstep, Mortician and Outlaw would discover the truth, and kill Knox.

  Picking up another egg, she tapped it on the table, then opened it along the fissure line and allowed the contents to drop into the bowl. There was a comfort to the rhythm she adapted. Yet, her problems—her heartache—lurked just beneath the surface of the monotony.

  Just as she cracked the twenty-fourth egg, her last for the morning, the door swung open and Knox stepped in.

  He resembled an extra for The Walking Dead with his pale skin and green undertones, hideous gashes and bruises, red-rimmed eyes, and slow walk.

  “You are wearing it,” he breathed, staring at the ring.

  Fuck, but he was banged up.

  “I have no choice,” she said, refusing to comment on his appearance.

  “There is always choice, Roxanne.”

  She shrugged, grabbed the whisk she’d set out on the table, and started whipping the eggs together. “A fucking pity your ass didn’t choose right and kept your goddamn mouth shut.”

  “I’m sorry,” Knox told her.

  She whipped faster.

  “I didn’t mean anything I said.”

  They’d been through this already. How many times would the motherfucker apologize to her?

  “You’re a fucking liar,” she retorted. “You meant everything.”

  “I was frustrated.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Roxanne—”

  She recoiled at the way he said her name. Any other time, she would’ve melted into his arms at the sexy sound. Enough of this bullshit. “You can be frustrated. The bullshit you threw at me was plain fucking mean. It showed your true colors.”

  He thrust his fingers through his hair, then gave her a pleading look. “I love you.”

  Those words from Knox still held power over her. Whenever he said it, giddiness lightened her head and sensuality invigorated her body. Now, though, she only felt gutted.

  Because she still loved him—and almost admitted it—she clenched her jaw. She’d ride the storm. Her feelings for him would flicker out in due time. She just had to keep reminding herself what a motherfucker he turned into when he was angry.

  “I know you still love me.”

  She glared at him. “What the fuck is it to you if I do, motherfucker?”

  “You do,” he insisted. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t put on this charade to save my life. You’d let them kill me. I want to die, Roxanne. My life is meaningless without you.”

  She had so many responses to that, but she refused to continue this conversation. “Knox, I’m busy. I don’t have time to talk to you.”

  “I’ll do anything if you forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven,” she stated. “Too much fucking trouble to hold a grudge. Anything else?”

  He pulled her into his arms, thrusting his hard cock against her. “Remember the last time you and I were alone in the clubhouse in the early morning?”

  They’d fucked each other on a barstool, one of their intimate moments that would live in her memory forever.

  Without warning, he covered her lips with his own. Roxy’s body responded immediately, and desire shot through her.

  This motherfucker was out of his fucking mind or thought she was. Dick whipped and dumb bitch were two entirely different things.

  She elbowed his stomach, then stomped his foot. “Get the fuck away from me,” she snarled, hating her breathlessness and not caring that he was hopping around like a jackass.

  “Go,” she ordered. “Leave me alone before I fuck you up. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” She planted her hands on her hips. “We’re going to let the bullshit with the boys blow over, then we’re going to announce that I’ve decided I really don’t want to marry again. You or no other motherfucker. That’s it. After that, we’ll go our s-separate ways.”

  She turned away. Her voice shouldn’t have cracked on that last sentence. It just crushed her that whatever other wonderful things destiny held for her, it seemed, true love wasn’t one, when that’s what she’d dreamed of from a young age.

  “Roxanne—” Knox started.

  “Knox, Roxanne,” Mortician interrupted, walking into the kitchen and holding a stack of magazines. He nodded to them, strolled to the table and sat the magazines down.

  Roxy leaned over the table. Based on the spines of the thick magazines, these were wedding based. He smiled.

  “I thought you could take a look to see if you like any setups. Dresses…”

  Roxy narrowed her eyes. “Boy, fuck you. You know damn well we already ordered our dresses.”

  Surprise crossed Mortician’s face. “You didn’t cancel your order?”

  She’d forgotten to do so. “Fuck no!” she shouted. “What the fuck am I canceling my dress for? You want me to walk down the goddamn aisle in my altogether?”

  Mortician grinned. “Knox haven’t chose his tux,” he said, not answering her. “He might see something he like in the magazine.”

  “Yes, the fuck he did. Him and his daddy went to their haberdasher.”

  The dilapidated condition of Knox’s face gave his smirk a scary edge. “Don’t worry, love. I think his suggestion is a fabulous idea. I still have time to change my mind.”

  “I don’t,” she snapped. This motherfucker wanted to play games. “I have breakfast to cook, so fuck off both of you.”

  “I got time,” Mortician told her. “Cook whatever. I got to wait for Outlaw. We got business to see to, and he meeting me here in an hour or so.” His grin came again, cool and all-knowing, meant to test her honesty. Failure meant death.

  Knox’s death.

  Bristling, Roxy threw a filthy glare at Knox, hoping he understood she was calling him a few different motherfuckers under her breath. The satisfaction in his eyes irked her.

  Joke’s on you, motherfucker.

  She wouldn’t say a goddamn thing to either motherfucker. Sometimes, silence proved the most effective.

  Roxy marched to the other side of the butcher block table, snatched the top magazine and flipped through it.

  “Shouldn’t you be standing next to Knox to help him look for a tux?”

  Roxy tightened her lips, but didn’t respond to Mortician. Knox walked over to her, bent and brushed his lips across hers.

  “He’s right, my love. You know I value your opinion.”

  “More than you value your dick, huh, sugar?” Roxy returned, a smile pasted on her mouth.

  Knox slinked away from her.

  “Why the attitude, Momma-in-law? I don’t see a problem with this little task if—”

  “Kiss my motherfucking ass, boy,” Roxy shouted. “You know fucking well I’m busy in the goddamn morning, yet you bring your suspicious ass around, playing these fucking games.”

/>   Mortician glowered at Knox, then met her eyes. “We got all the tools laid out. Woodchipper all ready. All we missing is a body.”

  Roxy drew herself up, determined not to show how much Mortician’s words frightened her. “You calling me a fucking liar?”

  Mortician shifted at the outrage in her tone. “No, man,” he grouched. “I know better than to do that.”

  “You just implied it,” Knox said with heavy sarcasm.

  She had to let Knox’s interference pass without comment. He was doing his usual—inserting his comments.

  “I’m looking through this one magazine for now, Mortician.” Just to appease him. Knox was on Mortician’s bad side. He needed only the smallest excuse to bury him.

  Mortician looked from her to Knox. “The way you and Knox acting not a way two lovebirds should communicate.”

  “One lovebird about to crack you in your fucking mouth, Mortician,” she retorted.

  He smirked at her. Scowling, Roxy refocused on the magazine and turned the pages. After a moment, she came to a wedding dress that resembled the one she’d placed the deposit on. It was floor-length with an appliques V-neck bodice, perfect for her, and the complete opposite of Bailey’s, who would look like a modern-day Cinderella with the ball gown style she’d chosen.

  Swallowing, she rubbed her finger across the page. With determination, she held back the tears threatening to fall. All along it had been a pipe dream. Why had she ever believed Knox really wanted to marry her, when her own son was ashamed of her?

  Mortician leaned over the side of her shoulder. “You prefer that dress?”

  This motherfucker wasn’t going to fucking quit.

  Squelching the urge to roll the magazine up and bat the piss out of him, she flipped to the next page. “I might, but I don’t want Knox to see it, boy, so shut up.”

  “Considering the motherfucker standing on the other side of you, he saw it.”

  “You’re working on my last goddamn nerve, Mortician.” She moved away and went back to the other side of the table. “I will do this later. If you have a problem with that, kiss my ass.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “No, motherfucker, you’re just trying to interfere.”

  “He’s not trying, Roxanne,” Knox inserted. “He’s succeeding.”

  Grabbing the bowl of raw eggs, Roxy ignored the sloshing contents. She set the bowl on an unlit burner, braced her hands on the edge of the counter and stared at nothing, feeling the aura of Knox’s presence and the weight of Mortician’s judgment.

  Hands on her shoulders turned her. Knox guided her to the stool that she always neglected.

  “Sit.”

  Her head was pounding, and her heart seemed to be in tiny little pieces, so she sat.

  “Mortician, I need to talk to Roxanne alone for a minute,” Knox said, not taking his gaze from her.

  Mortician’s quick retreat surprised Roxy, but she didn’t comment. Her gaze honed-in on the wedding magazines she’d left behind.

  “Roxanne.” Knox placed his hands on her shoulders again and squeezed gently. “I’ll do anything to take your pain anyway. Tell me what to do. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “I’m human, Knox.”

  “You’re shutting down on me completely and will never take me back.”

  “I don’t intend to take you back ever.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the back of her head. “You have to. I’m lost without you.”

  She disentangled from his embrace and got to her feet to face him. “We’re not doing this ad nauseum. You spoke your truth. I made my decision.”

  “Really? Outlaw told me we’re still engaged. Was that a lie?”

  “You know fucking well it was. It was…”

  “To save my life,” he finished for her. “As Outlaw implied. And, yet, if your performance around Mortician is any indication, you may as well have allowed them to kill me the day before yesterday. You’re not acting like we’re still engaged.”

  His call-out rang with truth; she had no response.

  “You look exhausted,” he told her.

  “Why don’t I get you and me cups of coffee. You sit while I finish breakfast for those brutes.”

  Annoyance burst through her and she leveled him with an unhappy look.

  “Fine,” he bit out. “The brothers. Better?”

  “Slightly,” she agreed, leaning against the butcher block table so she wouldn’t guide Knox to the stool and tend to his injuries. “Thank you but no. They need edible food.”

  “I’ve watched you cook many, many times, sweetheart. I can do this. Just give me a chance to prove it to you.”

  Pride told her to say no. However, it would be false pride, and would only get her burned fucking food. She was in no state-of-mind to cook right now.

  “You can keep me company, while I work. You don’t have to say anything to me. At least it’ll keep up the illusion that all is well between us.”

  Unable to stop her smile, Roxy shook her head. “You’re going to manipulate the fuck out of this situation, aren’t you?”

  “All’s fair in love and war,” he quipped, then cocked his head to the side. “I do love you. Let me prove it to you. That’s all I ask. Just give me one more chance. If I fuck it up this time, then we can go our separate ways.”

  “Knox, you just don’t snap back from all the vicious things you said to me.” She glanced down at the ring, touched it.

  Seeing where her attention was, Knox covered her hand with his own. “Don’t give me an answer now,” he begged. “Just give me another chance.”

  She opened her mouth to speak. Before words formed, he stole a quick kiss from her.

  “I would wink at you if I could.”

  “They fucked you up pretty bad,” she agreed, refusing to touch him.

  “They are savages.”

  “Stop, Knox. Just stop. Out of one side of your mouth, you ask me to give you a chance. Out of the other side, you still insult my family.”

  “Family doesn’t keep you warm at night. I do.”

  She nodded. “This family doesn’t ridicule me, either. They accept me for who I am. It’s no either/or with them. I can have you and them. But you think they are beneath you. Nothing but tattooed lowlifes.”

  “Just because they have tattoos don’t make them lowlifes. Admittedly, tattoos are part of their criminal first impressions.”

  Roxy huffed out a breath. “Having a tattoo doesn’t automatically make you a criminal. If you had one that wouldn’t mean you were crim—”

  “First, I’d never get a fucking tattoo. That would make me as bad as they are.”

  “That’s the gist of it right there,” Roxy said, her sadness stealing all her energy. “Not having a tattoo is just one of the ways you place yourself above them. It’s also one of the most outstanding examples of how different we are.”

  He stared at her a moment, before he lifted his brows, as if a light just went off. “So if I get a tattoo, I’ll prove to you that I accept you?”

  “Knox,” she whispered, finally giving into the urge to touch him by laying her hand against his cheek. He leaned into her. “I would never ask you to mark your skin if that’s not what you wanted. This is not…we’re never going to see eye-to-eye.” Weary, she dropped her hand, walked to the stool and sat. “Give me a few days and I’ll find a way for us to go our separate ways without dire consequences for you.” Drawing this pretense out would only make it harder when she said goodbye. “If you really are going to cook for the club brothers, I suggest you get started.”

  “As you wish, my love,” he told her with a sneaky grin.

  Knox believed he’d win her back. She’d just have to show him how wrong he was.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Arrows of pain, from Knox’s head to his toes, shot through him, yet Roxanne’s softening gave him the shot of adrenaline he needed to ignore his agony. She watched him with longing. The one or two times she�
��d laughed had soothed his self-recriminations. Her agreement that he cook propelled him to action.

  He knew her so well. She intended to make a firm stance and block him out of her life, her heart, and her body, but he wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  “Be right back, sweetheart,” he told her, in high spirits, as he picked up the platter of hash browns he’d prepared and headed to the main room. The place was moderately filled, in contrast to the emptiness he’d found just an hour ago, when he’d made his way to the kitchen to talk to Roxanne.

  “You the new Kitchen Bitch now?” one of the bikers yelled as Knox sat the potatoes next to the platter of ham on the long table, near the bar, where the food always went.

  “Fuck no,” Mortician growled, glowering in Knox’s direction.

  “Only one Kitchen Bitch,” Mortician continued. “K-P. Don’t ever fucking make the mistake of trying to replace him, Foley.”

  “Just shitting around, Mort,” Foley responded on a grunt. “Don’t gotta be so touchy.”

  “He’s right.” Knox reached the officers’ table, where Mortician sat and pulled out a chair. “May I?”

  Mortician scowled, but nodded.

  “I owe you an apology,” Knox started on a sigh after he sat. “All these months, I thought you were like them. But you aren’t. You have money.”

  “All these months, I thought you had a fucking brain, but you don’t,” Mortician shot back. “You just proved that by your fucking words, son.”

  “I’m giving you credit.”

  “No, you giving me bullshit. Exactly what the fuck your brain is made of. You think because I got money, I’m like you instead of ‘them’,” he said, using air quotations. “Money don’t mean shit in our differences. You and me will never be alike. You think money put you above every other motherfucker around. I think money helps you to have one less worry in a world filled with fucking worries.”

  At a loss and backed into a corner by his own words, Knox thrust a hand through his hair. A groan of pain escaped him.

  “Go away, Knox,” Mortician ordered. “I don’t have time for a motherfucker that play games with a woman’s heart. Either you in it just to fuck or you in it to win her, whoever the fuck she might be. You don’t get a girl with prenups and conditions and insults. I also got other fucking things to do than watching my momma-in-law suffer because you a dumb motherfucker. All this shit do is piss me the fuck off.”