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.”
“Mortician—” Knox wanted to ask advice on how to win Roxanne back. With the man’s current mood, though, he’d put his life at risk. It didn’t matter that Mortician seemed to know Knox and Roxy hadn’t reconciled. He was looking for any excuse to tear Knox to pieces.
“My ass must be losin’ my fuckin’ touch.” Outlaw’s voice drew Knox out of his reverie. “You walkin’ around too fuckin’ quick.”
Refusing to comment, Knox folded his arms while Outlaw and Mortician sniggered.
“Ready to rock and fuckin’ roll, Mort?”
Mortician stood. “Yeah, Prez.”
As the two men turned to leave, Knox slouched in the chair. He really couldn’t win with them. They took his bonding attempts with antipathy. The few times he’d offered advice, he’d been ignored.
He thought he’d found a common ground with Mortician, whom he would’ve preferred to have in his corner. The one thing that should’ve bonded them—their wealthy backgrounds—seemed not to matter.
A hand landed on his shoulder and Knox glanced behind him. Meeting Outlaw’s gaze, Knox stiffened, then straightened as Mortician reseated himself.
“Everything okay here?” Roxanne asked before anyone spoke.
Having her near reminded Knox that she was worth every injury he had. He wanted to pull her into his arms and…Just like that, an idea hit him, as if lightning struck from Providence. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap, but she didn’t protest. Just as he suspected. Her entire body stiffened, though. He didn’t care. She smelled so good and felt even better. He placed a kiss behind her ear and a small tremor went through her.
“Everything’s fine now that you’re here, sweetheart,” he said gruffly, meaning it.
He shifted underneath her, his hardening dick sweet, sweet agony. “I want you so bad,” he breathed against her ear. “Please, give me one more chance.”
She elbowed him again, then jumped to her feet. Moving out of his reach, she faced him, hands on hips.
“Roxanne, babe, can you bring me some more eggs,” another biker whose name Knox nev
er bothered to learn, called.
She drew in a deep breath, then leveled Knox with one last glower. “Sure, Peaches,” she responded and hurried away.
His heart sinking, Knox watched as she went to the buffet table, grabbed a paper plate and hefted a mountain of eggs onto the styro-foam, then brought it to the table where Peaches sat with another big brute of a man. Knox’s location afforded him full view of her delicious ass.
“Ima meetcha outside, Mort,” Outlaw announced and walked away as Roxanne started a conversation with the two bikers.
For a moment, Mortician stared at Knox, then he rolled his eyes and grabbed a chair. He turned the back toward the table and straddled it.
“She love your dumb ass,” he grumbled. “So if you want her back, you need to straighten the fuck up.”
Knox processed those words, then started. “We’re still—”
“Please, motherfucker,” Mortician interrupted. “Don’t insult my fucking intelligence. Why you think me and Prez came back in here?”
“To kill me?”
“Can’t do that as long as Roxanne think to protect you, motherfucker.”
“Tell me what to do,” he whispered, all pretense gone. “I love her. Please. I’ll do anything.”
Mortician offered him a last glower before sighing and relaxing his shoulders. “Whatever you do to win her back got to be from the heart, Knox. I can give you fucking advice for days, but if the shit not real, it’s going to fall apart anyway.”
“I love her,” Knox repeated, just as he heard Roxanne’s joyous laughter rose above every other sound in the room. Inspiration struck again. “Suppose I become one of you?”
“A roughneck?” Mortician asked with an amused grin.
“Is that what club members are called?”
Mortician laughed. “No, fool. It’s up to you to find out what the fuck that is. So you want to become a Dweller?” he finished with skepticism.
He didn’t ride a bike. He didn’t have tattoos. He didn’t…No! Roxanne loved these people. “Yes,” he said with certainty.
“As initiation, you have to bury a motherfucker who a club enemy.”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 493