6. Knives

SIX

KNIVES

I shouldn't have made him leave.

I shouldn't have brought him here to begin with. Last night I'd been high on adrenaline and anger, and my sole focus had been keeping everybody else away from Maddox.

Now, all I can think of is the betrayal.

I don't know how I would have handled things in his position—but I do know I wouldn't have left him alone for the pigs to ambush. I wouldn't have left him to fend for himself after we'd vowed to always be there for each other.

Guess that's just something he said spur of the moment, and I'd been the only one who meant it.

I sit, drinking my cold, stale coffee, until my phone vibrates.

It's a call from Evan. I'm tempted to let it go unanswered, but he's essentially my boss. I hit the "accept" button with a sigh.

"Where are you?" Evan asks, sounding disgruntled. "I've got you lined up for a shift with Cristiano."

I glance at the time on my phone and groan. Fuck, I'd been sitting here for longer than I thought. I can't just tell him that I've been wallowing in memories though.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I've been looking into this BS with the missing shipments. Got a little caught up in it. I'm actually meeting with a contact soon."

"You couldn't have texted me to let me know?" Evan gripes. "Fuck. I was hoping to have a day off, Knives, not to have to go play lapdog for Cristiano."

He doesn't mean it, though. He likes being needed.

"You're lucky H has a shift today," he says.

Because he has to be up his boyfriend's ass twenty-four-seven—probably literally.

"Yeah, well." I wait a few beats before I ask, "You really can't convince Silvano that I'm better off doing my actual goddamn job?"

"I could convince him to buy a bridge in Benton City, N," Evan informs me loftily, only to let out an exaggerated sigh. "Of course I could. But S specifically asked for you, and bridges are hard to come by these days."

That's essentially what I'd thought. After all these months working with Silvano's organization—even guarding him a few times—I know what kind of man he is. He looks like a pushover, right until you actually try to go against him, and suddenly everything you know and love is in pieces around you.

I'll avoid pissing him off.

That does mean I need to do this fucking job to the best of my abilities. I've already got Lily working one angle, but there are other avenues I can look into.

"Ok, thanks, Evan. I'll be in tomorrow, probably."

"Probably," he repeats, disgruntled. "You'd better be. H is off work, and I have plans. Lots and lots of plans. Plans that don't involve trailing behind Cristiano fucking Fiore while he whines about whatever he's whining about these days. Probably you fucking up Club Alpha last night."

Jesus fucking Christ, how does he already know about that?

I grunt and say, "Whatever," before hanging up on him.

I'm going to hear him bitch about my attitude later, but I'm in too shitty of a mood to care.

Fucking Maddox.

After another cup of cold coffee, I scroll through my phone contacts until I end up on one that's listed as a lightning bolt emoji.

You free? Can you meet in 30 minutes? I text.

I know I'm out of it when the ding of the answering text startles me. I send my contact an address, then force myself to get dressed properly.

No matter what's going on with Maddox, I'm not going to disappoint the Cresci Family.

I , at least, am reliable.

I pull into the diner's parking lot. A good chunk of the letters on the sign are missing, so all it says is Cum Diner . I can't even guess what it used to say when the sign was new.

I spot a large Harley-Davidson parked close to the entrance, so I know my contact—my friend—is already there.

He doesn't stand out inside the diner, which is one of the reasons I picked this diner specifically. There are plenty of big burly truckers grabbing an early lunch before they continue on their long hauls.

I slide into the booth opposite of him, looking at the large breakfast plate he's ordered. I know it tastes good, but my stomach is still churning from all the bullshit that morning.

"Yo," I say, wincing at how gruff my voice comes out.

Thunder is a reedy guy, but he's got his own leather jacket with several patches that mark him as a member of a motorcycle club—realistically, a gang. He carries himself with a casual confidence that so many in here share, and I know that despite his relative size, he can more than hold his own in a skirmish.

I'd seen that firsthand when we'd served in prison together.

"You sound fresh as a daisy," he drawls. "Bright and full of sunshine." He flags the harried-looking waitress, who signals that she'll be a moment, then goes back to his own meal. He eats like he hasn't eaten in weeks, but then, he always has. It's like he thinks someone will try to steal it if it isn't consumed quickly enough, though where all that food goes, I'm not quite sure.

"Yeah, well. I had a night," I grumble. "At least you're doing well."

"Just peachy," Thunder says between bites. He flashes me a sunny smile. "So what's up? Right in the middle of a…" He tilts his head, considering. "Project. It's a fun project, too, speaking of sunshine and rainbows."

"That's nice for you." I sigh and raise my hand. "Sorry. This fucking thing I'm working on is pissing me off. Hopefully you can help me make it less of a headache."

"You get too many headaches, Knives," he chides me just as the waitress comes over to us. "Want something? It's on me, seeing as how I can't do anything about the headache or the storm clouds."

"Funny," I say, deadpan. "Coffee and the house pancakes, please. Extra blueberries on the pancakes."

The woman nods to me, her smile dropping after one glance at me, and jots a few marks down on the pad of paper she's carrying. "Yep, got it."

She vanishes into the busy restaurant, leaving Thunder and me alone in the chaos.

"So anyway, I wasn't able to find out much," Thunder says, chewing on a piece of flaccid-looking bacon. "Sorry, man, but whoever stole your package covered their tracks good. Chatter I've heard stops right in New Valence."

It's what I already know, which is irritating.

I groan and massage my brow. "You gotta have more than that. I need to get this shit done sooner rather than later."

"I'm not psychic," he says, stabbing at his eggs. "Just because I'm from New Valence doesn't mean I know everything going on there. Especially now. You know my crew is more in the northeast these days."

I give him an unimpressed look. "So when you were bragging about having connections to all the, ah, cool shit in New Valence, you were just making it up?"

"Of course I wasn't making it up," Thunder scoffs. "Look, I can give you a few rumors. You want confirmed shit, you gotta give me more time to see who's just blowing smoke and who's actually sitting on a new gold mine." His expression turns crafty, and he leans forward. "Speaking of gold mines…"

I sigh, but I slide a small piece of paper over to him. It's got information about a new drug shipment from one of our rivals.

"I'm risking my neck giving this to you," I whisper. "So don't do anything that could be traced back to me."

His eyes light up, and he takes the paper, folding it and sliding it into his pocket. "Ooh, fun stuff. Is it written in code?"

I roll my eyes. "Sure. You can decode it with the special decoder ring that comes with the kids' meal here."

In truth, Silvano had expressed that it would be convenient if that shipment disappeared. Thunder doesn't need to know that though. I'm certain he's being coy with his information on purpose, too.

"Well, since we're being generous…" Thunder takes the last bites of his meal just as the waitress arrives with mine. He waits until she's gone before he continues, "I got a friend down in NewVa who was complaining that some of the Demon Gators members were acting a little too self-important. Asked me if I knew what their big score was, since they've got a chapter up here. I hadn't heard anything, but now I'm thinking…"

Fuck, I don't want to deal with bikers. We can negotiate with other mafia groups or even some of the more loosely organized gangs, but bikers? They don't respect our authority. It doesn't usually matter, since they operate more on smaller scales, but if they've taken to hitting our supply lines, we've got a problem.

"How legit do you think this is?" I ask.

"Legit enough for me to tell you." He nudges my plate. "You should eat up, big man. You gotta keep up your strength if you're gonna chase some guys down to NewVa. And say hello to Nev while you're down there. Tell her we'll be down there, eh… Soon."

I'm not actually hungry, but he's right. I end up eating all the blueberries first, picking at the fluffy pancakes in smaller portions.

"So what's the other guy look like?" he asks casually, right as I take a bite.

I choke on my food and reach for my glass of water to stop the coughing. Once I've recovered, I glare at him. "What other guy?"

"The guy who clocked you right in the face," Thunder says. "C'mon, you didn't really expect me not to comment, did you? For what it's worth, you rock the bruised look something fierce."

I reach up to touch my bruised eye. It aches, but not anymore than any other bruise I've had. It's not obscuring my vision, and I'd honestly forgotten it was there until he'd brought it up.

No wonder the waitress had given me a strange look.

"It's nothing," I mumble. "Just a stupid argument."

"Uh huh." He doesn't sound like he believes me. "Look, man, I know it's been a minute since we were, you know," he says with a wave of his hand. "But we're still friends, right?" He flashes me a toothy grin. "I still tell you my secrets." He leans in. "Now stop being cagey and tell Uncle Thunder what happened to poor baby Knives."

I snort in amusement. ""Uncle ' Thunder? You're what, five years older than me? At most, you could be a brother." I rub my eye, pressing into the bruise, and let out a sigh. "It was that guy I told you about. The one who landed me in jail in the first place."

Thunder whistles, leaning back in his seat. "You're still talking to him?" He looks me over briefly. "Well. I guess ‘talking' is the wrong word. I told you, fuck him. He abandoned you, Knives," he says, sounding more serious now. "It's his fault you had to room with a lowlife like me for five years during our state-mandated vacation."

"If I had a fucking choice, I would not be talking to him," I say with a growl. "New Bristol is one of the largest fucking cities in the country, but somehow we both ended up working for the same fucking organization. And now the boss wants us to work on a project together." I clench my fists in anger. "Like he fucking thinks this is going to fix our issues."

I've been doing more than talking to Maddox though. The fucking is incidental though. Just me putting him in his place.

Maddox might have said he didn't want me to touch him anymore, but I don't give a damn about what he wants. Besides, I know better.

"Damn," Thunder says, and he actually sounds sympathetic. "Your boss sounds like a real sadistic cunt for that. Does he know you have a history?"

"I don't fucking know. I mean, I've made it clear I don't like him." I sit back, trying not to let the anger overtake me again. "I don't know how often I can warn them that Maddox is an unreliable asshole. Nobody believes me."

Thunder shakes his head. "Yeah, well. They'll learn at the worst possible moment, I guess." He gulps the rest of his soda down, setting the empty glass back on the table. "In the meantime, that sucks, man."

It's always amazing to me how much Thunder manages to eat. He'd complained constantly about how hungry he was back in prison; only after we'd both been released did I get to see why.

"Anything going on in your life?" I ask, content with my single plate of food. "Tell me something more interesting than this shit I'm dealing with."

The waitress brings him another soda, and he nods to her before turning back to me with a wolfish smile. "Got a new boyfriend," he says, obviously trying for modest and failing miserably.

"Don't you already have one?" I ask, arching a brow.

"Yep. And?" he asks, giving me a look that dares me to judge his love—or sex—life.

I try to imagine having more than even one lover, and that's another thing I can't fathom about him. If I'm with someone, they'd be the only person I would think about. I'd want to be the only one in their life, too. I wouldn't be able to handle watching, or even knowing, that they're fucking somebody else, letting another man whip them, getting dominated by some fucking nobody loser who can't even hold a whip properly?—

I break that train of thought and scowl. "That's great. Dunno how you find the time to fuck two people all at once."

Thunder laughs. "Not always all at once! Sometimes they do their own thing. Sometimes I just watch. But this new one… god, he's such a sweet little thing. Small . I didn't think I'd like ‘em small, but something about his blowjob lips…"

"Guess it's the blowjob lips that does it, then," I point out. Fuck, I'm supposed to be happy for him, not start wallowing in more misery.

Thunder seems to pick up on my mood. "Clearly you aren't getting laid enough. When's the last time you had sex?"

"Last night," I blurt out with irritation—and realize a second too late exactly what I've admitted.

"Last night?" Thunder repeats. "Was that before or after you got beaten by Maddox?"

"After," I mutter. "Never mind. It wasn't very good. Just a parking lot fuck."

"A parking lot fuck with who?" he asks suspiciously, though from the look on his face, he already knows the answer.

"Look, he was…" I scratch at my beard, feeling angry and awkward. "He was being needy. Sort of in subspace, sort of not, and we were both high on adrenaline from the fight, and…"

Thunder's eyes narrow. "Well, you just complicated everything in your life," he says. He regards me for a moment, then asks slowly, "Was that the first time you two fucked since… you know?"

"Yes," I answer—a bit too quickly.

Thunder gives me a look. "Are you fucking shitting me? After you went on and on about how much you hated that fucker?"

"I do!" I protest. "But come on, hating somebody doesn't mean you can't fuck ‘em. Or we'd never have gotten laid in prison."

"You never hated me," he says, smirking at me. "Even if we couldn't decide who got to top." The smirk fades, though. "Knives, you've gotta stop. I know hate sex can be hot, but it's not good for you. Do you even talk to each other, or is it just a fuck and run?"

I groan and avert my gaze. "I know, all right? And anyway, he was pretty clear we aren't repeating anything."

Which shouldn't bother me, because I don't want to be fucking near him.

Yeah.

Just like I didn't want to fucking touch him that first time either.

Or the next, or the next.