Prologue
The pounding on his apartment door had Nox cursing under his breath.
“Nox,” he heard yelled through it.
It sounded like Cross.
What the hell did he want?
Pulling in a breath, Nox tamped down his annoyance. He loved his brothers and he’d do anything for them, so he wished he didn’t get so fucking irritated when they tried to include him in shit.
Some days were worse than others. There was no rhyme or reason for it, but today was one of those days.
He’d even struggled with working up on the third floor with the task force and had headed down to his apartment earlier than he should have. If Crew had a problem with it, the task force leader knew where to find him.
Normally, Crew left him alone because Nox spent more than a normal amount of time upstairs working. Usually late at night when he couldn’t sleep.
Or when he didn’t want to sleep.
When he knew closing his eyes would be more difficult than trying to keep them open.
More pounding. “Nox! You in there?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, putting down the biography he was reading, then forced himself to his feet and over to the door.
With his hand on the knob, he took a few seconds to brace himself before flipping the deadbolt and yanking open the door.
Aiden Cross, the Blue Avengers MC secretary and a Southern Allegheny Regional PD officer, stood before him with concern not very well hidden on his face. But that wasn’t all…
He was nervous about something.
“Need you downstairs.”
Dread filled Nox’s chest. “Who does?”
“Jamison asked me to come get you for a quick meeting.”
It had to be Blue Avenger business since the prez wasn’t on the task force. But their club’s meetings took time and effort to schedule since it was difficult to get all of them together with their various work schedules. So, yeah, something was off with this whole thing. “About?”
Cross shifted from one foot to the other. “He didn’t say. He only asked me to get you.”
This was smelling like bullshit. “Everybody else here already?”
“Everybody who can be. We’re only waiting on you.”
“I must’ve missed the original memo,” he said dryly, since they did not schedule BAMC meetings on the fly. “You could’ve just texted me.”
“I needed the exercise.” Cross’s Adam’s apple jumped.
Nox wasn’t liking this.
Not at fucking all.
Cross tipped his head and turned. “C’mon. Let’s go before we’re late.”
“Cross,” Nox started with a warning in his voice, but the man was already jogging down the steps.
Setting his jaw, he stepped out and locked the door behind him.
He paused on the second-floor landing and stared down at Cross now waiting at the bottom. Sucking on his teeth, Nox slowly followed.
Every step he took down the stairs felt weighted. As if he wore cement blocks instead of boots.
When he got to the foot of the stairs, Cross opened the building’s side door and waved him inside.
He met the man’s eyes for a moment, took a breath and then walked through the BAMC’s meeting room, the only way to get into their church besides the rear entrance.
Two ways in.
Two ways to escape.
With Cross close on his heels, Nox stepped out of the room where the executive committee met and into the clubhouse’s common area.
There, he stopped short and took them all in.
Grim expressions. Nervous gestures. Perched stiffly on the three couches and some chairs set around that sitting area.
All eyes turned toward him.
This was not a goddamn BAMC meeting. “What the fuck is this?”
Cross was suddenly crowding him and pressing a firm hand to his back, urging in a strong voice, “Go have a seat.”
Nox’s nostrils flared and his jaw flexed. “No. We had no meeting scheduled, so I don’t know what the fuck this is.”
When he turned, Cross quickly blocked him from leaving the same way they came in.
He spun on his heels and was about to head toward the back door when, just as quickly, Decker was there, blocking his path.
“Get out of my way, brother,” Nox warned just loud enough for Decker to hear. “Don’t fucking do this.”
Decker’s lips pressed together so tight, they were nothing but a slash.
Nox’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. “Deck…”
“Have a seat,” Jamison called out.
With a glance over his shoulder, Nox saw the club president pointing to the only empty spot on the center couch. The middle cushion, of course, so he’d be flanked by two of his brothers.
“Is this task force business?” he asked Crew, not bothering to mask the betrayal in his voice. He already knew it wasn’t because only BAMC members were in the room, but he was looking for any way to stall what was about to come next.
The task force leader answered, “No, but you still answer to me.”
“Not off the clock,” Nox reminded him.
Before Crew could respond, Jamison rose from his seat. “If you want to be that way, you do answer to me. I’m not only your sergeant at SVPD, I’m your prez.” He jabbed a finger toward the couch. “Now sit the fuck down.”
Nox’s spine snapped straight, and his chin lifted in defiance. “You can’t force me to do shit.” He turned again, only to find himself toe-to-toe with Cross. “Get the fuck out of my way.” His fingers curled into fists, an automatic reaction to the flight or fight instinct since no one was letting him leave.
Cross shook his head. “No, brother, I’m not going to do that.”
“Nox,” Jamison called out. “Do us a favor and give us a few minutes of your time. That’s all we’re asking.”
“You’re not asking. You’re telling. I don’t like being ambushed.”
“And we don’t like having to ambush you,” Crew insisted.
“But you did it anyway.”
Finn threw his hands up. “Because we had no choice! C’mon, man, just sit so we can get this over with.”
“You’re family and we all love you like a brother, and you have us all worried,” North said next.
Nox pulled at his chin and let his gaze circle the group. “What’s this about?”
He knew. He fucking knew.
“Sit and we’ll explain,” Jamison urged. “If you want to keep your job at SVPD and also stay on the task force,” Nox did not miss him and Crew exchanging glances, “you need to sit.”
“What are you going to do, fire me?”
“I’ll put you on administrative leave,” Jamison threatened, “and if you’re on that, you’ll be automatically removed from the task force.”
Jesus fucking Christ. If he lost his job and was also removed from the task force, he’d have nothing left to keep his mind busy.
His own brothers were hobbling him. “For my own good, right?”
Did he sound bitter? Yeah well, he was fucking more than bitter.
“Yes, Nox, for your own good,” Jamison answered. “Now, don’t make me do shit I don’t want to do.”
“Then, don’t.”
Pinching his nose, Crew dropped his head. Without warning, the man surged to his feet and yelled, “You’re off the task force!”
The room went dead silent at that outburst.
He glared at Nox as he spat out, “You made your choice, now you have to live with it. You can go back to SVPD and working patrol.”
“No, he won’t.” Jamison shook his head. “Like I said, with the way he is right now, I’ll be talking to the captain. He won’t be on patrol, either.”
Nox’s gaze bounced from Crew to Jamison before it dropped to his boots. He pulled in a deep breath, held it and, after a few moments, released it.
He needed to go.
He needed to get the fuck out of that room.
He masked his expression when he lifted his head and considered them all.
Everyone in that room loved him like family. They cared about him. They were worried about him.
That was cemented when Rez said softly, “We love you, brother. If you love us, then you’ll hear us out.”
Fuck.
His heart knew they cared about him, but his brain was still screaming at him to escape. They warred with each other.
The bottom line was, he needed his job, he needed the task force, and he needed his brotherhood.
The last being the most important.
He’d be nowhere right now without them. Maybe not even breathing.
With a single nod, Nox went over and sat in the spot where Jamison had pointed.
Avoiding everyone’s eyes, he stared straight ahead at the wall. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You’ve fallen down that deep, dark well again,” Jamison started.
Nox’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine.”
“You were getting to that point,” Rez agreed. “Until we found Sadie. Something triggered you when we did.”
A switch flipped inside him when he saw Sloane’s sister was nothing but a cold, defiled corpse on that bed. Even though he knew the woman had been dead long before her last breath.
She had given up. She had let her addiction rule her life.
No differently than Nox giving up and letting grief rule his. It smothered him like a weighted blanket he couldn’t shake free.
“We can guess what,” Decker added, “so we don’t need to discuss those details, but we do need to discuss you.”
He definitely didn’t want to relive the moment when he stared into that motel room in Ohio.
“I’m fine,” Nox repeated, trying to stay focused on the blank screen of the TV, instead.
“I wish that was true.”
When he heard Crew’s agonized whisper behind him, Nox yanked his baseball cap even lower to hide any reaction.
Cross spoke next. “We’re here for you. No matter how bad it gets. But none of us have the skill or experience needed to truly help you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Christ almighty!” Crew barked, making Nox jolt in his seat. “You’re not. Did you forget we knew you before…” The man blew out a breath and continued, “We knew you when you were fine. You are far from that now, brother. You can keep saying that, but it’s all bullshit.”
The view of the TV disappeared when someone stepped in front of him and a hand appeared before his face. In Jamison’s hand were a business card and a pamphlet. “Take them.”
Nox wouldn’t take them because he wanted the info, he would take them simply to get this shit over with.
He quickly scanned them both.
One was a business card to a cognitive behavioral therapist, the other for a grief support group. Not the same group he had attended right after Jackie’s death.
Thank fuck. He had hated that group, and he was never going back.
The group leader had constantly urged Nox to “get in touch with his feelings.” That was impossible because, at the time, Nox didn’t have any. He’d been nothing but a hollow shell.
This pamphlet was for a group specifically meant for spouses and loved ones of law enforcement and military, whether lost in the line of duty or not.
Nox asked, “I get to pick?”
“No,” Jamison answered. “You’re going to do both.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to argue. They weren’t doing this to hurt him. They were doing this to help.
As he stared at the back of his closed eyelids, he relived something that had stuck with him.
A conversation that took place on the day of Sadie Parrish’s funeral.
Right after the graveside service, Nox had picked up Val, Decker’s four-year-old, and set her on his hip to carry her back to the line-up of parked vehicles.
Valee Girl had wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and pressed her forehead against the side of his head. “Uncle Nox?”
Her soft, cautious whisper got him right in the chest. “Yeah, baby?”
“Why are you so sad?”
“Today’s a sad day.”
“But… you’re always sad.”
Jesus.
“Daddy says it’s ‘cause of Aunt Jackie.”
Your daddy isn’t wrong. “Do you remember her?”
“A little bit.”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember her sneakin’ me a lollipop after Daddy said I couldn’t have one.”
At the time, Nox had closed his eyes and swallowed down the uncomfortable lump wedged in his throat.
That lump had returned, and no amount of swallowing could get rid of it.
When he finally opened his eyes, he looked directly at Jamison.
He gave the man a single nod and an, “Okay.”
