CHAPTER 5

***ZARA***

Maya stared at me, her chest heaving, tears brimming in her eyes. She knew I was right. In this city, when Blackthorn MC put a hit on your name, there was no court, no law, and no escape.

Reaching into her pocket with a shaking hand, Maya pulled out her car keys and shoved them into my palm again.

“Take my car then,” Maya choked out, wiping her eyes. “But if you're not back or calling me in three hours, Zee… I swear to God I'm going down to that club myself to burn it down.”

“Thank you, babe.” I choked out, throwing my arms around her neck for a brief, tight second before turning on my heel and sprinting out the back door into the pouring rain.

Fifteen minutes later, I slammed the brakes outside The Sanctuary Club.

Located in the heart of the South Side, the building was a massive, luxurious structure of glass and steel. Neon red letters glowed through the downpour, spelling out the club's name, while a line of luxury sports cars and custom Harleys sat parked beneath the VIP awning.

Two massive guards in black suits blocked the heavy velvet ropes at the front entrance.

“I need to see Knox Blackwood,” I blurted out, stepping out of the rain, my wet clothes clinging to my shivering skin. “Rook sent me. My name is Zara Bennett.”

The guard on the left scanned me from head to toe, taking in my soaked hair and pale, desperate face, before tapping his earpiece.

“Got a girl out front. Says Rook sent her. Zara Bennett.”

After a long pause, the guard unclipped the heavy brass chain.

“Top floor. Private elevator at the back of the VIP lounge. Don't touch anything.”

I didn't wait. I pushed through the heavy doors, and the bass of the club hit me like a physical wall.

Inside, The Sanctuary was pure, dark luxury. Dim purple lighting, plush velvet booths, glass stages where stunning dancers moved, and rich men spilling expensive liquor. I ignored the staring eyes, weaving through the crowded floor until I found the private elevator at the far back.

I stepped inside and pressed the button for the private office floor.

The heavy brass doors of the elevator slid open with a quiet chime, and I stopped short.

The private office I stepped into wasn't just big; it was overwhelming. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glowing, rain-slicked Chicago skyline, making the vast space feel impossibly large and intimidating. Rich dark hardwood floors, velvet couches, and a sprawling mahogany bar dominated the area.

Standing there in my soaked, cheap clothes, smelling like stale dive-bar beer, I had never felt smaller in my entire life. I felt like an intruder, an imposter who had wandered into the throne room of a kingdom I had no right to enter.

At the far end of the room, behind a massive wooden desk, sat a high-backed executive leather chair.

It was turned away from me, facing the glass windows. All I could see were two broad, muscular arms resting on the leather armrests, clad in a dark tailored shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Intricate dark tattoos snaked over thick forearms, veins standing out against golden-tanned skin.

He slowly rotated the chair.

When Knox Blackwood raised his head and his eyes locked onto mine, I forgot what I was about to say.

God.

The rumors I had heard painted him as a monster. A cold, ruthless, bloodthirsty biker who tore men apart with his bare hands. I had expected a scarred, terrifying savage—someone ugly and brutal enough to match the bloody stories whispered across the South Side.

Instead, the man sitting in front of me looked like a sculpted Greek god.

He was strikingly, ridiculously handsome. His dark hair was carelessly styled, falling slightly over his forehead and framing a sharp jawline covered in dark stubble. A fine, pale scar ran along his neck, but it didn't disfigure him. If anything, it made him look even more dangerous.

His eyes were gray, so light they looked almost silver, piercing straight through me with an intensity that made me suddenly aware of every inch of myself.

For one terrifying moment, my thoughts scattered. The panic, the hospital bills, my brother's kidnapping—it all seemed to fade beneath the sheer weight of his presence.

He wasn't just broad and intimidating. There was something else about him, something I couldn't put my finger on. A raw, intoxicating presence that made it difficult to remember why I was supposed to be afraid of him.

“Get a grip, Zara, my mind screamed, dragging me back to reality. He's the man holding the gun to Jake's head.

I forced myself to stand firm, clutching my soaking coat around myself as Knox slowly rose from his chair.

He didn't speak right away. He simply stared at me, his silver eyes following me with an intensity I couldn't understand as he walked around the desk.

He moved slowly but deliberately, his broad shoulders filling my field of vision until he stopped right in front of me.

His cologne reached me first.

Then there was the way he looked at me.

Something about it unsettled me, stirring a reaction I had no business having.

What is wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way about a stranger? Worse, a stranger who was about to have my brother killed.

“Zara Bennett,” Knox rumbled.

His voice was deep, laced with a natural command that seemed to settle over the room.

I forced myself to stand straight.

I had rehearsed what I would say during the entire drive. I needed to keep Jake alive first. Everything else—including my pride—could wait.

“Please,” I choked out, taking a frantic step backward until my spine met the cool glass wall of the elevator. “Please, Mr. Blackwood. Don't kill my brother.”

Knox didn't stop moving until he was towering directly over me, his broad frame blocking out the glowing city behind him.

He reached out, his thick fingers lifting my chin so I had no choice but to look into those piercing gray eyes.

The unexpected contact sent a sharp jolt through me, and I instinctively stiffened.

“Your brother broke into our vault and stole two hundred grand worth of custom silver artillery and our ceremonial sun-crest, Zara,” Knox said softly, his dark voice carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn't joking. “In my world, touching sacred club assets gets a man buried under six feet of concrete.”

“I'll pay it back!” I begged, my hands instinctively pressing against his chest to keep some distance, only to feel the solid muscle beneath his shirt. “I'll work for you. I'll do whatever it takes. Just let him go. Please…”

Knox released my chin and stepped back a fraction. A low, dangerous chuckle escaped him.

“Pay me back with what, Zara?” he asked, staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. “With your three hundred and forty-five dollars?”

My eyebrows furrowed.

How does he know that?

“Your mother is also in the hospital right now, and she needs forty-two thousand dollars to stay on life support, isn't it?”

I rolled my eyes at him, gradually becoming irritated by his arrogance.

“Have you been stalking me? How do you know so much about my life?”