Chapter 127
Chapter 127
By some miracle, I make it to the weekend without picking a full–blown fight with Knox.
The weird part is, I’m not even sure why I’m mad.
It’s not Knox’s fault that some ex–military guy he used to be friends with went full psycho and dragged us into his vendetta. The entire typing up a resignation letter at my desk in the middle of a workday, claiming terminal illness.
Terminal. Illness.
I even picked Fiji. Said I wanted to spend the rest of my short life soaking in blue lagoons and drinking out of coconuts.
And yes, I typed it on their printer. On company time. Used their office paper. Their ink.
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had me
That job had been the only stable thing in my life for six years. Same desk. Same chair. Same perfect view of Harper’s resting bitch face through the glass wall of her office, directly across from mine. I’ve been here through it all–birthdays, breakdowns, Finn’s many heartbreak–induced crash outs courtesy of Delilah, nights that ended with me passed out under my desk in the morning, granola bar in one hand, phone dead in the other.
And now I’m leaving it behind because a man I’ve only met once thinks I’m a pawn in his revenge plan.
I know it’s the right call. I can’t keep showing up to the same building at the same time every day like I’m not being watched. I’m not an idiot. Mateo’s unpredictable, and Knox is right–my safety comes first.
And yeah, sure. I’m good at what I do. I could walk into another job tomorrow if I wanted. Especially with Knox already whispering about his mysterious connections and people he has “everywhere.” Like some sort of darkly dressed LinkedIn fairy godmother.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to sulk.
Sulking is my right.
And of course, Friday made everything worse.
Word got out that I’m not just quitting–I’m dying. No one said it outright, but their eyes did. The soft smiles. The long pauses when I walked into a room.
Even Harper–yes, Harper, my emotionally constipated supervisor who’d barely spoken to me since those promotion rumors started–suddenly decided she has a heart. She stopped by while I was boxing up six years of my life: my sticky notes, thumbtack photos, mugs I’d never once used but still refused
to toss.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
“Fine,” I replied without looking up.
“Would you maybe like to step out for lunch later? My treat.”
I glanced up, surprised. Harper offering to buy rne food was the corporate version of a crocodile knitting you a sweater.
“No thanks,” I said.
She nodded quickly and awkwardly before walking away.
The walls in that place had ears. And apparently very active mouths.
Now it’s Saturday, and I’ve loaded everything can into two oversized bags. One is half–stuffed with books I picked up at the library earlier the ot clothes and toiletries and whatever else felt important enough to drag into temporary exile.
I’m currently sitting on the second bag, trying to force the zipper closed with all my body weight.
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Chapter 127
“Let me help you with that,” Knox says.
I look up. He’s standing just inside the doorway, arms folded, wearing one of those perfectly casual outfits that somehow still manages to highlight every
muscle on his frame.
“I got it,” I say, gritting my teeth as I give the zipper one final, desperate yank. The bag shuts beneath me.
“Are you still mad at me for wanting to protect you, or is this a strong independent woman moment?”
I glare at him. “What am I supposed to do while caged up in a club?”
“You have your books,” he replies, gesturing to the top of the bag like it’s a valid point.
“Books. Really?”
“There’s TV. Music. A jacuzzi. Champagne.”
“Fuck you, Knox.”
He smirks and drops to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes trailing me as I stand up and set both bags upright beside me.
“Just a couple of days, pretty,” he says. “We’ll get you back into civilization once I’ve made sure Mateo isn’t a problem anymore. Look at the good side. You get to spend time with a few degenerates, learn some slang, pick up a few bad habits. Most of them are just as crazy as you. You might not want to leave.”
“Haha. Funny.” I fold my arms. “It’s weird that you’ve never mentioned taking me to your club until now.”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure I wanted you in the club before.”
“Then why now? Why not just fly me out of the country or something?”
“Flying you out would mean not seeing you for a while. I can’t have that. We’re still in the honeymoon phase of this relationship. You understand, don’t you?”
I narrow my eyes. “Maybe.”
“And it would mean running away. I don’t run from my problems.”
“So you’re okay with me seeing your club now?”
A strange look crosses his face. “I think I’ve studied you enough to know that even if you found out kill people, you wouldn’t leave.”
“That’s a whole lot of presumption.”
“Is it?”
“Well, do you kill people?”
“You’d want to know, wouldn’t you? So you can have another excuse to be mad at me.”
He stands and crosses the space between us, pulling me to him by the waist. His body is all heat. I realize he’s right about this being the honeymoon phase—because certainly, in a year’s time or maybe a few messy months from now, I’ll be immune to this. Immune to the way his touch short–circuits my brain, the way my body leans in before I even tell it to. But right now? Right now, it feels like I’m burning alive, and I don’t even want to put the flames.
out.
“I love you, you stubborn woman,” he says. “And I want you to get your ass right now to the club before it’s night. So you don’t look like fresh meat to
customers.
I roll my eyes and reach up on tiptoe, pecking him quickly on the lips. But he doesn’t let me drop back down. His hands anchor me in place, and f
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deepens the kiss, mouth coaxing mine open in that slow, firm way that makes my knees tremble.
By the time he releases me, I’m breathless.
“I love you too, gangster boss. See you later tonight,” I manage to say, straightening.
“Certainly. Are you still making a stop at your father’s house?”
I tilt my head. “Is my mother still at my father’s?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then I am.”
“Don’t stay too long,” he says, already reaching for my bags before I can.
I follow him out of the room, fuming slightly.
He’s had his fun trying to make me delay this visit since Thursday. But I’m done stalling. I need answers. I’m not leaving that house until someone tells me what the fuck is going on.
And thank God Knox won’t be there to try and talk me out of it with his wise words about me staying out of grown folks‘ business.
My father’s business has been my business for twenty–eight years.
AD
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