CHAPTER 042: On The Other Side Of The Door
AUTHOR’S NOTE: A Warning Before We Continue.
The last two chapters mark the beginning of a shift.
As stated in the synopsis, these characters are morally complex–and we’re about to start peeling back the layers. Things are about to get messy. Unhinged. Darker than before.
Every character is stepping into their truest form, from which they can either grow better or worse.
Choices will be made. Lines will be crossed. And not everyone will come out clean.
If you’re here for the ride, buckle up.
You’ve been warned.
– E. S.
***
~~KNOX~~
***
Years of patrolling enemy lines in the kind of places where men disappear without a trace taught me how to listen. Really listen. To the crack of a branch that means you’re not alone. I can tell the make of a gun just from the way someone cocks it in the dark. I can count how many people are in a room by the rhythm of their breath.
And the faint scuff I just heard inside Sloane’s closet? That was a leather–heeled dress shoe. Office–worn. Male.
There’s only one person pathetic enough, obsessed enough, and entitled enough to sneak into her space and hide in the dark.
I’d bet my entire fucking fortune it’s Finn.
I step toward the closet and press my hand against the wood.
He’s breathing. Not loud. But not trained either.
I catch the subtle trace of cologne, a familiar one that confirms my suspicion.
Finn.
Fucking Finn.
You’d think he’d reveal himself now that he’s been caught. That he’d step out of the damn closet and face me like a man. But no–of course not. That would require a spine. Finn’s never had one of those.
I stare at the sliver of darkness between the closet doors, my pulse loud in my ears.
Every second he stays hidden, my anger boils higher.
This has always been Finn. Since we were kids. Always needing to have the better things for himself, even when he doesn’t truly want them. He’d beg, borrow, steal–and lie through his perfect teeth if it meant he could have more. I let it go every time. Told myself it wasn’t worth the fight.
But then there was Lydia.
My jaw ticks.
Our little sister.
I’ve never forgiven him for that.
I force the thought away. I can’t go there.
Not right now. If I do, I’ll have to think about other things too. Enlisting. Deployment. Blood in sand. Screams in the jungle. Ghosts in the mirror. Scars.
I should open that door. Should rip him out of there by the collar, slam him against the wall, and make sure he never breathes Sloane’s name again.
But if I touch him right now, if I so much as lay a finger on him-
I don’t know what I’ll do.
The rage is that loud. That thick.
Successfully unlocked!
I can already imagine my hands closing around his throat, see the Whith bfhis eyes when he realizes I’m not joking
anymore.
Then-
A voice. Soft. Like a rope pulling me out of the storm.
CHAPTER 042: On The Other Side Of The Door
“Knox?”
I turn.
Sloane.
“What’s the problem?” she asks.
She’s still on her knees. Hands raised, cuffed. Hair hanging over her shoulders. The way she’s looking at me punches every thought clean out of my head. She’s so perfect.
“The closet,” I say. “Wonderful woodwork.”
She smiles. “It was a gift from my grandmother. In her younger years, she was kind of a professional divorcee. So she’s loaded.”
“A what?”
“You know. Marry a rich guy, make sure he’s in love enough to skip the prenup or sign a generous one. She’s been married five times.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I agree.”
I smirk. “You didn’t think to join the family business? Or is that what you’re doing right now? Trying to get me to fall in love and skip a prenup?”
“Fuck you, Knox.”
I grin as I move toward her, hand reaching for her face, thumb brushing her cheek. Her eyes go soft again, her body leaning into the touch.
“Oh, Bunny. I will fuck you, that’s for sure. I’ll take you so hard, you’ll probably have to call in sick tomorrow.”
She shudders beneath my hand, eyes going dark with need.
“Please,” she whispers.
“Please what, angel?”
“Take me.”
Behind me, I hear the noise again–the tiniest shift, the catch of breath, maybe even the brush of a knee against wood–but I don’t acknowledge it.
I could.
I could walk over there right now, rip that door off its hinges, and end whatever pitiful illusion Finn’s clinging to. But I don’t. Not yet.
Because I’m letting that darker part of me rise–the one I keep caged beneath charm and control, the one forged in heat and blood and loss. The part that doesn’t believe in mercy.
Right now, that part wants to mark what’s mine.
Right now, that part wants Finn to see it happen.
Let him sit there in the dark and listen to the sounds she makes for me. Let him realize he lost before he even stepped onto the battlefield.
She’s not his. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.
Let him cry about it. Let him spiral. Let him crumble beneath the weight of that truth.
But most of all?
Let him know that this space–this woman, this life–is mine now.
And there’s no room in it for both of us.
I unfasten my pants, letting them drop to the floor. Her eyes follow the movement. She’s watching me like I’m something holy. When I slide off my boxers, her gaze travels upward, lingering on the length of me, right where I’m already hard for her. Her stare only makes it worse.
And then I do something I haven’t done in a long time–not in front of anyone.
I reach for the hem of my shirt.
Pull it over my head in one swift motion.
Expose all of it.
For a beat, I just stand there. Her eyes widen, dragging slowly over the tattoos carved across my chest, my ribs, my arms.
Her mouth parts. “That’s a lot of tattoos.”
2/2
CHAPTER 042: On The Other Side Of The Door “Do you hate them?”
“No. I just… wish I could touch them.
No.
She can’t.
The tattoos–they look good. That’s the point. Years of careful planning, hours under the needle, making sure they were beautifully arranged, each one flowing into the next. I spent a fortune making them look like art.
But they’re not just ink.
They’re cover–ups.
Because if she touches them–really touches them–she’ll feel what’s underneath. The scars. The ones that don’t sit flush with the skin. The ones the artists had to work around, blend into shadows, hide beneath shading and lines.
And I can’t have that.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Because those scars… they come with stories. Stories I’ll never tell.
“Get on your feet,” I say. “I want to kiss you.”
四
