CHAPTER 055: Make It Stop
Knox walks over without a word, climbs into the bed, and pulls me into him. One arm drapes over my waist, the other reaches out and turns off the bedside lamp.
Darkness fills the room.
I can feel the thump of his heart beneath my cheek.
I slide my hand down, fingers trailing the hem of his shirt and then slipping beneat. His skin is hot, tight over muscle. I keep going, dipping under the waistband of his pants. The elastic snaps as my wrist slips past it.
I find what I’m looking for with no effort.
Hard already. Just from being close.
The part of him that’s ruined me more times than I can count. The part that makes me forget my name when it’s inside me.
It twitches in response to my touch, like it’s greeting me. Like it remembers me too.
My fingers graze the piercing, and even in the dark, I can feel his breath hitch. Just a small break in the rhythm, a crack in the calm.
God, I love that.
“Did it hurt when you got pierced?”
“Somewhat.”
“Why’d you get it?”
“Because I like pain. And because I like to give pleasure.”
I smirk, but before I can go further, he grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out, placing it flat against his stomach.
“What?” I whisper. “I wasn’t done exploring.”
“Go to bed, Sloane.”
“Wait. You’re seriously planning to sleep?”
“What else do you do on a bed?”
“Things.”
“You’re a horny little thing, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
He kisses my forehead. “That’s great and all, but tonight… you’re sleeping.”
I pout, but a yawn slips out before I can argue. Traitorous body.
“See?” he murmurs. “I can’t maul a tired woman.”
“Your dick will put me to bed.”
“You know what else would?”
“What?”
“A lullaby.”
My head lifts. “You’re going to sing to me?”
“It’s a song I learned in the army.”
“The army? You served?”
“Mmhmm.”
And then, out of nowhere, he begins to sing.
The melody is low and strange. The language is familiar, but I can’t place it. Surprisingly, his deep voice is not as horrible as I expected it to be.
“What’s that language?” I whisper.
“Russian,” he says. “Learned it from a bunkmate. He said it reminded him of his daughter. See, his wife was Russian, she usually put their daughter to bed with the song. So before he slent be ing it every night. Drove the rest of us c.
But over time, it stuck.”
“You sing it now?”
“In remembrance of him.”
“He died?”
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CHAPTER 055: Make It Stop Knox goes quiet.
“Happens,” he finally says.
“How?”
“We were captured.”
Before I can ask anything else, before I can prod the edges of that wound he just casually revealed, he starts singing again. Same melody. Same low hum of syllables I can’t quite make out.
I recognize the weight of grief when I hear it, though. It’s in the way his voice dips, then swells again–like he’s trying to keep it steady.
So I don’t interrupt.
I don’t speak.
I just lay there and let him sing.
Let the soft rumble of his chest against my cheek lull me into sleep.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.
I close my eyes and breathe him in. His arm curls around me, his thumb brushing lazy circles along my spine.
I don’t know what this is between us–this strange, magnetic thing. It’s not love, not yet. But it’s not lust anymore either.
It’s terrifying.
I fall asleep like that–pressed against his body, surrounded by Russian lullabies and quiet grief, and thoughts I don’t have names for.
Thoughts like: I’ve never felt safer in my life.
And I don’t think I ever want to leave.
I wake to trembling.
At first, I think it’s me.
A dream, maybe. But then I feel it again. Not mine.
Him.
Knox.
His body jerks beneath me, not violently, but enough to shake the mattress. His chest is tight against my neck, and I can feel the tension in him–tight like a pulled wire ready to snap.
I shift slowly, raising my head to face him in the dark. I reach forward and turn on the lamp. His face is twisted, caught somewhere between pain and fear. Lips parted. Eyes moving under closed lids. But it’s not the typical twitch of REM sleep.
It’s too still. Too tense.
“No…” he murmurs, breathless. “No. Make it stop. Make it stop…”
His whole body flinches.
“Knox,” I whisper, reaching out, my palm finding his shoulder. “Knox, wake up.”
No response.
Just a sharp exhale and another tremble. Sweat beads at his temple. His hands are fisted in the sheets. His breathing turns shallow, rapid.
“Knox,” I say again, louder this time, shaking him. “Knox, wake up–please.”
But his eyes snap open–and they’re wrong.
All white.
No pupils. No black. Just… white.
I freeze.
He’s not awake. I can feel it in my gut. See it in his blank, focused stare. He’s trapped somewhere else. Some mem nightmare so deep it’s clawed him open.
“Make it stop,” he says, again. His voice is a rasp. His hands suddenly shoot out.
He pins me.
—-ziste caught beneath his palms, pressed into the
CHAPTER 055: Make It Stop
“Who sent you?” he growls.
“Knox,” I whisper, heart pounding. “It’s me. It’s Sloane.”
His eyes stay empty.
“Who sent you?” he says again, louder this time. “Answer mel”
My brain scrambles. My body tenses. He’s stronger than me–way stronger–and the way he’s holding me down, the way his chest heaves like he’s still stuck on a battlefield–it terrifies me.
“Knox, please,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re dreaming. It’s just a dream.”
His hands tighten around my wrists. I wince.
This is not Knox.
Not the man who kisses my forehead in the dark.
Not the man who sings lullabies in Russian and arranges shoes like a monk,
This is something else. Something he’s fought to bury.
And it’s surfacing now–through me.
My heart is thrashing in my ribs. I can’t move. Can’t scream. But I try again anyway. “Knox,” I say louder this time. “Look at me!”
He flinches.
The whites of his eyes flicker. His grip loosens slightly.
“It’s me,” I say. “Sloane. Bunny. You’re home. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe.”
Silence.
Then his body shakes again, like something’s breaking inside him. A harsh, low breath leaves him, and his weight collapses -just barely, just enough for me to shift one wrist free and cup his face.
His jaw is clenched tight. His eyes blink, hard, twice–and then, finally, the black returns.
Focus.
Recognition.
And horror.
He blinks at me, panting. “Fuck.”
His entire body pulls away like he’s been burned. He scrambles back, nearly falling off the bed, one hand pressed to his chest, the other shaking in the air like he’s not sure what’s real.
“I–I didn’t mean to-” His voice breaks. He looks like he’s about to be sick.
