Page 27 of Knox

He offers me a seat on the sofa and leans back against the desk. “I’m going to get straight to the point because dancing around the situation isn’t going to cut it. Please let me speak and finish, it will be easier that way.”

I nod, but don’t have anything to say—not yet anyway.

“A few months ago, Knox asked me to look you up, to get some info on you. I didn’t know who you were or why he wanted to know.”

I go stock still when he says that. What the fuck is going on? Did Knox know it was me all along?

“Why?” I manage a single word without squeaking.

“He didn’t say, only that he wanted me to look you up. Maybe he was just interested in your career; he’d tried it and was pretty good. But Knox is good at anything he sets his mind to.” Drake sounds immensely proud of his brother. “Anyway, I did as he asked, and do you want to know what I found?” His eyebrow rises as if he’s waiting for an answer when we both know it was a rhetorical question.

I answer anyway. “What? Tell me what it is you want to know. Then I can tell you, and I can go and get my workout done.”

“Nothing,” he says, matter of factly. “By that, I mean there was no background on you. Sorry, there was one detail on Wiki, but we all know you can’t trust that. It said you moved to the UK when you were eighteen. That’s it, no parents, no education, no photos, or write ups of your previous fights. So, I got to thinking. What could’ve gone down to make that happen?”

I’m getting pissed off with his attitude. He’s on in soap box, for sure. Before I can open my mouth to put him in his place, he holds his hand up, stopping me from speaking.

“Let me finish. So, I gave the sparse findings to Knox, and nothing much was said about it. Until you show up in Saint’s studio for a tattoo. Again, there’s nothing unusual about that. Saint has clients fly in from over the world for his ink on their skin. It wasn’t until he mentioned it at Bound and showed us the finished work. But something else caught Knox’s eye: the tattoo that says Ellis.”

“Yeah, he told me it was that. It’s been there so long I forget I have it.”

“Let’s get back to my… What shall I call it? Musings, investigations, plain stark interest. Here’s the thing: why would he assume you were the man he thought was dead? There’s only one answer given that Knox knows you well enough to see through the changes—Dean Mitchell didn’t die. So, was it the drug squad or the secret service who approached you to make a deal?

I lean back on the sofa and close my eyes and sigh. “Why do you think it would be one of those? I could’ve done it myself.” I’m stalling for time; I should be thinking up some kind of line to fob him off. Tell him he’s talking out of his arse, except he’s too clever, and he’ll see straight through it in a heartbeat. Then the memory of Finn calling him 007 comes back to me. So I tell him, defeatedly, the one thing I was sworn to never say. “The secret service. They wanted to shut down the drug gangs.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” He’s pensive, probably thinking of the next thing to spring on me. “Look, it’s your life story, but if you want Knox in your life, if you want your friend back, tell him everything. He’s never got over leaving you behind, for him getting this life, and you dying for choosing yours.”

I never thought of him grieving or if he even knew. But for him to react to a small tattoo from so many years ago rocks me to my core.

Drake smiles now he’s got his answers. “What did you think of Bound? We were surprised to see you. I hope you weren’t too shocked by the activities my brothers like to enjoy.”

I let him laugh. “When you’ve seen all the activities and shit that goes down with drug dealers and pimps, not much shocks you anymore.” I stand up. “Anything else you want to know before I go?”

“No, we’re good. Have a good workout.”

I walk to the door, but as I turn the door handle, he calls out my name.

“Maddox, there’s one more thing. More for my interest than anything else. Who approached you?”

“A man called Pilkington.”

A smile creeps over his face. “The fucker is slacking. No background history published,” he mutters, just loud enough to be heard.

“I’m guessing you know him.”

“Something like that.” He’s still chuckling as I close the door behind me.

The gym is a lot quieter now, the boxing and football has finished, and all the kids have left for home. I catch Knox looking back from his conversation with Royal. As I smile, the frown he started with morphs into a tentative smile back at me. Royal looks at me; his smile is broader, more genuine. He says something to Knox, then turns away, walking to Memphis—his boy. The tenderness they share makes my chest ache for more, for the same.

I wonder where Roman is. Has he finished work yet? It’s heading into the late evening, but Knox doesn’t seem concerned. It’s none of my business anyway.

It’s time to make a move, to attempt repairing he bridge I burnt over ten years ago. If I can get us on solid ground and perhaps build a friendship again. Ultimately, I want more from him and the divine submissive. A negative thought creeps in, would we be equal Doms or would I be a third like the handsome black man.

That bothers me. It’s not what I want. I’m ready to settle down, to not have my brain punched or kicked around in my skull. It’s companionship, lovers who want me as much as I want them. While I never thought of Ellis in a sexual way—we were far too young and had been through too much abuse, both physically and mentally. But as the sexy man Knox is now, he presses all my buttons.

Knox makes his way towards me, his hands in the pockets of the low-slung grey sweatpants. “You survived Drake’s interrogation?” He smirks.

“He’s looking out for you; there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s right, anyway. I should be prepared to share my past, to tell you about how I came to this point. Who I am now. Would you be interested in listening?”