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My neck strains as I shift to get a view of his perfect face. He looks so serious now. Not a trace of his humor is left behind on his solemn features.
“How?” One little word feels so much more than a question, more than a plea.
“His money cushions the pockets of many people, they reach beyond just this city.”
“Do you know who?”
“A few.” Knox’s attention drifts away from me as he talks. “He knows cops, lawyers, and criminals alike. Some people are just ordinary people paid for their eyes and ears. Others are laborers that cut down anyone in their path to obey our father in hopes for a favor in the future.”
His whiskey eyes turn back to me. “They’ll cut you down too, Vi.”
I intertwine my fingers with his, turning away but leaning into him with my spine melding against his hard chest. Warmth. His smell, his embrace is warm. Surprising considering how he wants everyone to think he has a cold, black heart.
“I’m not sticking around for this, Knox,” I say flatly into the shadows of the wall.
“He’ll find you. And if you run...he’ll kill you.” His arms cross over my body, hugging me closer. The caress tightening with each word as if he can’t let me go.
“Maybe I’ll kill him first.” It’s a muse that I speak out loud. Knox should know. He’s a survivor, too. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything I have to do to keep myself alive.
Knox releases a breath of laughter that flits along my skin until I feel it in my chest.
Every living cell of me burns in longing for more of his addictive touch. I twist inside his arms until we’re face to face. My chest rises and falls quickly beneath my camisole, his eyes darting there before they eventually make their way back up.
Playful, drawing out this moment I know will come to an end, I slide my hands up his neck, teasing my fingers into his thick dark hair. I hold his head steady to watch me. To breathe me in. To feel every painfully needy touch that escalates between us.
Carefully, I tilt my head toward his. Our lips brush. Electricity seems to flow between our bodies in a tight line that connects us. We’re magnets that belong together but the second we get close enough we’re pushing away. Not the right time or place.
But I want it. I know he wants it.
His eyes squeeze shut. His mouth parting, letting wet, hot air flush over my lips. I stay close enough if he moves a fraction, we could be sealed together in a kiss. Yet, I don’t let us touch. No, not fully pressing my mouth to his.
Because it’s too dangerous for me to get closer. To love him.
Instead, our lips brush in the simplest of ways, my words tensing his body the moment I speak them.
“There are some things so much worse than death, Knox.”
Thirty
Dee
Empty halls leave my footsteps echoing. My movements feel more direct, more purposeful today. I let steps carry me out over the freshly mopped tile floors, passing classrooms, offices, and trophy cases.
Light and sound only exist out of one room. The one room that I’m heading straight for.
The men’s locker room.
Holding my shoulders up straight, I wipe my sweaty palms along my skirt. I’ve never been in the men’s locker room. My god, please oh please, let the one person I’m looking for be alone. It’s just a room. I don’t know why it feels so taboo for me to enter.
Stepping in, the air feels sticky and thick against my skin like testosterone has a scent. And that scent is sweaty balls. Steam from a hot shower drifts along the back wall, the curtain closed. Two feet lightly tap against the draining water. Deep and lovely, a baritone voice carries along a flawless tune from an all too familiar song.
To think that Reed could sing. I try to stifle the laughter that threatens to bubble up. Not because he’s a bad singer, he is actually quite good, but because I think it’s just so crazy that someone so completely and utterly talented in other areas… football. I’m talking about football.
Sex. He is also good at sex.
Or the girls were incredibly good at pretending.
Anyway, he has so many talents already and I’ve never heard him sing a single verse. Or so much as hum. Oh, wait. That’s a lie. The thought hits me with startling realization. He does hum. A greedy sort of noise that borderlines a growl when he thrusts his hips into whatever flavor of the day he’s taken to bed.
