Ride With Me

Chapter Eighteen

Piper scoffed, a dismissive sound. "I've been racing these circuits since before I ever heard your name, Knox." She shifted carefully, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I've never run into someone like that bastard."

Knox tossed the pants aside, his focus returning to her. "Just because you haven't, doesn't mean you're safe." Piper stared at him, the sincerity in his voice palpable. There was no arrogance, no attempt to lecture or assert dominance. Only a deep, palpable fear, the kind he clearly didn't want her to see.

She lowered herself carefully onto the sleeping bag, the movement sending a fresh wave of ache through her shoulder. Knox turned away for a moment, searching through one of the bags beside the tent wall. He pulled out a pack of wipes, then sat beside her, his proximity a comforting presence. Piper looked down as he took her hand. There was dried blood along her fingers, his blood. She remembered grabbing his wrist after the fight, a desperate attempt to pull him away from Ryker, to stop him. Knox gently cleaned the crimson smears from her skin, his touch surprisingly tender.

"I should not have allowed you to race him," he said, his voice heavy with self-recrimination. "I could feel something wasn't right." His jaw flexed, a flicker of his earlier anger resurfacing. "I didn't trust my instincts."

"Knox," she whispered, her voice soft but firm.

He kept cleaning her hand, his gaze fixed on the task. "I should have stopped it."

"Don't," she insisted, her voice gaining strength. "Don't you dare blame yourself for something he did."

Knox stared at her, his eyes locked on hers. For several seconds, neither spoke, the air thick with unspoken emotion. Then, he tossed the bloody wipe into the trash bag beside him. He pulled out another. This time, he began to wipe the blood from his own knuckles. Piper watched him, her stomach twisting as she saw the deep cuts, raw and painful-looking.

"You should have those looked at," she said, her voice quiet.

"I'm fine," he replied, his tone dismissive.

She didn't argue. Instead, she watched as he pulled his bloodied shirt over his head, the movement revealing the intricate tapestry of his tattoos, now marked with bruises and tiny streaks of dried blood. Piper swallowed, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet tent. Not because she was attracted to him—not this time—but because suddenly, chillingly, she could see just how close everything had come to being much, much worse.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she finally spoke. "You could have killed him."

Knox looked at her, his expression hardening, the raw edges of his anger resurfacing. "He could have killed you." The words came clipped, immediate, absolute.

Piper looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. "I know."

"No," Knox's voice softened, but only slightly, the raw edge of his concern still present. "I don't think you do."

She looked back at him.

He leaned forward, his forearms resting against his thighs, his gaze earnest. "When I saw him hit you, I didn't know if you were alive."

Piper's chest tightened, a knot of emotion forming within her.

His eyes met hers, holding her captive. "Ben, Diesel, and Felix had to pull me off him." Piper went still, the admission hanging in the air between them. Knox looked down at his hands, his voice quiet, devoid of pride, devoid of excuse. "I couldn't stop. I saw him hit you, and everything in me went f*cking black."

Piper reached toward him with her good hand, her fingers closing gently around his wrist. He looked at her touch, then at her, his gaze searching. "You came to me," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Knox's brow furrowed. "I was supposed to."

"You could have kept going," she stated, the words a quiet observation, not an accusation.

His jaw tightened. "Not when they dragged me away." Piper studied him, the raw honesty in his eyes. Then her fingers curled more securely around his wrist, a gesture of connection. "You were angry."

Knox's eyes held hers, the unspoken truth passing between them. "Because he tried to take you away from me." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Piper's breath caught, her mind reeling. Knox seemed to realize what he had said at the same moment she did. Neither of them spoke. Then, he turned his hand beneath hers, threading his fingers through hers, his grip careful, warm, steady.

"I need you to understand something," he said, his voice low and serious. Piper waited, her gaze fixed on his. "Next time you see something like that happening, you don't worry about the race. You don't worry about your reputation. You don't worry about winning." His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a comforting, grounding gesture. "You get away."

She studied him, a small, wry smile touching her lips. "That's not really how racing works."

"I don't care," he stated, his voice absolute.

A tiny smile touched her lips. "You know, for someone who claims to trust me, you really don't like my decision-making."

Knox's mouth twitched, the corner of his lip rising. "I trust you." He paused, his gaze deepening. "I just don't trust everyone else."

Piper's smile faded into something softer, something more vulnerable. "That's fair."

Knox leaned back against the tent wall, their hands still intertwined, neither of them letting go. Outside, the distant sounds of the gathering slowly returned, a murmur of life resuming. But inside the tent, everything felt strangely quiet, a pocket of intimacy carved out from the chaos.

Piper looked down at their intertwined fingers, a silent testament to the unexpected connection that had formed between them. She had spent years building walls, making sure nobody knew where she was going next, who Jessica Rabbit really was, who she really was. Nobody got close enough to the matter. And now, she was sitting inside Knox Connor's tent, her shoulder aching, his blood on her hand, and his fingers wrapped carefully around hers. For the first time, being known, being seen in her vulnerability, didn't feel like a weakness. It felt dangerously close to being something else. Something she wasn't ready to name.