Chapter11
1344 Words
Knox
I can't sleep.
I've been lying on the couch in the back office for two hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying the look on Sam's face when I told her my story. The way her eyes went wide. The way her breath caught.
The way she looked at me like I was someone different than who she thought I was.
I don't know if that's good or bad.
Around 1 AM, I give up on sleep and head to the front of the shop. The overhead lights are off, but the security lights outside cast enough glow through the windows that I can see. I grab a water from the mini fridge and lean against the workbench, trying to quiet my mind.
That's when I see headlights pull into the lot.
I freeze, my hand going instinctively to the knife I keep clipped to my belt.
But then I recognize the car. Sam's car.
What the hell is she doing here at one in the morning?
I move to the window, staying in the shadows, and watch as she parks near the edge of the lot. She sits there for a minute, like she's psyching herself up for something. Then she gets out, locks the door, and starts walking.
Not toward the shop.
Toward the street.
My stomach drops.
I know exactly what she's doing.
She's going to look for Tina.
Damn it, Sam.
Hank told her to stay out of it. Told her it was too dangerous. But of course she didn't listen. She never does when she thinks she can help.
I grab my jacket and keys and slip out the side door, keeping my distance as I follow her on foot. She's walking fast, her hands
shoved in her pockets, her head down. She doesn't look back.
She doesn't know I'm here.
Good. She'd probably tell me to go home.
She walks three blocks to a dive bar on the edge of town—a place I know too well. It's a spot where bikers from other crews hang out. Not our people. Not safe people.
My jaw tightens as I watch her hesitate at the door, then push it open and walk inside.
What are you thinking, Sam?
I wait thirty seconds, then follow her in.
The bar is dimly lit, smoky, and loud. Classic rock plays from a jukebox in the corner. There are maybe twenty people inside—mostly men, mostly rough-looking. A few women at the bar, but they're not here for fun. They're working.
I spot Sam immediately. She's standing near the bar, trying to look casual, but she's too tense. Too aware. She's scanning the room like she's looking for something—or someone.
I move to a corner booth where I can see her but stay out of sight. I order a beer from the waitress and settle in, my eyes never leaving Sam.
She orders a Coke. Smart. She's not drinking. She's just trying to blend in.
For a few minutes, nothing happens. She sips her drink, glances around, pretends to check her phone. She's doing okay. She doesn't stand out too much.
But then I see him.
A guy in his mid-thirties, wearing a leather vest with patches I recognize. He's part of the Jackals—a crew we've had run-ins with before. They deal in guns, drugs, and worse. They're the kind of people Hank's crew shuts down.
And he's walking straight toward Sam.
My entire body goes rigid.
He sidles up next to her at the bar, leaning in too close. I can't hear what he's saying, but I can see the way Sam stiffens. The way she takes a small step back.
He moves closer.
That's it.
I'm up and moving before I even think about it.
I cross the bar in five strides, sliding in next to Sam and wrapping my arm around her shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey, babe," I say, my voice easy and warm. "Sorry I'm late. Got held up at work."
Sam's head whips toward me, her eyes wide with shock.
I give her a small smile, then turn my attention to the guy. "Can I help you with something?"
The guy looks me up and down, his expression shifting from predatory to cautious. He sees my size, my posture, the way I'm standing between him and Sam. He sees the patches on my jacket—Hank's crew.
"Didn't realize she was with someone," he says, his tone flat.
"Yeah," I say, keeping my voice calm but firm. "She is."
He holds my gaze for a beat, then shrugs and walks away.
I don't move until he's back at his table on the other side of the bar. Then I turn to Sam, keeping my arm around her.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask quietly.
"I—" She looks up at me, her face a mix of surprise and something else I can't quite read. "I was trying to help. I thought maybe I could—"
"You thought you could what? Walk into a bar full of bikers and ask around about a missing girl?" My voice is low, but there's an edge to it. "Sam, this is exactly the kind of place where girls like Tina end up. And you just walked in here alone."
Her jaw tightens. "I didn't know you were following me."
"Good thing I was."
She looks away, her hands gripping her Coke. "I just wanted to do something. I can't just sit around and wait."
I soften slightly, my thumb brushing against her shoulder without thinking. "I know. But this isn't the way. You don't know these people. You don't know what they're capable of."
"And you do?"
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I do."
She looks up at me again, and for a moment, we just stare at each other. My arm is still around her. She's close enough that I can smell her shampoo—something floral and clean, so different from the smoke and stale beer of this place.
I should move. I should step back.
But I don't.
"We need to call your dad," I say finally.
Her eyes widen. "Knox, no—"
"Sam, you walked into a bar full of Jackals. Alone. At one in the morning. Your dad needs to know."
"He's going to kill me."
"Probably," I say. "But better him than one of these guys."
She closes her eyes, her shoulders sagging. "I'm so screwed."
"Yeah," I say, pulling out my phone with my free hand. "You are."
I dial Hank's number, keeping my arm around Sam. She doesn't pull away. If anything, she leans into me slightly, like she's too tired to hold herself up anymore.
Hank answers on the second ring, his voice rough with sleep. "Knox? What's wrong?"
"I'm at, The Rusty Spoke," I say. "Sam's with me."
There's a pause. Then: "What?"
"She came here looking for information on Tina. One of the Jackals approached her. I stepped in."
I hear him swear under his breath. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. But you need to get down here."
"I'm on my way. Don't let her out of your sight."
"I won't."
I hang up and look down at Sam. "He's coming."
She nods, her face pale. "He's going to be so mad."
"Yeah," I say. "He is."
We stand there in silence, my arm still around her, waiting. The guy from earlier is watching us from across the bar, but he doesn't approach again. No one does.
Because as far as anyone in this bar is concerned, Sam is mine.
And I'm not letting anyone near her.
Even if it's killing me to stand this close and know I can't actually have her.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But right now, in this moment, I'm her boyfriend. I'm her protection. I'm the wall between her and everything dangerous in this room.
And I'll stay that way for as long as she needs me to.
- Writer
