The Back Room Has No Windows
2501 Words
Chapter 2: The Back Room Has No Windows
Here's something nobody tells you about saying yes to a biker. It's not the danger that gets you. It's the sudden, overwhelming normality of everything.
Maya expected threats. Maybe a knife pulled. Maybe a lecture about the house rules delivered in a voice that made her bones vibrate. Instead, Knox just nodded once — like she'd passed some test she didn't know she was taking — and jerked his thumb toward the back of the bar.
"Follow me."
That was it. No handcuffs. No contracts signed in blood. Just a man in a leather vest walking through a swinging door, assuming she'd be right behind him.
And she was. That's the embarrassing part. Her legs moved before her brain could catch up, trailing him past the pool table and the broken jukebox and the three bikers who were now openly staring at her like she was the season finale of their favorite show.
The back room was smaller than she expected. An office, technically, but mostly just a desk buried under receipts, a filing cabinet with a half-empty bottle of whiskey on top, and a couch that had definitely seen better decades. The only light came from a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, and the only window was painted shut and covered in graffiti she couldn't read.
Knox shut the door behind them. The click of the latch sounded very loud in the sudden silence.
"Sit," he said, pointing at the couch.
Maya sat. Not because she was scared — okay, maybe a little because she was scared — but because her legs had decided that standing was no longer an option. The couch groaned under her weight. Something crinkled beneath the cushion. She chose not to think about what.
Knox didn't sit. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, those dark eyes fixed on her face like he was reading a book written in a language only he understood. The bare bulb cast shadows under his cheekbones. The tattoos on his arms seemed to move in the flickering light.
"Name," he said.
"Maya."
"Last name."
She hesitated. Old habits. "Does it matter?"
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "Depends. You running from the cops?"
"No."
"From a husband?"
"Fiancé." The word tasted like battery acid. "Ex-fiancé."
"Ex because you left, or ex because he left?"
She blinked at the question. It was surprisingly… sharp. Surprisingly human. Most people just said I'm sorry and changed the subject. But Knox was digging. Like he actually wanted to know the shape of her disaster.
"I left," she said. "Found him with my best friend. Walked out. Didn't look back."
"Bullshit."
The word hit her like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"You looked back." He said it calmly, like he was correcting her math homework. "You're still looking back. That's why you flinch at slammed doors. That's why you check the windows. You're not running from him. You're waiting for him to show up so you can finally feel justified."
Maya opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Nothing came out.
Because he was right. The absolute bastard was right.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"No, you don't." Knox pushed off the desk and walked toward her. Slow. Always slow. Like he was giving her every chance to tell him to stop. She didn't. He crouched down in front of the couch until they were eye level. Close enough that she could count the tiny scars on his knuckles. "You hate that I can see you. There's a difference."
Her eyes burned. She refused to cry. Refused. Refused. Refused.
"The deal," he said, changing tack so abruptly she almost got whiplash. "You work the counter. Five nights a week. You sleep in the room upstairs — it's small, but it locks. You don't go anywhere alone after dark. You don't talk to strangers who ask too many questions. And you definitely don't touch anyone's bike without asking first."
That last one almost made her laugh. Almost.
"In exchange," he continued, "nobody touches you. Nobody follows you. Nobody even looks at you wrong. My boys and I handle whatever mess you brought with you. And when it's over — if you want to leave — you leave. No questions. No hard feelings."
"That's…" She searched for the right word. "Generous."
Knox snorted. It was an ugly sound, rough and real. "It's not generous. It's selfish. I don't like strangers in my town. I like them even less when they're bleeding all over my floor. This way, I can keep an eye on you until I figure out if you're trouble or just unlucky."
"What's the difference?"
"Trouble, I can handle. Unlucky…" He stood up, suddenly towering over her again. "Unlucky breaks my heart. And I don't like having my heart broken."
He said it like a joke. His face said it wasn't.
There was a knock at the door — three quick raps, then two slow ones. A code. Knox didn't even glance back. "Yeah."
The door opened. The nose-ring guy poked his head in, grin already in place. "Boss, the new girl's car just got towed. Figured she'd want to know."
Maya's stomach dropped. "Towed? I was only parked out front for—"
"Town ordinance," nose-ring guy said, shrugging. "No overnight parking on Main Street. Carl the tow truck driver's a real stickler. Also, he's my cousin, so if you want it back, it'll cost you fifty bucks and a six-pack."
"That's extortion."
"That's small-town economy, sweetheart. Welcome to Nowhere."
Knox sighed — a long, suffering sound that suggested he'd had this argument a hundred times before. "Jesse, stop messing with her."
"I'm not messing. I'm bonding."
"Get out."
Jesse raised his hands in surrender and disappeared, but not before shooting Maya a wink that said this isn't over.
The door clicked shut. Maya stared at Knox. Knox stared at the ceiling like he was asking God for patience.
"Jesse," she repeated. "That's his name?"
"Unfortunately."
"And the others?"
"The big one is Tank. The quiet one is Ghost." He paused. "Don't ask about the nicknames. Nobody tells the stories anymore."
Maya filed that information away. Four bikers. Knox, Jesse, Tank, Ghost. A president, a joker, a mountain, and a shadow. And her — a runaway with a dead car and a dead-er love life — somehow at the center of all of it.
"So," she said, standing up because sitting while he stood made her feel like a child. "The room upstairs. Does it have a shower?"
Knox's eyebrows rose. "You're really staying."
"I really have nowhere else to go." She let that hang in the air for a second. "No pun intended."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he did something she didn't expect. He laughed again — not the thunderous one from before, but something smaller. Warmer. Like a secret he'd decided to share.
"Top of the stairs," he said. "Door on the left. Towels are in the closet, but don't use the blue one. That's Ghost's, and he's weird about it."
"Noted."
She walked to the door. Paused with her hand on the knob. Looked back at him — this stranger who'd claimed her whole life in less than an hour.
"Knox?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you really care? About me, I mean. You don't know me. I could be a serial killer."
He tilted his head. The bare bulb caught the scar above his eyebrow, made it look like a tiny lightning bolt.
"Because," he said simply, "I know what it's like to run until your legs give out. And nobody helped me." A beat. "I'm not gonna let that happen to you."
Maya swallowed the lump in her throat. Opened the door. Walked out.
Behind her, she heard him say one more thing — quiet, almost to himself.
"Welcome to the family, Maya. Whether you like it or not."
She liked it. She definitely liked it.
That was the problem.
End of Chapter 2
- Writer
