Steal Vows

Chapter Six~Something Else

Knox didn't respond. He parked hard, screeching the tires, and threw it into park. He headed straight for his office and slammed the door behind him. The bottle of whiskey he drank when he couldn't silence his thoughts sat waiting on his table. He walked over and, for the first time in years, he poured a generous amount without hesitation.

He needed to feel something other than frustration. He called in his second and asked, "Who's in the clubhouse that can give me a blow job?" He needed a release now-to relax him, or he would think of her all night.

Reaper laughed and said, "Hard day, boss?" and smirked. He had entered without knocking, then saw the situation instantly — the empty glass, the tension radiating off his president like heat — and continued without giving him any more s**t. "There's Tasha in the back lounge. Amber's upstairs. Both know the drill. Who would you like?"

"Amber," he answered, and nodded once, pouring another glass as he dismissed him. Twenty minutes later, Knox was in the private room above the main floor, mechanical and efficient. Amber was on her knees, but his mind was elsewhere: on the water, her bare feet, on a woman who called him a liar without fear and walked away like he didn't matter.

He finished fast, coldly and with a grunt. He pulled her away before she could linger. "Out," he said flatly.

She left, confused by his distance but didn't ask questions. He poured another whiskey, but the release didn't work. Tessa was still there, burning under his skin, refusing to be sucked away.

Dammit, why didn't it work? he thought. It always worked. She's a goddamn siren and I'm fucked... "Maybe if I just f****d her into oblivion I'd get her out of my system," he thought out loud. Then he considered: maybe if I just ask her, she might consider... He ran through a thousand ways to ask.

Knox sat in the dark of his office, whiskey burning a path down his throat. The fantasy spiraled-her beneath him, skin flushed, that confident mouth finally silenced by his. Would she yield? Would she fight? Would she look at him like she did now, seeing through every wall?

He pulled out his phone three times. Set it back down three times.

Ask her what?

Come to the clubhouse. Let me f**k you until you forget your own name?

It sounded like desperation dressed as dominance. She had seen through that too.

His phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: she's on the dock. Fire's lit, still awake. All looks good.

Knox stared at the message, then at his reflection in the dark window-a man unraveling over a woman who wouldn't let him lie.

He downed the rest of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

Fuck it. He texted Marcus: come get me. I've had too much to drink to drive, but I want to talk to her.

Marcus got the text and didn't hesitate, knowing that this wasn't going to end well, but he didn't ask questions. He left his post at the property line and drove the twenty minutes back to the clubhouse, parking behind Knox's truck. He found him in the office, whiskey-soaked and dangerous.

Knox climbed into the passenger seat of his truck without a word, his massive frame tense with something Marcus recognized-need. Not the kind that came from the clubhouse girls. But the kind that burned houses down.

The drive back to Moss Lake took fifteen minutes, less time than normal. Knox stared out the window the entire way, his jaw working, his fists clenched. Marcus knew better than to speak.

When they pulled up to the property, the fire was still burning, and she was in a chair staring at the flames. Marcus killed the engine and stepped out, giving Knox space as he said, "I'll head back to my post, boss."

Knox didn't even acknowledge him as he moved toward the light, toward her, unsteady but determined. Smoke swirled in the air. Bugs danced on the edges as the heat hit his face.

She looked up at him and said, "You're drunk. Why are you here? What do you want?"

Knox stopped a few feet from the fire, swaying slightly. The flames cast shadows across his face, highlighting the raw tension in his jaw. He didn't sit. He didn't come closer.

"I came to tell you something," he said, his voice rough and unsteady. "You're in my head... All the time. And I don't... I don't do this."

His eyes finally found hers across the fire, dark and conflicted.

"I want you. Not like the others. Not like anything I've ever wanted before."

The admission hung between them, dangerous and unguarded-the whiskey stripped away every wall he had built.

"But you don't want me sober?" she asked, but then said, "Go away and take care of it yourself. I'm better than that. Come back when you're sober and say it again." She jumped up, indignation dripping off her, as she entered the trailer and slammed the door and locked it behind her.

Knox stood frozen as the door slammed, the sound echoing across the water. The lock clicked into place, deliberate and final.

He stared at the trailer, chest heaving. She was right; of course she was right.

Marcus appeared beside him, tactful enough to say nothing but, "Come on, let's get you home."

Knox turned away from the trailer, shoulders slumped and his heart so low it hurt. "Yes. Take me back," he said quietly.

The drive was silent. Knox sat in the passenger seat, stone-faced. The whiskey was wearing off into something worse-clarity. She didn't want drunk confessions or half-measures. She wanted him sober, real, and honest.

He had never been any of those things, he thought to himself. Could I do that?

Marcus drove him back to the clubhouse and directed someone to take his place at the property. Then he helped Knox to his room where he collapsed and passed out. His last thoughts were of her face, and how now he had to make it up to her.

Meanwhile, at the trailer

"That asshole, why the f**k would he do that? Does he think I'm one of those bimbos? That I would just say yeah oh thank you, Mr. Knox, for all your fine stuff. I guess he thinks that would be his payment... UGG I knew it! Never... and I mean Never does anything nice happen without some kind of f*****g cost!!!" she screamed at the walls after she heard him drive away.

Then she collapsed on the sofa and cried.

She cried for all the things that had happened to her since coming to North Carolina. She cried for the strange feelings that were locked up around him, and what she now needed to do. She thought, this isn't going to work. I need to get the hell out of here... but... she didn't want to.

She did like him and the thought of leaving made her cry again.

Outside, Steve took his post across the water and pulled up his binoculars and looked at the lights still on in the trailer. He texted Reaper: lights on in the trailer. She doesn't look like she's leaving, surprisingly enough.

Reaper thought, hmm... maybe she's the one for him. She doesn't seem to be an easy target. He chuckled, and boy is he going to have his hands full. Then he smiled at the thought of Knox finally being happy.

He texted back: Ok, keep an eye out, and text me if anything changes.

Tessa finally pulled herself together, rose, and made herself some hot tea, turned off the living-room lights, and headed for the shower. As she took off her clothes and tested the water, she thought of him stumbling down the gravel path as she tried to ignore his coming. She could tell he was drunk the moment he stepped out of the truck, and she could not only smell the whiskey but the perfume of another woman. He had tried to get her out of his system but it didn't work... She thought, I wonder how far he took it?

She shook her head and said to herself, it doesn't matter, he's not yours. Stop it. And she stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting her skin like a thousand tiny wisps, working out the knots in her shoulders and neck, and she moaned. Allowing the water to relax her, she sighed.

What will happen tomorrow? Will he not come by... Will he show up and act like he didn't show up, like he didn't remember coming here? She asked herself: would she let him act like it didn't happen, or should she ask him why?

But then the insecurities came in and told her that she should just let it go. He didn't really want her. Again, it was just the thought of her and the whiskey. He didn't care about her at all, nor did he really want someone like her. He was way too sexy, way too powerful, and way too young to ever want her. A tear ran down her cheek at that thought.

She got out of the shower and headed toward the bedroom, saw her bags from the bike sitting there with the bags from the store, and she sighed. She was too tired to want to put anything away. Having been emotionally hijacked by Knox took everything she had in her. She dried off with the towel, threw it on the floor, took out a long t-shirt, and pushed everything onto the floor with the towel and said, "f**k it, what's the point."

She pulled down the comforter, turned on the fan, and climbed into bed. She sat there thinking about him again as she took a sip of her tea and pulled out a cigarette, took a long drag, and sighed. "I just don't know what to do?" she said to the cup as she put it down, snuffed out the cigarette, and lay down to sleep. Another tear slowly slid down her cheek as she turned out the light.

Steve saw the lights go off a few minutes apart and he knew she was down for the night, so he texted Reaper a final text: she went to bed. All lights off. Will keep a look out.

Reaper didn't acknowledge the text, but it showed he had read it. As he leaned over his wife, he said, "You know, I think our Pres. has finally found his match, but they don't know it yet." And she chuckled, "Well, it's about time, don't you think? I could use the help, that's for sure."

They both laughed and turned out the light. The morning would come faster than they wanted. That was always the case when you had twin infants to take care of and a club to help run.