Steal Vows

Knox stepped into the warehouse like he'd been through this before. The room rustled with movement as Tess hid in the corner, her hands tied behind her back and a sock stuffed in her mouth, held in place with duct tape. He saw her from across the room and yelled, “Get down!” Tess moved into a tight ball, trying to cover her head the best she could. Knox moved with a cold precision. The rival MC ran toward them, guns blazing. Knox pulled out his shotgun and fired, and at the same time every other member of his MC followed suit. Bodies dropped, and the air filled with smoke and dust. The smell of blood hung in the air. When the gunfire stopped, only wailing and boots striking the concrete could be heard. Knox walked toward her, took out his knife, and cut the bonds that held her captive. He then whispered, “You're safe now,” as he took the tape off her mouth and removed the sock. Tess fell into his arms and cried. Knox gripped her arms and pulled her away from him, then took a firm hold of her elbow and dragged her along with him. She stumbled, trying to keep up, his boots scraping the ground. Too shocked to fight, she looked up at him and quietly said, “Where are you taking me?” Knox looked down at the woman trembling in his grip and said, “We need to talk. I need to know why you were there and what they wanted with you.” He didn't look back at the c*****e, just continued to walk to his truck, opened the door, and pushed her inside. The ride was quiet. He didn't start interrogating her in the truck because he wanted to wait until there were witnesses. The room where he planned to question her had video surveillance, and a guard would be outside listening to everything. But there was something about her presence that seemed to unnerve him. All she could hear was their breathing and the roar of the engine as the trees flew by. She wondered what part of hell he was taking her to now. When they arrived at the clubhouse, he didn't say a word but led her down a corridor and opened the door to a small room-a bed, a chair, nothing more. She barely had time to speak before the door shut and the sound of the tumblers engaging left her in silence. For two days she didn't leave the room while he did his research on who she was and what they wanted with her. Knox finally came into the room after dinner on the third day. He stated, “Speak.” Only that one word, and she knew what he wanted. Tess looked at the window, then at Knox, and said, “I don't care what happened in that room, to be honest. I was grateful the president was trying to claim me -if he hadn't been, I'd be dead. He saw me riding into town with Washington plates, and I guess it impressed him-a woman riding cross-country alone. I'm sure it wasn't something he had seen before, with this being North Carolina and all.” Knox leaned against the door-frame, arms crossed, watching her with those cold eyes that miss nothing. Knox leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with those cold eyes that missed nothing. The room was dim, lit only by a single bulb. He didn't sit. He never did-always positioned where he controlled the space, where she had to look up at him. Then he looked her up and down before he said, “Continue.” No inflection. Just a command. His jaw tightened slightly as she began-something about needing to get away, about riding, about ending up at the wrong warehouse at the wrong time. He listened without interrupting, his gaze never leaving her face. He tested her story for lies. A woman on a motorcycle, alone, crossing state lines. Unusual. Not impossible. He stepped forward and lit a cigarette. “Why North Carolina?” he asked finally, his voice low and deliberate. She swallowed hard, not wanting to tell a stranger of her troubles, and answered, “I came here to look at property. I'm thinking of buying out here, and riding was my vacation and a test run for when I bring my stuff down.” Knox's expression didn't shift. Property. A woman buying land alone in his territory. He flicked his ash into the ashtray and stepped closer. Not threatening, but present. Occupying space... her space. “How much you got?” he asked. His boots echoed against the concrete floor as he moved. He stopped a few feet away as he studied her like she was a problem he hadn't solved yet. A woman riding cross-country, alone, with money to spend on real estate. That took either courage or stupidity. Knox hadn't decided which yet. “You got family coming with you, or you're doing this solo?” His tone was flat, but his attention was clear. Nothing about Knox was casual. She looked directly into his eyes and gave him the honest answer. “For now, just me, but I'm hoping my family will join me one day. But they have their own lives at this point. Hence why I'm looking for something different, something to fill in the empty spaces.” Knox nodded once, slow and deliberate. Alone. That changed things in his mind-women with roots were predictable, controllable. Women with nothing to lose were dangerous. He moved to the chair and sat, finally, crossing one leg over the other. The gesture was almost casual, but there was nothing casual about Knox. He was settling in, which meant she was about to answer harder questions. “You got money stashed somewhere, or you carrying it? And don't lie to me-I'll know.” His eyes narrowed slightly, waiting. The room felt smaller now, the air heavier. He'd already decided she wasn't a threat he needed to kill. But that didn't mean she was free. Not yet. Not until he understood exactly what she was and what she wanted in his territory. She looked apprehensive. This was her life's work. Did he want access to it? She was unsure but also afraid he might kill her for it anyway, so she just told the truth. “It's in the bank. What little there is, it's just enough to get down here and buy the property, the down payment. I mean, less than 20 thousand.” Knox leaned back in the chair, and the wood creaked under his weight. Twenty thousand. Barely enough to breathe in his world, but enough to matter to her. He studied her face-the blonde hair with red streaks, the hazel eyes still holding traces of fear. A woman starting over. Alone. That detail sat with him differently now. “You got a job lined up, or you plan to live off savings while you figure it out?” It wasn't curiosity in his voice. It was inventory. He was cataloging her situation the way he cataloged everything-weaknesses, assets, dependencies. A woman with limited funds in unfamiliar territory is vulnerable. Knox didn't believe in coincidence. He'd found her tied up in the warehouse, and now she had told him she was buying property in his MC's backyard. “Where exactly you looking to buy?” She looked up from her nails, which had apparently become more interesting than meeting his eyes, and said, “I have a job online. I'm a drug and alcohol counselor treating people online in Washington state, better wages than down here... and there's three pieces I'm looking at. One is called Primrose, one at Fire Creek Road, and the last one on Moss Lake.” Knox's shoulders became tight, almost imperceptibly. A counselor. Online. He filed that away-useful information. She had income, stability, a reason to stay put. Three properties, all of them scattered across territory he knew intimately. Fire Creek Road bordered rival turf. Primrose sat on neutral ground. But he was only interested in Moss Lake-that land was his. He chuckled. “You're the woman who was asking questions online,” he said to himself as he put the pieces together. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back. “You picked those spots randomly, or someone pointed you toward them?” His voice dropped lower, and that was when she should pay attention. When Knox got quieter, the stakes got higher. He moved toward the door, then stopped, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “You're staying here tonight. Tomorrow I will take you to see the properties myself.” Not an offer. A statement of fact. As he stood by the door, hand on the knob, she answered his question. “I found them online and talked with the brokers-two different ones. I'm leaning more toward the Moss Lake one due to the water, and it's more property, but it costs more, and I'm not sure if they will approve me.” Knox's expression hardened slightly. Moss Lake. Water access, privacy, distance from the main roads-exactly what he'd choose if he were buying property to hide something or make something. He thought to himself: I guess that's why I bought it in the first place-someplace to build something. But he never did. He stepped back into the room, closing the distance between them. His shadow fell across her face. “Approval won't be a problem,” he said flatly, but said nothing more. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed again, studying her with a renewed interest. A woman alone, buying the one piece of land he owned, with just enough money to make it happen but not enough to do it without help. “You're going to need someone local. Someone connected.” She looked away, not wanting to show weakness. “Umm, I am? Why, do they not like outsiders?” she asked, not understanding the weight of what she'd already gotten herself into. Whether she liked it or not, she wasn't leaving. He had made that choice for her. Knox's gaze didn't waver. He wasn't used to explaining himself. But something in her naive question made him pause, like she was a child asking why fire burns. “This territory belongs to Nightmare,” he said quietly. “Every piece of land, every business, every dollar that moves through here answers to me. You buy property without permission, without understanding how things work... you become a problem.” He pushed off the wall and moved closer, his presence filling the small room. “Outsiders get taken advantage of. Robbed. Worse. Moss Lake especially-that land matters. You're going to need protection whether you want it or not.” His eyes locked on hers, cold and certain. “Tomorrow we go. You'll see for yourself what I'm talking about.” She stood and nodded, looked into his eyes and said, “Hmm... okay.” And she said it as if she was having second thoughts about moving here. So far she'd been kidnapped and almost r***d, seen multiple murders and was now being told she had to have protection to even be here. So she said nothing else except: “Can I get my bike from the warehouse?” As she turned and climbed onto the bed, Knox watched her. She hadn't argued or put up a fight. Just acceptance and a single request. Her bike. He almost respected that-she didn't beg, didn't cry, didn't ask stupid questions about what happened next. “Yeah,” he said simply. He moved toward the door, paused at the frame. His hand gripped the doorknob, knuckles scarred and steady. “Your bike's already here. Been here since we brought you in. Locked in the garage behind the club.” He didn't add that he had it checked-engine, fuel tank, everything. Habit. Never leave unknowns lying around. He pulled the door shut behind him. The lock clicked into place with finality. Outside, he nodded to one of his men standing guard. “She stays put tonight. Tomorrow, we move.”