Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
OCTAVIA
Something is very wrong with Knight, but I have no idea what it is. His face is expressionless, but his entire body is so tense he feels like a bomb about to explode. Yesterday was awful, but we fixed things, or at least I thought we had.
This morning, I woke up in the gym like usual, but instead of climbing onto Knight’s dick, I barely recognized the look of pained anxiety on his face.
He mumbled something about not realizing what day it was, but then he acted like a zombie, occasionally muttering about things being wrong as I did my best to guide him through our morning.
Things have only gotten worse since we got to work.
My first client was a woman called Claudette.
She’s a sweet girl who has a lot of tattoos, but she’s always kind of shy about getting them done.
Honestly, it’s been a while since I did any work for her, and I’d forgotten to warn Knight that she’d want to use a private room instead of sitting in the main studio.
The look on his face when I told him he had to wait outside the room made me feel sick. He hates having any distance between us, and right now, especially after yesterday’s blowout, it was the worst time possible for me to have to literally shut him out.
I’m thankful I only have one more appointment this afternoon.
It’s for a regular client who used to come in for something new once every month or so back in Rapid City.
Reggie is an old punk who lost his wife and the love of his life to cancer a couple of years ago.
He was a stalwart at Suede’s studio, basically a part of the furniture that all the artists, including Betty and me, adore.
I was a little surprised when he reached out, asking about flying out to Montana to have me work on him, but I figured with me, Bett, and sometimes Suede all working from here, it kind of made sense that he’d want to visit and check the place out.
“Dinner, then bed tonight,” I say with a groan, trying to hide a wince at Knight’s tense shoulders and perplexed expression.
My husband has a full range of stoic expressions that manage to all look the same, but that I’ve started to realize are very different. He can look calm and disinterested with just a hint of annoyed, angry, horny, frantic, sexy, anxious, and a load more expressions I haven’t fully identified yet.
But the look on his face now isn’t one I’ve ever seen before today.
He looks…distressed. Like the world is just too much, and I don’t know what to do to help him.
There are dark circles under his eyes, and I’m starting to wonder if he slept at all last night, and if me and the argument we had yesterday are the cause of his behavior today.
I know the basics of Knight’s daily rituals, but I haven’t really bothered to dig deeper to understand why he needs them.
I’ve learned to embrace them, to need them—as yesterday proved.
But I don’t know where they stem from, or what happens if, for some reason, he can’t spend each day the way he needs to.
Something about today has triggered a reaction in him, and I don’t know what to do.
Raised voices from the studio filter through to the break room, and Knight moves, lifting me carefully off him so he can stand up. A yawn splits my lips as I follow him toward the front of the studio, where Betty is standing side by side with Etta and shouting at someone that I can’t see.
“You are not welcome here, you asshole,” Betty shouts.
Striding forward, Knight seems to get taller as he closes in on whoever Betty is talking to, stepping around my friends to confront the person they’re asking to leave.
“I think you should go,” Knight says, his voice low and gruff.
“I’m not going anywhere,” a familiar voice says.
My blood turns cold as I step around my husband and straight into the path of Abel, my asshole ex.
“Octy,” he says, flashing me a smile that I always thought was happy, but was actually judgmental, as he glances at my outfit with appraising eyes.
“What are you doing here, Abel?” I ask, crossing my arms protectively over my stomach and the tiny poppyseed-size baby that’s growing inside of me.
“He’s leaving,” Betty hisses, her own pregnant belly protruding proudly as she stands on the stairs to the stage, her hands propped on her hips.
“You haven’t been answering my calls or responding to my messages, so I had to come here. I think we need to talk, don’t you?” he says, still smiling, like he’s a nice guy and not an utter fucking asshole.
“She has nothing to say to you,” Knight says, stepping into the space behind me, his huge body and lethally cold voice feeling like a layer of armor I had no idea I needed.
“I think that’s between me and my girlfriend,” Abel says, laughing like this is all just one big joke.
“Girlfriend?” I choke. “I am not your girlfriend, and I haven’t been for over six months.”
“We were together six and a half weeks ago, sweetheart. We had an argument, but I forgive you, and I’m here to take you home,” Abel says, his chiding, patronizing tone hidden beneath a warm, approachable smile.
Abel takes a step forward, and I take one back, straight into Knight’s body. His arm curls carefully around my waist, and he moves me behind him.
“I don’t think you have a single thing to say that my wife is interested in hearing,” Knight says, taking a threatening step toward my ex.
“Your what?” Abel laughs.
“My wife,” Knight repeats, his broad shoulders and huge body seeming to double in size as he closes the distance again until he’s only inches away from my much smaller—and kind of pathetic looking in comparison—ex.
For the first time since I saw him, Abel reacts, his mouth dropping open as he stares up at the intimidating form of my husband.
“Oh my god, Octy, I know you wanted to get a reaction out of me, but did you really marry this goon just to piss me off?” Abel spits, eyeing Knight, then disregarding him as he turns his venomous gaze on me.
“I know you like those disgusting daddy porn books, but surely you could have found someone a little closer to your age to use to get me to commit to you.”
“Fuck you, Abel,” I snap, striding forward only to be grabbed by Knight and placed firmly behind him again.
“Get your stuff, Octavia. I have a buddy who can sort out your little rebellion once we get home. Then next time, maybe we can just have a conversation, and you can tone down all your amateur dramatics.” Sneering, he runs his eyes over the adorable black-and-white harlequin-patterned skirt Knight bought for me.
And he doesn’t bother to hide his disdain for the fitted black cropped T-shirt, white braces, white ankle socks, and chunky Dr. Martens Mary Janes I’m wearing.
“She is not going anywhere,” Knight growls, fisting the front of Abel’s shirt and using it to lift my ex off the ground, his feet dangling six inches in the air.
“Put me down,” Abel yells.
“She is my wife. She’s mine. She is not going anywhere.”
“She’s a fucked-up cocktease,” Abel yells.
“She dresses like a fucking freak, but she was a virgin. I was expecting a hellcat, but all I got was a pussy. She’d be a smoke show if she dressed like a normal person.
I put years into making her normal. She fucking owes me. She doesn’t get to leave me,” he yells.
“She’s perfect just the way she is. Black lace and babydoll dresses.
My wife is everything, and you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
I’m going to enjoy seeing the wretched life bleed from your eyes, and then I’ll make your body disappear so no one ever finds it.
” Knight’s words get darker and darker until Abel looks like he’s going to be sick.
“Octy, this isn’t funny, you fucking freak bitch. Call off your guard dog,” he yells, turning his terrified eyes on me.
But I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at my black eyed, completely out-of-control husband.
Despite my love of all things black and gothic, I’ve never been turned on by violence until now.
Seeing him this feral, for me, because of me, makes wetness pool between my thighs.
Stepping forward, I place my hand on his arm.
“Knight.”
Ignoring me, he growls at Abel, who is scrabbling and clawing at Knight’s hold on him, frantically trying to get free.
“Baby, we’re hungry and tired. I want to go home,” I tell him, hoping that the reminder of our baby will distract him from his anger.
Slowly turning his head, he looks at me, his gaze dropping to my stomach.
“You’re hungry?”
I nod.
“And tired?”
I nod again. “I want to go home. I want the bath I never had this morning. Will you help me?” I ask him softly.
“What about him? He thinks you’re his.”
Smiling, I laugh softly. “I was never his. I was always yours.”
“Always mine,” Knight echoes.
“Always. That’s why you came and got me. Because you knew right from the start, because we’re us. Take us home. Please.”
Turning his attention back to a red-faced Abel, Knight narrows his eyes coldly. “If you look at her or even think about her ever again, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Knight doesn’t show emotion. Even at his most agitated, he never looks it. But he does now. The danger that you can sense is no longer below the surface. It’s out for everyone to see, because of me, because he’s protecting me, he’s protecting us.
“Fine. I don’t fucking want her. You can have her, you crazy motherfucker,” Abel spits when Knight drops him to the ground.
Immediately turning his back on my ex, Knight comes to me. “Always mine?” he asks softly.
“Always,” I promise.