Chapter 60 Ryker
RYKER
“I killed a man.”
Knox laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that bounced off the concrete walls and made the guard two tables over glance our way. He leaned back in his metal chair, the thing groaning under two hundred forty pounds of tattooed muscle, then caught himself and leaned forward again.
The smile died on his face.
“Shit.” His eyes locked on to mine. “You’re serious.”
I nodded, keeping my movements casual as I scanned the visiting room. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and a few tables down, someone’s kid was crying.
“He broke into Faith’s place. Was about to kill her.”
“Jesus.” Knox’s hands flexed on the table, his tattooed knuckles going white.
A sleeve of intricate ink disappeared under his orange prison uniform.
Dragons and flames and symbols I’d never asked him about because Knox didn’t do explanations.
The skull on his right hand seemed to grin at me. “Is she okay?”
Typical Knox. Sitting in prison for over a decade, and his first thought was still everyone else’s safety.
“She’s fine.”
The tension bled out of his shoulders. He sat back, and I caught three women at the table behind him tracking the movement. One of them, a blonde who looked like she’d taken a wrong turn on her way to a yoga class, literally bit her lip.
Okay, I got it. Knox looked like an action hero who’d walked off a movie set and accidentally ended up in prison oranges. The stubble he’d grown since my last visit made him look like he could either build you a cabin or burn one down, depending on his mood. But the female attention was ridiculous.
I knew Knox was a good guy. They didn’t.
“Look at the bright side,” he said, a smirk playing at his lips. “If he’d attacked one of us and wound up in here instead of a morgue, I’d have taken care of him for you.” He paused. “Course, that’d be problematic for my parole hearing.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Who says I’m joking?”
The scary part was that I genuinely couldn’t tell. Knox was the wild card in our group. The one with edges so sharp, you could cut yourself just by looking at him wrong. Yet here he was, more concerned about Faith’s well-being than the fact that I’d just confessed to manslaughter.
“Knox, you’re not a killer.”
His eyebrows shot up. He gestured to his orange jumpsuit. “He says to a convicted murderer.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” But his expression softened, just slightly. “Look, you did what you had to do. End of story. Anyone who says different can fuck off.”
I glanced at the guards. “As your lawyer, I should probably advise you to watch your language in a monitored prison visiting room.”
“As my friend, you should probably tell me if you’re okay.” His eyes went hard, protective. The same look I’d seen a thousand times before he’d ended up in here. “Because you guys are my family. If anyone fucks with you, they fuck with me. Even from in here.”
“I’m fine.” I leaned forward, needing him to understand. “All these years, if I’m being honest with you … I judged you to some degree.”
“Only some?” He scratched his stubble. “I’m disappointed. I was going for full judgment. Really wanted to nail that murderous-convict aesthetic.”
“Asshole.”
“Lawyer.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled. “I stood by your side, but I judged you for what you did. And I thought I’d never do the same thing.
” Hell, he was the one who’d point-blank asked me if I’d ever take a life, and I’d said no.
But I’d changed. I held his gaze. “But now I get it. The things we do to protect the people we love … there’s no line we won’t cross. ”
Something flickered across Knox’s face. So fast, I almost missed it. Most people probably saw the tattooed body, the muscles earned from years of nothing but time and a prison gym, his six-foot-four frame that made every chair in this place look like doll furniture. They saw intimidating as hell.
I saw the cracks.
The slight tension around his eyes. The barely perceptible tightening of his shoulders.
Deep down, Knox was in agony. Living in purgatory, right here on Earth, waiting for his life to begin again.
And then there was her. The daughter he never talked about.
“We need to get you out of here.” I kept my voice steady, measured. “Reunite you with your daughter.”
His entire body went rigid. The air between us crystallized.
“Ryker—”
“And reunite you with the Sinners and Saints once and for all.”
For a heartbeat, his mask slipped. I saw it then: pain sharp enough to cut, hope fragile enough to shatter. Then it was gone, locked behind that impenetrable poker face.
“So”—his voice was too casual, too controlled—“you have to watch your back now? Any charges coming your way?”
Subject change. Noted.
“No. The DA ruled it self-defense.” I let him have his deflection.
For now. “His lock-picking set with his prints all over it. Bruises on Faith where he’d attacked her.
” I paused, still feeling rage for those bruises even though the man who put them there no longer had a pulse.
“Her neighbor heard the screams. Too much evidence for them to pursue charges.”
“Good.” Knox nodded once, decisive. “Then you did the right thing. Don’t lose sleep over it.”
“Is that what you do?” I asked quietly. “Not lose sleep over it?”
His smile was sharp enough to draw blood. “Bold of you to assume I sleep.”
“Time’s up!” The guard’s voice boomed across the room, making the crying kid from earlier wail even louder.
Knox stood. He towered over the table, over me, over pretty much everyone in the damn room. The blonde behind him practically swooned.
Jesus Christ.
“Take care of her, Ryker,” he said.
“I will.”
As the guards led him away, they kept one hand on his elbow, like they could actually stop him if he decided to walk in a different direction.
And all I could think was, Soon, brother. I’m going to prove what really happened that night. And when I do, I’m bringing you home.
Even if I have to burn the whole system down to do it.