Chapter 8 Knight
KNIGHT
Tossing my keys on my entryway table, I stride through my door before kicking it closed behind me. It’s been one hell of a long day, and an even longer night. I haven’t had a break in over twenty-four hours. But that’s what you get as the leader of the best SWAT team in the country.
I’m not a patient man, nor do I enjoy falling in line under someone else’s command. Especially when that person has no business calling the shots. There’s only so much bullshit I can handle, and after sitting around, twiddling my fucking thumbs for twelve hours, I devised my own plan with my team.
We had that family safe and the gunman down within three minutes.
That should have been it, but my supervisor doesn’t like having his judgment questioned.
My team then spent another twelve hours having our asses handed to us, but to be honest, I think my supervisor just likes the sound of his own voice.
I don’t regret it though. Never have. It’s not the first time I’ve crossed a line to save a life, and it won’t be the last.
The thud of my closing door has barely faded from my entryway when my phone comes alive in my pocket, and I groan, hoping like fuck I’m not being called in again. I need to eat, and as soon as that’s done, I’m going to crash for the next week. I’m fucking wrecked.
Dread begins to fill me as I slip my hand into my pocket and pull my phone out. It’s a little before two in the morning, and if it’s not some woman calling to see if I want to fuck, then it’s work. It’s always fucking work, and honestly, I’m not down for either right now.
A number I don’t recognize flashes on my phone, and for just a moment, I consider rejecting it. As it continues to ring, my stomach knots, and my thumb instinctively swipes across the screen.
“Hello,” I say, my back stiffening.
A sniffle comes through the phone before I hear a tone that I’d recognize anywhere. “Knight?”
“Harper? What’s wrong?” I ask, my fingers closing around my keys, more than ready to take off and find her. There’s only one reason why Harper-Rayn would be calling me, and it has everything to do with the bullshit she told me in my truck last night.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” she cries, sounding more than rattled. “I’ve been at work, and . . . I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to call you, but you said I had to call and—”
My blood runs cold as I make my way out to my truck, realizing that in the past thirty seconds it’s started to rain. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
“No. No, no,” she rushes out, taking a shaky breath as I hear the familiar sound of her windshield wipers in the background. “I’m in my car. I’m just . . . Something really messed up happened at work. I don’t . . . I don’t know if I can be alone.”
I pause in my driveway, my hand hovering in front of the truck door, rain immediately beginning to soak through my clothes. “Is this the same shit you were telling me about last night?”
“Yeah,” she says in a small voice.
“Are you safe?”
There’s a short pause, and I can almost imagine her checking her rearview mirrors and making sure she’s not being followed. “I’m not sure. I think so.”
“I’ve just gotten home from work. Come to me. You can stay here and then we can figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“Are you sure?” Harper questions. “I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re never an imposition, Morticia,” I tell her, my voice softening at the idea of getting to see her. “You can stay here as long as you need. Do you know where I live?”
“Uhhhh . . . yeah. I think so,” she says. “I’ll be there in ten.”
“Okay. Drive safe, and keep an eye on your mirrors. I’ll be waiting for you.”
The line goes dead, and I find myself waiting outside my home, leaning against the pillar of my entryway that offers just a bit of shelter from the rain, all while keeping my eye on the road, anxious for Harper to get here.
The minutes tick by slowly, and I resist the urge to get in my truck and start searching for her. If she hadn’t said that she was safe in her car, then I’d already be flying toward her.
I put the front porch lights on so she knows which home is mine, and barely a minute later, her headlights crest over the hill in the distance, the light distorted by the rain. Then despite still being a good distance down the road, I push off the pillar and step out into the downpour.
Her speed slows as she approaches my driveway, and the moment I can make out her face through the windshield of her old Honda Civic, something eases in my chest. She pulls up to the curb and cuts the engine as I make my way down the driveway toward her car.
The rain is heavy against the windows, making it too hard to make out the more subtle features of her face, but I see her clearly enough to know her eyes are on me. I can feel it.
Striding up to the driver’s door, I open it for her, and the way her gaze lifts to meet mine through the darkness—those big green trusting eyes—is crippling. She’s looking at me as though I’m her fucking savior, and as much as I want to swoop in and save the day, I can’t be that for her.
It’s too dangerous. I can’t allow myself to get too close, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to leave her to fend for herself. As soon as I figure out who the fuck has been tormenting her at work and put a fucking stop to it, I’ll have no choice but to force distance between us again.
She’s off limits. My step-niece. I shouldn’t crave her like this.
Her gaze wavers, and when she lets out a shaky breath, I realize that whatever happened at work still has her rattled. “Come on, Morticia,” I say, offering her my hand. “Come inside and tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Harper visibly swallows before gently placing her small hand in mine and allowing me to help her out of the car.
Her skin is blazing against mine, sending shock waves through my body, and for a fleeting second, I panic that she can sense the kind of effect she has over me, but she’s far too shaken to see what’s right in front of her face.
I do what I can not to hold her hand for too long, and after she clambers out of her car, I take her bag, close the door behind her, and then watch as she rushes through the rain.
“Fuck. It’s cold,” she mutters, darting through the puddles pooling on my driveway.
It’s a short dash to my front door, and by the time she reaches it, she looks like a cold drowned rat with her arms crossed over her chest, silently shivering. Goosebumps spread across her skin, and my selfish stare lingers way too long, knowing just how quickly I could warm her up.
Goddamn it. What I wouldn’t give to fuck the goosebumps out of her system.
Harper doesn’t barge into my house, just simply waits for me to open the door and welcome her in.
I don’t know why I expected—hoped—for anything different.
I want her to be comfortable enough to stride through the door like she owns the place, but in reality, she’s never been here before.
She shouldn’t feel comfortable, and I shouldn’t want her to.
Off. Fucking. Limits.
After opening the door, I wave her through, and as she hurries past me, her perfume hits my senses. I breathe her in, immediately intoxicated by her scent.
My hands ball into fists at my sides, and I call on every ounce of self-control not to slam this door for the sole purpose of throwing her up against it and claiming every single fucking inch of her. Instead, I close the door like a normal fucking human being and follow her into my home.
“Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable,” I murmur, indicating toward my couch as I stride past her. “I’ll grab you a towel to dry off.”
“Thanks,” Harper says in a small voice as water drips off both of us.
I make my way down my hall to the linen closet and grab a towel before turning on my heel and heading straight back to her. Only she’s not sitting down. She’s hovering in the corner and carefully toeing off her shoes as though terrified of traipsing water through my home.
I resist the urge to smile as I hand her the towel, and she awkwardly thanks me again before drying her face and arms. I reach for my tactical belt and unclip it, and as I feel her stare on me, I glance up to see the way her eyes are locked on my movements, sailing over my body and lingering on the way my wet black shirt sticks to my skin.
I clear my throat, and Harper’s gaze snaps back to mine. “Take a seat, Morticia. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“Right.”
Harper blows out a shaky breath and makes her way over to my couch as I drop my tactical belt on the hallway table. She sits down, and as I cut through my living room to join her, those big green eyes track my every step.
Her hands visibly shake. “This is messed up.”
I nod. “You spend your days cutting open corpses. If whatever this is has you so worked up, then I can only assume it’s messed up.”
“Okay,” she continues, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. “So, a new body came in. You know Detective Gray? The hot one?”
“Gray?”
“Yeah. It was a brutal murder, so he wanted it prioritized as a matter of urgency, so I started right away, and this body . . . I’ve never seen anything so—”
She lets out another heavy breath, not being able to find the words, but I nod, understanding where she’s coming from.
I’ve seen more than enough bodies to know how she feels.
There are some that rattle you to your core, and years later, you’ll still be thinking about it.
And this, I get the feeling this is that for her.
Harper shoves her shaking hands under her thighs as if to settle herself before going on. “There were cuts all over his body. There must have been hundreds of them, and as I was documenting them, I realized the ones over his chest weren’t so random. The carvings were words. It was a message.”
I pull back, staring at her more intently, not liking where this is going. “What? A message for who?”
She shakes her head. “It read Smile for the camera, kitten.”
“What the hell?”