Chapter 16
MAREN
The business that I usually love has felt hollow all afternoon, and I’m furious because I know the reason is nothing to do with me and everything to do with my father’s assessment of the place this morning.
The storm has moved on, and the sun has finally reappeared, but the air still carries that damp, metallic smell it always leaves behind. I’ve always thought of it as the scent of nature’s wounds. Wet mud and salt. Rotting marsh grass stirred up from the wetlands.
Leo, along with Callum and Jessie, two of my regular airboat captains, made quick work of cleaning up the property and setting the business straight again.
The chairs are back out on the deck outside the store. The shutters are removed.
We only moved one of the airboats back out, for now, just so any potential customers can see it sitting on the dock and know we’re open for business.
I smile when I need to. Make small talk because it’s expected.
Men like that don’t love. They use. You were an easy lay when there weren’t any other options around. And what better way to get at me, to get under my skin, than to sleep with my daughter.
When I contrast it to the warmth of Knox’s body behind me in bed, the weight of his arm around my waist, the way his hands moved over me like I was something worth treasuring…I feel like my insides have been scraped raw.
Every single time I think about a good part, I hear my father’s voice telling me I’ve been played.
I’m not sure that’s the kind of man Knox is, and I know how manipulative my father can be. And yet, belief and doubt aren’t exactly asking my permission before they take up space in my brain.
By late afternoon, the shop is so quiet that I send Leo and the others home. They’ve got their own mess at their own places to clear up too. And there’s no point in us all standing around waiting for the jingle of the bell above the door.
I’m counting the register when I finally hear a motorcycle engine. And when the jingle of the bell finally rings out through the store, I quickly tuck what little cash is in my hand back into the drawer.
“Hey,” I say, finally looking up.
Knox doesn’t move like anyone I know. His presence shifts the air as his boots thud on the floor. He doesn’t say anything, at first. He just stands there like he can’t remember why he came.
Finally, he runs a hand through his wind-blown hair, and his eyes settle on mine. “We need to talk.”
My mouth is dry, parched, even. I swallow painfully. “We do?”
He nods, and I slide the register drawer closed before resting my palms on the counter. I wish I could play this cool, but even as my brain tries to reconcile the million and one things he could be about to say, my body remembers what it felt like to be kissed by this man.
He nods. “We do.”
Then, I remember. “Did you tell my father I’m not his little girl anymore?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I did.”
I didn’t expect confirmation. I expected a denial. Something I’d have to try and reconcile with my father’s version of events. One where I could call my father a liar, with Knox’s denial as evidence.
“The 1960s called, they want your version of misogyny back. That a woman is only property to be passed between one man and another.”
The corner of Knox’s mouth twitches in an arrogant smile. “Never said you were mine. Just said you weren’t his anymore. Some would call that feminism.”
I open my mouth and then close it again.
Is he right?
Shit. He did say that.
“Fine. But why did you have to say anything at all?”
Knox fiddles with the sleeve of his T-shirt, then straightens his belt buckle. “Felt like he needed to hear it, at the time.”
I tap my fingers on the counter. “Did he need to hear it, or did you?”
Something shifts in his expression. It’s not quite anger, but it feels more complicated. “He accused me of using you, didn’t he?” Knox asks.
I want to answer and share family secrets, but I don’t. “Were you?”
The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it. It gives away my hand. And I don’t want Knox to know that the answer really matters to me.
The shop seems to close in around us, the hum of the coolers sounding even louder than usual.
“Please, Knox. Just be honest with me.” I hate the way it sounds like I’m begging.
“No.” The muscle in his jaw twitches. “I wasn’t. Can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind in the past, but not last night.”
“Then why did you say that to him?” I ask.
Lines furrow his brow. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
I look down at the faded waterway map tucked beneath a plastic sheet on the countertop. “Define hurt.”
“Fuck,” Knox mutters. “He yelled? Called you names and shit?”
It’s hard to look up and meet his gaze. “Those kinds of things agitate him. Was it about me? Or was it about hurting him?”
He steps even closer to the counter, placing his hands on the other side in a mirror to my own. He leans toward me, and I fight back the urge to meet him halfway. “Do you honestly think I’d use you like that?”
I study him carefully. I see the gray at his temples and the earnestness in his gaze.
It would be so easy to lie and give him the answer that would soothe both of us.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t have many people, Knox.
I don’t let anyone in easily. My ability to read people is rusty.
But you also have your own agenda that I don’t know.
So, maybe, I think you could use me like that.
I guess I just want you to know it would hurt if you did. ”
He reaches out just far enough to touch the ends of my hair.
“It would be easier if I did use you and hurt you. It’d be cleaner than this feeling in my chest that I can’t seem to ignore.
The one that’s clung to me all day. For some reason, I can’t unsee you.
And yet, you’re still the daughter of the man who killed my brother. ”
The words are a contrast to his touch. His fingers are tender. His words filled with frustration.
All the air leaves my chest, and I struggle to inhale enough to replace it.
Something shifts between us. “I just want you to be honest with me.”
“You want my version of honesty?” he asks.
“Fine. You think I woke up this morning proud of what I did? I didn’t.
I was embarrassed by my lack of restraint.
You think I want you under these conditions?
You being who you are. Me being so much older than you.
My life isn’t clean by a long stretch, and I don’t want to tarnish you with any of that.
My life comes with blood and consequences that you don’t want any part of. ”
Outside, a boat engine rumbles somewhere down the dock before fading again.
Finally, Knox exhales.
“I said what I said to your father,” he says finally, “because he talks about you like you’re a child.
Because you’re something he wants to control, and in the last twelve hours, I’m starting to learn he can’t.
You’re a force of nature, Maren. And in a different world, I’d already have my dick so far inside you that neither of us could speak.
So, no. None of this was about using you. ”
My throat tightens.
You’re a force of nature, Maren. And in a different world, I’d already have my dick so far inside you that neither of us could speak.
“In the future, could you think about how things like this land on me? He was already angry before I could say a word.”
Knox pinches my chin and tilts my head so he can study my wound. “You sure he didn’t hurt you?”
I shake loose of his hold. “No. He didn’t. Scared me a little, but nothing new there. He threatens to get my licenses revoked if I don’t play along nicely.”
Knox blows out a breath. “What an asshole. And I guess…when it comes to you…I don’t play well, but I will watch my mouth in the future when it comes to you.”
The admission loosens something in my chest. I like being an unknown.
A force of nature.
“I get this is complicated,” I admit.
He laughs at that. “Complicated doesn’t even come close.”
“So, why did you come, Knox?”
He raises an eyebrow until I get the double-entendre.
“Not like that. Why did you come here? Now?”
“Are you just going to ignore the fact I pretty much admitted I’d fuck you right now if things were simpler?”
“What do you expect me to do? Beg?”
He touches my chin again, tenderly this time, and brushes his thumb across my lower lip. “Hearing you beg might be nice.”
His eyes are such a beautiful steel blue that I could spend an age looking into them, and I can’t help wishing I could see an endless supply of desire in them for me.
“You’ve already stated it’s not possible, and I don’t dance around with unavailable men.
But a man who made it known he wanted me, appreciated me, loved me, even? I’d beg him.”
He releases me. “Almost makes me want to be different.”
I huff at that. “Almost isn’t good enough.”
“In that case, I came here because I had a thought about who might have overheard you talking to the landlord about Jackal’s location, and I need your help.”
I don’t know how I feel about being useful, when being wanted was what I was hoping for. Hearing him tell me those things about his cock…I swear, there’s likely a damp patch in my panties.
But it’s so unsatisfying knowing that all the arousal I feel will go to waste.