Chapter 36
MAREN
Istretch in bed, every limb as taut as I can get it, then relax in a whoosh.
I don’t move. I just lie there, blinking, as my eyes adjust to the daylight seeping in around the blinds. And that same warmth I’d felt when I was with Knox on his property, one of complete happiness, floods through me in a warm rush.
I’m loved.
In a way I’d never thought I could be.
By a man I thought wouldn’t look at me if I were the last woman on earth.
Something has splintered inside me, and I couldn’t put myself back together again, even if I wanted to.
I don’t want to be safe anymore.
I push myself up in bed. My hair’s a mess, but my limbs feel loose. And the whisper of anxiety I used to feel at the start of the day is gone.
A glance at the clock tells me I still have an hour before I have to open the shop. We’ve got some big deliveries coming in for various customers, so I need to open on time to meet them.
I roll out of bed and head to the kitchen to make coffee, but as soon as it’s bubbling, I shift to the easel and look at what I produced last night.
“It’s good,” I say, almost surprised at myself.
It’s not a literal painting of Knox and me up against the tree.
You wouldn’t even see two bodies if you didn’t know.
But I do. I see the curves of Knox’s shoulders in the dark, sweeping strokes.
And the arch of my back in some lighter, almost gold where the sun catches my skin.
There’s movement in it. Heat. It’s blues and greens and gold, like the very swamp is a living breathing thing around us.
It’s moody and expressive.
It draws you in.
I reach out my fingers and hover just shy of the canvas, scared that if I touch the paint, I’ll ruin it, somehow.
And for once, there’s no voice in my head telling me it isn’t good enough.
There’s no correction and no criticism.
Just a very real urge to accept I can paint.
The coffee splutters to a halt, and I jump. “You will not overthink this.”
I make a mug of coffee, then grab my phone.
And my heart drops.
Missed calls from last night. And a message….
Knox: Sweetheart, there’s been a bit of trouble.
I’m fine. Call me. But it would be safer if you’d ask the prospects outside to lead you to either the clubhouse or go to my house.
There’s a lockbox hidden by the chair on the porch you sat on.
The number is 2221. Let yourself in and I’ll be home when I can.
I stare at his name for a second, check the time, and then, call him.
It rings twice. “Maren. You okay, sweetheart?” His words are rough and weathered, like I woke him.
“Am I okay? How about you? Are you okay? Are you safe? What happened?”
“It’s club business, babe. But we know who those two men are, now. That’s the good news. The bad news is they have a fucking army behind them, and they showed up at the clubhouse last night. They’ve beaten Vandal to a fucking pulp.”
“Oh, no. How is he?”
There’s the sound of sheets rustling as he moves. “Reaper has taken him for X-rays. He’s gonna need surgery. We’ll know soon.”
I put my hand to my chest and look at the painting of the two of us. Looking at it again, it’s like the air around us is frenetic, like I painted the chaos into the canvas and we’re at the center.
“We’re going to have to be super careful for the next week,” he continues. “I know my message had two options, come here or go to my place, but now that I’ve slept on it, I’d feel better if you were at my house. It’s impossible to find if you don’t know the area.”
“If it makes you feel better, of course I’ll come stay at your house. It won’t take me long to drive to the bait shop from there every day.”
“No,” Knox says. “I mean, stay there. Like, don’t leave.”
“I can’t just ignore my work,” I say before I think to soften the words. “I have a business. Bookings. Airboat tours. People who rely on me.”
“Maren,” he says. “None of that matters if you aren’t safe.”
“Knox—”
“No,” he cuts in. “We’re not doing this. I can’t do what I have to do if I’m worrying about you, as well.”
I take a deep breath. “Knox. I’ll let you off for being bossy and demanding, seeing it’s coming from a place of fear for my safety, and you’ve had a truly horrific night.
But I can’t hide. I feel like I just broke free of one man’s hold.
I can’t just walk straight into another’s.
I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.
So, when there is a direct and meaningful real-time threat, I will let you lead and take your advice.
But I can’t hide out every time something gets bumpy with your club. ”
Silence stretches between us.
“Fuck,” Knox curses.
“I’m going to work today. You have prospects here. I’ll keep it short. Reduce the hours after the last airboat tour. And I’ll lock up early. I’ll grab groceries on the way to your place.” Because I remember he was running pretty low on them.
“Just pop over to the convenience store,” Knox says.
“No. Your cupboards were bare, and I’ll make sure there’s enough food if hiding out becomes the only option. And that means a drive to the bigger store.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I have the nervous need to keep talking, to fill the silence.
“I’ll even bring my supplies and spare easel so I can paint while I’m there too.”
There’s another pause. Longer, this time.
“Don’t lock me up,” I say quietly. “I don’t think I could take feeling trapped again.”
“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m not trying to do that. Just…don’t go anywhere alone. I’ll tell the prospects to escort you wherever you want to go. If there’s a problem, drive straight for me or the sheriff’s office. Whichever is closest. You understand me?”
“I do. I don’t want to die, Knox. Trust me, I won’t be taking a single risk I don’t need to.”
“Good,” he says finally, a resigned sigh following the word. “You see or hear anything off, even if you think it’s probably nothing, you call me. Don’t handle it yourself, and don’t hesitate.”
“I won’t,” I promise. I look at the painting again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. Nothing that I haven’t faced before. We’ll get through this together.”
When I finish work seven hours later, a small piece of me wonders what all the fuss was about. I took a nice family from Atlanta out on the airboat. They were here to celebrate their grandmother’s eightieth birthday and, apparently, going on an airboat was one of her bucket list items.
The prospects hadn’t been happy about me heading out, but I tipped my chin in the direction of the little kids in bucket hats and the obviously loving parents and grandma, who was wearing a smile so big, I thought her jawbone might crack, and asked them just how much trouble they thought I’d be in.
Leo closed up the shop, and two of the prospects stayed behind to look after my business.
Kip, short for Kipling, a name he told me he hates, and Derren, a transplant from Wisconsin, got to come with me to the grocery store.
“You can wait out here,” I say once we get there.
Kip shakes his head. “Prez said to stay with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, he did. Fine. Just don’t make it weird. Try to blend in or something.”
Although, that would be hard. Kip is a wall of solid muscle, and Derren must be over six and a half feet. Both of them wearing Outlaws cuts that declare them prospects.
The store is quiet. A couple of old men linger near the newspapers, talking about inconsequential things. Someone’s kid is having a meltdown in the cereal aisle, and I wonder what kind of father Knox is going to be. I wonder if he’ll find a reserve of patience. If he’ll be playful with them.
Everything about the grocery store is normal, no matter how hard I scan for danger. Knox has got me wound up tighter than I need to be. And it’s not that I’m some kind of Pollyanna who thinks everything is fine.
I know it’s not.
But I don’t need to live my life one heartbeat away from a panic attack.
“You know what,” I say to Kip, handing him a basket, “make yourself useful. Carrots, peppers, onions, tomatoes, and romaine. Derren, you’re on apples, oranges, strawberries, and bananas. Sooner we’re done, sooner we’re on our way to Knox. I’ll go get the meat and dairy stuff.”
They look at me confused, for a hot second, but then head toward the produce department while I grab a shopping cart.
In the meat department, I reach for a large pack of chicken breasts and then think about Knox. “He’s bound to be a red meat guy,” I mutter to myself.
I throw in steak and ribs too. I have no idea what he’s up against now, but the least I can do to support him is make sure we have good meals. I throw in some ground beef and make a mental note to grab beans for a chili.
Then, I head to the dairy, where I throw in Greek yogurt, cottage cheese, a large block of sharp cheddar. The milk coolers are half-empty; a few cartons of milk pushed forward on the roller-racking from the rear to make it look stocked.
I can see more farther back on the rack, just out of reach. I peer through the shelves to see if I can spot anyone back there who could give it a nudge because it would take two seconds if anyone actually worked here.
I glance around. No staff. No one paying attention.
Fine. I see the door that leads to the stockroom. It’s slightly ajar.
“Hello?” I call as I push it open.
No one answers me. It’s cool back here. The polished edge of the store disappears, replaced with gray concrete floor, stacked boxes, and the low mechanical hum of the refrigeration units.
It smells different too. Slightly…stale with the dust of cardboard in the air.
I find the back of the dairy rack and give the box of milk I need a shove. But while I’m there, and being a store owner myself, I can’t help but be helpful. Each box I shove rumbles noisily down the roller racking. There’s something quite satisfying about it.
And just as I’m done with the last container, a hand comes down over my mouth from behind, hard and fast enough to snap my head back.
The smell of him hits me, first. Cigarette smoke and sweat.
And then, there is the pressure of the body behind me.
He’s not as solid as Knox is, but his other arm is wrapped tightly around my middle.
My heart jolts wildly as I jerk against him. I kick and try to get my feet beneath me, flailing my hands and elbows as I try to make contact.
“Easy, Maren,” he says. “Don’t want to hurt you.”
Whoever this is, knows my name.
That makes everything feel worse. It’s not an accident. It’s not a mistake or a case of wrong place, wrong time.
A second man appears. He has a gun pointed straight at me, and I don’t recognize him. These aren’t the same men who came for me before.
While I could take the man at his word, that they don’t want to hurt me, the gun tells me they have every intention of hurting me, and I find myself very much wanting to stay alive.
So, for now, I stop fighting.
“Listen carefully,” the man with the weapon says. “You’ve been spending time with people you shouldn’t. Getting involved in things you shouldn’t. Go back to your life, Maren. Forget about the biker. Consider this your warning.”
The biker.
There is something about the way the man is speaking that bothers me.
The storeroom door bursts open, hitting the wall with a slap.
“Take your fucking hands off her.”
And I’ve never been more relieved to see Knox in my whole life.
Relief hits me so fast, my knees buckle.
The man behind me releases me, but only to shift his grip, before he practically throws me at Knox.
Momentum, shitty footing, shaking legs, and fear all collide, and I fall into Knox.
Knox stumbles as he tries to catch me. His arms come around me, but my momentum is too fast, he barely has time to plant his feet, and so we both fall to the floor.
He twists so that I don’t hit the concrete at full force. But the impact still knocks the breath out of me. I can’t imagine how it must have hurt Knox as we go down in a tangle of limbs.
“Motherfucker,” he curses as the sound of boots hitting concrete disappears. Knox shifts, trying to push to his feet, trying to go after them. But he realizes the same thing I have.
They’re gone.
“Are you hurt?” he demands as he climbs to his feet.
“I—no,” I manage. I’m winded. Probably going to be bruised tomorrow. Shaken like a martini. But I’m not in pain. “I’m okay.”
The muscle at the side of Knox’s jaw twitches as he helps me to my feet. “Did they touch you?”
“Yes,” I snap back, matching his tone. “They grabbed me, Knox. What do you think—”
“I told you to not come out alone. I warned you. I told you not to come to this store because something in my gut told me it was a bad fucking idea. I told you to get to me. Instead, you walked yourself into a back room where no one can see you, no one can hear you and—”
“I needed milk, Knox.” The absurdity almost chokes me. “I can’t live in a world where I can’t pop out for milk.”
“And I can’t live in a goddamn world without you in it, so I fucking win, Maren.”
And then, I see it. Beneath the shouting, there is fear in his eyes, and there’s a gentleness as he brushes dust off my ass.
Then, he steps away from me and runs a hand through his hair.
“Jesus Christ, Maren. I was worried this wasn’t a good idea, so I asked Kip to call me when you left so I could ride out here and join you to make sure you were okay.
And then, I walk into the store, and I see my men putting our groceries into baskets in the produce department, and, meanwhile, you’re nowhere to be seen.
Then, when I find you, there’s a man with his hands on you, and one has a gun pointed straight at you. ”
Tears sting my eyes as I finally acknowledge the fear and adrenaline and the flight or fight I fought with. “And I’m clearly handling it better than you…are.”
The final word comes out on a sob.
“Jesus,” he says, tugging me to him, holding me tight, kissing the top of my head.
“I’m sorry…Vandal got hurt so badly,” I manage to say. Because I’m sure half his fear for me stems from that.
“So am I,” he says, then takes a deep breath. “Thank you, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here.”
I shake my head and swipe away the single tear that spilled over. “I meant what I said, though. I can’t live my life if I can’t even pop out for milk. You’re more than welcome to stay and help me finish my shopping, but I’m finishing it with or without you.”
The muscle twitches again in his jaw. “Fine. But you go more than three steps away from me, and I’m going to spank your ass when we get home.”
I blow out a deep breath and grasp for anything that might put us back on an even keel. “That sounds like fun, Knox.”
He rolls his eyes. “Come on, let’s finish the shopping, and you can tell me exactly what happened while we do.”