38. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Rayne
I'm not sure how long we lay there, River's body a warm cocoon around mine. Time seems to stretch and blur, measured only by the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. River's hand moves to my hair, his fingers gently combing through the long, dark strands. The repetitive motion is soothing, almost hypnotic. I find myself drifting in a hazy state between wakefulness and sleep, lulled by the comforting sensations.
His fingers work through any small tangles they encounter with surprising gentleness, carefully teasing apart the strands without causing discomfort. It's clear he has some sort of fascination with hair, and I'm certainly not complaining. The attention is both relaxing and oddly intimate, making me feel cherished.
I'm hovering in that hazy space between wakefulness and sleep, lulled by River's warmth and the rhythmic motion of his fingers in my hair, when suddenly, everything changes.
In a move so swift I can barely follow it, River twists behind me. There's a soft metallic click, and suddenly his gun is out, aimed unerringly at the studio doorway. The weapon seems to have materialized out of thin air–one moment we were cuddling peacefully, the next River is coiled and ready to strike, all trace of softness gone from his body.
My heart leaps into my throat, adrenaline flooding my system. I hadn't heard a thing, but River's reaction tells me something is wrong. My eyes dart to the doorway, following the line of River's aim.
And there, standing silently in the threshold, is Knox.
His posture is relaxed, hands tucked casually in his pockets, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Good boy… Nice reflexes," Knox says, his eyes flick from River's gun to my face, then back again.
I scramble out of the bed, my heart racing. "Knox! What did you find out?" I ask urgently, my voice tinged with anxiety.
Knox's expression remains impassive as he meets my gaze. "Secure the studio," he says simply, his tone brooking no argument. Without another word, he strides over to the little cabinet where I keep my shoes.
I frown, confusion and frustration warring within me. Part of me wants to demand answers immediately, but I know better than to push Knox when he's in this mood. With a resigned sigh, I move to shut down my computer, fingers flying over the keyboard as I close programs and save files.
As I work, I can hear Knox rummaging through the cabinet, the soft rustle of fabric and the quiet thud of shoes being moved aside. The normalcy of the sound is at odds with the tension thrumming through the air.
I grab my keys from their usual spot on my desk, the metal cool against my palm. The familiar weight grounds me, a small anchor in the storm of uncertainty swirling around me.
When I turn back, Knox is approaching with a pair of my most comfortable flats in hand. Without a word, he kneels before me, his movements fluid and graceful despite his imposing size. I watch, transfixed, as he gently lifts my foot, sliding the shoe on with a tenderness that makes my heart clench.
He repeats the process with the other foot, his touch lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary. As he finishes, his hands begin a slow, sensuous journey up my legs. His palms are warm against my skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
Knox's fingers trace over my calves, skimming over my knees and continuing their ascent along my thighs. When his hands reach my hips, Knox pauses. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green, lock with mine. There's an intensity in his gaze that steals my breath, a mix of desire, protectiveness, and something deeper.
In one fluid motion, Knox rises to his feet, his hands never leaving my body. As he stands, he pulls me up with him, drawing me flush against his chest. I can feel the solid warmth of him through his shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my palm.
For a moment, we stand there, bodies pressed together, breathing in sync. The world around us seems to fade away, narrowing down to just this—the heat of Knox's body, the strength of his arms around me, the depth of emotion in his eyes.
Knox leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, his voice low and husky. "When I walked in and saw you and River together, it felt like coming home." He presses a soft kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. "Seeing you two together, it felt right in a way I can't even begin to explain."
Another kiss, this time to my cheek. "It was like all the pieces of my life finally falling into place." His lips ghost over my jaw, feather-light. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this, of having both of you."
Knox pulls back slightly, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "It meant everything to me, Rayne. Everything."
Before I can respond, Knox takes my hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring. He turns, leading me towards where River waits by the door. For a moment, my heart races, thinking of the stalker potentially watching us. But Knox's demeanor is calm, almost casual. There's no tension in his shoulders, no wariness in his movements. Whatever he discovered during his absence, it clearly alleviated some of his immediate concerns.
As we step out of the studio, the late afternoon sun bathes everything in a warm, golden glow. River turns back to the door, his movements fluid and practiced. I watch, bemused, as he produces a key from his pocket—a key I definitely didn't give him. The lock clicks into place with a soft, satisfying sound.
I raise an eyebrow at him, a mix of exasperation and amusement tugging at my lips. "Really?" I ask, jingling my own set of keys pointedly.
River's response is a grin that's equal parts mischievous and unrepentant. His eyes dance with barely contained glee as he pockets the key with a flourish. "What can I say?" he quips, his voice light and teasing. "We like to be prepared."
Before I can question him further, Knox's hand finds the small of my back, gently guiding me towards the curb. Parked there is a sleek, navy blue car. Its polished surface gleams, exuding an aura of quiet power and luxury.
Knox opens the passenger door and I slide into the seat, the supple leather cool against my skin. Knox gently closes the door behind me, the soft thud resonating with a sense of finality. Through the tinted windows, I watch him walk around the front of the car, his movements fluid and purposeful. The fading sunlight catches on his dark hair, highlighting the hints of auburn hidden in the rich brown strands.
River slides into the back seat, but instead of settling back, he drapes himself over my seat. His presence is warm and solid behind me, his breath tickling my ear as he leans forward. The scent of his cologne - a heady mix of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine - envelops me.
Knox slips into the driver's seat, his large frame fitting perfectly in the space. With a press of a button, the engine purrs to life, a low, powerful rumble that I can feel vibrating through the seat. He pulls away from the curb with smooth precision, merging effortlessly into the flow of evening traffic. He drives the car like it’s a part of him, and he has full control over it like he does with everything else.
The silence in the car is thick, almost palpable. Questions swirl in my mind, a tornado of curiosity and anxiety that threatens to overwhelm me.
I watch as Knox moves, the muscles in his arm flexing as he changes gears. The sleek car responds instantly to his touch, accelerating smoothly as we make our way through town. The leather-wrapped steering wheel seems like a natural extension of his body, his large hands gripping it with casual confidence.
My eyes trace the line of his forearm, admiring the way his rolled-up sleeve only accentuates the intricate tattoos beneath. The inked swirls and lines disappear under the crisp white fabric, making me want to trace the artwork hidden from view.
"You dropped thousands on the shoot," I muse aloud, my gaze sweeping over the luxurious interior of the car. The dashboard gleams with high-end tech, while the seats cradle us in sumptuous leather. "And now this car... It looks like some sort of very expensive extension to your cock."
River's laughter erupts from the backseat, loud and unrestrained. His mirth is infectious, and I find myself fighting back a grin despite the tension still thrumming through my body.
Knox's lips twitch, a hint of amusement breaking through his stoic facade. "My father may have killed my mother," he says, his voice low and controlled, "but she had planned ahead. Left me a substantial amount of money in trust."
The casual way he mentions such a traumatic event makes me turn to face him, studying his profile as he focuses on the road. I open my mouth to ask more, but something in his expression makes me hesitate. Instead, I turn my attention to our surroundings.
"Where are we going?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. The question hangs in the air, unanswered.
Knox's eyes remain fixed on the road, his jaw set in a hard line. The muscles in his forearm flex as he grips the steering wheel tighter, the only outward sign of any tension.
"Knox," I try again, my voice taking on a pleading edge. "Please, tell me what's going on. Who is the stalker? What did you find out?"
Still, he remains silent. The quiet hum of the engine and the soft whoosh of passing cars are the only sounds filling the luxurious interior.
Frustration bubbles up inside me, threatening to spill over. I turn to River, hoping he might help, but he merely shakes his head, a small, apologetic smile playing at his lips.
"Seriously?" I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "You're both just going to sit there and say nothing?"
The silence stretches on, broken only by the soft click of the turn signal as Knox smoothly navigates a corner. I growl in frustration, my patience finally reaching its breaking point. But before I can unleash the torrent of questions and demands building inside me, Knox smoothly pulls the car into a hidden parking garage. The sleek vehicle glides effortlessly into a shadowy corner, far from prying eyes.
As the engine purrs to a stop, Knox finally breaks his silence. "We don't want the car seen near the address," he explains, his voice low and measured. "We'll leave it here and walk the rest of the way. It's not far."
I huff, my irritation still simmering just beneath the surface. Without waiting for either of them, I turn to open the door myself, eager to escape the stifling silence of the car. But before I can even touch the handle, River is there, opening the door. Knox makes his way around the car and extends his hand to me, his eyes intense and unreadable. For a moment, I consider refusing, petulantly clinging to my frustration. But something in his gaze - a mix of determination and something softer, almost pleading - makes me relent. I place my hand in his, allowing him to help me out of the car.
Knox's hand remains firmly clasped around mine as we exit the parking garage, his grip both reassuring and possessive. River falls into step beside us, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by a focused alertness. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the sidewalk as we make our way down the street.
We walk in silence, the only sounds are the soft tapping of our shoes on the pavement and the distant hum of town life. I can feel Knox's thumb absently stroking the back of my hand, a soothing gesture that seems almost unconscious.
As we turn the corner, the landscape begins to shift. The sleek, modern buildings of the business district give way to a curious blend of old and new. Here, the city's attempts at gentrification are on full display.
Knox's grip on my hand tightens almost imperceptibly as he guides us towards a nondescript alleyway. The entrance is partially obscured by an overflowing dumpster, the acrid smell of garbage mingling with the damp, earthy scent of the narrow passage.
As we step into the alley, the world seems to close in around us. The walls on either side are a canvas of urban art–layers upon layers of graffiti tags and elaborate murals competing for space. Splashes of vibrant color peek through the grime and decay, like flowers blooming in the cracks of a forgotten garden.
We come to a stop in front of a nondescript metal door, its surface marred by rust and graffiti. It's so similar to the one behind my studio that for a moment, I feel a disorienting sense of déjà vu. Knox opens the door, revealing a dimly lit stairwell beyond. As we step inside, the heavy door swings shut behind us with a resounding thud. The sound reverberates through the narrow space, making me jump slightly. Knox's hand finds the small of my back, a steadying presence as my eyes adjust to the gloom.
The stairwell is illuminated by a single bare bulb, casting long shadows that dance and flicker with our movements. The concrete steps are worn smooth in the center, testament to years of use. A musty scent hangs in the air, mingling with the faint smell of damp stone.
Finally, we reach the bottom. Before us stands another metal door, this one even more weathered than the first. Rust creeps along its edges like a slow-moving infection, and the paint is peeling off in large flakes.
“Who’s place is this?” I ask softly, looking between them.
"Your stalker's," Knox says simply, his voice a low rumble that echoes in the confined space.
River steps forward, opening the door for us and motioning us through. Knox stays close behind me, his presence solid and reassuring at my back. His hand rests on my lower back, gently guiding me forward into the gloom.
There isn’t much light in the room, only two tiny windows that don’t really provide much light. But then an overhead light flares to life, illuminating a figure bound and gagged to a chair in the center of the room.
My breath catches in my throat. “Lacy?”