10. Knox #2
For the first time since I’ve started watching her, she spends the morning with Darcy in the living room.
There’s also someone else over, and between all the talking and the volume on the TV, nobody even notices a guy exiting the bedroom, or how that same guy goes into the bathroom, or hears the water running as he uses said bathroom.
I can’t blame it on a lack of awareness, either.
The neighbors on both sides of the apartment are making enough noise that I could start singing along to 3F’s rendition of “Purple Rain” with only a fifty percent chance someone would notice.
I watch the feed of the living room from my phone to monitor the conversation, and, much to my relief, Darcy doesn’t mention me.
So, I bide my time, safely assuming she will have to leave for class.
When, at long last, she does, I take my place behind Anna’s door as my girl pads her way to the bedroom.
Is it just me or does the apartment suddenly sound much more quiet? It’s not just that she’s turned the TV off or the other two women are gone. The neighbors on the other side of Anna’s wall have either settled down or left. It’s so silent that I can hear the phone vibrate in her hand.
Daring to peek around the edge of the door, I see Anna’s fingers moving at breakneck speed, but they’re trembling as she tries to type. The shift in her demeanor is so abrupt from what I saw in the living room, and I look over her shoulder to see the messages.
Seems like the roommate is ratting me out.
Understandably, Blondie here isn’t taking the news too well that I was in the apartment last night, and I have a feeling she won’t take what I’m about to do well, either.
The last thing I need is for her to scream bloody murder, so I clamp my hand around her mouth and haul her back against me to pin her arms before she can begin thrashing.
I’m fast enough that I’m able to pry the phone from her hands before securing her, but holy fucking hell, the second she hears my voice, the girl turns into a wild cat.
It’s obvious she has some degree of self-defense training, because she tries several different techniques that I’m barely able to thwart by lifting her off her feet. When all else fails, she resorts to kicking her heels as hard as she can behind her, repeatedly striking my shins and kneecaps.
Fuuuuck!
She clips a bruise on the side of my calf that nearly has my leg giving out, forcing me to whirl her around and pin her down on the bed.
I already have one hand over her mouth to eat up her scream, but that’s not where her focus is.
She frantically fishes her hands beneath her pillows, and I quickly realize I’ve secured the wrong forearm when she pulls her left back down to reveal a fucking knife!
And I’m not talking about one of those tiny pocket things you find on a keychain. It’s a goddamn steak knife.
To say she’s caught me off guard is the understatement of the century.
Even though it’s clearly not her dominant hand, wielding something like that can still do plenty of damage, so I let go of her mouth and hurl us both sideways.
The momentum is enough that we’re sent toppling off the bed, and we both hit the floor, hard.
That doesn’t stop her from the Michael Myers impression, because she doesn’t release her hold on the knife.
It especially doesn’t help that she’s the one lying on top of me and I’m struggling to get the air back in my lungs.
Fuckin’ hell.
I really must be a masochist, because having a beautiful blonde straddling me would normally be a major turn-on, but having her brandishing a knife down at me?
It may very well be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Because this girl is a fighter.
Spend four years in prison, you’ll see every kind of person there is.
More often than not, men are pansy-asses.
Sure, some are more obvious about it, but even the macho gym bros covered in muscles and tats usually fall victim to the same limp-dick response when the chips are down.
Most people don’t know how to fight for shit, and these same assholes are too afraid to take a punch.
Watch a common bar fight. Nine times out of ten, you’ll see the guy throwing the punch already bailing out on the swing before it’s even landed.
Because he’s already scared of getting hit in retaliation.
But Blondie here isn’t bailing out or freezing up or crawling into the corner. She isn’t crying or begging or screaming for help. She knows if I want her dead, assistance won’t be arriving in time to save her.
The only scream she releases is feral, a natural response to adrenaline and fury.
She slams the knife down at me, and only my grip on her forearm manages to redirect the blade, forcing it to slice into the sleeve of my jacket rather than my flesh.
And her next attempt leaves the knife hovering directly above my chest. The only thing preventing it from sinking into my right lung is my hold on her forearm.
She’s a lot stronger than I’d give her credit for, enough that I feel the tip of the blade piercing my skin before I manage to thrust my knee up to buck her weight forward and to the side.
She drops the knife out of instinct to not land on it as she hits the floor, and I immediately roll Anna onto her back and practically lay my body over hers to pin her on the area rug.
This close, I can see every fleck of green in those hazel eyes, and she no doubt sees the same amount of details in mine, because her face and even her body fall slack as she looks up at me.
In recognition.
“You.” Of all things, she looks confused and, for a brief second, relieved . That just adds to the puzzle which is Annaleigh Evans.
Because some part of her was already anticipating this, anticipating an attack, but it’s obvious she expected her assailant to be someone else .
I have a feeling it has more to do with my eyes than my sparkling personality, but either way, she does recognize me. Well, as much as you can.
That momentary relief vanishes, reinviting fear with her confusion. She struggles uselessly under me, and when it’s clear I won’t budge, she finally resorts to the only thing she has left.
I slam my hand over her mouth, muffling the scream before it can escape. “We need to have a little chat.”
Her eyes narrow on me, and I almost laugh. Yeah, this conversation is clearly going to be one-sided. Now, if I thought she would behave…
She proves that’s not going to be the case, trying to knee me in the jewels when I let my weight up off of her ever so slightly.
I pin her back down, readjusting my position to ensure she has no wiggle room.
Probably not the best idea.
Our hips are practically aligned, and all of her fussing has her rubbing up against me in a very specific area.
“Here’s how this is going to go. Your notes over there,” I say, nodding over to the legal pad on the mattress, “are going to have an unfortunate run-in with my lighter. And you’re going to have a sudden case of amnesia if and when the cops come a-knocking.
You don’t talk to anyone about me, and you don’t go snooping around for answers. Do you understand?”
Blondie doesn’t say anything, but I can see the defiance in her eyes.
I return the look with one of my own, tilting my head just enough to the side that it’s clear I’m appraising her. The way I let my eyes roam over her is nothing short of predatory, and I can see the flicker of something far more palpable than fear crossing her expression.
“If there’s one thing I know, it’s people. And I know how to recognize someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
My words have the intended effect, because her whole body goes still.
“How unfortunate would it be if word got out to the press about who their mystery girl really is.” I smile, and though my mask covers it, I think she can tell.
It’s in my voice, the way I mock the situation.
“Imagine all that publicity, your face splashed across every news cast, media post, and paper. You’re guaranteed to get those fifteen minutes of fame so many people are desperate for. You’ll be a sensation.”
The fact that the very idea inspires panic tells me I hit the nail on the head.
She doesn’t want to be found, same as me.
“Now, if anything happens to me, say, I get hauled down to the police station, you can bet this spectacular ass of yours that my associate will forward your information to every media outlet in the tri-state area, and maybe even a few national affiliates.”
She makes a small sound that I’m not even sure is a word. Her eyelashes keep fluttering, and I think she might start crying.
“Relax, my little canary. So long as you keep your mouth shut, we won’t have a problem. If you’re really good, you won’t ever have to see me again.” I assume that’s what she wants, but perhaps not. When she nods her agreement, I go to climb off of her, feeling something rather distinct.
Given that a sexy-as-fuck woman has been writhing against my genitals, it’s no surprise I’m rocking a semi-hard-on, but feeling the damp spot through the thin material of her sleep shorts? Yeah, not what I was expecting.
Blondie notices the same time I do and immediately stiffens.
She’s mortified and just as surprised to find it there as I am.
Her cheeks turn red, and knowing what I know, having witnessed her from under her bed, my brain reverts back to a far more primitive state.
Her own fingers and sex toys couldn’t get her going, yet me unintentionally rubbing up against Blondie has her all hot and bothered in spite of the situation.
Is it fucked up that we’re both inadvertently turned on?
Sure. Do I give a shit? Fuck no. If anything, it makes me harder, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel it.
The barbarian in me wants to give into my baser instincts and take her right here on the floor, and I would, if I thought she’d actually want me. But her entire body begins trembling under my weight.
I begin to pull myself up when—fucking hell—is she trying to kill me with blue balls?
As soon as I lift my hips, she brings hers up as well, and for a brief second, she rubs her pussy against my dick again.
It would appear someone’s brain and body aren’t communicating with one another very well, because she realizes too late what she’s doing, immediately dropping her hips back to the ground and murmuring something against my hand that I can assume is a curse.
Trying to ignore my raging hard-on, I release my hold on her and climb back up to my feet. She doesn’t make a sound or even move as I grab her knife and toss it to the other side of the room before taking her legal pad and tearing the notes out.
Just as I promised, I take out my lighter and set fire to the bottom of the sheet, letting the flames engulf the paper.
I take it into the bathroom and drop the blackened remains into the toilet.
When I return to the bedroom, I find her sitting up and cowering in the corner between her nightstand and desk, her knees drawn to her chest.
She won’t look at me, at least not in the eyes, and she startles at the sound of my voice as I ask, “Do we have a deal?”
We both know it’s not really a question, but she nods anyway.
“Good. Pleasure doing business with you.”