Chapter 31 Knox
KNOX
That motherfucker laid his hands on Harper.
Every muscle in my body was coiled so tight, I could feel my pulse throbbing in my temples. The lights buzzed overhead like angry wasps, and the antiseptic smell of the infirmary burned in my nostrils. But all I could see was that bruise.
That goddamn bruise on her perfect face.
I’d killed a man with my bare hands once. Wrapped my fingers around his throat and squeezed until the light left his eyes.
And right now, I was imagining doing exactly that to whoever this Silas piece of shit was.
“Can you please stop looking like that?”
I snapped my attention back to Harper. “Like what?”
“Like …” She gestured vaguely at my face. “Murdery.”
I didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Just stared at her.
She let out a nervous laugh. “Okay, I’m trying to lighten the mood here, but seriously, I’m fine.”
“Say that again.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. She turned away from me, busying herself with straightening supplies on the counter that didn’t need straightening.
She wasn’t fine. She was shaking.
“Another predator preying on someone vulnerable,” I said mostly to myself. Brooding, she’d probably call it.
Her hands stilled. “What?”
“They all have that in common, don’t they?” I kept my voice low. Controlled. “Pedophiles. Rapists. Abusers. They all pick targets who can’t fight back. People who are smaller. Weaker. Kinder.”
Harper’s green eyes lifted to mine. “Says the convicted murderer sitting in prison.”
She smiled when she said it. Trying to defuse me. Trying to remind me that I was in no position to play judge and jury.
It wasn’t going to work.
“Yeah.” I held her gaze. “I suppose I belong in that category. But I don’t put myself there. You know why?”
She didn’t answer.
“Because I didn’t kill some helpless, innocent victim.” I leaned forward slightly, watching her reaction. “The man I killed? I eradicated this earth of a sick motherfucker who was preying on children.”
Her eyes went wide.
Good. Now she understood exactly what kind of man she was dealing with.
“And now this asshole preyed on you.” My voice dropped lower.
“You. The woman who dedicated her life to helping people. You, who shows up every day to patch up inmates who don’t deserve a fraction of your kindness.
” I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle between us.
“You. The woman I care about more than any other woman I have ever cared about.”
“Knox …”
“That piece of shit is a cancer.” The words came out sharp.
Precise. “Infecting everyone he touches. Spreading his disease through this world one victim at a time. And every person he hurts is changed forever. Some of them will go on to hurt others. Repeat the cycle. Pass the trauma down like a fucking inheritance.”
“Please stop talking like this.” Her voice wavered. “You sound like a vigilante.”
“When cancer invades your body, you don’t negotiate with it.” I met her eyes. “You cut it out.”
“Knox—”
“If you think I’ll stand by while some asshole leaves bruises on your body …” I shook my head slowly. “If you think I’ll do nothing about it, you misjudged me.”
“Your parole hearing is coming up.”
“Fuck my parole hearing.”
“Your daughter.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
Gwen.
My little girl, who I hadn’t held in years.
For a split second, the rage flickered.
Then I looked at Harper’s face. At the shadow beneath her concealer. At the fear she was trying so hard to hide.
“He. Laid. Hands. On. You.”
Each word landed like a hammer strike.
Harper’s jaw tightened. “You need to calm down. Go back to your cell. Do some meditation or something.”
A harsh laugh escaped me. “Meditate? You think I can fucking meditate my way out of wanting revenge against the guy who hurt you?”
Her gaze darted down the hall and landed on the closed door to exam room two. Thankfully, there was no sign of Dr. Mercer.
“Look, can we please keep this down?” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”
And there it was. Beneath the strong, hardened exterior.
Beneath the woman who walked into a medium-security prison every day like it was nothing.
Beneath all that armor she’d built to survive.
There was a woman with tears welling in her eyes.
A woman whose lip was trembling, just slightly.
A woman who had been hurt by someone who was supposed to love her and who was now terrified that people would find out.
My hands curled into fists so tight, my knuckles ached.
I would make him pay for that too.
“Give me his full name.”
Harper crossed her arms over her chest. Something that might have been a laugh escaped her throat. “Yeah. That is absolutely not happening.”
I straightened to my full height and looked down at her. She barely came up to my chest. This tiny, fierce, beautiful woman who had somehow become the center of my entire existence.
“I’ll find out who he is.”
“You won’t.”
“And when I do …” I let the silence stretch. Let her imagination fill in the blanks. “He’s going to pay for what he did to you.”
Harper lifted her chin, defiant even now. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re in here and he’s out there. Beyond your reach.”
The door behind us opened wider.
“Excuse me.” A correctional officer stepped into the room. Someone older, with a clipboard and an air of bureaucratic importance.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I wanted to introduce our newest team member.” He stepped aside, gesturing to someone in the hallway. “Harper, this is Officer Whitmore. He’ll be overseeing transferring inmates to and from the infirmary starting today.”
A man walked through the door.
Tall. Clean-cut. The kind of face that looked trustworthy at first glance. The kind of smile that charmed people before it destroyed them.
But it wasn’t his face that made my blood turn to ice.
It was Harper.
The change was instant. Like watching someone get shot without a single bullet being fired. Every drop of color drained from her cheeks. Her body went rigid, shoulders climbing toward her ears, chin tucking down in that protective posture I’d noticed the very first day I met her.
The posture I now understood.
Her hand drifted up to touch the base of her throat.
And I knew. I knew before my brain caught up. I knew in the part of me that had learned to read danger the way other men read newspapers.
The man’s eyes found Harper and lit up with something dark and possessive. His smile widened into something that made me want to rip his jaw clean off his skull.
“Officer Whitmore,” the man said, extending his hand toward Harper like they were meeting at a fucking cocktail party. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Harper? Pleasure to see you again.”
She didn’t take his hand.
She couldn’t. Her fingers were frozen at her throat, pressing against that spot like she was trying to protect something vital. Something he’d already damaged.
The room shrank. The buzzing lights grew louder. And everything inside me went quiet.
My gaze moved slowly. The way a predator tracks wounded prey.
First, to Harper.
To the bruise on her cheek that she’d tried so hard to hide. The purple shadow bleeding through her concealer like a secret she couldn’t keep buried. I traced its edges with my eyes. Memorized its shape. Its size.
The size of a man’s knuckle.
Then, slower still, my gaze traveled to him.
To his hands.
He was still holding one out toward Harper, waiting for a handshake that would never come. And there, across the ridges of his knuckles, the skin was darker. Inflamed.
I stared at those knuckles.
Then at her bruise.
Then back at his knuckles.
Something clicked into place inside my chest. Not like a puzzle piece. Like a safety being switched off.
This was him.
This was Silas.
The man who had put his hands on her stood ten feet away from me, wearing a correctional officer’s uniform and a smile that said he knew exactly what he’d done.
And he’d just walked into my prison.