Chapter 35
Knox
Afew days later, he drove back home from his mom’s place, morning light cutting across the windshield in blinding streaks.
The visit had gone about as expected.
She wasn’t better, but she wasn’t worse either, and lately that felt like the closest thing to a win he was going to get.
She’d complained the entire time—about Knox leaving, the apartment, the neighbors, but mostly about the nurse Dominic had arranged.
Said she was too strict, too cold, and too controlling.
Knox almost smiled at that. The woman was tough.
She didn’t take any of his mom’s usual bullshit, didn’t let her skip meals or “forget” her medication.
Every time his mom tried to push back, the nurse shut it down with the practiced efficiency of someone who’d been doing this her whole life.
It was exactly what his mother needed, even if she hated it.
Knox adjusted his grip on the wheel as traffic thickened closer to Dominic’s side of town. He was rushing back for a sparring session with Cassian, and this time Dominic was joining.
His gaze flicked to the side mirror, then back to the road, his mind drifting ahead to the gym.
Then—movement.
Too fast. Too close.
A car shot into his peripheral vision from the left, cutting through the intersection like it hadn’t even considered slowing down. Knox’s foot shifted instinctively, hands tightening on the wheel—
The impact hit from the side.
Deafening. Everything lurched. The world didn’t spin so much as tilt violently, like it had been ripped off its axis. The wheel wrenched from his hands and his body snapped sideways with a force that emptied his lungs completely.
Sound collapsed into itself. There was metal grinding, glass breaking, and a shrill ringing tore through his skull.
He tried to breathe and couldn’t. Panic surged as his lungs refused to expand no matter how hard he fought for air.
He couldn’t tell where he was, which way was up. There was a dull, distant awareness of pain—somewhere, everywhere—but it didn’t settle long enough to make sense.
The world flickered.
And then there was nothing at all.
* * *
Knox came back to himself slowly. Not all at once, just fragments. A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes, the taste of iron sat at the back of his throat, and restraints dug into his wrists.
Then the rest hit.
Pain flared deep in his side when he tried to take a full breath, forcing a strained exhale out of him. His head felt thick and sluggish, each heartbeat driving a dull throb behind his eyes.
He stilled and listened. It was quiet: no voices, no traffic, no distant hum of the city, just a constant drip somewhere in the distance.
He forced his eyes open. Darkness greeted him first, broken only by a weak overhead light that cast the room in a sickly glow. He was surrounded by concrete walls, bare and cold, stained in places he didn’t look at too long.
His breath hitched as awareness returned fully.
He wasn’t anywhere he recognized. Thick restraints cut into his wrists, secured behind the back of the chair.
He tried to move his legs next—same result.
His ankles were locked in place, the chair itself unmoving beneath him, bolted down.
His chest rose faster as he looked down.
He’d been stripped to his underwear, skin exposed to the cold air, every bruise visible and aching.
He forced himself to stay still, to breathe through it even as adrenaline began creeping under his skin. A cold awareness settled over him; that crash hadn’t been an accident.
Mercer.
It clicked into place too cleanly to be anything else.
His gaze moved across the room, taking in everything he could: corners, shadows, a table against the far wall, a single metal door. No windows. No easy way out.
Footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the door, slow and approaching. Knox’s muscles tensed against the restraints, a useless reaction but impossible to stop. The handle turned and Knox forced himself to focus, to be ready, because whoever walked through that door wasn’t here to help him.
Mercer stepped inside without pausing or looking around.
He went straight to the table like Knox wasn’t worth acknowledging.
Knox recognized him instantly; he’d seen his photo enough times in Dominic’s files to know that face anywhere.
The first thing Knox noticed was that he wasn’t put together—not in the way men like Dominic were.
His jacket hung wrong, his shirt wrinkled, and his hands weren’t steady when he set something down.
“Awake already,” he said, almost to himself.
Knox stayed silent. Just continued to watch him.
Mercer exhaled loudly through his nose, then stepped closer, stopping just out of reach.
Up close, Knox could see every detail. He might’ve been handsome once, but that was no longer the case.
His hair was a mess, eyes sunken, skin stretched too tight over sharp angles.
His hands kept moving, restless, never still long enough to settle.
He looked like a man who’d been unraveling for weeks and hadn’t slept through any of them.
“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes dragging over Knox’s face. “You don’t look like much.”
“Mercer,” Knox said.
He tilted his head. “Guess I don’t need to introduce myself.”
“Why’d you take me?”
Mercer didn’t answer right away. He walked past Knox and dragged his hand across the back of the chair. “Because I couldn’t get the other one.”
Knox frowned, irritation cutting through the pain. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve been watching,” Mercer said, dragging a hand over his face like explaining this was beneath him.
“Or at least… my people have been. Tracking Dominic. Finding out who he moves with. There’s always someone.
Usually two options.” His gaze locked back on Knox.
“You. Or the other one. The one who actually looks like he knows what he’s doing. ”
“Cassian,” Knox whispered.
“Yeah. Cassian.” He rolled his jaw, irritation bleeding back in. “That one would’ve been a nightmare.”
Knox shifted against the restraint, pain pulling through his ribs at the movement. “So you picked the easier target?”
Mercer’s gaze snapped to him. “Something like that. I’ve had people watching Dominic for months, trying to find something I could use. You kept showing up.”
Mercer stepped closer, almost crowding him. “Do you know what he does to a person?”
Knox didn’t answer.
Mercer leaned in. “He leaves you with nothing. He didn’t just take territory. He dismantled everything. Routes, contacts, money. Gone. People I’ve worked with for years didn’t even hesitate. Just switched. Like I never mattered in the first place.”
His fingers twitched at his sides. “So you grab something. Anything. You find a piece he cares about—and you squeeze.”
Knox’s jaw clenched. “You’re just guessing.”
“Of course I’m guessing,” Mercer snapped, his composure cracking wide open. “That’s what happens when someone wipes you out and doesn’t leave you with options.” He laughed, but it broke halfway through. “I don’t have the luxury of certainty anymore. He took that too.”
Knox let out a rough breath. “You picked wrong.”
Mercer’s mouth pulled into a crooked, unstable smile. “Maybe. But I think I chose just fine. And anyway, I didn’t just grab you to hurt him.” He leaned in, voice lowering. “I grabbed you because you’re close enough to know things.”
Knox’s stomach dropped.
“So this is how it goes,” Mercer continued, stepping back enough to look Knox over. “I hurt you—he feels it. And while I’m doing that, you start talking.”
Knox’s pulse was too fast now, too loud in his ears. His hands flexed uselessly against the restraints, metal biting into his wrists. He swallowed hard and forced the panic down before it could take hold.
Mercer had moved to the table, reaching for something.
“You’re not getting anything from me,” Knox said.
Mercer nodded. “Yeah. I figured.” He turned something over in his hand. “I’m not expecting it right away.”
Knox’s stomach turned over.
Mercer came back holding a short rubber baton. A tool designed to hurt, not to kill.
The first strike hit his ribs hard enough to rip the air from his lungs.
He folded forward as far as the restraints allowed, a broken sound escaping before he could stop it.
The second came before he could breathe again—same spot, the pain stacked fast, spreading under his skin.
His chest hitched uselessly as he tried to pull in air, lungs refusing to cooperate.
Another hit followed.
And another.
Knox’s hands clenched behind him, nails digging into his palms as he fought to stay present. His head dropped, then jerked back with the next impact. Each strike landed clean, turning the pain constant, never fading between blows.
Mercer didn’t say a word the entire time. He just watched, like Knox’s reactions mattered more than the hits themselves.
The baton came down again and a helpless sound tore out of him. His shoulders snapped back against the chair, vision going white at the edges. His breathing broke completely—every inhale dragging through his ribs like something sharp and wrong.
When it finally stopped, Knox’s chest heaved. Every inch of him burned, his body trembling through the aftermath, but he forced his head up and met Mercer’s eyes. He would not give him the satisfaction of looking away.
Mercer tilted his head, studying him with curiosity. “Well? Are you ready to talk?”
Knox didn’t answer. His mind was slower now, dragged down by pain, but one thing stayed clear beneath all of it.
Dominic.
If he said anything, it would lead Mercer straight to him. To everything he’d built and fought to protect. Knox swallowed, teeth grinding together. The idea of being the reason Dominic got hurt—or worse—cut through the pain sharper than any of the blows had.
No.
He couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t. Not for anything. Not even to save himself.
Their journey hadn’t started right. He knew that. But somewhere along the way it had stopped being something he got dragged into and became something he chose.
Dominic had pulled him out of the gray, empty place he’d been stuck in for years. Given him something solid: a job, money, a home that was actually his. Dominic had stepped in where no one else ever had. He even took care of his mother when Knox couldn’t do it anymore.
Then there was the rest of it—the part Knox had spent years ignoring, the part his father had made him fear. Dominic hadn’t just accepted it. He’d made Knox believe it was worth accepting too.
He couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had happened, but Dominic had come to mean too much. And Knox wasn’t going to be the one who destroyed him in return.
“I’m not saying anything,” he said.
Mercer’s smile widened, bright and wrong. “Good.”
He let the baton thunk onto the table and reached for another item. He turned back holding it up like a prize. “Grew up on a farm,” he said, almost fondly. “Branding the cattle was my favorite chore.”
A soft hum crackled to life; coils on the head glowed red-orange, heat radiating visibly in the cold air.
An electric brand.
Knox’s lungs emptied.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Mercer angled the glowing tip so he could see—three small leaves and a stem. “A little clover.”
Before Knox could answer, Mercer walked over and fisted his hair, yanked his head sideways, and pressed the brand below his ear.
White-hot pain exploded, the burn so fierce it stole sound and sight. Acrid smoke rose, the stench of burning flesh lodging in the back of his throat. He tasted blood where he’d bitten through his own lip. His breathing came back ragged and shattered when Mercer finally lifted the iron.
The brand clattered back onto the table. Mercer’s hand closed around a knife next, the blade catching what little light there was as he twirled it between his fingers. “Now, let’s add some color. Plenty of canvas to work with. Let’s see how beautiful you look in red.”