Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Eliza
The decision to tell Grandma that Emma and I would be staying with Knox for a while was harder than I anticipated. Her house had always been a place of safety and warmth for Emma, a refuge from the chaos of the world outside. When I told her of our plans, her reaction was swift and filled with concern.
“Stay with Knox? At that biker clubhouse? Eliza, that’s outrageous,” she said sharply, her eyes open wide with disbelief.
“He’s offering protection, Grandma.” I attempted to explain, hoping she’d see the necessity of it. “He has another house. It’s safe there.”
After a tense discussion, Grandma insisted on a compromise. “Let Emma continue to stay with me for a little while. She shouldn’t be in that environment, not with all that’s going on. It’s better if she stays here and goes to school like normal.”
I knew she was right. The last thing I wanted was for Emma to be caught up in any potential danger or even the harsh whispers of gossip. Reluctantly, I agreed, feeling the burden of her safety lift slightly, even as my own heart ached to keep her close.
“Thank you, Grandma. It’s just this week. Surely, the police will get to the bottom of this all soon. I’ll come as often as I can,” I promised, hugging her tight, grateful for her support despite her worries.
Later, as Knox and I delved deeper into our investigation at the clubhouse, I found an unexpected comfort in the rhythm of our days. We spent hours pouring over leads, discussing possibilities, and slowly, the closeness that had begun to form between us before the chaos rekindled. There were moments, small and intimate, where Knox would reach over to squeeze my hand, or when we’d share a quick, supportive hug. Each touch seemed to say what words couldn’t. That we weren’t alone in this.
One evening, Knox introduced me to more members of the Royal Bastards MC during one of their community meetings. The clubhouse was bustling with activity, with so many bikers and their families, but not the kind I had imagined. There were plans for a charity ride and discussions about a community cleanup. It was all so… normal, and I felt a ripple of surprise at how organized and focused everyone was.
“This is Eliza,” Knox introduced me to a group of his club brothers and sisters that I’ve never seen before. “She’s helping me with… a personal matter.”
“Hey, Eliza,” greeted a woman with striking tattoos and a warm smile named Moonie. “Heard a lot about you. Thanks for standing with Knox. Anything you need, we’re here.”
Another member, a burly man with a friendly grin named Bearcat, nodded. “Knox has done a lot for us. We stick together here—it’s family.”
Their acceptance was overwhelming but genuine. As instructed, I wore my off the shoulder shirt, showing off the hideous bite mark on my shoulder. After the initial sting, it wasn’t that bad, but I still had my misgivings about the whole thing. It was too close to abuse. Even if I utterly enjoyed Knox spanking me, the idea of having been marked by a man didn’t exactly sit right with me.
As we mingled, Knox stayed close, his presence a constant reassurance. I found myself laughing, sharing stories, and feeling an unexpected sense of belonging. These were people who cared deeply about their community and each other, and it was a side of the biker world I had never imagined existed. The women wore their ‘Property of’ vests, but they were clearly not pushovers or wilting flowers. It was simply just part of their lifestyle and a way of proclaiming their allegiance with a biker, like a wedding ring of sorts.
Later that night, as we sat in the stillness of his apartment, Knox turned to me with a serious look. “How are you holding up? Really?”
Touched by his concern, I ran my hand through his hair. “Better than I thought. Your friends, they made me feel welcome. Like I’m part of something good here.”
Knox’s face softened, relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad, Eliza. You’re one of us now. They’re good people. And you… you’re amazing for seeing past the stereotypes.”
As he spoke, he leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a moment that was gentle yet filled with all the complexities of our situation. It was a confirmation of our bond, a promise of support, no matter what the next day brought. In that moment, wrapped in Knox’s arms, the biker world didn’t feel so foreign anymore. It felt like a new kind of home, one we could perhaps build together.
Our breakthrough came unexpectedly late one night, after hours of sifting through endless piles of papers and digital records. We stumbled upon transactions that didn’t add up, and connections to names known to Knox in the darker circles of the city. It appeared Mark had been involved in more than just his legitimate business.
“Eliza, look at this.” Knox pointed to a series of bank transfers that linked Mark to known illegal gambling rings. “This might explain why someone wanted him gone.”
Looking at the computer screen, seeing Mark’s name in ledgers that Knox said was bad news, my heart sank. I had pieced together the reality of my ex’s life—a life intertwined with risks that endangered more than just himself. He’d put Emma and me in dangers I’d never known about.
“It’s like I never really knew him,” I murmured, feeling the sting of betrayal. But also relief as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Knox reached over, squeezing my hand, a gesture of support that had become my anchor in this storm.
Before we could delve deeper, a sudden knock at the door startled us. Knox glanced at me, a silent communication passing between us, before he went to answer it. Two police officers stood at the doorway, their expressions grim.
“Ms. Martin, we need to ask you a few more questions,” the officer said, his tone official.
In the small, makeshift office at the back of his apartment, their questions circled around my relationship with Knox and my knowledge of Mark’s activities. Each question seemed to draw a line connecting me to Knox’s outlaw world, as if my presence there was an admission of guilt rather than a search for truth.
“Do you think your current associations could have influenced events?” one officer asked, his eyes piercing.
“I… No, I’m just trying to find out who killed Mark,” I replied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
Their skepticism in their line of questioning was plain as their looks of pity, and by the time they left, I felt the weight of suspicion settling around me, not just as Mark’s ex-wife but now as someone who might be more involved. An accomplice. Maybe a suspect.
As the door closed behind them, Knox was immediately at my side. “Eliza, don’t let them get to you.”
“They wouldn’t even consider any of the information we found,” I said, falling against his chest.
“We know why we’re here. We’re going to clear all this up.”
His assurance was a small comfort against the enormity of the situation. I turned into his embrace, allowing myself a moment of weakness. Tears spilled over as the events of the past days caught up with me—fear, frustration, and a sorrow I hadn’t fully acknowledged.
“I haven’t even had a chance to mourn him, Knox,” I whispered, the words muffled against his chest. “And there’s the funeral tomorrow. I need to go. I need to say goodbye properly.”
Knox held me tighter, his hand stroking my back. “Then we’ll go. You’ll say goodbye, Eliza. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
His presence was a solid, comforting promise in the chaos of my splintered world. Despite everything, Knox had become my anchor, his loyalty and strength something I could rely on. But as we stood there, holding each other in the quiet of his apartment, I knew tomorrow would test the fragile peace we’d built. Everyone in my community would be there, my colleagues, my neighbors. Going to Mark’s funeral wasn’t just about mourning someone I’d once loved—it was about facing the past, and perhaps finally finding a way to move forward with Knox by my side.
The morning of the funeral, I decided to leave Emma with Birdie. Grandma was going to the funeral, of course. Knox and Emma had a brief moment together on the way over to Bird’s in the car, but I wanted her to get to know him more. There just wasn’t time during this mess.
“Mommy, it’s the big bad wolf,” she said in a pretend gruff voice again, mimicking the way I always told her the story. She giggled, letting me know she wasn’t at all frightened.
“This is Knox, Em. Mommy’s friend,” I said to her. And then addressed Knox, “She doesn’t mean it like it sounds. In our stories, the wolf doesn’t even do anything bad. He’s just big and scary looking, but he ends up helping the pigs rebuild their houses.” I didn’t know if my words made anything better.
Emma was still unaware of her father’s death, and I felt it wasn’t the appropriate moment to inform her, not until I had processed everything myself. Grandma had agreed.
After I hugged Emma goodbye again, Knox and I drove my car to the funeral. The enormity of the day pressed heavily on my heart. “She doesn’t even know her father is gone,” I confided in Knox, my voice tight with a sorrow that was more for Emma than for myself.
“We’ll find the right time to tell her, together,” he assured me, his voice steady, providing the strength I needed to face the day.
At the funeral, there were whispers and somber looks. And the real shock, the appearance of Mark’s other family—the wife and children I had only recently learned about—cast a shadow over the proceedings. It was dreamlike, confronting the reality of Mark’s double life in such a public, poignant setting. Their presence was an ugly reminder of the lies that had permeated our life together, now laid bare for all to see. And without Knox and my investigation, it would’ve only been a bigger shock.
The service was a blur, with speeches that painted a picture of a man few truly knew. As his other wife stood to speak, the murmurs grew louder, the community’s shock evident in everyone’s faces. I felt eyes on me, their gazes heavy with suspicion and curiosity.
“Imagine my shock to find out Mark had a secret wife. She must have known! Maybe she even had a part in it!” Her words echoed in the hushed room, turning heads and drawing gasps. His other wife, pointed, tearful and angry, openly accused me of having a hand in Mark’s demise. The accusation struck like a physical blow.
I stood frozen, the room spinning slightly, until I felt Knox’s hand on my shoulder. He leaned in, his presence a solid reassurance. “Don’t listen to them, Eliza. We know the truth,” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear over the murmur of the crowd.
With Knox’s support, I managed to stay composed. We left the service almost immediately, his arm around my shoulders as we walked past the murmuring crowds, his support the only thing keeping me upright.