Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Knox
The cold metal of the handcuffs clamped around my wrists like a vise as the cops barked out my rights. There I was, standing dumbfounded on Eliza’s front lawn, my brain scrambling to make sense of how I’d flipped from tryin’ to be the hero to gettin’ pegged as the damn villain.
“I didn’t kill Mark. He’s alive! He’s taken Eliza and Emma!” I shouted, desperation sharp in my voice. “Ask the Grandma.”
The cops threw me skeptical looks, clearly peggin’ me as just another desperate criminal spoutin’ nonsense. “Sir, you need to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you,” one snapped at me, his voice icy.
“But you don’t understand—” I tried again but got shut down quick.
“Move that low life to the car,” barked the other cop, brushing off my protests like dirt off his shoulder.
As they marched me toward the squad car, I caught a glimpse of Emma coming around the corner. My heart damn near burst. “Look! That’s Emma, right there! She ain’t supposed to be here if they took her across the country!” I tried to holler, handcuffed and all.
But the cops didn’t skip a beat, just muscled me into the back of the cruiser. The door slammed shut, sealing off my desperate pleas. The ride to the station was all a muddled rush, my thoughts racing and dread building. Every attempt I made to explain, I got nothing but cold silence or a sharp, “keep it shut.”
Once we hit the station, they ran me through the motions like I was just another number. They stripped me of my belongings, down completely and checked my cavities, and I wasn’t talking about my teeth. They marched me down those cold, echoing halls to the interrogation room. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, doing jack all to soften the feeling of being caged.
“Mr. Knox, we have new evidence linking you to Mark Martin’s murder. Witnesses, financial transactions, and forensic data that don’t look good for you,” the detective laid it out, sliding photos and documents across the table like he was dealing cards in a game I was set to lose.
I rifled through the documents quick, my heart droppin’ like a stone. The evidence was damning: forged transactions and falsified emails, all laid out too damn perfect, all framing me up like a prize turkey.
“This ain’t right. I didn’t do this. You gotta believe me—Mark’s behind this. He’s alive, and he’s snatched up Eliza and her kid.”
The detective sighed, lookin’ about as tired as a man can get, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Knox, these conspiracy stories ain’t helping your case none. We need it straight on where you were the night of the murder and what your beef is with the victim. Is it because of what he did to his ex-wife?” The detective slid over a picture of Eliza, her face swollen up like the elephant man.
“Yeah, I wanted to kill him for that, but I didn’t,” I hollered. “Let me out and I will. Cause he’s breathin’, and he has them.”
As the grilling went on, it was like watching a cage being built around me, each question another bar locking into place. The desperation of my situation settled on me like a heavy coat of winter sleet. They weren’t buying what I was selling. They thought I was just another crook in a long line of liars. Being a notorious biker wasn’t helping me none. These boys were celebrating. They finally had something to pin on me. I was being stitched up real nice, and time was runnin’ out fast to save Eliza and Emma.
Finally, they wrapped up their interrogation and shoved me into a holding cell, but not before they threw me the bone of that one legal phone call. I grabbed the phone like it was a lifeline, my fingers shakin’ as I dialed the clubhouse.
When one of my brothers answered, I laid it out fast, my words tumbling out. “Listen, I’m locked up again—framed for murder. But listen good—Mark is alive. He’s got Eliza and Emma. I saw Emma at the house when they cuffed me. Somethin’ ain’t right. Head over to Eliza’s, check everything out. Grill the grandma—turns out she’s Mark’s mom. She’s spinning tales about them being hauled off across the country, but it’s bull. You gotta dig up what’s really goin’ down. Find Eliza and Emma and kill Mark. If I’m going to fry for it, he might as well die.”
I slammed the phone down, my back against the cold concrete, feeling the full weight of my screwed-up situation. All I could do now was wait and hope to hell my brothers could piece together the truth before it was all too late. My mind kept seeing Eliza and Emma, caught up in some hellish nightmare, and I clung to the desperate hope that somehow, someway, I’d drag them back home.