29. Knox
KNOX
How do you earn the wrath of Paradise City’s Queen Bee? By rattling her entire fucking hive. Last night, I sent a message, but tonight is about making a statement, one that lets her know I’m not the type to make idle threats.
Unfortunately, the plan had been to make this statement on Thursday. You know, after Anna and I have gone out on our first official date.
But the dominos have lined themselves up far too perfectly. There’s no way we can let this opportunity pass us.
The stage is all set for tonight, and I fucking hate it. I’m still having a date night with my girl, but because of what needs to be done, we don’t even get to leave the apartment. At least, she doesn’t. Hell, we don’t even get to spend all of the night together.
Still, it feels so good being able to walk into her building come nightfall, not having to worry about being seen.
I lift my head when I enter the lobby, making a show of looking at the architecture to ensure I’m clearly visible on camera.
I also wave to the attendant in the lobby and make small talk while I wait for the elevator, only further securing my alibi.
And my canary looks genuinely startled when she answers her apartment door to find me waiting on the other side of it.
Yeah, she’s gotten pretty used to me just appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the night, so I guess this really is new territory for us.
While she smiles at me in pleasant surprise, I’m groaning.
Because she dressed up for me.
“What?” she asks innocently, looking down at herself. “I know I can’t leave here tonight, but that shouldn’t stop me from wanting to look nice for you.”
“Yeah, but I have to leave. How the fuck do you expect me to walk out when you’re over here looking like this ?”
She’s all dolled up, and the little black dress she’s wearing hugs her in all the right places. And when I say it’s little, I mean it. The bottom barely covers her ass.
“What a shame then that I’m also not wearing any underwear,” she says far too sweetly, pulling the door open to let me inside.
“Seriously, are you actively trying to kill me?” I have to brace myself on the door jamb so as to not charge at her, pin her to the floor, and have my way with her right now.
We need to keep to the schedule, and she knows this.
My little canary bats her eyelashes as she plants her ass on the nearest sofa, her thighs spreading to show me exactly what I’m missing. “I’m just giving you some incentive to get back here.”
Fucking hell.
I have to pretend my shoes are cemented to the foyer, because one step into the living room means all of our plans for the night will be obliterated.
I need to keep to the timeline, and I sure as hell can’t do that if my face is buried in her cunt. Because I won’t be able to do anything quick with her, and I won’t be stopping just to answer the door for our takeout delivery.
Focus, Damon. Stick to the plan. Order some food.
“What do you have a taste for?” I redirect, but it sounds like I’ve suddenly got cotton balls stuck in my throat, because I have to practically choke out the words.
Thankfully, when she answers, I have something else to focus on, because I’m shaking my head. “Sorry, but no.”
She pouts. “Why not?”
“Because you deserve better than all of this .” It takes everything in me not to shout, but seriously, this is really fucked up.
“I should be taking you out to a fancy restaurant and spoiling the shit out of you and blowing my money on stupid things like horse-drawn carriage rides through the park. Not leaving you alone in the apartment eating fucking McDonald’s . ”
She laughs, but it’s not funny. Not for me, anyway.
“At least let me treat you to something nice. I hear that Italian place on the corner is supposed to be good, and they have a takeout option. Or maybe the Indian restaurant over on Van Allen. Seriously, what do you have a taste for?”
Anna just spreads her legs further. “Apart from you?”
Goddamn it.
“McDonald’s it is.”
She laughs again, but it’s out of confusion this time, watching me whirl around in favor of the front door. “Where are you going?”
“To get you food, and hopefully a cold shower.” It’s not part of my plan for me to leave again, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. McDonald’s will still have me on security footage coming into the restaurant, and I need the breather if I stand any chance of getting through this night.
Anna knows the gist of what I’ll be doing later, but having to be my alibi also means not disclosing everything. She understands, but it doesn’t make me feel any less shitty when the alarm on my phone goes off at a quarter to eight.
We’ve spent the past few hours eating, watching terrible TV, laughing, and inevitably winding up in her bedroom.
But it all ends too quickly. Just as I predicted, having to walk out on Anna while she’s sprawled out naked on the bed is physically painful, mostly to my balls and dick, because they’re all too eager to go for one more round.
She sits up with a grin, pinning her hands to my chest before I can move in to kiss her again. “Oh no, you don’t. Save that for later, Casanova. I’m not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, have to do your Spider-Man disappearing act.”
Groaning, I go about my business as planned, putting my clothes back on and pulling out my lighter and a cigarette. I never really picked up the habit of smoking, even being in prison, but it’s the only excuse I could think of for why I would need to go out on the balcony.
Before I can slide the glass door shut behind me, a hand grabs hold of my shoulder and turns me back around so that I’m facing a blanket-covered Anna, who plants a quick kiss on me.
“Be safe.” She gives me one last wink before heading back down the hallway, promising all sorts of fun when I get back.
If that isn’t one hell of a motivator, I don’t know what the fuck is.
I’ve burned about halfway through the cigarette when my next alarm goes off.
Showtime.
I stamp out the remainder in Darcy’s ashtray and take my usual route down to the ground, landing on the bottom patio before anyone can see me. It sucks having to take the roundabout trip on foot, but with the hood over my head, I make the two-mile jog to reach our meetup point.
Michael and Dominic are already waiting, and Jax arrives not a minute after me.
This time, we invested in Halloween makeup that’s supposed to come off easily with soap and water, and applying the black on our eyes is far easier.
I suspect the coverage isn’t as thick, but that’s not the point tonight.
The police will already suspect who we are.
Tonight’s about having some fun, and that prospect only grows more appealing as we drive through Virginia Heights and into the Borough.
Seeing all of the reminders of how well this rich bitch has been living these past four years is only inspiring more fantasies on how I can obliterate every aspect of her fucking existence.
When a man’s freedom is on the line, you’d think the police would do their due diligence.
When there’s a fifteen-million-dollar inheritance at stake, that’s what they usually call a motive .
But nope. I was and always will be the delinquent from the wrong side of the tracks.
I’m not worth the effort. I tried to get my own attorney to look into this, but he was appointed by the state, ensuring he was overworked and underpaid.
My only hope was that the police would give my case any consideration, but it was obvious early on that wouldn’t be happening.
If they gave it so much as a second glance, they would have found it odd that I’d steal a single trinket from my father’s property, especially when Lillian claimed the watch had been stored in an office that housed a plethora of antiques that likely cost the same, if not more.
They also would have found it odd that I’d steal anything—period—if they had bothered to look into my father’s will.
Upon his death, the beneficiaries named would have to meet the five-year working requirement to receive the full inheritance, but he still granted each of us a salary in the meantime, along with covering property taxes and/or rent.
That job would have paid me five times more than what I was getting at the garage, easily setting me on the right path.
And unlike the handouts I had refused from my father, he gave me the opportunity to earn what I would be making.
When you’ve spent your entire life struggling between whether you pay the heating bill or buy groceries, I would have been living like a king compared to what I was used to.
Lillian and her son, however, weren’t used to the concept of salaries.
My stepmother hadn’t worked in over three decades, and Devin hadn’t ever worked, period.
They were used to unlimited funds, and “budgeting” wasn’t a word in their dictionary.
At the time, I wasn’t sure how they’d make it these past four years with a restricted salary, but when I was released, I learned that Lillian was still quite well off, having made her own money in real estate.
I suspect her initial investment came from selling off whatever my father had bought her over the years, because the will stipulated that most of the properties couldn’t be put on the market until after the five-year period.
Even after a lengthy litigation, she was only allowed to rent out the buildings of the businesses that my father had owned.
Somehow, some way, rich people always have a way of landing on their feet.
It’s why Lillian rolls up in front of the very restaurant she rents out, driving her brand-new Benz.
She hands the keys off to the valet and heads inside, and I’m all too happy to step out of my own stolen vehicle, my mask on and my lighter all set to go.
The valet parks the Benz across the street from the restaurant, still in view of the patrons eating inside. Even better.