27. Knox
TWENTY-SEVEN
KNOX
Idon’t like this.
Fury’s back at the diner, exposed like a target in a shooting gallery. I argued against it—hard—but she pushed, and the others folded.
She’s got the knife, at least. I saw her slip it into her boot before she left, the hilt flush against her skin. She’s barely healed, but she stands behind the counter refilling mugs and smiling like she’s made of Kevlar.
I’m parked across the street in the truck, engine off, windows tinted just enough to blend in.
The diner’s busy—lunch rush, people coming and going.
Fury moves inside like she owns the place, tray balanced, smile on for the customers.
She’s wearing that choker Holden gave her, the velvet hiding the scars.
It looks good on her, but it makes me want to rip it off and kiss the skin underneath.
My phone’s open to the camera feed Milo rigged—grainy but clear enough to see her chatting with that friend of hers, Jamie. Background check says he’s harmless. Some kid doing his graduate studies. The worst thing Milo could dig up is two unpaid parking tickets.
I like him for her. He gives her something outside us. Outside the blood and the bullshit.
A guy walks in. He’s tallish, baseball cap low, backpack slung over one shoulder.
Doesn’t look around like a regular. He scans the room quick, eyes landing on Fury before he heads to a corner booth.
Something about him itches. The way he sits, back to the wall, facing the door.
Backpack on the seat beside him, not the floor.
I grab my phone to text Milo. He’s at work, but I know he’s monitoring his phone.
Me:
Guy just went in. Cap, backpack. Check feed.
Milo:
On it. Camera angle’s shit—can’t get a face. You got visual?
Me:
Not from here.
Milo:
Go in. Get a better look. Don’t spook kitten.
I tuck the phone away, step out of the truck, and cross the street like I’m just another customer grabbing lunch. The bell jingles when I push the door open. Fury is at the booth already, notepad out, coffee pot in hand. She’s smiling, but it’s tight—I’ve seen her real smiles. This one’s off.
“—take your coffee?” she’s asking.
The guy looks up at her. His cap shadows his eyes, but I catch the way his gaze drags down from her face to the choker and stays there.
He leans back, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Black.” He’s still staring at her neck.
The choker has slipped a little, enough to reveal the edge of her scars. “Somebody’s been having fun?”
Fury’s jaw tightens and she pours the coffee too fast, liquid sloshing close to the rim. She sets it down with a clink.
“You want food with the coffee, or . . . ?”
“Sure. You got pie?”
“I’ll see if we have any left.”
She turns, spots me, and her expression shifts—relief mixed with annoyance. I don’t acknowledge her. I cross to the booth and sit down across from the guy. No preamble. No explanation.
He startles, backpack clutched tighter. “Uh, can I help you?”
I don’t say a word, letting the silence stretch, letting my size fill the booth, making it smaller. His eyes dart to the door, then back to me. Sweat beads on his forehead.
“Look, man, I think you got the wrong table—”
“Leave.”
He swallows hard, glances at Fury—who’s watching from behind the counter, arms folded, looking pissed—then grabs his backpack and bolts, bell jingling behind him.
Fury storms over, eyes flashing. “What the hell, Knox? I had it handled.”
“Didn’t look handled.”
“He was hitting on me. Badly. Seriously, I’m hit on by nearly every third customer.” She keeps her voice low, but the heat is all there. “You can’t storm in here every time a guy looks at me sideways.”
“He was talking about your neck.”
“He thought I was covering up hickeys, Knox—which I kind of am after the weekend. It’s what most people think when they see a woman my age in a thick velvet choker. It’s not a threat. It’s a freaking Tuesday.”
I don’t have a good answer for that, so I don’t give one.
She huffs, glancing around—the diner’s still buzzing, no one paying much attention. She heads over to the other waitress on shift. “Hey, Rosa. I need some air. Cover for me?”
Rosa nods, and Fury heads straight for the back door.
I follow.
The alley’s narrow, dumpsters and cracked pavement. The last time we were out here was the first time I got my mouth on her. The first time I made her come.
Pleasant memories for an unpleasant location.
Fury is pacing, hands in her hair, frustration rolling off her in waves.
“You can’t just barge in and play bodyguard every time someone looks at me funny,” she snaps, whirling on me. “I’m not helpless, Knox. I have the knife. I can handle myself.”
“Know you can.” I step closer. “Doesn’t mean I won’t step in.”
“That’s the problem.” She jabs a finger at my chest. “You all treat me like I’m breakable. Like I need saving every five minutes. I understood your surveillance in the beginning. And I understand why you’re protective now. But I’m not some damsel—”
“Never said you were.”
“No, you just acted like it. In front of the whole diner. On my first day back.” Her voice cracks, and the anger shifts to something rawer underneath.
“You know how hard I had to fight to be here. Two days of arguing with five of you just so I could pour coffee and take orders. And the second someone says something, you come in and take over like I can’t—” She presses her palms against her eyes.
“I need to be able to do this. I need one thing that’s mine. ”
I don’t move for a long moment. Just stand there, watching her breathe, hands over her face, shoulders tight.
She’s right and we both know it. The guy was nothing.
A creep with bad timing who happened to fit the description of the guy who left the rope.
And I treated him like a threat because treating everything like a threat is easier than admitting I can’t control what happens to her.
“You’re right,” I say.
Her hands drop. She stares at me like I’ve just spoken in tongues.
“I overreacted. I won’t apologize for watching. But I will apologize for jumping in too soon.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “So you’ll stay in the truck next time?”
I snort. “I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”
“Then will you at least wait until I signal for help before storming in?”
“Don’t push it, Fury.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a kiss—hard, claiming, my hands fisted in her hair to make sure she doesn’t slip away.
She fights me for a half-second, stubborn as always, then her hands clutch my shirt and she groans into my mouth, the anger draining out of her in one hot rush.
I don’t let up. I press her harder into the bricks, kiss her until she stops being mad and starts being something else. When I finally pull back, she’s pissed and flushed and breathing hard.
“You’re not listening to me,” she whispers.
“I am. I’m just not agreeing with you.”
She shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge. “You’re infuriating.”
“That’s what you like about me.” I lean in and kiss her again, sliding a hand down to cup her breast, thumb rolling her nipple through her uniform. She arches, moaning softly.
“Knox. Fuck. What are you doing?”
“Need you.”
“I’m mad at you.”
“I know. But I bet you’re wet for me too.” I drop to my knees, shove her dress up to her hips, and yank her panties to the side, my mouth finding her pussy. “Fuck, Fury. You’re dripping.”
“Of course I am. Have you met you?”
I tongue her slow, savoring the taste and heat, coaxing the moan I know by heart. She braces herself with both hands on my head, nails digging into my scalp as she bucks against my face, gasps turning to cries, the alley throwing every sound she makes back at us.
“Yes—Knox, fuck—don’t stop,” she begs, grinding down as I devour her, the taste of her flooding my senses. I want her desperate, shaking, reminded what it is to be wanted so badly no threat outside the alley can touch her.
She comes fast—she always does when she’s angry, like her whole body is one coiled wire ready to snap. I lap up every drop, hold her thighs steady, keep her grounded until the tremors pass. When I stand, she’s gripping my shoulders and panting, forehead pressed to my chest.
“You fucking asshole.”
I kiss the top of her head and smile.
“If anything ever happened to you . . . ” I don’t finish the sentence. Don’t need to.
She pulls back and looks up at me. Cups my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my jaw. Her eyes are soft in a way that makes my chest ache.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. Then she kisses me—hard, her tongue in my mouth, her hands in my hair. When she pulls back, she’s grinning.
“But for the record? I’m still mad at you. We’re absolutely going to have a conversation about boundaries. This”—she gestures between us—“does not count as resolution.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it, Knox.”
“I know you do.”
She holds the look one more beat, making sure it lands. Then she tugs her skirt down, smooths her hair, and squares her shoulders like she’s going back into battle instead of a diner.
“You gonna sit at the counter and glare at people for the rest of my shift?”
“Probably.”
“Order some food this time. You sitting there nursing a coffee makes you look like a stalker.”
Where you’re concerned? I am one.
“I’ll get a burger.”
“And pie.” She points at me. “Cherry. And you’ll eat every bite. You’ll tip thirty percent because I let you go down on me in an alley and that’s worth at least a generous gratuity.”
“I’ll take you shopping. You can use the card I gave you to buy anything you want.”
She looks up at me through her lashes. “I’ll hold you to that.”
I can’t help but smile.
She pushes through the back door without looking back. I wait a few beats, then follow, giving her time to reset her server smile.
She’s already behind the counter when I take a seat at the far end.
Pink-cheeked, steady-handed, pouring coffee like the last ten minutes didn’t happen.
The only tell is the way she touches the choker once, quick, like she’s checking it’s still there.
Jamie’s at the register, paying out. He lifts a hand at me on his way past. I nod back.
I order the pie. I text Milo.
Me:
Handled. Stand down.
Milo:
I noticed.
Got an ID match on the guy. No one of interest.
You good?
Me:
Fine.
Milo:
You’re never fine. But okay. You ordering a burger or pie?
I look at the slice Fury just set down in front of me. Cherry. Fork already on the plate.
Me:
Pie.
Milo:
She’s got you trained already. Respect.