Page 9 of Misrule
A tear slid down Knox’s cheek. Instead of complying, he coughed again and curled into a ball. Until Outlaw stopped next to him, his steel toed boots too close to Knox’s head for comfort. With determination, he grabbed the arm of the chair. He slid it against the wall to better brace it, then dragged himself up and plopped down on the brown leather seat. He laid his head on his desk and shuddered, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. His eyes and skull hurt. Maybe, they were broken. Maybe, Outlaw had blinded him.
Maybe, Knox would die. He couldn’t imagine surviving with this much pain.
“Roxanne love you,” Outlaw started.
Knox refused to dignify that with a response. Her actions suggested otherwise.
“I know you fuckin’ love her.”
Still, he wouldn’t answer. Once Outlaw left, he might call his friends on the force anyway, and have him arrested for assault and battery.
“This what you need to do, motherfucker.”
Knox wouldn’t take advice from a violent criminal like Outlaw. Instead, he diverted his attention. “Did you hear what Kendall said about me? Don’t you think that’s howshefeels?”
Outlaw’s smile was thin. “Right go where right belong. The shit she said apply to her fucking ass, too. But she wasn’t wrong ‘boutyou.”
He wouldn’t allow Outlaw to turn this back to him, so Knox could slip up again and get another ass beating. Besides, he was curious about something. “Since you rewarded her with so much, a few weeks ago, why didn’t you get her a car, too?”
“Re-fuckin-ward that bitch? What the fuck you mean?”
“A house. An office. Her law practice. An allowance. Visitation. Entry to the club.”
Instead of shame, Outlaw shrugged. “In case you ain’t figure shit out, I got a fuckin’ reason for every-fuckin-thing I do.”
Knox processed that, then decided to point something out. “You know what I think your main problem is with your speech? You’re lazy. You know how to talk to sound like you have a brain. It’s just easier not to.”
“Just cuz I said you can talk ‘bout my ass, don’t mean you gotta be fuckin’ stupid e-fuckin-nuff to keep doin’ it.”
“Your speech annoys me.”
“Tell me the last time my ass gave a fuck ‘boutwhatup-fuckin-set you?”
“I’m dropping the subject,” Knox grouched. “Tell me the method to the madness that led you to become Kendall’s Santa Claus.”
“Kendall Santa Claus?” Outlaw scoffed. “Ima let that big ass insult slide, motherfucker, and Ima tell you as soon as I finish up ‘bout Roxy.”
“Stay out of my relationship with her.”
Outlaw smirked. “To my ass, it seem like some-fuckin-body need to inter-fuckin-fere cuz you don’t know what the fuck you doin’.”
“I take umbrage to that.”
“Don’t give a good fuck.”
Life presented some inalienable truths. The right to free speech. The right to be your own person. And the fact that Outlaw always seemed toberight. Such was the case this time. Knox could say he was so angry and embarrassed he’d never forgive Roxanne. He could tell himself he didn’t need any man’s advice and, if he did, it would be that of Cameron, his best friend.
All lies. Outlaw studied people. He was a connoisseur in that respect. With those he considered family, he made knowingthem—their whereabouts, weaknesses, and wants—his priority.
Knox nodded. “What do you suggest?”
“Move outta her house. Megan and Bailey gettin’ a room ready for your ass at the club.”
“I’m not living at that club when I can go to my parents’ house.”
“Ain’t no skin off my fuckin’ ass. You do that shit, it’ll just lead Roxanne to think that you ain’t compatible to her. Be-fuckin-sides, seein’ you gonna make her miss you since she love your preppy ass.”
Outlaw had a point. Knox sighed. “Fine. I’ll move my things to the club.”
