Page 26 of Possessed By Knox
I push past the two and walk into their apartment. It’s rude and a violation to just storm into someone’s place, but I have to see for myself. I walk straight to the door I saw Ruth disappear through yesterday and push it open. My heart is pounding as I step into the neatly organized room. The bed is empty and so is the closet.
She’s gone.
For a brief moment, I’m transported back in time. I was twenty-four, out of town on MC business, and came home to find the trailer that my mother and little sister shared was empty. At first, I thought we’d been robbed, but then I saw everything in the trailer was gone except my own things, which remained untouched. Viv was only eight years old, and my mother hadpulled her from my life so abruptly. I tried to get custody of my sister—I was basically like a father to her anyway, doing more to raise her than our mother ever did—but Mom wouldn’t let her come back to Chicago. So I ended up sending money every month to support them, and I promised Viv I’d come get her the moment she turns eighteen. [KB35][KB36]
Coming home to find my mother had fled the state with my little sister was the biggest betrayal I’ve ever had to endure.
Until now…
I storm out of the apartment, ignoring the calls of my name as I walk to the elevator, punching at the button until it opens. My nostrils flare as I press the button for the second floor, and I’ve already stripped off my jacket when the doors open to the gym which takes up the entire floor. I toss the jacket aside as I take in the room. There aren’t many people in the gym, probably stuffing their faces at the cafeteria, but my eyes lock on the man standing by the weights.
“What’s up, Knox?” He nods in my direction, but I don’t respond, looking for anything to take my anger out on. The punching bags are my first target. I don’t bother wrapping my hands before launching a flurry of punches, my eyes flaring with anger, frustration and an emotion I refuse to acknowledge as hurt. The leather bag swings but it doesn’t give. It absorbs every blow, offering no satisfaction, no release. [KB37]
I switch to kicks, a desperate attempt to find some way to bleed off this rage eating at me, but it’s no use. It doesn’t even graze the surface. The rage is like a living thing, a parasite that’s been feeding on me for years without a way to get rid of it. I’m sweating, my knuckles torn and bleeding when I push back to scan the gym, and then I see the same guy from earlier watching me with amusement.
Through the red haze clouding my eyes, I realize that it’s Trigger. The man is responsible for handling all the weapons in the club. And he has just become my next target.
“I’m in the mood to punch a face in, might as well be your ugly mug.”
He grins, showing teeth as he steps away from the equipment. “That’s a shit load of energy you’ve got there, VP. What the fuck did my ugly mug do to you?”
“Nothing, it just looks punchable right now.”
“Well then, since you asked so nicely, I ought to indulge you.” He nods to the ring. “Do you want to fight here or in the ring?”
“Here’s fine.”
We lunge at each other, and it’s a blur of motion, a dance of aggression as I throw a punch which he easily counters with a sharp jab that snaps my head back. I grin at the sting before landing a solid hook. There’s no moment of pause as I’m hitting and getting hit. And the anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
The fight turns into a battle of wills, of strength. I’m winded, my lungs burning, muscles screaming. But I keep going, fueled by the need to break something, to feel something other than the suffocating rage. Finally, my legs give out and I drop to the cool floor, gasping for air, the world spinning around me.
“Jesus Christ, Knox,” Trigger hisses, dropping onto the bench close by. “I haven’t fought like that since I got out of prison. Aren’t you supposed to be the calm one in this building?”
“No, that’s Saint,” I heave. “I start the fires, he puts them out.”
“Well, my ribs are on fire alright,” he complains, but I see the grin on his face. “Since I let you fight me and ruin my pretty face, are you going to tell me what has you raging like a bull?”
“Women love a face that’s been broken in. I was doing you a favor.”
“True,” he laughs. “Now, spill.”
My first thought is to go silent and push this rejection to the back of my mind. I’ve managed to live thirty-five years of my life worrying mostly about myself and very little about what other people think of me. I can go back to that, no problem. Still, I find myself spilling. “Ruth is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Packed her shit and left,” I say, giving him a casual shrug. “Didn’t even bother to say goodbye. Figure what we shared didn’t mean squat to her.”
Trigger goes quiet for a second before he explodes. “Bullshit!”
My head whips to him. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“I was at the bar when she showed up. Pretty little thing dressed like she was, she reminded me of one of my teachers from when I was in school. I felt like I was about to be sent to the principal’s office, gave me chills,” he says with a shudder. “But then she looked up and saw you and those features softened. I actually thought you two knew each other with the way her shoulders relaxed and her attitude changed.”
I gawp at him. “Were we staring at the same woman?”
“You spend time in prison, you learn body language or you’ll find yourself with a knife in your gut from a baby-faced guy just because he was smiling and you dropped your guard.” He shakes his head in disgust. “I’ve seen it happen to so many poor bastards.”
“Okay, what’s your point?”
