Page 4 of Brutal Knight

I keep my mouth shut. I’ve found that most people will fill the space, and the truth comes out in those spaces.

“Listen, I want to help. You need to come with me. I’ll help you figure this out. All of it. I’ll help you.”

Victor has his hands spread, open, reaching toward me. Offering.

I don’t believe him.

How could I? I barely even believe myself these days. I look at Victor’s eyes, and I don’t think he’d ever help me. I know what he probably wants.

I tense. I ran from one potential marriage. I’m not going to fall into another one.

Victor takes a slow step forward. “Willow. Come on, it’s me. I’m here to help.”

His hands are still open, fingers spread. Placating.

It sparks anger in my chest. I know I’m damaged goods to everyone else. But I’m not a small animal. I’ll fight Victor if I have to. I’m not going anywhere.

I start to dart away. It’s my gut instinct, my reaction when faced with the thought that I might not get the chance to escape that I wanted to.

But I can feel Victor’s arms reach out, strong muscles yanking me to him. I open my mouth to scream, but my body feels like it’s moving too slow. I barely start to fill my lungs with air when he presses a cloth over my nose and mouth. I can’t help breathing in.

It smells sweet and rotten at the same time. I can’t avoid taking in the fumes. It stings like poison.

And then everything goes dark.

CHAPTER2

Connor

I like the feeling of a good workout.

There’s something about the ache you feel during and after that’s just perfect. It’s the feeling that something is working, the feeling that you got something out of what you just did.

It was one of my priorities to have a gym in my house. I didn’t need a massive one. I’m not that crazy. But I did want a punching bag, some weights, and a treadmill.

Besides the feeling I get from working out, it gives me a better chance of being able to get out of a fight when I need to. I haven’t been in many shootouts or one-on-one fights, thankfully, but I’ve been in enough to know that any edge helps. I don’t hesitate to act when I need to, and sometimes that action means a fight.

The punching bag in the corner gets most of my attention. It’s useful to take my frustration out on it, especially after an Assembly meeting. There’s something uniquely frustrating about dealing with a bunch of old men that have looked down on my family for years.

They think we’re young and stupid. I have to have something to come back to, to let steam off when I’ve walked out of a meeting like that.

But I’m not using the bag today. Not when I have a perfectly good sparring partner.

Finn’s still looking hungover as fuck. He was clammy when he came in, but he’s sweatier from the workout, now. The blue-green of his eyes is clearer now. It’s good to see him look more lucid, but I think I can get him closer to where he should be.

Being sober is a rare thing for Finn. It seems like it’s been years since he was completely clean, completely awake. None of us like it, but there isn’t really anything I can do. Not without risking a lot more.

Every time I’ve thought about hammering some sense into him, I remember that it’s not my place. And when I remember that, I remember it’s not my place to do a lot of things I’d like to do.

And that just makes me need to punch something even more.

Finn throws a punch. It’s off-center, easy to exploit. I step around it and push into his space, forcing him back. I aim a quick punch at his body. He takes it well, but it hits home. Finn grunts between gritted teeth.

He’s slow. Slower than usual, probably because he has a raging headache. I’m not above pushing him when he’s like this, though. I always hope that it’ll knock some sense into him one day. Though at the rate we’re going, it’ll be ten rounds before he finally gets it through his head.

“All that booze in your system. It’s slowing you down,” I say, laughing a little. I’m not breathless, but my words are faint. I’m focused.

Finn grumbles. “Shut up. You got lucky. I’m not trying.”

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