Hard Knox

  “And you were distracted,” he added. “Plenty of times tonight, but the only time you didn’t have the cap covering your bottle was—”

  “When I kneeled to get the cap with you,” I interrupted. I hadn’t set the bottle down, but it had been in my other hand, behind my body, out of sight, and capless. But it had only been a moment, ten seconds tops, which meant . . . “Someone had to have been waiting, watching, for just the right opportunity.”

  Knox nodded. “You’re right. Someone was waiting for the right moment.”

  “But who?” I asked more to myself than to him.

  “The same exact person who did it to you last week,” he snapped, his dark eyes going black. “The same person whose name I don’t know but will find out, and I will make sure it’s stamped into a gravestone right after.”

  I let him have his anger while I turned to what was my safe haven in times like these—my powers of deduction. It didn’t take much “deducing” to lead me to my next question. “Who in their right mind would try to drug me when I’m handcuffed to Knox Jagger? What were they planning to do when I was good and comatose? Hope you wouldn’t notice while they had their way with me?” I rubbed my temple. Nothing seemed to be adding up or making sense.

  “Whoever did this isn’t in their right mind. Whoever did this is fucking with you.”

  I lifted both eyebrows at him.

  “Figuratively speaking, at least tonight. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get you alone, so the only reason he did it was to mess with your head.”

  My hands balled into fists. “Just when I thought it wasn’t possible to hate this person even more. He goes from trying to take advantage of my body to taking advantage of my head.”

  Knox lowered his face, not seeming to blink as he stared at me. “Don’t act cute about this, Charlie. This is serious shit.”

  I got into his face. “The last time anyone accused me of getting cute about anything was when my mom tried to tie a bow in my hair for my third birthday. That sucker wound up smashed in my cake, so think again before you accuse me of getting cute about something.” I was probably one of the few people brave—or stupid—enough to get that close to Knox Jagger when he looked ready to erupt. “And can we stop talking about me and my ‘cute’ attitude and me getting distracted and not learning my lesson and actually focus on figuring out who did this? I want to give him a piece of my mind instead of the piece of ass he’s been keeping his fingers crossed for.”

  Knox pointed at my face, his head shaking. “See? That’s the cute attitude I’m talking about. Stop trying to play this off like it’s not serious, because it’s about as serious as it gets. What would have happened if, instead of one, that asshole had decided to drop a few more pills in your bottle just to make sure you were good and wasted? What would have happened if I wasn’t here and you’d downed that whole bottle?”

  He was starting to piss me off. If he didn’t like the way I reacted, that was fine—I didn’t like the way he reacted either. “I don’t know. I’d wake up in the morning looking for my panties and a bottle of aspirin?”

  My answer, as I knew it would, sent him even more over the edge. “Wrong.” He snapped his fingers an inch from my nose. “You wouldn’t wake up in the morning. You’d never wake up again. So do us both a favor and quit acting like this doesn’t scare the shit out of you.”

  If it weren’t for the handcuffs, I would have been out of there. I would have shoved him away and marched straight out of that hell-hole, but I was bound to Knox. I wasn’t going anywhere, even if I wanted to. “You’re right. I am scared shitless—especially if it really is the same guy. But you know what? Scared shitless doesn’t get the job done. Scared shitless doesn’t put the fear aside in order to be productive. Scared shitless won’t figure out who this guy is and expose him as a lecherous scumbag.”

  Knox studied me. “You’re scared?”

  I circled my hand around my face. “You happy?”

  “More like reassured that you’re really human. And hoping to continue living for a while.” The creases ironed out of Knox’s face.

  “So? Are you going to help me find this—”

  “Lecherous scumbag?” he filled in. “Damn straight I am. But first, we’re getting you out of here.”

  “What?” I asked as he steered me away from the party. “How can we figure out who this guy is if we leave with our tails between our legs?”

  “We’re not going to catch this guy from spotting him in a crowd. We’re going to catch him by outsmarting him.” Knox blazed a path through the maze of bodies, powering toward the stairwell.

  “And how do we do that?” I shouted above the noise.

  “Not sure. That’s what I’m going to figure out.”

  “Comforting,” I muttered.

  We made it to the stairwell a minute later, and once the door closed behind us, the silence seemed almost deafening.

  “How are you feeling?” Knox’s eyes ran over me.

  “Fine. Considering,” I said with a shrug.

  “Not woozy or disoriented? No tunnel sensation? No feeling like your ears have been stuffed with cotton?”

  “I thought you said I couldn’t have gotten enough in my system to affect me.” I narrowed my eyes at him as we trudged up the stairs.

  “I said that.” He nodded. “But there’s no harm in making sure.”

  I put on a sweet smile. “Other than feeling like there’s this obnoxious thing that hasn’t stopped buzzing in my ear, yes, I’m fine.”

  When we made it to the top of the stairs, Knox pulled his phone from his pocket as a couple of guys opened the door, obviously about to head down to the party. As they’d been excused from the handcuff rule, they were a couple of the “haves.” Both of the guys’ smiles went wide as they took in me and Knox cuffed together.

  “Nice,” one of them said, nodding at my chest. From the pull of his smile, it wasn’t because he was reading the words on my shirt. Too bad. It was a proverb he could have benefitted from. “You know what they say, Hard Knox—feisty on the streets, fucking crazy in the sheets.”

  I heard Knox’s knuckles cracking before I spoke up. “You know what else they say?” I let my unimpressed expression run free. “A disappointment on the streets, fucking pathetic in the sheets.”

  They were busy processing that when Knox cleared his throat. “You guys have someone dropping roofies down there. Since your frat house is hosting this party and you two are a couple of the pack leaders, it’s your responsibility to end that before someone—”

  “Gets laid?” one of the guys interjected. “Dude, it’s not the first week of school anymore. Girls aren’t giving it up like an all-inclusive trip to Mexico is the prize for the girl who scores the most fucks. A guy’s got to go to his toolbox when the well starts to run dry.”

  My blood ran cold, ice crystalizing through the rest of my body.

  Knox was a stair below the two guys, but he still stood taller. “A guy’s toolbox doesn’t contain roofies, Max. Buy her a drink, say something nice, act interested . . . are what a guy keeps in his toolbox.”

  “Yeah, well some guys spend a hundred dollars at a fancy restaurant on a date, and others spend two dollars on a white pill for a ‘date.’”

  The two guys exchanged a laugh while my stomach rolled. I didn’t realize my fist was coming around until Knox broke in front of me, taking the hit square in his chest. From the looks of it, he’d barely felt it. I was pretty sure my knuckles would be bruised into next week from connecting with Knox’s sternum.

  “Jagger-Meister, your woman just punched you.” One of the guys patted Knox on the back as they snuck by us. “You always wind up with the good ones.”

  Tripping them both so they’d tumble down a few flights of concrete stairs was so tempting. I felt my foot moving, but Knox foiled my plan yet again. Breaking into a jog, the guys disappeared as they rounded the next staircase.

  “What was that for?” I kicked Knox’s foot away and shoved him
at the same time. You’d think I’d have learned that Knox Jagger was an immoveable mass, but I guess it was a hard lesson to learn. “Those might not be the lecherous slime I’m looking for, but they fit the mold.”

  Knox indicated where the guys had just been. “When you’re taking down bad guys, make sure you don’t let them take you down with them.”

  “Is that some kind of badass credo I’m unfamiliar with?”

  “No. But it’s the number one rule of revenge.” Knox’s cuffed hand reached for mine as he recommenced our trek out of the stairwell. “Those guys deserve, at best, to rot in a ten by ten cell, but you’re not going to put them there by tripping them down a flight of stairs or busting your fist into their faces.” I was opening my mouth to argue when Knox raised his hand. “Let’s say one of them breaks his leg in the fall and winds up suing you or putting you in jail for assault. Where’s the justice in that? And let’s say you break the gangly one’s nose. His dad happens to be a sue-happy prosecutor who’d make sure you were still paying out of your Social Security checks. Then another bad guy goes free while the good one goes down.”

  I wanted to argue, but only on principle, not because I actually had a leg to stand on. Knox was right, but I’d never admit it to him. “God, have you got Batman in your blood or something?”

  “Be smart.” Knox nudged me as we headed down the hallway. “That doesn’t apply to just a few areas of life—it applies to all of them. Think first. Act second. Remember that, and you should be good to go.”

  The irony was so thick I chuckled. “Think first? Think first? This coming from a guy known for using his fists or his”—my gaze lowered for half a heartbeat as I cleared my throat—“but not so much his head. His other head.”

  “You’re blushing again,” Knox stated as we moved through the dark hall.

  “I am not.” I probably was. “And what do you mean ‘again’?”

  “You were blushing down in the basement earlier. Right after you asked me about my underwear preference.”

  I blew out a rush of air. “It was almost as dark down there as it is in this hallway.”

  “Yeah, it was dark,” he conceded. “But not dark enough to ignore that five-alarm blush. It would have to be pitch black, and I’m talking so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, for anyone not to notice the shade of red you turned.”

  I must have driven my elbow into his stomach harder than I’d intended, as evidenced by a whoosh of air rushing from his mouth.

  “Sorry!” I nearly shouted, making sure he wasn’t curled into a ball of agony. We were almost to the door, so I could make out his smile when it went into place.

  “Now that was a hit,” he said, throwing open the doors for us. “If you’re going to throw one, make sure it’s a good one.”

  “Would you stop telling me what to do already? You are not my sensei, and I am not your little padawan, so enough with the Yoda-esque proverbs.”

  Knox’s reply was another chuckle. How did I always wind up amusing him when I’d more been shooting for pissing him off? Outside, no one was in line anymore. Other than one “gatekeeper,” who was too passed out to keep any gates, it was quiet. Knox pulled his phone out again and punched in a number.

  “Did you already memorize the lucky lady’s number?” I asked, eying his back pockets. They weren’t as full as I’d expected, but it hadn’t been a bad night considering he’d been cuffed to another girl and only in attendance for an hour.

  Knox’s eyes rolled to the sky. “I’m calling the cops.”

  “Because there are so many reasons why one could call them tonight, may I inquire as to why specifically you’re giving them a ring?” The air was cooler than it had been earlier.

  Noticing my shiver, Knox picked up the pace. “To inform them of an illegal party taking place in an off-limits building on campus.”

  My forehead creased.

  “I might embellish the story some,” he said. “You know, paint the picture of cheerleaders shooting up while the quarterback makes plans to build a bomb in the tailgate of his truck for the next home football game. That kind of stuff.” Knox’s thumb rubbed furious circles into the back of my hand, trying to warm me up from that one patch of skin. “If I just called and said there was a party where some guys were slipping roofies into girls’ drinks, no one would bat an eye. They sure as shit wouldn’t show up to break the thing up before some girl woke up tomorrow morning wondering what the hell had happened.”

  In addition to feeling cold, I was tired now as well. More exhausted than sleepy. I tried to push the sensation away and picked up the pace in hopes it would perk me up. “Why don’t you just call campus security?”

  Knox practically snorted. “Because half of campus security was in there partying.”

  “There’s no hope left in the world, is there?”

  “Not much.”

  The only part of me that felt warm was my hand. The one Knox was holding. In addition to being built like a tank, he was a human furnace. “Then why waste your time trying to save it?”

  One of his shoulders lifted. “Look at your case. Saving you wasn’t a waste of my time.”

  I smiled at the sidewalk. “Me driving my fist through your chest a few minutes ago hasn’t made you regret your decision?”

  “What? That little caress?” Knox removed the phone from his ear, punched in a different number, and held it back into position.

  “Getting the cops’ busy signal?”

  He ignored me as someone answered right away. “Yeah, I’d like to report a party at Sinclair in the old facilities building. It’s being held in the basement level, and I saw some guy showing some other guys a diagram for what looked like a bomb. I don’t know for sure, but I saw the ingredients list, and it said something about manure and C4 and a few other—” Knox winked at me as whoever he was talking to sounded almost frantic. “No, I’d prefer to make this an anonymous call.” Another short pause. “Can I describe this guy?” When Knox winked at me again, I knew he was about to stir the pot even more. “I don’t know. He was close to six feet, not built but not lanky, kind of light brown hair, blue eyes, and he was wearing a Sinclair T-shirt.”

  My mouth fell open, but he was almost beaming.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay. Thank you.” Dropping the phone, Knox slid it back into his front pocket. “And that’s how it’s done.”

  “You just described Beck,” I came close to shouting. Another serious wave of exhaustion hit me. One moment, I felt adrenaline pumping through my veins, and the next moment, I felt like Dorothy stumbling through the poppy field.

  His head tilted. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Knox . . .”

  “Oh, come on. Calm down. There are at least five dozen guys at that party who fit that description, and even if they do latch on to our boy Beck, they’re not going to find bomb blueprints on him.”

  I huffed. “Then why give the cops his description?”

  Knox’s hand loosened around mine right before it tightened a moment later. “Because they might find something else.”

  “Like what? A cheap beer? A condom in his wallet? What else might cops find on a guy like Beck?”

  We stopped walking beside an old black pick-up. It had probably been made in the same decade my parents had been born in, but someone had taken the time to clean it up and keep it running.

  “Shit,” Knox muttered after pulling open the driver’s side door.

  I guess I knew who’d kept the truck in mint condition. “Shit what?” Another wave of exhaustion crept over me. My legs didn’t seem like they were up to the task of holding me upright any longer.

  Knox lifted our clasped hands. “Shit we’re still handcuffed, and I just called the cops on the party where the key to these things is at.”

  For some reason, that made me laugh, but it didn’t sound like my normal laugh. It sounded like someone else’s laugh coming at me from the opposite end of a tunnel.

  “You don’t happen to
have a spare, do you?” he asked.

  “A spare what?” I asked and yawned.

  “A key. A spare key.” When Knox glanced at me, his eyes went wide. “Fuck.”

  “Fuck what? Throwing around one-sentence curses is really below your intelligence level, Knox.” I giggled. Giggled. I never giggled. Which meant something was wrong. Which meant . . .

  “You’re drugged,” he stated, a flash of panic cutting across his face.

  “I thought you said I couldn’t be,” I mumbled around another yawn.

  “I kind of like to believe in the best-case scenario.” He stepped closer, gently pulling my eyelids open, probably to inspect my pupils.

  “Ha, that’s a good one. Knox Jagger believing in the best-case scenario . . .” I leaned into his truck. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and take a little nap. Even five minutes felt like it would fix me right up.

  “Okay, I’m getting you to a hospital. Now.” With ease that made me feel like I weighed no more than a reed, Knox lifted me and very carefully slid me into his truck. How a guy as tough as he was could be so gentle was a mystery, but the true feat was that he was able to do that while handcuffed to me.

  “No hospitals. No way. I went to one last week, and it’s a policy of mine never to make more than one personal visit to a hospital every five years.”

  Knox slid up beside me, slammed his door shut, and leaned over me to snap a lap belt around my waist. Whoever’d been in this seat last had been rail thin judging by how he had to pull out some extra slack to make the belt fit around me. Damn skinny, pantyless bitches.

  “Sorry, Charlie, but—”

  I giggled again. I really hated giggling, but it wasn’t me doing it; it was the drug. “You just said Sorry, Charlie.” I kept giggling. “That’s what the kids used to chant on the playground.”

  “Oh-kay. And off to the hospital we go.” Knox fired the engine up and was already peeling out of his parking spot.

  “I’m not going to the hospital again. Not this time.”

  “You’re drugged. You have to go get checked out.”