The Outsider: Hard Knox Part 12

"Do you need something? You want me to ma.s.sage it or something? Or maybe we can go in search of those bolt cutters now?" I might have tried to sit up, but with the way my arm was angled down, I couldn't move anywhere without moving him. I moved, he moved. He moved, I moved. A pair of handcuffs had made me totally dependent on Knox Jagger, and him on me-somewhere, karma was having a good laugh that two willfully independent people had become dependent's little b.i.t.c.h.

"You know what would help right now? Not talking about it-ma.s.sage, bolt cutters, a surgical saw, or anything remotely related to my arm." Knox's eyes were still closed, but the lines were starting to iron from his face.

In the morning light, I noticed things I'd never noticed-like the dark stubble marking his face, more prominent around his chin and neck, or how if he hadn't had several small and a couple larger scars smudging his face, he could have fallen dangerously close to the beautifully handsome category. From the dark, thick eyelashes to the full lips and even complexion, Knox's face was just as appealing as what resided below it. The scars and the few just-there b.u.mps along the ridge of his nose shifted him into the ruggedly handsome category and made him, to me, that much more attractive. Life had clearly done its best to knock him down, but Knox just kept getting up. That was s.e.xy in a way that couldn't even compare with chiseled abs or perfectly tousled hair.

When his lips parted to suck in a long breath, the flashes from last night came together into one long, continuous reel. Instead of just remembering his hands on me, I could feel them. Instead of seeing a still life of us wrapped around each other, I remembered the way his mouth tasted.

I shifted and tried to focus on him right here and right now, instead of on the Knox from last night because, quite frankly, I couldn't think straight, let alone talk, when I was envisioning that version. "So. About last night . . ."

How did a girl begin this? How did I discuss a topic I wasn't sure how I felt about yet? I'd made out with Knox Jagger. Actually, "made out" implied hot 'n' heavy kissing middle-school style. What we'd done hadn't been anything like the awkward, fumbling mess that had been intimacy in middle school . . . What we'd been last night had been- "Can we just not talk about it?" Knox interrupted my thoughts, wrinkles etching deep into his face again. Apparently this topic was even more painful than discussing his arm that had probably been two minutes from the amputation phase. "A girl like you doesn't do what we were about to with a guy like me. Case closed. Moving on."

So, to him, what we'd done last night had been a . . . fill in the blank . . . mistake. Awesome. Even though I still wasn't sure of my own feelings about it, "mistake" wasn't a conclusion on the list.

I felt that all-too-familiar switch flip-the temper one. Maybe it was because I felt like he was trying to give me the brush-off or some lame excuse, but I'd just gone from groggy to wanting to throw my head back and roar. "A girl like me? Please, Knox. Is this where you flash the smart-girl card? Maybe the good-girl card? Is this where you try to get it into my head that a good girl like me doesn't go for a bad guy like you? Because if that's the case, here's a story for you-I'm half as good as you think I am, and you're half as bad as you've convinced yourself you are."

"A girl like you as in the kind who has a future is what I meant," he said calmly. "Not as in a good girl, because you're right, you're a far cry from being tagged a 'good girl,'"-he chuckled, like the concept was hysterical-"and if you were so smart, you wouldn't be chained to me right now."

I smiled humorlessly at him, even though his eyes were still closed. When I thought about the girls who typically threw themselves at Knox, I realized that while they all had futures, they were probably more in hair styling or c.o.c.ktail waitressing. "You wouldn't be in college if you didn't have a future in mind for yourself, so don't try to sell me on the Knox-has-no-future thing. Not buying it."

Knox groaned, but I couldn't tell if it was from his arm or thanks to me. "I've got a future. Mine is just more . . . uncertain than most people's. A little more could-go-this-direction or could-go-straight-off-the-face-of-that-rocky-cliff."

"Do me a favor and don't plunge over that rocky cliff until we've severed our bond here." I shook my wrist, rattling the chain of our handcuffs. "I'd hate for my last act on this planet to be jumping over a cliff because the person in front of me did. It would be a slap in the face to the very essence of my life."

"The very essence as in keeping as much distance between yourself and other people as possible?"

My mouth almost dropped open. I might have slugged him for that too-close-to-hitting-home comment, but I didn't trust that touching him wouldn't cascade into something else. I couldn't pinpoint what had been the catalyst for last night's events, and until I did, it was probably safest to keep all forms of touching to a minimum. "Are you trying to dodge the topic or just p.i.s.s me off? Because you're succeeding at both."

"I'm trying to dodge the topic. p.i.s.sing you off is just an added bonus." A smile pulled at Knox's mouth.

Even watching his mouth stirred something inside, swirling emotions through me that were foreign. I'd just found myself smack in the most terrifying place a person like me could end up in-the land of the unknown. I'd rather be in a bad place, feeling sinister things and swimming in danger, than treading through an endless ocean of uncertain. If I knew I liked Knox-in that way-that was one thing. If I knew I despised him, that was another thing. But not knowing how I felt about him, or how I felt about what had happened last night, or how I felt about seeming to have some gravitational or instinctual-or a combination of the two-pull toward him made me feel weak. And feeling weak wasn't something I knew how to deal with.

"Fine," I snapped, sealing my eyes as well, since looking at him only made me feel more confused. One moment my gaze would sweep across his chest and I'd have an overwhelming urge to feel it pressed hard against mine again, and the next moment I'd want to give it a hard shove until I'd succeeded in pushing Knox Jagger out of my life forever. "If you don't want to talk about last night, fine. I won't make you. In fact, I don't want to talk about it either," I lied, crossing my free arm over my chest. "Because there's nothing to talk about," I lied again.

"Actually, there is something to talk about." Knox's tone changed, going a note higher with what sounded like worry. "Last night, while you were asleep, and the only thing asleep on me was my arm"-he cleared his throat-"I couldn't stop thinking about the coincidence of you getting drugged two weeks in a row."

With the reminder, the pounding in my head deepened. Rohypnol was the invention of the devil. It would have been worth the trip to h.e.l.l just so I could flash my middle finger in his face. "Haven't you heard? There's no such thing as coincidences."

"Exactly. Which means someone is specifically targeting you."

My fingers curled into my palms. "You mentioned that comforting possibility last night. What has made you so sure this morning?"

Knox raised his shoulders. "Any piece of s.h.i.t using a roofie to get laid is going to take the path of least resistance."

I felt my eyebrows pinch together. "The path of least resistance? Are we still talking about me, or did we switch to physics? Because I'm kind of having a tough time keeping up with you this morning."

Knox's fingers brushed mine. Whether it had been intentional or not, it didn't change the fact that a shock of energy flooded into my hand from his touch and spread up my arm. d.a.m.n it. Why couldn't I find the cord to whatever my connection was to him and pull the plug? Why couldn't I find the tie binding me to him and sever it? Why couldn't I find the spot he'd left his mark on and wipe it away? Why couldn't I be free of Knox Jagger and impervious to his touch?

I waited. And I waited some more. Apparently the answers were in short supply this morning. Knox's voice forced me to shelve my abundance of questions for a day when the answers were being a bit more cooperative.

"What I mean is that a pill-dropper isn't going to target someone like you-a girl who drinks water at a party, is known for writing articles about virginity and the diminishing gap between gender equality, and wears some variation of shirt that says f.u.c.k-off wherever she goes is not the path of least resistance."

I nodded slowly, trying to keep up. I'd thought I was mostly clear of the drug's effects, but mucking through this topic made me wonder. "Head's pounding. Brain hurts. What are you getting at?"

He didn't pause before answering, "You're not safe at Sinclair."

That wasn't a revelation that blew the charts. "That's why I carry a can of mace and know to go for the soft spots on a guy when and if the occasion warrants it."

"This isn't a joke, Charlie." Knox opened his eyes at last. The morning light seemed to lighten and soften everything about him, but it didn't touch his eyes. "You're not safe."

When I felt the chill creeping up my back, I braced myself and refused to let it materialize. I refused to become the gajillionth victim of fear. I refused to live in a state of it and let every thought and action be made from it. "I heard you the first time. I'm not going anywhere."

When Knox sighed again, I knew it was directed at me or, more specifically, my stubbornness. "I know."

"So why are we still talking about this?"

He leaned up onto his elbow, his face coming closer to mine. Out of instinct or precaution, I leaned back.

"Because I need you to agree to move in with me until we figure out who's after you."

For one second, I thought he was joking, which made me roll my eyes, but when I realized he was serious, my eyes come close to popping out of my head. "Not. Happening."

"Charlie-"

"Let me repeat." I locked my eyes with his so he could get the gist of just how serious I was. "Not. Happening."

"Charlie-" he tried again.

"And for a third time. Not. Happening."

"You'd think that, for a writer, you'd retire the same old phrase after the second use." Seeming to try to prove he was just as serious as I was about the whole moving-in issue, he didn't blink once during our stare-down.

"I'm a journalist. We strive to bring the point home in as few words as possible. In other words? We don't f.u.c.k with fluff. If you're looking for some drawn-out, detailed explanation as to why I can't and won't move in with you, you just asked the wrong girl to be your roomie."

Knox's jaw tightened. Just when I was wondering if he'd forgotten how to make his favorite face of frustration. "I'm not asking you to be my 'roomie.' I'm not expecting you to move in so we can swap stories over daiquiris and braid each other's hair while we watch romantic comedies. I'm asking you to move in to keep you safe until we nail this son of a b.i.t.c.h."

I put on a pouty face. "We don't get to play with each other's hair? Then I'm definitely out."

"d.a.m.n it, Charlie. Why do you have to be so difficult all of the time? There isn't a prize for the person who dies with the highest record of frustrating the h.e.l.l out of people." And now a vein was popping to the surface on Knox's forehead. His voice he was managing to regulate, but he couldn't control his body as well.

Apparently, after last night, neither could I. "And yet that doesn't keep you from trying."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes and took a few breaths. "This guy isn't going to stop until he succeeds. Is this processing, or do you still think this is just some game?"

I didn't like being told what to do, but I hated feeling like I was being talked down to. "Given this is my second time in a week of waking up to the not-so-riveting reality of roofies, I'd say it's safe to say I'm not thinking we're playing some summer-camp game."

"Then why won't you move in for a while? Why won't you even consider moving in?" When his eyes opened, they didn't search for mine. Instead, he seemed to be making a concerted effort to keep from looking at them.

The answer to Knox's question was one I wasn't prepared to give him. Not only did he not want to talk about that subject, but I didn't really want to talk about it either. "Because it's ridiculous," was my chart-topping reply.

"Specifics. What specifically is so ridiculous about you moving in with me for a temporary period while someone seems to stop at nothing-you being handcuffed to me while you toss back a bottle of water included-to f.u.c.k you?"

I motioned down my body. "I don't know about you, but who wouldn't want to f.u.c.k me? If that's the list we're working off of for possible suspects, you might as well add the entire Sinclair student body. And faculty. And maybe even the alumni to be safe."

"Charlie!" Knox wasn't controlling his voice any longer. Sitting up, his eyes finally went to mine. "This isn't some f.u.c.king joke. This is your life."

"Exactly. My life." I sat up too, just so I could be above him again.

"Fine. You know what? If you care so little about it, why should I give a d.a.m.n? If you don't value your life enough to reach out and grab a life ring when you're about to drown, then why should I bust my a.s.s trying to find one to toss you?"

I sat up taller. "Exactly. Can you find those bolt cutters already so I can leave now?"

He leaned in so close to me that I could smell the same scents I'd tasted last night. It was like some kind of aphrodisiac, but it should have been more along the lines of toxic.

"No," he said firmly. "You don't have to care about your life, but I can. And there's nothing you can do or say to try to control that."

My mouth fell open. "But you just said-"

"I was hoping to knock some sense into you with a sprinkle of reverse psychology. I should have known better than to expect common sense and you to get all buddy-buddy though."

I grabbed the pillow on the couch, wanting so badly to smash it into his face. When all he did was peak a brow and curl his fingers in a let-me-have-it motion, I tossed the pillow across the room and decided to beat him with my words. "I wish you could just quit your G.o.d complex already and leave the rest of us alone."

"G.o.d complex? You think I've got a G.o.d complex?" Knox shook his head with a look of disbelief.

"You're the one telling people what to do with their lives. You're the one ordering me to move in with you because only you can keep me safe, only you can get to the bottom of this, only you are worthy of this task." I threw my arms toward him in exasperation.

"And what about you and your G.o.d complex? You're telling me I can't have a say in your life with my insane idea of wanting to preserve it. You're the one thinking that only you can keep yourself safe, only you can get to the bottom of this, only you are worthy of this task."

Hearing them spit back at me, my words sounded far less poignant than I'd thought. In fact, they sounded more like the tantrum of some preschooler. I found myself reaching for my head, rubbing my temples. "It was a long night, and it's turning into an even longer morning, so will you please just say what you're trying to?"

"I thought I was making myself pretty d.a.m.n clear. Move in here. Not forever. Not for always. Just until we get to the bottom of this."

I made myself take a breath. Since locking horns wasn't getting us anywhere, maybe a little logical thinking, peppered with some calm tones, would pave the way. "I hear what you're asking. I even understand somewhat why you're asking. There's a part of me that appreciates you being all chivalrous and wanting to protect my virtue and apparently high-in-demand virginity." When I noticed his jaw set again, I eased off the sarcasm, which was difficult to do given it was my default. "But I can't move in here, Knox. I don't even know where here is really. I don't have a vehicle for commuting back and forth to school, nor am I particularly fond of public transportation 'round these parts-talk about ways to not keep me safe. Not to mention what would the revolving door of Knox Jagger groupies think, what would my prolific fan-club think, how would we decide who got to use the bathroom first in the morning, who would do the dishes, et cetera, et cetera? That's a heap of question marks without easy answers. Thank you, truly, but no thank you." By the end of that spiel, I was out of breath and out of objections.

Knox, however, had plastered on an expression that read something along the lines of Is that all you've got? "Let me address those trivial, albeit valid, concerns. One by one." He only added the valid part when my eyes narrowed. "Here is 601 West Summit Avenue. It's about five miles from campus. I don't have any roommates, and I like it that way, except when a friend has. .h.i.t rock bottom or, in your case, is getting roofied on a weekly basis."

"And I just got called out for making light of this . . ." I mumbled.

"While you're here, you can have use of my truck since, smart Plan-B-thinking me, I also have a motorcycle. No need to worry about your vehicle impairment or dislike of public transportation."

As he went through each of my concerns, I started searching for other objections. Valid wasn't even on the list of criteria.

He continued, "As to the revolving door thing, that's far more exaggerated on campus than the reality, but if it makes you uncomfortable, we'll exchange the revolving door for a steel, finger-print-required one. Regarding your fan club-"

"Prolific," I clarified. "If you're going to quote me, get it right. Journalism 101."

"Regarding your prolific fan club and what they'll think, since when do you give a s.h.i.t what anyone thinks?"

He had me there. I wouldn't even try to keep lying about that one. "I don't." I drew a line with my hand under the text on my shirt.

"And the bathroom will be a first-come, first-served basis, but if I get there before you, don't worry. I'm not one of those chumps who takes half an hour to style my hair. I'm pretty much a wash-and-go kind of guy. That goes the same for the household ch.o.r.es. If you see some dirty dishes and want to do them, knock yourself out. If you see them and don't, no big. This isn't reinventing the wheel, Charlie. This is you crashing at my place until things simmer down and a jacka.s.s is in prison."

I hated how much sense he was making and how simple he made it all seem. I hated it because it was transferring to me, and I didn't like being influenced by someone. "It could never work."

"Is that because that's what you've convinced yourself you should think, or is that what you really believe? And if you even think about lying to me, I'm calling bulls.h.i.t before the words are out of your mouth."

Flopping back down, I hung my head over the back of the couch arm. Maybe a blood rush to the head would help me out-think Knox. "You're a pain in my a.s.s."

He tugged on a chunk of my hair, chuckling. "Yeah, but I'm also the same person who's going to help save your a.s.s, so it really balances out in the end."

"What makes you so sure you can help me figure out who is doing this? What makes you think I can't do it all by my lonesome?"

His fingers went from tugging my hair to combing through it so methodically it was like he didn't even realize he was doing it. "I have a lifetime of experience mucking around with lowlifes. I know how to speak their language. I know how they think. I can antic.i.p.ate their next moves. The only better candidates you could find to help you weed this b.a.s.t.a.r.d out are down at the state pen." Knox's fingers fell from my hair. "And I don't doubt you could go it alone, but together, we'll get it done twice as fast. We make better allies than enemies, so let's get this done, and then you can go back to living in the lap of luxury in Sinclair's sprawling dorms."

I bit my lip, debating if I should voice my next question, but the day I refused to ask certain questions was the day I might as well give up my journalist name-tag. "What do you mean you have a lifetime of experience dealing with lowlifes?" As soon as I said it, Neve's accusations a.s.saulted my mind.

"I grew up in bad places, around bad people doing bad things," Knox said, sounding far away. "Kids didn't play outside in my neighborhoods. They ones who did either wound up the casualty of a drive-by or were never seen or heard from again. Every house was full of people either making, selling, or consuming some kind of illegal substance. By the time I was thirteen, I didn't have a friend who wasn't a member of a gang. By the time I was sixteen, half of those friends had been killed or were serving life sentences. Life was hard, and the people were harder. That was my life for sixteen years. I know how the sc.u.m of the earth operates because I was right there with them for so long, I forgot good people were in the world still."

Knox's confessional had left me reeling. When I'd asked my question, I hadn't expected to be handed raw, jagged pieces of his past. Now that I had them cradled in my hands, I wasn't sure what to do with them.

"So what made you leave the dark side for the light?" My voice was so quiet, I barely recognized it.

Knox inhaled and held it. "The utter and total devastation of my whole world."

I wanted to lean my head over the couch and look at him. I wanted to experience what he was feeling, see what emotions were playing out on his face, but to do that would have felt like spying on someone in their most private moment. Not even I would stoop to that level.

"Sounds ominous," I said, my fingers twitching toward his. "Care to expand?"

Knox was quiet-lost to his memories or his thoughts or his pain. I couldn't be sure, but when my fingers gave up and wove through his, he seemed to come back to life. "I think that's enough show-and-tell for me for one day. Or one decade. Why don't we set a time for when to move your things over here instead?"

His confession had left me in unfamiliar territory between agreeable and sympathetic. Then I remembered another valid concern. "What about Harlow? I can't just bail on her-especially if some t.u.r.d's going to stop at nothing to get to me. There's such a thing as mistaken ident.i.ty, and I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to her."

Knox's hand warmed in mine. Or maybe it was mine warming in his. They were so tightly fit together, it was difficult to tell.

"Did you really just use the word t.u.r.d to describe your would-be rapist?"

I raised a shoulder. "s.h.i.t seemed like such an overused cliche."

"You're unreal," he replied, sitting up beside my head, which was still dangling over the couch arm.

So much for my blood-rush theory. I was pretty sure I was only about one, maybe two, objections away from agreeing to move in with Knox Jagger.

"While you were pa.s.sed out again, thanks to this 't.u.r.d,' I called Harlow and described what had happened and what I had in mind. She, a woman possessing actual survival instincts, said she'd crash at her boyfriend's place while you were here."

"You talked to Harlow? You told her you were going to try to coerce me into moving in with you?"

"This would hardly be a solid plan if I didn't cover every angle of it, would it?" His smirk was just starting its slide into position.

"So, fine. Harlow's good to go. But even if I did move in here, you couldn't be with me all the time, Knox. You can't protect me twenty-four-seven."