The Outsider: Hard Knox Part 3

h.e.l.l.

And this one had just entered the inner circle of it.

After Knox stormed away, it took me a couple of minutes to shake off the whole messed-up encounter and get back to making tallies. After another half hour, the crowd around the kegs was so immense that it was next to impossible to distinguish who was waiting for beer and who was getting it. A fight broke out over a beer-because quarter-a-cup brew was so worth getting into a brawl over-and I saw what looked like two kids pa.s.sed out in corners. The music had gotten louder, the girls wilder, the guys bolder, and the stench of beer, sweat, and vomit had hit stifling levels. I'd just witnessed a couple having s.e.x-albeit creatively-on the dance floor. I'd pretty much landed smack in the middle of modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah.

Since my research was a wash and there was nothing worth hanging around for, I stuffed my notepad and pen back into my purse to get the h.e.l.l out of hedonism central. I'd no more than zipped up my purse and contemplated which direction would provide the easiest escape when I saw something that made my skin crawl. Just on the outskirts of the crowd around the kegs, a couple of those bright-eyed, believe-the-best-in-everyone freshman girls were taking drinks from a couple of not-so-bright-eyed senior guys who were sharing a look.

Parents, if you're out there, don't let your daughters go off to college without pounding into them that they should never accept a drink from a guy. Any guy.

As I grumbled about how I wasn't their parental figure and I should just mind my own business, my feet took me in their direction. Neither girl had yet to take a sip, but those guys were practically holding their breaths waiting for them to.

"Don't drink that!" I shouted above the noise as the dark-haired one went to take a sip.

She paused with the cup at her lips as I shouldered toward them. The girls looked at me with confusion, but the guys glared at me as if I'd just thrown their trap moments before their prey stepped into it.

"Why? Is it poisoned or something?" the lighter-haired girl asked, giggling as if that was absurd. She must have grown up in Kansas and been home-schooled.

"Yeah, it is poisoned or something," I fired back, getting both of their attention. "With roofies or GHB or whatever else these two bottom-feeders could find for five bucks."

The two guys shared a disgruntled sigh, their glares aimed my way. Instead of returning their glare, I smiled and flipped my middle finger their way. About the only people I despised more than date-rapers were pedophiles.

"GHB?" the dark-haired girl said, looking into her drink as though she was expecting to find something floating in it.

And that one was from South Carolina and had gone to an all-girl school. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"How about this? Date-rape. Whatever these two have slipped into your drinks, it boils down to you becoming such a non-functioning, paralyzed mess that a guy can have his way with you, and while you might realize exactly what's taking place as it's happening, you won't remember it in the morning. You won't remember anything, but you'll know what happened, and you'll have to live with that knowledge for the rest of your life." I lifted my chin at the cups in their hands. "Still worth it?"

"You crazy-a.s.s b.i.t.c.h," one of the guys popped off-the one who looked like a little inbreeding might have gone into his DNA.

"That's my nickname around these parts," I replied with that plastered-on smile.

"You can't prove a thing," the other guy said with a shrug. His eyes scanned the crowd. Probably already in search of his next potential victim.

My grin curled into something a bit more evil as I reached for one of the girls' cups. "I can when I get this tested." I shot the guys a wink before ducking into the crowd and hoping an exit was nearby.

I hadn't made it far before a couple of shouts and warnings followed me, but one of the benefits to being on the tiny side was my ability to cut through a roomful of bodies faster than a couple of guys who were either linebackers or couch-potatoes. Keeping the stolen, surely drugged beer in front of me, I held my own beer slightly behind me and tried not to spill either. If a garbage can had been in sight, I would have chucked what remained of my beer, but there weren't a lot of garbage cans in the middle of the dance floor.

Once I'd made it to the opposite side of the living room, I glanced back to make sure I'd lost the doofus twins. My heart leapt into my throat when I saw how close they were. Apparently size did have its benefits when cutting through a crowd. Instead of dodging and weaving, they just shoved and pushed.

Ducking low in hopes they wouldn't see me, I scurried over to the first door I noticed and hoped it was either an exit or a bathroom door with a lock. As soon as I threw the door open, I leapt inside and slammed the door closed. It took a moment to figure out I was neither outside nor in a bathroom. Instead, I was in a dark, small s.p.a.ce that seemed to be stuffed with different kinds of clothing . . . I was in a coat closet. Well, I was stuffed into a coat closet. Not exactly the way I liked to spend my Friday nights, but it was an improvement over where I'd just been. It was quieter, and the beer-vomit-sweat stench hadn't leaked inside.

When the shouts and curses of the two guys dimmed, I took a moment to get comfortable. I wasn't going anywhere for a while-at least fifteen minutes or so. I guessed the guys would search for me a while longer and ask a few of their buddies if they'd seen a crazy-a.s.s chick carrying two beers-which would get a finger pointed in every direction-before muttering a f.u.c.k-it and getting back to the party.

After chilling in the darkness of the crowded coat closet for five minutes, I decided my private escape wasn't as luxurious as I'd first thought. In addition to being cramped and on the verge of claustrophobia, I was hot and thirsty. Stealing drugged beers and dodging sc.u.mbags could really take it out of a girl.

After triple-checking the beers in my hands to make sure I drank from my cup, the one that was mostly empty, I took a long drink. Cheap beer still tasted like cheap beer, but the liquid felt good going down my dry throat. When another ten minutes had pa.s.sed, I decided I was safe to leave my hideout and get out of there.

I wasn't sure who I should call about getting the drink tested, but campus security would be a good starting point. First, though, I needed to find a bottle of water-a gallon-sized one. If I was so thirsty I'd just downed the contents of my suck-a.s.s warm beer to quench my thirst, I was probably deep in the dehydration zone.

Slowly, I opened the door and peeked out. Out of the million and a half bodies nearby, none of them were the two I was trying to avoid. Ducking out of the closet, I pitched my empty beer cup into the garbage nearby then made my way toward what looked to be the back door. It was hard to tell for sure, but it seemed like I could feel cool air coming from that direction. As I made my way through the crowd, I was careful to not spill the kipped beer, as well as stay on high-alert for the two guys who were under the impression that "date-rape" came standard with their college tuition.

I was nearing what I was now certain was the back door when something hit me so hard and suddenly, I staggered back a few steps. Once I'd recovered some, I glanced around the room, searching for who or what had hit me. Instead of finding one of the two guys hovering over me or a rock at my feet, all I saw were dozens of students laughing, dancing, and having a good time.

My vision was starting to blur. Faces warped around me, almost as if they'd been transformed to spools of taffy that were being tugged and spun around. The chorus of voices and laughter morphed into a far-off din, like everyone around me was at the end of a tunnel and miles away. When another overwhelming whoosh came over me, my legs gave out, causing me to stagger into the counter for support.

I looked around again, despite my head feeling like it was made of hardening cement, to discover that no one was swinging a bat at my head or taking a crowbar to my knees. No, the threat wasn't coming from outside my body-it was attacking me from within. I'd been drugged. Somehow, someone had managed to drop something into my drink. I'd been so sure I'd been guarding the thing like a grumpy badger.

All I knew was I had to keep moving. When I pa.s.sed out into a temporary hibernation, I couldn't be anywhere near whoever had slipped the drug into my drink, because I didn't need to have lived it to know how the tale ended. I'd wake up in the morning to find my panties, virginity, and whatever sc.r.a.p of hope I had left for humanity long gone.

I forced one sluggish foot in front of the other, clinging to whatever fixtures or bodies were nearby, until I was steps away from the back door. The gust of cool air cleared my mind just enough to realize that going outside on my own was quite possibly the worst decision I could make. If I hung out here, around people, the perp would hold off. Separating me from the crowd was exactly what he wanted. I needed to stay around people. This was safe. Even though the people around me looked like something from a horror movie and I wasn't sure if I was floating or sinking, staying was better than hoping I could make a run for it outside the frat house. I could barely blink, let alone run.

Backing into the kitchen counter, I closed my eyes in hopes that would clear my senses. When I reopened them, it seemed to have done the opposite. Instead of blurry, the world was consumed by flashes of white, followed by blackouts. Whatever drug this was, it had hit me like a wrecking ball. In the living room, I'd felt fine. One room later, I was breaking out in a sweat and just trying to stay awake and upright. Everything inside me wanted to curl into a ball for a long winter's nap. Everything inside me begged to shut down, and closing my eyes and succ.u.mbing to the drug would have been as easy as submitting to a river's current.

But I couldn't. I had to stay awake. I had to stay close to people. A bunch of semi- to rip-roaring drunk students were hardly ideal chaperones, but I wasn't exactly in a position to be choosy. When my breathing came in labored, short pulls, I knew I was in trouble. There was a fine line between dosing a girl for s.e.x and one-way-ticketing her to an early grave. I needed to get to a hospital because neither rape nor death was an outcome I would submit to without a fight.

Trying to reach for the girl closest to me, I discovered my arms wouldn't work. Either they'd vanished or had unplugged from my brain because I couldn't move them. I found the same had happened to my head when I tried to turn it. In the span of a few moments, my body had become a frozen pillar. Struggling to suck in a breath, I tried out my vocal chords, hoping they hadn't shut down yet.

Help. I wasn't sure if I'd managed to squeak out a sound or if it was just my consciousness imagining it, but either way, the result was the same. No one heard me. No one paid me any attention or looked my way. I was that person in a dire situation, surrounded by dozens of people who wouldn't come to my aid. I wondered if I had been on fire, if any of them would take a moment to douse me with their beer. My gut answer was depressing.

Someone marched up beside me. "The back door. Nice to see you found it."

The girl's face was familiar, but the haze was too thick to put names or a.s.sociations with faces. She was blond, pretty in an icy kind of way, and p.i.s.sed beyond belief, but I didn't know this girl from any of the rest of these people.

Help. I tried again, but this time I was nearly certain it was just my mind sputtering out the word. My throat and mouth were so dry that they felt as though they could be sloughed away.

"Girls, why don't you show her the rest of the way out?"

Her words hadn't processed before a couple of arms wound around mine. Instead of pulling me back into the safety of the house, they dragged me toward the door. My legs were limp beneath me, and my arms were just as limp, only supported by the people holding them. Before I knew I was outside, my body was tumbling down a few stairs and crashing to the gra.s.s.

"Stay away from my house. Stay away from my boyfriend. Stay away from me," the voice ordered, although it was so far-off sounding, I could barely make out each word.

What sounded like a door slamming cut through the night, and then it was quiet. I couldn't even make out the dull roar of the party inside. All I could grasp was that I was sprawled across a patch of cold, damp earth, and I was unable to move, talk, or do anything but try to keep breathing and my eyes open.

Too late, I realized my cell phone was tucked in my purse. Too late, I realized my mace was also buried somewhere inside it. Too late, I realized I was in the most dangerous situation of my life. Too late, because I'd been reduced to one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of limp meat with nothing more than a barely functioning consciousness and a pair of eyes that refused to close.

But just because they were refusing didn't mean they could keep refusing. I'd never been dosed before, but I knew I was moments away from complete and total oblivion. I was standing on a ledge and about to be shoved over it. I was holding on to a thread and about to be yanked free of it. I was about to become another victim of a crime in which the criminals were rarely, if ever, convicted.

When I woke up, I probably wouldn't remember any of this, so I focused my last moments of lucidity on who could have, or who did, do this. Who'd had the opportunity to slip a pill or vial of liquid into my drink? Who had been close enough? Who had I let my guard down with? Who had I been talking with for a good portion of the night? Who had been crouched beside me, trying to distract me with his words, his tilted smile, his flashing eyes? Who was the proverbial ring-leader of the bad boys? Who had no qualms about taking a woman into his bed?

My stomach rolled as his face and name flashed through my mind.

That was the moment when a dark figure stepped up to me before crouching beside me. The very face I'd just seared into my mind to remember for later was looming above me. Unlike the others, his face wasn't a dripping glob of taffy. In fact, he was the only thing that seemed in focus.

I tried one last cry of Help, but the only sound that came out was a ragged whimper.

His hand went to my cheek, its warmth lulling me into the sleep I'd held off. "Charlie Chase," was the last thing I heard before I said a silent prayer that I'd never wake up.

IF ANYONE HAD heard my prayer, they hadn't answered. That was the first thing that flitted through my mind as I felt consciousness returning. The next thing? Sheer and utter dread.

Dread from the possibility of what had happened. Dread from what I was waking up to. Dread that birth control had been used, and if it hadn't, that I might find myself pregnant at nineteen with a child whose father had raped me. Dread that I'd never be the same again.

My heart pounded so hard that my ribs ached . . . but then I realized all of my body was aching. Almost as if it had become one big bruise, pulsing with pain. I could open my eyes, but I wasn't sure I wanted to. The longer I kept them closed, the longer I could keep reality at bay. If I kept them sealed shut, I wouldn't have to see where I'd wound up and what kind of state I'd awaken to.

Squeezing them closed tighter, I succ.u.mbed to keeping reality at bay, but then something else flashed through my mind. An image of someone kneeling beside me. The memory of his hand on me as he whispered my name. The realization that Knox Jagger was everything I'd been warned he was, and I'd just been spit out on the other side.

Anger flooded my bloodstream and gave me the dose of courage I needed to open my eyes. When I did, I found myself in unfamiliar territory as expected. Instead of it being a dark bedroom where the windows had been sealed shut with black-out shades while posters of naked women plastered the walls and beer bottles littered the floor, the room reminded me more of the living room of my parents' house.

Light streamed in from several large windows, the ceiling was white and wasn't covered in mirrors or filth, and the smell in the air hinted that the place had been recently cleaned. Blinking a few times to make sure what I was seeing was real, I tried sitting up to take in more of what was around me. Opening my eyes had been one thing, but sitting up was another. An impossible thing. The drug haze was fading from my head but was taking a little longer to siphon from my body.

"Here. This should help."

A voice as familiar as the face attached to it startled me, causing me to try to bolt up only to find myself unable to bolt anywhere. "Get away from me." My voice sounded so small I could barely hear it, and each word felt like a razor slicing up my throat.

Knox's forehead wrinkled, but after setting the cup down on the table beside me, he backed up with his hands raised. He was still in the same clothes he'd been in last night, all of the b.u.t.tons on his fly were in place, and even his boots were on-but that didn't mean nothing had happened. "Charlie . . ."

"Don't you dare 'Charlie' me." Forming the words was painful, but it was just as painful to be unable to shout them like I wanted to. "And if you think I'm drinking anything when you're around, you must think I'm stupider than even I think I am now."

The lines of his forehead stayed deeply etched. "Okay, so don't drink the coffee, but you should drink something. It will help clear the rest of the fog away." He held something out for me, but when I didn't take it, he tossed it into my lap. "Here's a bottle of water. A sealed bottle of water."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better? To make you feel better?" I glared at the water bottle in my lap. "To excuse what you did to me, a bottle of water ought to do the trick. Is that what your depraved mind has been reduced to?" Every word had me craving the smallest drop from that bottle, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. If this was his twisted way of making amends, he could take his bottle of water and shove it up his nostril. Once I regained my coordination, I'd be happy to slam it there.

"Wait." Knox took a few steps back, his head tilted. "You think I did this? That I was the one who . . . ? That I was going to . . .?" His head shook as he settled into the chair behind him.

"No, I don't think, Knox. I know." My hands were quivering, and the rest of my body followed. "You were the one who had the opportunity. You're the one who has the reputation. You were the one who just happened to stumble on me when I was alone and unable to move. It was you, and don't think for a moment you can convince me otherwise."

Something dark flashed through his eyes. "My reputation? Are you telling me I have a reputation for drugging girls and f.u.c.king them while they're pa.s.sed out in a temporary coma?" His voice was escalating, but he stayed in his seat. "I might have plenty of reputations around this school, but date-rapist is sure as s.h.i.t not one of them."

"Since we weren't really on a date, I think you can just leave it at rapist." I swallowed, hoping it would ease my throat, but it only made it worse. The water bottle became heavier in my lap.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, Charlie, you remember the last words I said to you before I left last night?"

"Not exactly, but a safe guess would be something along the lines of 'Yeah, baby' or 'd.a.m.n that feels good'" Tears were so close to p.r.i.c.king to the surface, but I could spill those later. I wouldn't let him see me cry. I wouldn't let him know he'd hurt me deeper than just physically. Scanning the room, I searched for my purse. Or a phone. Or a vase I could knock him over the head with. Anything that would help me get out of here and away from him.

Knox's jaw set. "The words about you not knowing everything about every person. The words about you waking up to discover you didn't have everything figured out. I didn't rape you, though that was definitely someone's plan." His eyes locked on mine as he leaned forward. "I saved you."

My head whipped from side to side. "I don't have gullible stamped across my T-shirt. Nice try." I tried sitting up again only to find I was still pretty much paralyzed from the neck down.

"Nope, not this T-shirt." Knox inspected my shirt . . . which was also still in place.

Actually, so were my jeans, and my hair was still pinned up into a ponytail. Other than my heels and blazer, everything was in place, including the undergarments beneath my jeans and shirt. "How come my clothes are still on?" I thought, until I realized I hadn't kept my thought silent.

"Because that's the way I found you. But I think it's pretty safe to say that's not the way you would have stayed if someone else had found you."

"Stop acting like the hero!" This time, my vocal chords pushed out something close to a shout.

Knox's eyes bored deeper into mine, his jaw still working. "Well, I sure as s.h.i.t ain't the villain."

"Then why am I here?!" Another shout, this one even stronger.

"Because you were in trouble. And d.a.m.n it if I'm not a sucker for a girl in trouble." He was trying as hard to keep his voice calm as I was trying to make mine loud. He had to concentrate on each word, and his shoulders were stiff.

"I was in trouble because you put me smack in the middle of it." A wave of nausea rolled through me. I had to close my eyes and swallow back the bile. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs still in my system causing it, or the realization of what had, or might have, happened last night.

Knox took a few slow breaths before replying. Staring into his clasped hands, he cleared his throat. "Let's think through this rationally. I know you've been through something crazy and you're still probably feeling the after-effects of whatever drug you were slipped last night, but take a breath, drink some of that water, and think about it."

At the mention of the water, dryness scorched my throat, but I wouldn't drink it. I wouldn't take anything from him that was meant as a consolation gift.

He continued, "If I was the one who drugged you and did whatever it is you're convinced I did, would I still be hanging around when you woke up? Would I have you wake up on my couch, at my place, so you could turn around and report my address to the cops? Would you still be fully clothed? Or would you be waking up in some back alley or in the woods, naked, bruised, and bloodied?" Knox paused suddenly, as if someone had their invisible fingers around his throat. "Come on, Charlie. You're the reporter. You're used to adding up the facts and letting them lead you down the trail to the answers. So? Am I still the big bad roofie-dropper who took your virginity and innocence all in one night?"

He was making sense, but he'd have to make more before I directed my accusations elsewhere. "You've got your story worked out, I'll give you that, but you're right, I am a reporter. Which means I've got a built-in B.S. detector, and right now, I'm smelling some serious s.h.i.t."

Knox blew out a slow breath. His knuckles were whitening. "Okay, fine. So would a guy who's done what you believe I have be willing to give this to you?" He pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket and tossed it on the table beside the coffee cup.

I gaped at the baggie, feeling another wave of nausea. "An empty baggie? How is this proof of your innocence?"

"Take a closer look. It's not empty."

Narrowing my eyes, I focused on the baggie until it sharpened into focus. "What am I supposed to do with a lock of your hair? Burn it, spit on it, or-"

"Take it with you to the hospital," he interjected. "If you're convinced I've done what you think I have, have them do a rape kit and hold on to my DNA as evidence. While you're there, have them run a urine test to find out what you were drugged with so you've got proof if you're ever able to figure out who did it."

I raised a brow at him, struggling to sit up a bit as my muscles slowly came back to life. "How do I know that came from your head and not some other guy's?"

His eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "Why did I have a feeling you'd say that?" He slid a pocket knife from his pants. Before I could flinch, he'd already sawed off another chunk of his hair and dropped it on top of the baggie. "Happy?"

I glared at him as I struggled to sit up higher on the couch. "Happy is not the word I'd use to describe my emotions right now. It's all well and good that you're providing your hair as DNA, but if you used a condom, no amount of hair will prove you're guilty." The curse of having been a journalist for my school's newspapers since seventh grade? I knew more about the judicial system than a pre-law senior..

"Still not convinced I'm innocent?" It was less of a question than a statement.

"When I look at you, innocence isn't one of the first things I see, so no."

In the morning light, sitting in a chair in his living room, Knox wasn't as foreboding as he'd seemed last night at the party, but he was still a galaxy away from looking innocent. My certainty that Knox was responsible for the drugging was waning, but I wasn't ready to believe him. After what had happened, I wanted someone to point the finger at-I needed someone to blame-and Knox just happened to be the closest and most likely suspect.

"Okay, so think about this from the way you're feeling this morning." Knox stared at the floor as though he was trying to find answers written on it. "Your article, the one we talked about last night . . . you're a . . ."

"Virgin?" I reached for my head to ma.s.sage my temples. In addition to feeling like I'd been run over by a 747, my head was close to splitting open. "Or at least I was until-"

"How do you feel?" Knox asked almost impatiently.

"Like I went nine rounds with a heavy-weight."

He sighed, shifting in his chair. "Not how do you feel in general, but how do you feel"-Knox's eyes narrowed as he seemed to search for the right words-"down there?"

My brows pulled together as I tucked the blanket up over my shoulders. Even that small movement made the nausea roll through me again. "None of your d.a.m.n business."

This time, he clamped his eyes closed as he exhaled. We were both obviously wearing on each other's last reserves of patience. "If what you think happened really did happen last night, you'd be sore, probably feeling some degree of pain. You might even be, you know, bleeding a little bit." The slightest hint of color touched Knox's cheeks as he almost seemed to squirm. Of course the one thing that would make a guy like Knox Jagger squirm was talking about lady parts in their non-s.e.xual capacities.

"Thank you for your professional opinion, Dr. Jagger, but I think I'll-"