Chapter 4 Knox

The clubhouse smelled like stale beer and motor oil, a combination that had once felt like home and now felt like a reminder of everything that had changed.

I stood near the back wall with my arms crossed, watching my brothers file in one by one. Damon had made the calls, and the men of The Black Cats had answered without hesitation. Some of them I had known for over a decade. Others were newer, still proving themselves. But all of them understood what it meant when a brother called for help.

"Alright," I said, my voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation. "You all know why we're here."

"Some Reaper asshole thinks he can take what's ours," Rocco said from the corner. He was a burly man with a shaved head and a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, the kind of scar that told a story he never bothered to share. "That about sums it up?"

"That's about the sum of it," I confirmed. "His name is Marcus Whitmore. He's been stalking a woman I know. Threatening her. Threatening her son." I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle over the room. "They're under my protection now. That makes this club business."

A ripple of surprise went through the group. I saw eyebrows rise, heard a few muttered curses. But no one questioned me. That was the thing about the club—when a brother claimed something as his own, it was his. End of story.

"Marcus has connections to The Reapers out of Phoenix," Damon added, stepping forward to stand beside me. "We don't know how deep those connections go, but we're assuming the worst. If he calls in reinforcements, we could be looking at a small army."

"We've faced worse," Rocco said with a shrug.

"Have we?" I asked, my voice flat. "Because from where I'm standing, this isn't about territory or pride. This is about a man who's obsessed with a woman he can't have. He's not going to play by the rules. He's going to come at us sideways, and he's going to use every dirty trick in the book."

"Then we play dirtier," Jax said, leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was younger than most of us, with a reckless streak that had nearly gotten him killed more than once. "We've got the numbers. We've got the firepower. We've got the home advantage. Let him come."

There was a general murmur of agreement, and I felt a flicker of something that might have been gratitude. These men—my brothers—were willing to put their lives on the line for me. They didn't even know Sarah or her son, but that didn't matter.

That was the thing about the club. Blood wasn't the only thing that made family.

"Here's the plan," I said, moving to the center of the room. "We're going to set up a perimeter around my house. Two-man patrols, rotating every four hours. No one gets in without my say-so. I don't care if it's the goddamn president of the United States—if they're not on the list, they don't get through."

"What about the woman and the kid?" Rocco asked.

"They stay inside," I said. "No exceptions. At least until we figure out what we're dealing with."

"And if Marcus shows up before we're ready?" Jax asked.

I met his eyes, my expression hard. "Then we do what we do best. We make sure he never walks away."

A grim silence settled over the room. These were men who had seen violence. Who had committed violence. They knew exactly what I was asking of them.

And they were ready.

"Damon," I said, turning to my second-in-command. "I want you to reach out to our contacts in Phoenix. See if anyone knows anything about this Marcus guy. The more intel we have, the better."

"Already on it," Damon replied. "I've got a call scheduled with a guy who runs a garage out there. He's got his ear to the ground on everything that happens in Reaper territory."

"Good. The rest of you, head back to the house and start setting up. Rocco, you're on the first patrol. Jax, you're with him. I'll be there as soon as I wrap things up here."

There was a chorus of acknowledgments, and then the men began to disperse, filing out of the clubhouse one by one. Damon lingered behind, his expression troubled.

"Something on your mind?" I asked.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "You sure about this, Knox? About her, I mean. Three years is a long time. People change."

"She hasn't," I said, and the words came out with more conviction than I felt. "Not in the ways that matter."

Damon didn't look convinced. "I'm just saying, be careful. You're not the only one who's been hurt by her leaving. We all watched you fall apart."

"I didn't fall apart," I said, my voice sharp.

"You disappeared," Damon corrected. "For six months, you were a ghost. You barely spoke to anyone. You stopped coming to meetings. Hell, you stopped riding. It took everything we had to pull you back from the edge."

I didn't have a response to that. Because he was right. When Sarah had left, she had taken a piece of me with her. A piece I had spent three years trying to reclaim.

"I'm not going to make the same mistakes again," I said finally. "But I'm also not going to let her back in. She's here because she needs protection. That's all. Once this is over, she's gone."

Damon nodded slowly. "Alright. I trust you. But if she tries to run—"

"She won't," I said. "I'll make sure of it."

He didn't say anything else. He just clapped me on the shoulder and walked out, leaving me alone in the empty clubhouse.

I stood there for a long moment, surrounded by the familiar scents and sounds of the place I had called home for more than a decade. This was my world. My territory. The place where I had always felt the most in control.

But now, everything had changed. There was a woman and a child who needed me. A danger that threatened to destroy everything I had built. And a past that refused to stay buried.

And a secret I couldn't shake—the way Sarah had looked at me when she said the boy's father was named Michael. The way her eyes had flickered, just for a moment, before she looked away.

She was lying about something. I could feel it in my gut, the same way I could feel a storm coming before the first drop of rain fell and I was going to find out what. 

---

Sarah

The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards. Aiden was asleep in the guest room, his little body curled into a ball beneath the blanket, his favorite stuffed bear tucked beneath his arm.

I stood in the kitchen with my hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, counting out the minutes since Knox had left.

I had told him everything. The truth about Marcus. The truth about why I had run. And he had listened. He had agreed to protect us.

But he didn't trust me. I could see it in the way he looked at me, the way his jaw tightened whenever I spoke. He was waiting for me to slip up, to reveal the lie he knew I was hiding.

And he was right to wait.

Because I was hiding something. Something that would change everything if he ever found out.

Aiden stirred in the other room, making a small sound of protest before settling back into sleep. I set the mug down on the counter and pressed my hands flat against the cool granite, my head bowed, my eyes closed.

It's better this way, I told myself. Better that he doesn't know. Better that he thinks Aiden belongs to someone else.

But even as I thought the words, I knew they were a lie.

Knox deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know that Aiden was his son. He deserved to be part of his life, to watch him grow, to teach him how to ride a bike and throw a punch and stand up for what he believed in.

But if I told him—if I revealed the secret I had been carrying for three years—everything would change. He would want answers. He would want explanations. He would want to be part of Aiden's life, and that would mean being part of mine.

And I couldn't let that happen.

Not because I didn't want him to know his son. Not because I didn't believe he deserved the truth. But because I knew what Marcus was capable of. I knew how far he would go to destroy anyone who stood between him and what he wanted.

If Knox knew about Aiden, he would try to protect us. He would put himself in danger. He would rally his club, his brothers, his entire world, and he would go to war against Marcus and the Reapers.

And people would die.

I had already lost so much. I had already sacrificed so much. I couldn't bear the thought of losing Knox too, even if he never knew the truth.

The sound of the front door opening made me jump, my heart leaping into my throat. I spun around, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife block on the counter, but relaxed when I saw Knox stepping inside.

He looked exhausted. The lines around his eyes were deeper than they had been that morning, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

"You're still awake," he said, his voice flat.

"Couldn't sleep." I let go of the knife and crossed the room to meet him. "What happened at the clubhouse?"

"We've got a plan." He moved past me into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Patrols around the clock. No one gets in without my say-so."

"That's good." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold. "What about Marcus? Do you know where he is?"

"Not yet." Knox took a long drink of water, his gaze fixed on some point in the middle distance. "Damon's working on it."

"And if he's not?"

"Then we'll find him anyway." Knox set the bottle down and turned to face me, his expression hard. "But we need to talk about something first."

My stomach clenched. "What?"

"I've been thinking about what you told me. About Michael." He said the name like it was a curse. "Something doesn't add up."

I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you show up here with a two-year-old, telling me his father abandoned you before he was born. But you never mentioned him before. Not once in the entire time we were together. And you expect me to believe that you moved on that fast?"

"It wasn't that fast," I said, my voice steady. "You and I weren't together anymore. I was alone. Michael was there. It happened."

"It happened." Knox's eyes narrowed. "That's all you've got?"

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, my voice rising despite my best efforts. "That I was lonely? That I was scared? That I made a mistake? Fine. All of those things are true. But it doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything." Knox stepped closer, his presence filling the space between us. "Because I don't believe you, Sarah. I don't believe that you moved on. I don't believe that you found someone else. And I sure as hell don't believe that you're telling me the truth about that boy."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" He was close enough now that I could smell him—leather and soap and something uniquely Knox. "Because I've been thinking about it all night. About the timing. About the way you look at him. About the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching."

"You're imagining things."

"I don't think I am." His voice was soft now, almost gentle. "I think you're hiding something, Sarah. And I think it has everything to do with that little boy in the other room."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. I stood there, frozen, my heart pounding, my mind racing with a thousand possible responses.

And in the end, I said nothing at all.

Knox stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back.

"Get some sleep," he said, his voice cold. "We'll talk more in the morning."

He turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the weight of all the secrets I couldn't tell.

And as I stood there, listening to the soft sounds of his footsteps disappearing down the hallway, I knew that the truth was going to come out eventually.

One way or another.