Page 126 of Knox Unleashed
I look at the photograph of my brother on the wall of past members. “The irony is, Drew had this massive capacity for humor. In hindsight, I think he’d laugh about it. He wouldn’t have held Maren responsible for something her father did. I mean, she was about fifteen when it happened.”
Jackal chuckles. “How did I get sat at the dirty old bastard’s table?”
Shade raises an eyebrow at him, but it just makes Jackal laugh harder. I think there is at least ten years between the two of them, and I’ve no clue how old Isla is.
Halo grins. “There’s ten years between me and Ari. Is Maren ever your little?”
“My what?”
“You know. Little. Like, Daddy and little?”
I huff a laugh at that. “I can only imagine the look on Maren’s face if I tried to pull that shit with her. I like looking after her, but she constantly reminds me how she can look after herself.”
Halo stretches his legs out. “I got a theory about that.”
“This isn’t one of those incel bullshit ideas, is it?” Jackal asks.
He laughs. “Jesus. No. But I think women get the shitty end of the stick. Because they have all these amazing talents and shit, but when they’re on their own, they’re forced to change themselves to get shit done, which must be fucking exhausting some days. So, when you meet a girl like that, they’ve become so used to doing it all on their own, it’s hard for them to let go and trust us. Especially if every other man in their life has been a total douchebag.”
Which is pretty much Maren. The schoolkids who bullied her. The teachers who didn’t support her. Her father. Even my club has generally not been kind. “Good insight, my friend.”
He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of Ari. It’s obviously a costume party, because Halo is dressed as some kind of video game warrior, and Ari is dressed in a cute babydoll dress that is so see-through, I almost feel like a voyeur.
“Ari’s ex abused her. Was scared of her own fucking shadow when we met. But I gave her a safe place she could heal in. Letting her regress to a time when she didn’t have any of the emotions she now carries. Kink worked for us. Her being the little to my Daddy. Someone might think I’m being sexist or some shit, but I honestly think my job as a man is to provide a life Ari feels safe in. Where she knows she doesn’t need to worry about anything because I’ve got it but also knows I have faith in her that she can take care of everything herself.”
Shade nods. “Sounds a lot like Isla. Not the Daddy and little thing. But the being used to doing it on your own. Wouldn’t let us help her with a thing on her house, even when she was struggling.”
“Sounds like Maren, to be fair,” I admit.
And talking about her makes me miss her even more.
40
MAREN
Istand back and look at the canvas objectively. And, yes, it’s a thing of beauty. It also appears that the only thing I want to paint these days are pictures of Knox and me having sex.
This is the shower from the night of the hurricane, when he took care of me. Long, sweeping, vertical strokes of acrylic paint. Blurs of gray for the concrete and silver and white for the water, and skin tones for the bodies wrapped around each other as the spray hits the glass.
There is so much movement in it. At least, I think there is. Or maybe I’m just projecting my experience of that night onto my artwork.
Maybe it isn’t the actual application of paint to canvas that stirs me, but memories of those moments as I bring them to life.
And it will look perfect in Knox’s hallway outside the bathroom.
It’s an odd thing to step back from art and admire it, when you’ve been so intimately involved in its creation. It’s as if a little bit of my soul, or mine and Knox’s story, will live on in every deliberately placed stroke.
Maybe someone a hundred years from now will look at it and wonder who these two people are and why they consented to having their most meaningful and private moments of their life committed to canvas.
Or maybe it will end up in a charity shop, and someone will paint over it.
I wipe my brush on the cloth and then pop it into the solvent to clean it. I’ve set up my easel in the corner of Knox’s living room, where the windows face the water, not that the view matters when it’s so dark outside, I can barely see a thing.
When Knox called me earlier to let me know about the other clubs arriving and him feeling like he should stay at the clubhouse tonight, I had a slight worry about being out here alone, given how remote it is.
But he also sent a couple of prospects to keep watch, and it’s been a surprisingly peaceful and calm evening.
My eyes burn as I pick up my phone. It’s two in the morning, and I’m supposed to open the shop at eight.
