Page 24 of Hard Knox

The walk to their car was a blur of activity, with concerned colleagues offering soft words of support, which I barely heard.

As my tears flowed, I answered questions on autopilot, barely registering them. I was handed tissue after tissue. Eventually, they told me I was free to go. I drove straight to Emma’s preschool, my thoughts chaotic and disjointed. How had this happened? Mark was just a part of my life, however complicated, and now he was forever gone. By the time I picked up Emma, my hands were shaking, but my face was a mask of calm I didn’t feel.

“Mommy, why are the police at school?” Emma’s innocent question broke through my turmoil as we drove past the elementary school where the officers were still parked. They would be questioning all my co-workers, no doubt.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart,” I assured her, forcing a smile. “Just some grown-up stuff.”

We were almost home when my phone rang. It was Knox’s number, but the voice on the other end wasn’t his—it was his brother, Rocky, another member of the Royal Bastards MC.

“Eliza, there’s something you need to know,” Rocky’s voice was grave, and every word he spoke next chilled me to the bone. “Knox has been taken in for questioning. They’re saying he’s a prime suspect in your ex-husband’s death—some folks in your neighborhood remembered the fight.”

The phone nearly slipped from my grasp. Knox, a suspect? I couldn’t piece it together. The implications were terrifying, the timing damning. Torn between driving to the station and going home, I knew I had to shield Emma, had to keep her insulated from this nightmare swirling around us.

As I hung up, my resolve hardened. I had to find out what had happened to Mark. But my first priority was Emma. I kept our routine as normal as possible, making her a snack and turning on the television like we often did before her nap.

I was sitting in the living room, Emma playing quietly with her toys on the floor, when Grandma, who had been a constant support since Mark’s shortcomings as a father emerged, walked in with a grave expression.

“Eliza, dear,” she began hesitantly, her voice laced with grief and disapproval. We went to the kitchen, away from Emma’s little ears. “I’m sure you’ve heard. I had to ID Mark’s body today. It was… it was bad. Unrecognizable.” Her eyes welled with tears, her next words catching in her throat. “Those people you’re involved with, those bikers. They’re nothing but trouble. You can’t trust them.”

Her words stung, laden with old prejudices and fresh pain. I hugged her, trying to offer comfort, but her words churned inside me. Could Knox really be a part of something so violent? Was I naïve to think he could be different from the cliché?

“Grandma, I know it’s hard to understand, but Knox isn’t like Mark. He’s different,” I caught myself defending him, even as doubt clouded my heart. I wanted to say I never saw him hurt a fly, but that wasn’t true. I witnessed him injuring Mark. I heard him threaten to kill Mark if not get his club to do it.

She shook her head, her old fears meshing with the current tragedy. “I was young once. I’ve seen what those clubs can do, Eliza. Please, for Emma’s sake, think carefully about who you bring into her life.”

Her warning hung heavy between us as she left, leaving me to watch Emma play, her innocence numbing next to the complexity of adult loyalties and betrayals. The weight of my daughter’s safety, the judgment of the community, and my own conflicted feelings about Knox pressed down on me. How could I balance this? Was my instinct to trust Knox a mere folly led by my loneliness and need for affection?

Worse news seemed to haunt the edges of each thought. Mark’s violent end, so brutal and complete, was a nightmare turned reality. Could someone I was growing to care for be capable of such a thing? Or was he just another victim of circumstance, caught in a web of past affiliations and present suspicions?

After a tumultuous few hours filled with confusion and growing fear, my phone buzzed with a new message. It was from Knox, and his words were urgent but clear.

Knox: I just got bailed out. I didn’t do this.

I need to clear my name and

I’m going to figure out what really happened.

Please believe me

His plea echoed in the swirling storm of my thoughts. Part of me—the part that had felt safe in his arms, that had laughed and shared secrets with him—the part who had fallen in love with him, wanted to believe him without a second thought. But then there was the other part, shadowed by fear and the harsh words of Mark’s mother, that trembled at the unknown.

The decision of whether to trust Knox or not, to help him even in the face of my own doubts, consumed me. But as I watched my daughter, the decision also became a question of what I stood for. Did I believe in the man who had shown me kindness, respect, and passion, or did I let fear dictate my actions?

For now, Knox was out there, alone, trying to clear his name. And despite everything, a piece of me knew I couldn’t turn my back on him. I had to find the truth, for Knox, for myself, and for Emma.

Chapter 13

Eliza

The murmurs started as soft whispers behind closed doors and bloomed into full-blown gossip as I walked Emma to her preschool. Eyes followed me, some filled with sympathy, others masked with suspicion. The whispers seemed to echo against the concrete of the sidewalk, words like “murder,” “biker,” and “poor child” punctuating the air. It was suffocating, and with each whispered word, the oppressive nature of the community’s judgment pressed heavily on my shoulders.

I went to work like nothing had happened and experienced the same stares and whispers from my fellow teachers. Later that night, I paced the living room, each step a measure of my growing anxiety. Emma played quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration over a puzzle. She was oblivious to the circling storm, and I was grateful for her innocent ignorance.

I was on edge, jumping slightly, when the doorbell rang. Peering through the peephole, my heart sank and then fluttered as I saw Knox standing there, his eyes earnest and pleading. With a calming breath, I opened the door.

“Eliza, please, hear me out,” Knox began immediately, his voice tinged with desperation. He looked weary, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Hesitating, I glanced back at Emma before stepping outside, closing the door behind me for privacy. “Knox, this isn’t a good time. People are talking, and I have to think about Emma’s safety. What if what they’re saying about you is true?”

---