Page 3 of Hard Knox

Rocky wasn’t buying it, his leer telling me he smelled bullshit a mile off. “Club business, huh? Looked more like you were dreamin’ of some piece of ass. That’s not like our Prez. Don’t tell me, Knox the fox is getting soft on us, chasing after tail?”

A few chuckles rippled around the table, the sound like gravel being kicked down a lonely street. I shook my head, forcing a grunt. I hated when Rocky called me my once full road name. Yeah, I was cunning and all, but I dropped the Fox part when I became Prez. “Ain’t nothing like that. Just weighing our options on the new territory disputes up north.”

“Bullshit,” Smokey piped up, always the one to call it like it is, his voice rough as sandpaper. Being near the Smokies had nothing to do with his name. Brother was a firefighter, always telling us how to not burn this damn place down, makin’ us follow the fire code and shit. Therefore, we called him Smokey, after Smokey the bear. “You’ve been off ever since you treated that teacher like she was in a wet t-shirt contest. I saw you droolin’. What’s she got, Knox? Magic pussy?”

The table erupted in laughter, the sound booming in the closed space. I kept my cool, a mask of indifference plastered over any sign that they might be hitting closer to home than I cared to admit.

“All right, enough yapping,” I grumbled, stubbing out my blunt and standing up. “Meeting’s dismissed. Handle your jobs and report back next week. And keep your noses out of my damn personal life.”

As the room cleared, the echoes of their laughter hanging like a taunt, I couldn’t help but wonder if letting Eliza get so deep under my skin was a smart play. She was different, a world apart from the chaos of the MC life. But damn if she ain’t become a distraction, I wasn’t sure I could afford, nor wanted to give up.

Ever since that day at the charity wash, not a moment’s passed without my thoughts driftin’ back to that curvy teacher. The clubhouse’s been alive with the usual ruckus—tinkering on bikes, breaking in the new blood, and all the daily grind of club business. But through all that racket, it’s my memory of her smile that slices through like a damn lighthouse in foggy waters. I catch myself daydreaming ‘bout the lines of her body during important discussions, her laughter echoing louder in my ears than all our engines firing up.

I’ve seen plenty of women stroll through the clubhouse doors. They dip into our world, some chasing the thrill, others looking for a bit of shelter from their storms. We get all types, the good, the bad and the ugly. But none of ‘em have ever stuck to me like Eliza. She’s got this depth, a kind of fierce doing-it-herself way about her, mixed with a warmth that’d make the summer sun jealous. And shit, those curves of hers? They didn’t just snag my gaze—they damn near took over my mind. Her dress, all soaked and clinging to her like a second skin that day, it stamped itself on my brain, and no number of willin’ women could scrub it off.

Been weeks since I last saw her, weeks of handling club shit with my mind half out the door. The itch to see her again was eating at me something fierce. But I needed a good reason to catch up with her again, something that wouldn’t seem too eager or stepping out of line. I had no intention of scaring her off.

Then the chance came up—another charity gig at her school. They were looking for local outfits to chip in for their art program. Perfect. I could roll up, play it like I’m just there to support the community, check on how they were using the dough from our last event, and, most importantly, catch a glimpse of that hot teacher.

The deep growl of my Harley cut through the air, a dark note against the backdrop of kids’ laughter and playground noise. I parked a decent stretch away from the school doors, cut the engine, and took a second to gather myself. Today, I wasn’t just Knox, the Royal Bastards Prez. I was a man on a more personal mission.

As I swung off my Harley, I took a moment to straighten my cut, the leather vest creakin’ familiarly around my broad frame. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror-like shine of my bike’s chrome, adjustin’ the bandana that wrestled my wind-swept hair into submission.

My arms, a canvas of heavy ink, laid out the roadmap of my rough life. The tats runnin’ from my wrists and up under where my sleeves were rolled high. Celtic knots tapping into my heritage, intricate skulls nudged at the mortality we’re all sidesteppin’, crowns that spoke to the dominion I commanded in my biker life, and wolves symbolizin’ the fierce loyalty and pack mentality of my biker brotherhood were etched deep into my flesh.

The ink stories peeked out, bold and unapologetic. They weren’t just for show but declarations, symbols of strength and survival, each line etched in pain but worn with a badass pride. Signs of a life lived hard and held fast, a life I was about to bring knockin’ on Eliza’s door.

Stepping onto school grounds, my boots thuddin’ solid against the pavement, I scanned the sea of folks, huntin’ for that familiar head of brown hair, my heart thumpin’ like a wild thing within me. It’d been a damn long time since anything got my pulse racin’ this way, both thrillin’ and kinda puttin’ me on edge.

I zigzagged through the crowd of teachers and parents, tryin’ to blend in best as a biker can, nearly impossible, when my eyes finally caught sight of Eliza, glasses and all. She was chattin’ up a storm with some parents, all animated and lively, when all hell broke loose over by another booth. A couple of parents were going at it, their voices climbin’ over some mix-up about a piece of donated art. The fuss was ratchetin’ up fast, pulling in a small crowd.

Shit, not exactly the backdrop I had in mind for a reunion, but then, when did life ever play out neat and tidy?

Eliza separated herself from the chatterin’ crowd and walked over to the fussin’ pair with a calmness that seemed to just roll off her in waves. I was itchin’ to step in, maybe throw my weight around to shut down the ruckus, but somethin’ made me hold back. I wanted to see how Eliza would handle this mess.

“Let’s just take a minute here, y’all,” I heard her say, her voice steady but soothing, cuttin’ right through the noise. She gave each of ‘em her full attention, nodding slow and intentional like. Bit by bit, you could see the tension drainin’ out of ‘em as Eliza worked her magic, her words smoothin’ the rough edges right off their spat. Wasn’t long ‘fore she had ‘em shakin’ hands like old pals. Conflict snuffed out with a few calm words and that killer smile of hers.

Damn, she was impressive. The way she took control, not just with grace but with an authority that came to her as easy as breathin’, only piled more respect onto what I already felt for her. My curiosity about who Eliza really was, beyond that firestorm of a first meetin’, only deepened.

After the crowd thinned out, I strolled up to her, giving a little clap. “Looks like you run a tight ship around here,” I said, keepin’ it light.

Eliza spun around, her surprise at seeing me quickly shapin’ into a cautious smile. “Knox, what brings you here?” she asked, eyes flickin’ with curiosity and a bit of wariness.

“Just checkin’ in on how the school’s makin’ use out of our last wash funds. And thought maybe I could steal you away for that coffee I owe you?” I threw out, hopeful.

She paused, her eyes dartin’ back to where the argument had just cooled down, then back at me. Despite her strong outward appearance, I observed the strain in her gaze, the frown pullin’ at the corners of her mouth. “I guess a coffee break wouldn’t hurt,” she finally said, though there was a touch of hesitance in her voice.

We found ourselves a quiet little café just down the street. While we made ourselves comfortable in the worn leather seats, the sound of the espresso machine hissing in the background, I couldn’t help but crack a smile at Eliza’s skeptical look.

“So, you’re a second-grade teacher?” I started.

“You’re a biker president?” She asked, her face scrunched as she blew on her fancy drink.

“You’re probably wonderin’ what in hell we got in common.” I took a drink of my plain black coffee and burnt my mouth.

Eliza took a sip of hers, her eyebrows raised. “Exactly. I mean, your day-to-day must be a little different from mine.”

Enjoying the challenge, I leaned back. “Different, maybe. But you’d be surprised. See, both of us are in the business of wrangling wild beasts. Yours might be a tad smaller, though.”

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