Page 22 of Hard Knox

I ducked another wild swing from Mark, feelin’ that rush, that damn thrill of the fight pumpin’ through me. I landed a solid punch to Mark’s ribs, and damn if I didn’t feel a twinge of sick satisfaction when he sucked in air like it was his last. This mess sure as hell wasn’t how I planned to start my day, but there was no steppin’ back now.

As we tussled there on the front lawn, the crowd around us growin’ by the minute, I caught sight of Eliza’s face, tears makin’ tracks down her cheeks.

Our shouts sliced the morning air, harsh words flung like bullets in a war neither of us wanted to lose.

“You think you’re a badass? Huh, Knox? You’re nothin’ but trash!” Mark hurled at me, his face twisted up ugly with hate.

“Yeah? At least I ain’t a coward who can’t handle his own family business without throwin’ punches,” I shot back, my voice raw as gravel.

Just then, Eliza’s voice sliced through the chaos, desperate and sharp. “Stop! Please, stop!” Her cries hit me, slowing my next punch, her voice cracking with something fierce. The sight of her, so torn up, was enough to snap me out of it. I stepped back, breath heavin’, my heart poundin’ as I took in the scene—Eliza distraught. Mark, pantin’ and furious—bloody.

I knew then I had to back off, at least for now. This was her battle too, and I’d just complicated things way more. I looked at Eliza, my heart heavy with the need to fix this, to protect her, but also knowin’ I had to respect her space.

I caught the whole damn scene then—Eliza, all torn up inside. Mark, still red-faced and boilin’ over with rage. And little Emma, bawlin’ her eyes out. Shit, Emma was right there. Her old man had been droppin’ her off. And Eliza, this was her battle, and here I was, throwin’ mud into the waters even more. I looked at her, feelin’ like hell, twisted up inside with a mix of wantin’ to fix this mess, to shield her from any more pain, but knowin’ too I had to step back, give her some space to sort things with Mark on her own terms.

“I’m sorry, Eliza,” I said, my tone loaded with the heavy shit I’d stirred up. “Didn’t mean to mess things up for ya.”

“Just leave,” she said through gritted teeth.

I reached out, brushed her cheek real gentle, then turned and walked away. Her sobs chased me out, echoin’ in my head long after I’d put some distance between us.

I stomped all the way back to the school where I’d parked my Harley. Kicked it to life and as I roared away, the mornin’ air slapped my face like it was tryin’ to wake me up. Regret and resolve fought for dominance inside me. This shitstorm wasn’t close to over, not for her, not for us. But Eliza, she had some ghosts to stare down, and she needed the room to do it. My path might’ve been murky, but my determination to stand by her, no matter what, was clear as daylight.

After that dust-up with Mark, Eliza pulled back something fierce. Her texts got all scarce, each one clipped and colder than a witch’s tit, like she was buildin’ a wall brick by damn brick. Not bein’ one to handle distance too well, ‘specially not from someone I was damn near ready to walk through fire for. The frustration started gnawin’ at me, each ignored message feelin’ heavier than the last.

I found myself driftin’ back to the clubhouse more often, lookin’ for some semblance of peace among my brothers. The Royal Bastards MC ain’t just some gang. We’re family, tight as hell, always ready to throw down for one another. Steppin’ into the clubhouse, with all the laughter and the clinkin’ of bottles, I could almost forget the mess for a minute.

“Knox! Get your ass over here, man!” Rocky bellowed across the room, his voice booming over the noise. The big bastard could sniff out trouble like a bloodhound. His eyes sliced right through the bullshit as I walked up.

I slapped on a half-assed grin and lightly smacked him on the back. “Just the regular circus, brother.”

Rocky’s brow furrowed, his bullshit detector going off. “Looks like more’n that. You got that damn thundercloud hangin’ over you. Spill it, before I whoop your ass at pool.”

Shit, maybe a game and a chat with Rocky was just what I needed to clear my head, or at least distract it for a while.

As we racked the balls, I spilled the beans to Rocky about the mess with Eliza’s ex and how she’d gone all cold on me afterward. Rocky listened, taking his time with the chalk on his cue stick. “You gotta give her space, Knox. But remember, she’s gotta wanna come back to ya, too. Can’t force these things.”

I nodded, knowing he was spitting truth, but it didn’t do shit to calm the storm in my chest.

Over by the far wall, Bandit, our treasurer and the mastermind behind most things, flagged me down. Bandit was the polar opposite of Rocky—wiry, sharp, with ink climbing up his neck and eyes that didn’t miss a damn thing. “Smokey’s plannin’ the route for next week’s run, or you too busy mopin’ over your girl?” he ribbed me, his tone light, tryin’ to lift my spirits.

“We do it now,” I shot back, grateful for something to keep my mind busy.

We hunkered down over maps and beers for a good couple hours, hashing out the details of our next run. It was good to sink my teeth into something solid for a change—distances, pit stops, messes to clean that I could bury some of my pent-up rage in—instead of drowning in the muck of personal crap.

After leanin’ on the bar, watching the club come alive with laughter and bullshittin’, I felt this twinge of gratitude mixed with a dose of isolation. Here I was the Prez, a brother, someone they all leaned on. But I couldn’t shake the lonely chill from Eliza’s cold shoulder.

Hog, the club’s Enforcer who didn’t mince words, slid up next to me with a couple shots of whiskey. “Drink up, Knox. Sometimes you just gotta hold steady. She’ll come around, or she won’t. Either way, you’re Knox, prez of us Royal Bastards MC. Don’t forget that. Plenty of bitches here to drown your sorrows in any way.”

I knocked back the shot, the burn a sudden reminder of my simmering feelings. Hog was on point. I needed to stay solid, be the leader I was meant to be, and hope Eliza would find her way back on her own terms.

The clubhouse was like my fortress, where I drew all my strength, but not even the rowdiest club nights could fill the void Eliza’s absence left in me. I was caught, trying to find that sweet spot—be there for her without losing what made me, me—and steeling myself for whatever damn storm was on the horizon, with or without her.

The evening kicked up, and the clubhouse swelled with the usual wild soundtrack—laughter, shouts, and the jukebox pumping out bass. There I was, propped up at the bar, beer in hand, my mind spinning on Eliza despite the surrounding chaos. She wasn’t even answering my texts.

That’s when Tara made her move. Her approach was anything but subtle. She sashayed over showing off everything her mama gave her, perfume so heavy it was sickening. Tara, with her slick black hair and a flair for stirring shit up, was a constant pain in my ass—not quite an ex, but a chapter I was itching to slam shut.

“Fox, baby, you’re lookin’ all kinds of serious tonight,” she cooed, her hand sneaking up my thigh, thinkin’ it might get a rise outta me.

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