WORTH IT (Forbidden Men #6)

2. Knox

2

Knox

Present Day

The electronic belch of the prison gate rang to notify guards on the other side whenever the doors were about to open. It was meant to be a warning. Caution. But to me, it was the sound of freedom, because today, they blasted for me.

As I stood before them, the obnoxious wail echoed between my ears with a piercing intensity. It made my hands twitch at my sides and nerves rattle like loose change in my stomach. Then metal grated on metal as the gray steel began to peel apart, slowing baring the world beyond.

Color assaulted me. A pristine azure sky, bright yellow taxi with a white puff of smoke coughing from the tailpipe, glistening silver gates, a piercing red stop sign down the block, and grass as green as the moss that grew on the trees in the woods behind my childhood home.

I’d been eighteen when I’d stepped behind bars. For six years, my world had been nothing but grays and browns, blacks, and inmate orange. So I had to wince against the blinding onslaught of fresh, new color until I lifted my hand to shield my eyes.

Sunlight warmed my chilled palm and it sent a ripple of anxiety down my spine. I tried to control my erratic breaths and slow the whiplash of my heartbeat, hide the overwhelming insecurities.

I hadn’t expected quite this level of emotion. What perplexed me most, though, was that the overriding sensation wasn’t even relief. It was fear. I no longer knew this world. I wasn’t prepared to step into it. I didn’t even know if I wanted to be a part of it. But I sure as hell didn’t want to stay here.

Wiping my hand over my face to clear my expression, I took a step forward, my first toward freedom.

The guard next to me nudged my arm. “Hey, Parker.”

The heels of my shoes collided with the floor, jerking me to a halt. Expecting him to hitch his chin toward the belly of the prison and drag me back to my cell—telling me this was simply a test run, I wasn’t really being released today—I did nothing but stare blankly when he pulled a folded bill from his pocket and extended it my way.

When I only blinked at the cash, he jabbed it at me again, like some kind of jousting stick. “Buy yourself some new clothes, will you? You look like s**t in those.”

My gaze darted from the money to his face, back and forth, a ticking pendulum of indecision. I didn’t understand.

I started to shake my head, so he sighed. “Just take it already.” He glanced away, uncomfortable with his gift. “It’s only twenty bucks. You’ll barely be able to buy a meal with that.”

My eyes flared. If you couldn’t even buy a meal with twenty dollars these days, I wasn’t prepared for life on the outside at all.

And there went the acid in my stomach again.

“Come on. I know you need it. I’m the one who pulled your possessions. You have exactly eleven cents in your pocket.”

I swallowed and slowly reached for the cash. “Okay, thanks.”

He glanced away. “Don’t get too excited, it’s not much. I wish I could’ve helped more. You’re a good kid. You never belonged here.”

My throat closed as I studied him. I was going to miss him. He’d been the only source of nice I’d had in the last six years, and I was probably never going to see him again. I opened my mouth to thank him, to say good-bye, to...I don’t know. But nothing I thought to say sounded even remotely effective enough to convey what I really meant.

“I...” I glanced down at the money. “It’s more than I expected.”

Shit, that sounded awful.

The guard laughed softly and nudged my shoulder. “Go on. Your ride’s waiting.”

I glanced at the taxi, then back to him. “Good-bye.”

He nodded. “Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to see you back here again.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t have to worry about that. I sent him a small wave before half walking, half jogging toward my one and only state-funded cab ride to a destination of my choice.

My clothes stretched and pinched as I moved. I’d grown enough that the hem of my pants fell well above my ankles and my shirt was so tight the seams groaned, protesting each step.

The last time I’d worn this very outfit, I was being arrested for raping Abbott Bainbridge’s only daughter.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked as I opened the back door and slid in.

I sat there, staring at him. Where to?

Why had I not thought of an answer for that question until this very moment? All morning, ever since I’d been informed I was being let go, I’d only been concerned about getting free; I hadn’t even thought about what I’d do when I actually was free.

I just knew what I wasn’t going to do.

I wasn’t going to find her.

“Well?”

“Uh...” I drew in a breath and rattled off my address, though I had no idea what to expect once I actually reached it. No one in my family had come to visit me or contact me in any way, not once in seventy-two months. They probably had no idea I was out.

My mom would be happy to see me, I was eighty percent certain of that. My dad would pitch a s**t fit and most likely slap me around a little, then either put me to work or tell me to get lost. My brothers and sister...hell, most of them probably wouldn’t even recognize me.

But I didn’t recognize myself, so they wouldn’t be alone.

As we approached the city, I stared out the window, identifying some landmarks, while other landmarks...not so much. Even the things I did remember looked different. Felt different. I tensed when I realized what was coming next.

The Bainbridge estate. A long drive lined with trees that ended at a stone-set circle drive and introduced the snowy white mansion of Abbott Maxwell Bainbridge.

When the tree line broke away, there sat his property, as proud and pretentious as ever. I sucked in a breath, not expecting the flood of longing, regret, heartache.

It tore through me, shredding open my chest and slashing into my guts. The breath-stealing sensation lingered as his house just as abruptly disappeared and more trees sprang up.

My trees.

I clenched my hands around my knees and closed my eyes, ignoring the ache in my chest. My heart banged against each memory like a battering ram, bruising every tender image that flashed through my mind.

If only...

No. There were no what ifs. No should haves. No if onlys. This was life and how it had happened. I had to let go of the past and continue from here. Without her.

The taxicab began to slow. I scraped my top teeth over my bottom lip to combat the nerves. I actually ached to see my mother, all my siblings, even our stupid worn-down shack of a home. I couldn’t wait to—

The car pulled into a drive.

I blinked.

“What’s this?” I said, pointing out the window, sounding accusative, feeling accusative, as I scowled at the driver.

But my home, the place where I’d lived for the first eighteen years of my life, was...it was gone. A convenience store gas station sat in its place.

“It’s your stop.” The cabbie put the car into park and glanced back at me nervously.

I stared at him with a slight frown before turning back to gape out the window. “But...”

This was the right location, it had to be. My woods were right there, we’d just passed the Bainbridge place, there was nowhere else the house could be. “There should be a small faded blue cottage here.” With half a dozen broken cars in the yard that had grass and small trees growing up through their engines, along with a haphazard metal fence to keep in our hound dog, Tidbits.

The cabbie sent me an odd look. “How long you been locked up, kid?”

Stupefied, I glanced back at the gas station.

“Too long,” I murmured, my shoulders falling as my hope deflated.

“Look, you can’t sit here all day,” He shifted in his seat, probably uncomfortable and beyond ready to get the ex-con out of his car. “This is the address you gave me.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Fine. I’d get out here.

I tugged open the handle and stepped from the cab. It took off as soon as I shut the door.

Lost, I stared at the store in front of me in confusion. I could see people inside, waiting in line to purchase soft drinks and cigarettes. Three cars sat in the lanes, pumping gas. It was so normal it felt dizzyingly surreal.

But what was I supposed to do now?

I scanned the outer wall for a pay phone, but didn’t spot one, even though I had no idea who I would’ve called if I had. Maybe I’d find a sign, some kind of direction, a purpose, inside. I stepped forward to investigate, except behind me, I heard an approaching automobile. Wondering if I’d left something in the cab, I glanced back and nearly pissed myself as a front bumper rushed toward me.

“s**t!” I leapt to the side as a silver Lexus veered around me and headed too fast toward the store. For a horrified moment, I thought it was going to jump the curb and crash into the side of the building, but it screeched to a stop at the last second.

Idiot driver.

Leaping onto the sidewalk so no other automobile would feel inclined to play chicken with me, I squinted and tipped my head to look through the windshield.

Just what kind of rich prick thought I was so pancake worthy?

I totally wasn’t expecting to see a youngish woman with her eyes squeezed closed and tears coursing down her cheeks.

I slowed to a stop, watching her, my anger draining into a nagging, itching sensation I concluded might be concern.

When she finally drew her driver’s side door open like an old decrepit woman, my Spidey sense kicked in, telling me something was definitely not right. She put out a hand, then swung out a leg, but when she went to stand, she gasped and fell back into the driver’s seat. As her face tipped forward, contorting with pain, I took a step her way, then paused and glanced around to make sure someone else wasn’t already moving in to check on her. But no one else had noticed her.

Damn it. Someone else should handle this. Not me. I wasn’t the best candidate for helping a woman in trouble.

She finally heaved herself from the car with a sob, and I saw how large her stomach was. Cradling her pregnant belly, she stumbled toward the curb. The same moment I noticed a trickle of blood running down the inside of her leg, she tripped and started to fall.

“Whoa. Hey.” I dashed to her and barely caught her in time.

She clutched my upper arms, her fingers digging in hard as if the grip was helping her stanch the pain. Lifting her face, she managed to say between shallow breaths, “I’m sorry...did I...almost...run you over?”

“f**k that.” I helped her straighten back into a stand. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“I’m—oh!” She doubled over and began to crumple, letting go of me to grab her stomach. I kept her upright and she leaned her bowed head into my sternum as a moan of agony tore from her throat. “Something’s wrong,” she said after considerable panting. “I need to call my husband. Left my cell phone at home. So stupid.”

“We’ll call him from the hospital,” I said.

“No!” She choked out a sob and started to cry. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I don’t want to lose my baby.”

“You’re going to be fine.” I clenched my teeth when I heard my too gruff reply, hoping my voice hadn’t scared her. “The hospital will help you save it.”

When she didn’t shy away, I slipped an arm under her legs at the knees and wound the other around her back before I lifted her off the ground. I didn’t know what else to say, what else to do. So I kept murmuring stupid s**t, like how I was going to get her someplace safe so they could take care of her and make everything better. I had no idea if I was spouting off lies or not, but the words seemed to settle her as I carried her to the passenger side and opened the door.

After placing her inside, I dashed to the opened driver’s door and climbed behind the wheel. As soon as I sank into a cushioned leather seat, a shock wave of déjà vu and uncertainty claimed me. This was a nice car. An ex-con like me, twenty minutes free from the pen, should not be driving a car like this.

But when the pregnant girl sucked in another breath of pain, I refocused on my main mission. Get her help. f**k everything else.

Grasping the gearshift, I glanced behind me and reversed from the parking spot. “Is the hospital still on Twentieth and McClellan?”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed, her hand cradling her stomach in place. “I don’t...yes, maybe. That sounds right.”

That was good enough for me. Checking traffic, I pulled onto the road, and a disorienting wave clouded me. It’d been too long since I’d last driven a vehicle. A blurry image of bright red hair filled the inside of my head, a girl’s laughter as I peeled out rang through my ears, and my nostrils flared as if I could still smell her flowery scent while I followed her over the center console and into the backseat.

Blinking the memories away, I shook my head and concentrated on traffic. But the pregnant woman’s pain grew thick, her breaths shorter and whimpers louder.

“How you doing?” I asked with a quick glance her way.

Her cheeks were even paler than her blonde locks as she sniffed and wiped at some of her tears. “I can’t believe I did this. I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” I tried to reassure her but only made her jump when I cursed and slammed on the brake before honking the horn and snarling more obscenities at the SUV who’d just cut us off. When I had to brake again at a red light, I risked another glance her way. She wasn’t faring any better than she’d been thirty seconds before. “It’s not your fault this is happening.”

But she bobbed her head, her wet eyes apologizing as she looked at me. “It is. I’m on bed rest; I wasn’t supposed to leave the house.”

The light turned green. I got us through the intersection and drew in a breath, trying to calm myself so I could help her. “I’m sure you had a good reason to leave.” Maybe talking would keep her mind off things.

“My husband...” she started, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “His birthday’s this weekend. I wanted...I needed to get him a present.”

“What did you get him?” I asked as 20th Street came into view. Thank God.

The woman made a sound of pain. “Two...two tickets to the science museum.” A brief pain-filled smile drifted across her face. “He loves science.”

I nodded. “He’ll like that, then.”

But my answer only made her squeeze her eyes shut and cry harder. “Not if I k-killed our baby.”

“No, don’t even think that way. You didn’t kill anything. Fucker,” I muttered when some dumbass turned in front of us to only go ten miles per hour. I swerved around him.

Three blocks left. St. John’s rose up from its surrounding buildings, its bright red hospital cross on the side, a beacon of hope. Almost there. “How far along are you?”

“Sev...seven and a half months. Only thirty weeks.”

I reached out and covered her trembling hand on her stomach and squeezed briefly as I turned into the hospital’s parking lot. “Your baby will be fine.”

She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears, and in that moment I knew she believed me because everything around her calmed.

“Will you call Quinn for me? Tell him...”

When I parked at the entrance of the emergency room, she turned and looked up at the glass-fronted foyer. Her composure from moments ago dissolved. Sobbing uncontrollably, she hugged herself tight. “I want Quinn.”

I left her briefly to hurry around the car to her side. There was even more blood than before, but I didn’t let my gaze linger on that. I scooped her into my arms and spun her toward the entry doors that slid open for us. Someone must’ve seen us coming; a nurse was already pushing an empty wheelchair our way.

After I set the woman down, she looked up at me with fear and panic, watching me take a step back while half a dozen more medical workers swarmed her. They barraged her with questions, but she kept watching me, her gaze begging.

“You’ll get Quinn? My husband.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

That seemed to quiet her. She turned her face aside to answer a nurse’s question, and they whisked her away, leaving me standing there like a clueless dumbass.

I glanced back at the silver Lexus, its engine still running in front of the opened hospital entrance. Realizing I had no idea what the woman’s name had been, or how to contact her husband Quinn, I lifted my hands to wipe my face. But something red on my palms made me stop. My fingers froze halfway to my mouth, and I swallowed at the sight of fresh blood coating my skin. A wave of nausea swept over me.

Blood on my hands.

The last time I’d looked down and found blood dripping from my fingers, I’d just killed two men.