All Chained Up (Devil's Rock #1)(57)

“No,” her would-be savior declared, grabbing her arm and tugging her back, farther from Knox. And that was his mistake. Pulling her away from Knox when the only thought pounding through his head was: mine.

Knox reached for her. “Let’s go, Briar.”

The bastard shoved him in the chest. Hard. “I don’t know who the f*ck you think you are, chief, but you can’t come in here and—”

Knox cut him off, grabbing his hand and twisting it hard, yanking it in an unnatural angle until a sharp snap cracked the air. The guy screamed. Several of his friends stormed the dance floor, surging toward them. Only when they spotted Knox, they stopped. Unlike Greasy Hair, they recognized him and weren’t about to make a move.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled. Knox jerked his chin, ready for them, almost wanting them to come at him. Then he could unleash some of the aggression pumping through him. Somewhere in the far back of his mind he heard his parole officer citing his numerous warnings, one of which was to avoid all altercations. No fighting, whatsoever.

Only he didn’t give a f*ck. He wanted to keep twisting the *’s arm until it broke. He’d break all their arms if he could right now. The punks exchanged glances with one another and backed down. “Knox! Knox! Stop.” Briar was there then, her hands on his chest, her eyes pleading with him.

“I think all you f*ckers need to consider what happens next here.” It was Blue’s voice snarling over the air. Several of Blue’s friends flanked him as he stared down Greasy Hair’s punk-ass crew.

Knox tightened his grip and twisted a little tighter on the guy’s wrist. Greasy Hair whimpered. “Shit! You’re breaking my arm.”

Knox released the * and grabbed Briar’s hand. Holding her cool fingers in his grasp, he led her past gawking onlookers.

A voice, a single whisper, wove through the crowd, reaching his ears. “Yeah, Knox Callaghan . . . murderer . . .”

Grim futility flashed through him, sinking past muscle and tissue, settling deep into his bones. That’s right. He was that. He would always be that.

Maybe it was time Briar understood as much. If she hadn’t figured it out, he’d make sure she knew now. And then he wouldn’t stop her as she walked out the door.

HE LED HER through the swinging door with a sign above it that read EMPLOYEES ONLY. His warm, big hand enveloped hers, helping her stay upright. She practically tripped in her ridiculous heels as he dragged her after him, and she wished she had worn flats instead of letting Shelley convince her to go with these boots.

They passed through a small kitchen with a harried-looking man washing glasses and into another back room lined with boxes and walls of shelved liquor.

Knox pushed her back against a wall and then dropped his hands from her. He tucked those hands behind him then, sliding them into his back jeans pockets as if he needed to do that to keep from touching her. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Her blood pumped from what had just happened out on the dance floor. Her skin felt feverish. She told herself it was the alcohol and all the dancing, but she couldn’t fool herself. It brought to mind that day in the HSU when he had reacted so quickly, with such lethal skill. A viper striking with deadly precision. God. She was turned on. She could barely stop her body from leaning in toward him.

“Are you okay?” His gaze scanned her face, searching.

Heat crawled over her cheeks, burning all the way to her ears, and she fell back against the wall with a gulp of a breath.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to regain her composure . . . and some restraint.

He angled his head, his eyes sharp and glinting in the near dark. “Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“Maybe I have,” she agreed, holding his gaze. “But no worries. I have a designated driver.”

He snorted. “Your designated driver doesn’t appear in much better condition than you.”

“Is that why you dragged me back here?” she challenged. “Because you’re worried I’ve been drinking too much?”

He glanced away then, staring somewhere into the darkness before looking back down at her. “What are you doing here, Briar?” He sounded tired, and she was the reason for that. “Why are you . . .” His voice faded, but she understood. She knew what he was asking.

Why was she coming around him?

It was a good question and she didn’t know the answer. She couldn’t explain why she lost all sense of pride when it came to him. There was only need.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered, her voice sounding as anguished as she felt over that fact.

His eyes gleamed almost black in the poorly lit room, and then whatever light she saw there suddenly banked itself. A fire snuffed out. He was Callaghan again. Prison inmate. “We can’t do this, Briar.”

She nodded jerkily, a stupid lump forming in her throat . . . emotion . . . hurt that she didn’t want to feel. “Yeah. Okay.”

She started to move past him, but he stopped her, clasping her shoulder and putting her back against the wall. He locked his jaw, tension feathering along the tight skin, just beneath the scruff that she wanted to stroke.

She shook her head, staring at him helplessly. “You haven’t come by my place. Not since—” She stopped, but he knew what she meant to say. Not since she told him she wasn’t pregnant.