Hard Knox

by Amber Malloy

  “Sorry,” Bumblebee chuckled and nodded at the envelope. “In there, you will find everything that will land Congressman Richards in handcuffs.” She reached for a napkin and wiped off her hands.

  “Seriously?”

  “The hacker we send all of our high-profile cases to found enough to put the man in jail. But between you and me”—she glanced around the room before leaning in close—“it’s not about the money anymore. She signed power of attorney over to you years ago and let it be known. He’s obsessed with her—and the only way he’ll leave her alone is if he’s dead or behind bars.”

  “But if he sets me up like he tried to do—”

  Bumblebee shook her head. “He just wanted to stick it to you. How would he collect on her inheritance? Nope.” She sat back in her seat. “This is about beating him at his own game, plain and simple.”

  Knox opened the envelope. He thought the same thing but didn’t want to confess it out loud. He really wanted to kill that man. “Now what?”

  “This will need to get into the right hands, and most people are one greasy payoff away from hell.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know who you can trust with this type of information—but good luck.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The hoopla covering the Mega Bowl seemed more exhausting than the actual event. Amped energy and massive ego had thickened the air. Knox leaned the back of his head against the locker door and zoned out to his music. He should have been more nostalgic about the whole thing, but he needed it to be over. Officially a private citizen after this, he couldn’t wait to find Remy.

  While he waited for the Q and A for presidential candidates to begin at the town hall, Knox popped out his ear buds. Navigating between jacked-up game energy and a calm space, he rolled his neck and stretched his arms.

  “How’s the ole noggin?” Doug chuckled with a batch of rookies across the locker room. Unable to stand on his own two feet, the fool needed lackeys. “Did you hear me, wife killer?” Though Doug was pushing a hard twenty-nine years old, Knox was amazed at the man’s lack of maturity.

  Doughy and out of shape, the linebacker didn’t see it coming. Knox lunged across the room. Punching him with his left, he held his throat with his right arm and pushed him against the lockers.

  The pudgier version of the Bob’s Big Boy statue gasped for air. “Did you forget that I was ambidextrous, Doug? Or did you forget that my contract’s up and the league can’t do shit to me if I beat your ass? What? I can’t hear you.”

  A ton of commotion behind him didn’t pull his focus from the drugged-out idiot’s face, which was turning a brilliant shade of red. “You know what I think you forgot?” Knox applied a little more pressure to the big idiot’s neck. “That I’m not a five-foot-six-inch tiny woman you can beat up and control with your money. Was that what you forgot?” Knox itched to beat the shit out of him.

  “Those roids have you stupid as hell. You couldn’t knock me out yourself, so you used other players to do it.” He breathed hot, angry breath in Doug’s face. “You are weak as fuck and it oozes from your pores,” he growled, shoving into his throat enough to hear him gurgle. The fat fucker’s eyes began to water.

  “That’s enough, Knox.”

  Before he let him go, Knox muffed his face with his hand. Doug dropped to the floor.

  “You mutha fucka!” Doug choked. Knox turned around to face a mess. Clothing, bags and chairs littered the floor. Veterans stood in the front of the rookies. “You’re going to pay.” Doug pulled himself upright but continued to sputter. “Carter, you saw that? You saw what he did?”

  “See what?” Bane stood near the locker room entrance.

  “But you just—”

  “Let’s go, Renner. Time for a drug test.”

  “What? I already took one.” Crazy red blotches appeared on his chest and inched up Doug’s neck.

  “Yep, and now you’re going do another one,” Bane told him.

  “No way… You can’t do this to me… You can’t!” The test administrator stood outside the room, along with two guards. “I’m not doing it. Forget that shit.”

  The league officials had finally found the inside guy who had provided Doug with the drug test warnings. The heads-up had always allowed the idiot enough time to flush his system.

  “Then you don’t play.”

  The guards walked in and Doug slammed himself against the locker in some pathetic attempt at a childish fit.

  “The show’s over,” Andre said. The rookies were the first to wander off, with a lot less enthusiasm. None of them were playing that night, and the veterans had decided to send them a message for the future.

  As a strange silence filled the room, Knox’s phone buzzed.

  “Okay, everyone hit the hallway. Give us ten,” Bane told him.

  Andre grabbed Mooch by the shoulder and turned him around. “Not you, kid.”

  “Oh!” he said, surprised. They all had Google alerts attached to the congressman. Since they were in Florida for the Mega Bowl, they couldn’t pull the feed for the Texas town hall that was being aired on TV. Pandering to his base, Congressman Richard had done a ridiculous amount of campaigning in the red states. His poll numbers were sky high.

  “The next question is from…” the moderator who sat nearest to the candidates read off his cards. “This one is from the Will County Gazette in Illinois.”

  “Congressman…” Art stood up. “We have reports that show funds from your campaign contributions were used to pay for office furniture, trips and it says ‘leisure’, but the footage I have here…” As Art peered over his glasses in that patronizing manner Knox hated, he held up his tablet. Sounds of copious amounts of sex filtered through the sound system.

  “Uh, we’ll be taking a commercial break, and when we come back—” Someone tried to wrestle the microphone away from Art, to no avail.

  “No, you’ll want to stick around for this. Trust me. Congressman, those ladies were paid from previous campaign contributions to entertain Russian diplomats.”

  “Are we taking this clown seriously?” Brooks screamed.

  “What’s with the name calling?” Art pouted. “I’m simply asking questions about your record. It appears your votes consistently back a foreign agenda.” Guards stormed from the audience, headed straight for the reporter. “You don’t want to answer that?” Art held tight to the microphone and danced out of reach of security. “Those were the easy ones.”

  The guards roughly grabbed his arms before he could rattle off another question.

  “We’ll be back after this.” The moderator smiled tightly at the camera.

  “Now what?” Mooch asked, confused. “Nothing happened.”

  “Besides Art probably getting his ass beat outside that town hall meeting.” Andre laughed, which kicked everyone off into a peal of giggles.

  “The FBI is waiting to talk to the congressman, so they won’t rough up Art too bad.” Knox turned off his phone.

  “Are you ready to win this shit and go get your girl?” Andre put out his hand. Knox slapped his palm and they both threw back their heads and howled.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Mavericks won the Mega Bowl and had pushed up their sponsored trip that usually happened a week later. Management wanted to fly Remy into Florida the day prior to surprise her quarterback husband. The only hitch in the plan was the congressman. He had placed her on a travel ban, which made it a freaking nightmare to get her back into the country. She had made it precisely thirty minutes after the parade in front of Cinderella’s Castle.

  Two very stern security guards had picked Remy up from the airport and driven her to the ‘Happiest Place on Earth’. Since they couldn’t even project mild amusement, she wasn’t sure she’d gotten into the correct vehicle.

  “So, what are you guys doing later?” She poked her head in between the front seats. “I hear Harry Potter’s world is a must see. No, no…nothing?” Amped on pregnancy hormones and adrenaline, she tried to engage the
m in conversation. They drove the van into the backstage area of a huge theatre and parked it.

  The team had a scheduled Q and A with the fans. When they finished all their Maverick duties—which included talk shows and club appearances—they could officially begin their off-season activities.

  Someone slid the passenger door open. “Where the hell have you been?” Dahl yelled.

  “Hi to you, too,” she hollered back.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Dahl rushed her out of the van. Dressed in a sexy pink dress, the Mavericks’ owner held out her hand to help. At four months pregnant, Remy had a bit of a bump. It wasn’t that noticeable. However, the hormones and lack of caffeine were making her a straight psycho.

  As Bane held the theater doors open for them, the roar from the fans flowed outside. Dahl placed a hand on the small of her back and hurried her along.

  “Remy…” He nodded with a slip of a smile on his fierce face.

  “Bane Carter, to what do I owe the pleasure of having two owners escorting me?” They power-walked through the backstage area.

  “Apparently my quarterback’s wife is on a terror watch list. Under threats of bodily harm and prosecutorial punishment, we promised park management that we would keep our eyes on you at all times.”

  “Welcome to my world,” she said with a grin. Of course the congressman had to keep the surprises coming, even with all his legal troubles.

  They rounded the corner to the standing-room-only theatre. The crowd waited for the players to get situated on the stage. First the press would have a crack at the team, then the floor would open to a select number of fans who were allowed to ask questions.

  “This wasn’t easy to pull off. We had to threaten Knox with breach of contract and loss of any future income if he didn’t stay put for this.”

  Remy knew the second Knox could search for her, he would. It was a game they had played for years. A small part of her wanted to continue the chase, but they had to grow up. No more tag—the game was over.

  “What happened to Doug Renner? The rumor is he didn’t pass his drug test,” a reporter asked the players. Knox sat at the end of the table, clearly not engaged.

  While their small group moved within the shadows of the theatre, all eyes were on the Mavericks. No one paid the least bit of attention to them.

  “Right before we hit the field for the Mega Bowl, Doug got pulled into a random drug screening,” Jake said.

  “That isn’t usual, is it? Right before a big game?”

  “I think that’s why they call them random,” Andre responded.

  As the crowd clapped wildly at his smart comment, they hurried over to the wives’ area. Lashonda stood in the aisle and waved her in.

  “When you get a second”—Bane grabbed her arm to stop her—“I need to talk to you about something.”

  “What?” Remy turned around to face him.

  “It can wait until later.” Clearly uncomfortable, the big man glanced away.

  “Hey, no prob. I mean, I’ve been on the run for a couple of years from a maniac who has had me beat up, hit by a car and stabbed, but please, let’s talk about your thing.”

  “Oh shit.” His face fell. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

  Dahl bit her quivering lower lip and Remy smiled. “Messing with you, big guy.” She walked backward up the aisle. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Dahl slipped her arm around her husband’s waist.

  “But you don’t know what I wanted to talk to you about,” Bane said. He still seemed unsure of himself.

  “Sure I do.” Remy hurried up the aisle to Lashonda.

  “What took you so long?” she asked, before she took a hold of Remy’s arm.

  “I’m great, girl. Thanks for asking.” Lashonda shoved her behind the other wives. “Where’s Allison? I owe her something.”

  “Yes, you do,” Lashonda agreed, “but you’re going to have to give it to her some other time. She’s not allowed to sit with us anymore.” They laughed, while the press continued to ask their questions.

  “This is the last game for the quarterback. How does it feel?” a reporter fired off.

  “Knox? Hey, man…” Andre elbowed him. He turned his attention away from his phone and toward the crowd.

  “What will you do after football?”

  “I’m weighing my options,” he muttered.

  “The rumor is you’ll work in the front office.”

  “Not sure yet,” he said.

  “How do you think you’ll be as a new father?” a voice called out.

  As the hall went completely silent, Knox stood. One of the rookie’s wives had asked the question. They knew he wouldn’t recognize her voice.

  “Repeat the question?” The microphone went back and forth between the women until it finally got to Remy.

  “As a first-time father,” she said, “how do you think you’ll do?” Remy stood in the middle of the wives, who picked up a sign from the ground that spelled out Congratulations. The sea of women parted.

  “No shit?” he screamed once he saw her. A gasp rippled through the crowd.

  “Whoa, man, this is a family show.”

  “We’re on a delay, right?” a guy with a clipboard by the camera asked.

  Knox hopped over the table and down the stage, knocking a couple of people over to get to her. “So-o-orree,” he apologized as he ran.

  “So-o-orree,” the football wives screamed back.

  He jogged down the aisle toward her. As he got close, Remy flipped open her sweater to show her dress that read Knox’s baby on the front. He clearly took in the small bump that stood out. Gathering her into his arms, she immediately warmed to his touch. “Camp?” he asked, ecstatic. “Best twenty-five thousand dollars I’ve ever spent.”

  “I won?” she asked about the bet they’d made.

  “No, I did,” he told her. While the crowd cheered, he pulled her to him. “But what about your IUD?”

  Remy rolled her eyes.

  “Come on,” he pushed.

  “Displaced,” she mumbled.

  “So, I knocked that shit out. My super sperm knocked it out… Say it.”

  “So-o confident.” Remy laughed.

  She breathed in the heady scent of sandalwood and spicy leather.

  “God, I missed you,” he growled into her ear before he kissed her again.

  “What’s next, Supastar?”

  Placing a hand on her small bump, Knox replied, “Everything.”

  Epilogue

  She was six months pregnant and nothing in Remy’s closet fit. They were shooting a documentary about the Mavericks’ epic run and she had held up production to find something to wear. Lashonda had tried to style her but that had gone super south about ten minutes prior.

  Almost a half hour after her call time, they had finally decided to rip apart one of Knox’s shirts. Twenty minutes later, she walked into the studio. “Art.” Remy hugged the old coot, who was also participating in the special.

  “Why did you let him knock you up? We would have been so good together.”

  Dressed in his best tweed suit from the sixties, Art tried to keep a straight face and Remy laughed. “You’re such a dirty old man. Thanks for saving me.” Art had taken the file the hackers had compiled and he’d contacted some people he knew in the CIA and FBI. They had devised a solid plan to arrest the congressman, but only after Art got to confront him on national television. Brooks faced numerous charges, with embezzlement and treason at the top of the list.

  “Nah, you saved me,” the reporter said. “My career and dinky paper have never seen it better.” Remy kissed the side of his cheek. “Let me know when you want to get rid of him.”

  Remy glanced over at Knox, who sat in front of the big television lights and camera, glaring at them. “You’ll be the first to know.” She smiled.

  “Get the hell away from my wife, Artie!”

  The old man chuckled. “What the hell do you see in that Canadian idiot?”

  Remy made
her way toward the camera. “Do we have to go over this again?”

  “Nope, you win,” he yelled at her back, while an assistant guided her over the cables in the studio. Knox took her hand to help her the rest of the way. Considering she was all boobs, she smothered him on her way past.

  “So-o-o-o, what happened to that dress you packed?”

  “Not now, Knox.” She put up her face up for Lashonda to fix her makeup under the lights after she took her seat.

  “Her tits are too big. That’s why we needed to borrow your shirt.”

  “Shonda,” she hissed.

  “What? It’s the truth? Look at them.”

  “Yeah, I told her yesterday that the dress she brought wasn’t going to fit,” Knox said matter-of-factly.

  “But regardless of you two tearing up my shirt, you look fucking fantastic.” He leaned in to kiss her.

  “Don’t forget. You owe me twenty-five thousand dollars,” she told him, not bothering to mess up her makeup to entertain his patronizing crap.

  “That wasn’t the bet, baby. The bet was if my fine was—”

  “Jilly!” Remy cut Knox’s bullshit off to scream at the former intern. The girl made her way over to the producer’s chair. “What the hell?” Remy was stymied.

  “Hot Husband here got me the gig.”

  “So you should definitely forgive me for everything.” Knox granted her a throaty chuckle and squeezed her thigh.

  Pregnancy hormones had her annoyed with his presence in general. Nevertheless, Remy couldn’t pass up hot sex. No one had told her pregnancy made women horny as hell. Of course, she would forgive him before too long. That was how it always happened.

  “We just have to go through a couple of preliminary questions,” Jill explained. Remy pointed at the camera. “It’s rolling, but we’re not going to use it.”

  Having never been interviewed before, Remy’s nerves rattled her insides. As the intern got situated in the seat across from them, Remy tried to calm down. “When you two first met, was it love at first sight?”

  “Uh, that’s a weird question.” Remy glanced over at Knox, but he offered her no assistance. Not used to interviews from the other side of the camera, she figured the truth wouldn’t hurt… They couldn’t use it anyway. “It was sweatpants season.”