Heaven Said Sign Up (Knox)

The hangover was killing him.

Knox couldn’t even name the other sensations spiralling through his body, just the pounding ache drilling into his skull.

The crew were lined up across the hull of the ship. The clock had struck 6 a.m. a whole thirty minutes ago, and the blue waves rocked the deck with a queasy rhythm that made Knox wish he were dead. He grimaced, breathing slowly to keep from throwing up.

Morning routines always sucked, but this? This was a new level of hell.

If anyone asked, he’d tell them straight: choosing to become a marine was the single worst decision of his miserable life.

His shoulders throbbed from the rough night, slaps, shoves, and being dragged across the damn floor. Men played rough, and his body bore the proof. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Aaron was on his left. Oscar to his right. Both stood at full attention like perfect soldier dolls, except they kept glancing at each other. Knox didn’t even need to look to know what telepathic garbage they were trading.

“Hey.”

He ignored Aaron’s chipper, soul-crushing voice.

“Hey,” Aaron repeated, louder this time, “ignoring me ain’t gonna work, princess.”

“Shut up,” Knox hissed through clenched teeth. Patience wasn’t in his vocabulary this early. Not after last night. He doubted he’d forgive Aaron for it, even in his next life. The man clearly had no idea what kind of mental trauma he’d caused.

Aaron leaned in and bumped his shoulder. Knox stumbled forward, catching himself just in time to stay in formation. Aaron was built like a tank. Knox wasn’t. That stung more than he’d admit. Genetics really did him dirty.

Always average. Average height. Average build. Average everything.

Well, until now. Because currently, in the dating app on his phone, tucked safely in his uniform pocket… he was Sandra. Sandra, with wild foxlike beauty, model curves, and doe eyes, men would sell their souls for.

He scowled sideways at Aaron, who shot him a grin like a smug bastard.

“‘Mr. All-at-attention-or-I ll-throw-you-overboard’ is late. I think we both know why.” Aaron snickered.

“He was up all night enjoying those sweet little lies. ‘Oh, you’re so handsome… so big… I want to get on my knees and—’”

“Aaron,” Knox growled, “shut up, or I’ll throw you overboard.”

His fists clenched at his sides. His nails dug into his palms. He didn’t need to hear a single reminder of last night—of the conversation he’d had with Victor Wallace on the app. The words came back to him like bile: flirtations, soft bait, teasing compliments.

It made him want to throw up all over again.

Aaron, the demon, just laughed.

Right then, like some hell-sent omen, he arrived.

Victor Wallace strode out like he had a steel rod jammed so far up his spine it pierced the clouds. Every step commanded attention, radiating that bone-deep tension only true tyrants could inspire.

Knox straightened like his spine had caught fire. Chin high. Arms locked at his sides. Not breathing.

The sunlight reflected off Wallace’s pristine white uniform, blinding them all for a second. Then, slowly, his tall, broad figure came into focus. Green eyes, sharp as broken glass, scanned the deck, then stopped on Knox.

Like always.

Like clockwork.

Knox felt his pulse spike. The sharp clack of Victor’s boots on the deck might as well have been a countdown to execution. He didn’t blink. Didn’t dare. Victor’s stare held him hostage like a hawk locking onto prey.

He hated how his body reacted, how the sweat rolled down his spine, how his chest clenched like a vice. Every instinct screamed run, but he stood there, a soldier. A pawn. Nothing more.

Victor’s boots stopped an inch from Knox’s own. His towering form loomed with quiet menace.

“I can smell the stench of alcohol on you,” came the voice, deep, cold, and judgmental.

Knox’s stomach turned. His eyebrows pulled together, confused. He hadn’t touched a drink.

He could smell Victor, though. That damned cologne, woody, expensive, far too intimate this close. It clashed violently with the salty air. It made Knox feel sick for entirely different reasons.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said evenly, voice tight.

Victor’s mouth twitched like he wanted to sneer but held back for the sake of humiliation.

"Anyone ever tell you, Lieutenant, that you drink too much?"

“No, sir.”

Wrong answer. He knew it the moment he said it.

Victor leaned in. Just slightly. But enough to cut the air between them like a blade. Knox’s throat dried. He felt like the man could see through him. Through the uniform. Through Sandra’s profile. Through every last lie he’d typed with trembling fingers the night before.

“Take a thorough bath after this,” Victor said, his voice low. “I don’t need your night activities crawling into my nose in the morning.”

Knox swallowed.

“Yes, sir.”

Victor stepped back.

“At ease.”

Freedom. If you could call it that.

Knox exhaled for the first time in minutes. His fingers flexed. His legs nearly buckled. He had survived—barely.

“Men!” Victor called out. “After several months at sea, we will dock at 23:00 EST in Greece in three weeks.”

Wait. Greece?

Knox’s head jerked. He looked at Aaron, who looked at Oscar, who mouthed back: “Weren’t we going to Guyana?”

“Prepare yourselves,” Victor barked. “And take better care of yourselves. The stench of all of you is starting to feel like a personal attack.”

"Dismissed!”

The crew scattered like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

“Knox! You stay back!”

Knox flinched.

"Dammit," he muttered, foot hovering above the stairs.

Aaron paused beside him with a wolfish grin and made the classic “O” gesture with his hand, complete with finger-thrust. Knox flipped him off and turned.

Victor waited.

Knox marched up, saluted, eyes locked to the man’s chest because looking into his eyes was like looking down a loaded barrel.

“Yes, sir.”

“The late-night activities your men do need to stop.”

“What?” Knox asked, genuinely startled.

Victor’s expression didn’t shift.

“I’ve received complaints from the other teams. Noise. Disruptions. It ends now.”

“Sir, with all due respect—”

Victor moved in. Too close. Way too close. Knox froze. His lungs decided not to work.

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

"No, sir."

“You think I don’t notice what’s going on around here? I’ve been merciful in letting you boys blow off steam. But this—” He jabbed a finger toward the hull. “is not a college dorm.”

Knox swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“No more screwing around past curfew. I don’t care how bored you are.”

“Sir—”

“Are we clear, Knox?”

There was no wiggle room in that voice, just steel and law.

Knox wanted to scream. Wanted to swing. Wanted to tell him just how much he hated every inch of that polished arrogance. But instead:

“Affirmative, Captain.”

Victor leaned back.

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Knox turned and left. Not walked, fled. Heart hammering. Mind spinning.

He hated that man. More than words could hold.

---

Back in the bunk room, Aaron stood shirtless, grinning like he’d won a prize.

Knox slammed the door shut and muttered, “I’m going to destroy him.”

Aaron raised a brow. “Oh? Fully onboard now?”

Knox didn’t answer. He just pulled out his phone.

Aaron leaned in.

Sandra: Oh! You’re from Florida? I’ve only been there once.
Victor: Yeah, it’s sunny with great beaches. Where are you from?
Sandra: Greece. Ever been?
Victor: No. But would you like me to visit?
Sandra: Definitely. A handsome man like you would fit right in.
Victor: With a beauty like you, of course, I would.

Aaron’s jaw dropped. “He pushed up the dock date… for you?”

"Didn't you say to get him to think I really want to suck his dick?"

Knox felt like he was catching Aaron's symptoms of evil, but he couldn't care less about that.

"Well...I was drunk. I didn't mean exactly that but-," Aaron stuttered in disbelief.

Knox grinned, slow and vicious. “I’m gonna bleed him dry.”

Oscar busted through the door unceremoniously and walked in mid-chew. He threw a sandwich straight into Knox’s hands with a mocking smirk on his lips. 

“Oh hey, Sandra," He chuckled mischievously.

"How’s the love life going with the Captain?”