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CHAPTER 004: Torture Devices
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2025-03-18 19:47:27So this is the infamous Knox.
I’ve heard stories. Finn talks about him the way you'd talk about a stray wolf that occasionally shows up to your campfire, steals your food, and disappears back into the woods. Wild. Unpredictable. Maybe even a little unhinged. Now that I think about it, he does resemble Finn—same sharp bone structure, same annoyingly perfect mouth. But where Finn is sunshine and charm, Knox looks like he crawled out of a lifestyle magazine for sophisticated gangsters. “How do I know you’re not a kidnapper?” I ask, tilting my chin up. “You’ll have to provide proof that you’re who you say you are.” “Like an ID card?” “That would work.” “I don’t have any.” “See? Kidnapper vibes,” I say. “Why don't you call Finn and confirm?” I cross my arms. “He’s not answering. Why do you think I’ve been standing here for an hour like an abandoned dog?” I glance at the car. “And you showing up in an aggressive-looking muscle car that screams ‘mafia boss’ isn’t exactly helping your case.” “Are you getting in or not? I have places to be, young lady.” “Young lady? Did you really just belittle me?" Knox sighs, a long-suffering sound that suggests I'm testing what little patience he has. “Get in, Sloane.” I stare at him, deadpan. Then I sigh, because clearly, I have zero self-preservation instincts. I've already agreed to help Finn crash his ex's wedding. Getting into a car with his potentially murderous brother isn't even the worst decision I've made this month. “Open your trunk,” I say. Knox pops the trunk from inside, and I toss my bag in, muttering to myself about how this is how women end up on true crime podcasts. When I slide into the passenger seat, Knox doesn't move. “Why aren’t you driving?” I ask, glancing sideways at him. “Your seatbelt.” Oh. A safety-conscious potential kidnapper. That's... unexpected. I snap it in place with a click, and he guns the engine, pulling out of the airport pickup zone and onto the highway with a smooth acceleration that pushes me back into my seat. The moment we hit the open road, he speeds up, the Shelby Mustang roaring beneath us like a beast unleashed. "Whoa, slow down!" My hands instinctively grip the edge of my seat. "Wanna get out?" he asks. “No. But you're moving too fast. I can't even see the city." "Asheville? There's nothing to see." “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably lived here all your life and traveled the world. I hardly leave New York. When I do, I like to... fill my eyes.” It sounds poetic when I say it out loud, almost embarrassing. But it's true. I collect moments, images, sensations. Store them away for the lonely nights when my apartment feels too empty and my thoughts too loud. "You think I live in Asheville?" he asks. I turn to him. "You don't?" "Nope. New York." Wait a damn minute. “You’ve been in New York all this time,” I say. “You sound shocked.” “It’s just... Finn’s never mentioned that. Ever. How do you both live in the same city and never cross paths?” “Finn and I have a... complex relationship.” The way he says it makes me drop the subject. We drive in tense silence for a while, until Knox suddenly swerves off the main road with no warning, the car taking a sharp turn that has me clutching the door handle. He parks in front of a dimly lit building with neon red letters that read: SENSUAL DELIGHTS. “Umm… Is this your parents' house?” I ask, knowing full well it isn't. Knox smirks. “Sensual Delights? Really? Does it look like a house to you?” The place is exactly what you’d expect an adult store to look like. Dark windows. Shady alleyway. “A sex shop?” I ask. “Bingo.” My brain short-circuits. “Why are we at a sex shop?” “Need to grab a wedding present.” “For who?” “My friend and his bride.” I hesitate, swallowing hard as the pieces click into place in my mind. “Wait... your friend is Hunter? The groom?” “Yep.” “Delilah’s fiancé?” Knox grins wickedly. “Yep.” Oh, for God's sake. Finn's brother is a friend to Delilah's fiancé? Why has Finn never mentioned any of this? It's like I know nothing about my own best friend. This is just a time bomb waiting to go off. “Would you like to wait here or come inside?” Knox asks. I glance at the building, then back at his face. Screw it. I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the car, awkwardly adjusting my glasses and smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of my top. “Let’s go buy some torture devices in Delilah's name,” I say, not the least bit joking. Knox chuckles. “Alright, ma’am. But I must warn you, some girls do enjoy being tortured.” We'll see about that. I'm going to get something with enough voltage to zap Delilah's fake, cheating ass right off the face of this Earth so she doesn't get to ruin Finn anymore.
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I exhale. “Just our usual problems. You know how it is.” She's still skeptical but nods. “Alright. So who do I need to call? Your mom? Your dad?” I shake my head. “No. Don’t. My family’s far away. There’s no need to make them panic and hop on a plane. You’re my only friend here.” I meet her eyes. “You’re enough.” She hesitates. Her gaze drops to the floor, then back to me. “I’ll call Knox.” “No!” Too fast. “I have to let someone know,” she says. “Just relax, Finn. Lay back.” I watch her pull out her phone and walk toward the hallway. My stomach sinks. This isn’t going as planned. She’s supposed to sit here. Feed me jello. Fluff my pillow. Cry a little maybe. Re-forge the bond I’ve been trying to drag back together since the wedding fell apart. But instead, she’s dialing him. And just before she walks out of earshot, I hear her say: “Hey, babe. So, um, your brother got in an accident and—” I close my eyes. Shit. Knox is going to come. He’ll hear Sloane’s voice. Hear tha
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*** ~~FINN~~ *** Delilah hasn’t stopped glaring at me. She’s sitting to my left in the only visitor chair in the room, arms crossed so tightly across her chest I’m half-convinced she’s trying to fold herself in half. Her legs are angled away from me, but her eyes—they haven’t moved. Not once. Not since the doctor gave her visitation clearance. “Could you stop with the looks, please?” I grumble, adjusting myself on the hospital bed. My arm is immobilized in a heavy-duty sling, wrapped and elevated with what feels like ten pounds of gauze and Velcro. “I’m already in pain as it stands. I don’t need you breathing down my neck.” Delilah only glares harder. “I could go to jail for what I did,” she says. “No, you won’t. I asked you to do it. It was my decision.” She looks away for the first time, fingers threading through her hair as she rubs her temple. Her voice comes quieter. Tighter. “Still doesn’t change the fact that I stupidly agreed to break your arm with a hammer and
