Things We Hide from the Light (Knockemout Series, 2)

“You didn’t kick him in the balls for that?” Sloane demanded. She was sitting cross-legged on Naomi’s living room floor, stuffing pouches of flower seeds into mini burlap bags.

In an attempt to be a better, more vulnerable friend, I was recapping my relationship drama for Naomi, Sloane, Liza J, and Amanda during what appeared to be the lamest bachelorette party in history.

The rehearsal and ensuing dinner were over. In less than twenty-four hours, Naomi would be Mrs. Knox Morgan, and Nash and I would hopefully be having tipsy sex in a closet during the reception.

But for now, we were putting the finishing touches on the guest favors and watching the bride panic about last minute RSVPs in her living room. Piper and the rest of the dogs were outside running off the evening crazy with Waylay.

“I couldn’t,” I confessed. “He was already hurting and that made me hurt. It was basically horrible. Why people do relationships is beyond me. No offense,” I said to Naomi.

She grinned. “None taken. That’s how it was with Knox. I knew he was struggling with something I couldn’t fix. Not even with a kick to the testicles.”

“What did you do?” I asked, closing one of the burlap bags with a rust-colored ribbon. I’d arrived in town post-breakup, mid-fallout, and didn’t know the details.

“He ended things so abruptly, my head spun. I already knew I loved him, but he had things to work through on his own. I couldn’t force that. And I also couldn’t wait around for him to come to his senses.” She glanced down at her engagement ring and smiled softly. “Thankfully, he came around before it was too late.”

Sloane blew out a breath that fogged up her glasses. “I don’t think I have that gene in me.”

“What gene?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. The ability to take a punch to the gut without swinging back. I can’t just forgive someone for the baggage they’re lugging around. Especially not after they bash me over the head with it.”

“Someday, with the right person, you’ll get there,” Amanda assured Sloane.

“Yeah. Hard pass on that,” Sloane said.

“My boys are stubborn as the day is long,” Liza J said. “Knox always tried to distance himself from every single problem while Nash got in there and tried to fix everything. He always wanted to make things right, even when there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about them.”

She looked at me and then Naomi.

“You two have been good for my grandsons. Maybe even better than they deserve. And I’m speakin’ as a woman who loves the crap out of those boys.”

“I’m thinking about quitting my job,” I blurted out.

All eyes came to me.

“Really?” Naomi asked hopefully.

Sloane frowned. “Don’t you make a butt ton of money?”

“Yes. I do make a butt ton of money. But…” I trailed off. Nash had used a moment of preorgasm weakness to get me to admit that I wanted more with him. But was I really considering leaving my job and my choose-your-own-adventure lifestyle to settle down?

I thought about Nash standing in the rain, holding on tight.

The free fall before the chute opened.

The tip-tap of Piper’s little nails on the floor as she pranced around with some new toy.

The bluest eyes.

The biggest heart.

I blew out a breath. Yep. I really was considering it.

“Would that mean you officially moving here?” Naomi prodded.

I was saved by answering when Waylay tromped into the room wearing waterproof boots and holding a shivering Piper. “The dogs got in the creek and Piper tried to follow,” she announced. “She didn’t seem to mind it too much until the current got her.”

“Brave girl,” I crooned, taking the dog from her. Despite her soggy shivers, Piper’s little tail wagged heartily. “Thanks for pulling her out.”

Waylay shrugged. “No problem. What are you guys doing?”

“We’re finalizing the seating chart, finishing the favors, and choosing between these three Knox-approved tablescapes,” Naomi said, pointing at the pictures she’d taped to the wall next to her sticky-note seating map. “What do you think about the denim and daisies one?”

“This is what bachelorette parties are?” Waylay asked disdainfully. “I knew Jenny Cavalleri was lying when she said her aunt got arrested in Nashville during her bachelorette party!”

“Actually that was true,” Sloane said. “She had a little too much to drink, flashed an entire bar from the back of a mechanical bull, and then got caught peeing in the gutter.”

“I think you guys are doing this bachelorette thing wrong,” Waylay observed.

“This isn’t really a bachelorette party,” Naomi explained. “Knox and I didn’t want bachelor and bachelorette parties.”

“But the guys went out,” Waylay said.

“They’re just having a few drinks and some baskets of fried food,” I told her.

“The kid’s right,” Liza J announced, slapping a hand to her thigh. “This sucks.”

Naomi pouted prettily. “But what about the seating chart?”

Amanda snatched the remaining sticky notes off the coffee table and slapped them onto the wall in all the empty seats. “Voilà! Everyone has a seat.”

Naomi chewed on her lower lip. “But you didn’t even read the names. What if someone needs to sit closer to the restroom, or what if they don’t get along with their table mates? We can’t just make big decisions like this on a whim.”

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Actually, you can.”

“What about the tablescapes?” she asked.

“Naomi, it’s always been the daisies,” I told her.

She bit her lip and stared at the photo for a long moment and then her eyes started to sparkle. “It has, hasn’t it?”

I nodded. “Sometimes you don’t have to weigh every single pro and con. Sometimes the answer is the one that just feels right.”

I wasn’t sure if I was telling her that or myself.

She pursed her lips, then grinned. “We’re going with the daisies.”

Naomi’s mother clapped her hands. “Okay, people. We need wine, snacks, face masks, and one to two romantic comedies.”

“On snack and wine duty,” I volunteered.

“If you’re getting snacks, I’m coming with you,” Waylay insisted.

“If you’re getting wine, I’m coming,” Liza J announced.

“Team Shopping reporting for duty,” I said.

“Perfect,” Naomi’s mom said. “Sloane, you can help me turn the living room into sleepover central. We need all the pillows and blankets that don’t belong to dogs.”

“What should I do?” Naomi asked.

“You should drink a large glass of wine and review your packing list for the honeymoon.” I nudged the pink notebook titled Honeymoon on the coffee table in her direction.

“I don’t think Grover’s sells candy penises, Liza J,” I said, grabbing a shopping cart as we entered the freshly painted grocery store. It was late, minutes from closing, and the parking lot was almost empty.

“Ew! I thought we were coming here for snacks,” Waylay complained.

“Gummy penises are snacks,” Nash’s grandmother said.

“Hey, at least I didn’t say broccoli florets,” I told the girl.

“Aunt Naomi made me eat beets last night at dinner,” Waylay said with a shudder. “Beets!”

“Well, there won’t be any beets tonight,” I promised, heading for the candy aisle. “Have at it.”

Waylay’s face lit up and she started tossing bags of candy into the cart. “We’ll get snack cakes for Grandma, and Sloane likes Sour Patch Kids.”

“I’ll go ask where they keep the penises,” Liza J said and ambled off.

“Oooh! These are good. You ever have them?” She handed me a bag of individually wrapped brightly colored discs.

“Sunkist Fruit Gems,” I read out loud. I’d never had them, but they looked vaguely familiar.

“Yeah. Gettin’ kidnapped wasn’t all bad. These are the candy things that Hugo guy was obsessed with. He musta ate half a bag before my mom came back with Aunt Naomi. There were wrappers everywhere. He let me have some. The yellow are my favorite.”

It all coalesced in my head in an instant. I knew where I’d seen this candy before and I knew who bought it.

I patted my pockets and dug out my phone.

“What’s wrong? You look all hyper. You’re not gonna call Aunt Naomi and ask her how many bags we can buy, are you?”

I shook my head and dialed Nash. “Nope. I’m calling your uncle to tell him you just identified our henchman.”

“I did?”

Nash’s phone was ringing. “Come on. Come on. Shit,” I muttered when it went to voicemail. “Nash. It’s me. Burner Phone Guy is Cereal Aisle Guy. Mrs. Tweedy was with me when we met him in the grocery store. He was buying the same kind of candy that Waylay said is Duncan Hugo’s favorite. There were candy wrappers all over the warehouse floor in the crime scene pictures. I saw him again at Honky Tonk the night Tate Dilton caused a scene. I know it’s not much to go on, but I feel it in my gut. Call me back!”

“Whoa,” Waylay said when I hung up. “That was a lot of words real fast. You sound like my friend Chloe.”

I clapped my hands on her shoulders. “Kid, I’m buying you a cartload of candy.”

“Cool. So who’s Cereal Aisle Guy?”

“I hope you’re not talking about me.” The deep rumble of a male voice behind me had dread sinking to the pit of my stomach.

I squeezed the girl’s shoulders. “Waylay, go find Liza J and go outside,” I said as quietly as I could.

“But—”

“Go. Now,” I said, and then I turned around and pasted a flirtatious smile on my face.

Cereal Aisle Guy was dressed in track pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt. His cart was once again full of healthy produce and lean proteins. The only thing missing was the candy.

“So we meet again,” I said coyly. “I was just telling my short friend how I met a cute guy in the cereal aisle.”

“Were you? Because it sounded to me like you figured out something you shouldn’t have.”

Well, shit. So it was going to go down this way? Okay.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go disappoint a twelve-year-old’s dentist,” I said.

A large, meaty hand closed around my bicep. “The dentist will have to wait, Lina Solavita.”

My heart wasn’t just cartwheeling, it was trying to climb out of my throat.

“I’m not a fan of nonconsensual touching,” I warned.

“And my friend isn’t a fan of you following his boys around and getting one of them arrested.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who decided it was a good idea to bang my brother’s wife. Maybe you should be having this conversation with him.”

“I would, but he’s in jail because you called the cops on him.”

“In my defense, the whole naked thing really threw me.”

“Let’s go,” he growled.

His grip was cutting off my circulation.

“I’m going to give you one chance to take your bear paws off me and leave. One chance for a head start before I kick your ass and then my boyfriend, the chief of police, shows up to finish the job. You’re legit. At least partially. If you drag me out of this store, there goes that life. You’ll be a full-time criminal.”

“Only if I get caught. You caused too many problems and now it’s time to face the consequences. Nothin’ personal. It’s just business.”

“Leave her alone, you gigantic shithead!” Waylay appeared at the mouth of the aisle and savagely hurled a can of kidney beans at my captor.

It caught him in the forehead with a satisfying thunk. I used the surprise canned good beaning to my advantage and kneed him in the groin. He released my arm to grasp his balls with one hand and his forehead with the other.

“Fuck!” he wheezed.

“Run, Way!” I didn’t watch to make sure she listened. Instead, I landed a jab to the man’s jaw. My knuckles screamed in agony. “Damn it! Is your face made out of concrete?”

“You’re gonna pay for that one, sweetheart.”

He was still off-balance, so I planted both hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could. He stumbled backward into the endcap display of Diet Coke, sending cans of soda everywhere. A shopper holding a box of cereal in each hand screamed, threw both boxes in her cart, and then ran away.

Liza J appeared out of nowhere on one of the store scooters. She rammed him from behind at full speed. It knocked him close enough to me that I could make my next move. I brought my heel down on his thigh with an axe kick, making sure to lead with the stiletto.

He howled in pain.

“Take that, you son of a bitch!” Liza J crowed.

The store manager, Big Nicky, himself appeared, holding a mop like it was a jousting lance. “Leave the lady alone, sir.”

“For fuck’s sake,” the bad guy muttered. He reached into the waistband of his track pants and produced a gun.

I put my hands up. “Easy there, big guy. Let’s talk this out.”

Apparently, he was done talking. Because he aimed at the ceiling and fired two shots.

The store went dead silent for a second and then the screaming started. It was followed by the sound of stampeding feet and the incessant beep of the automatic door opening.

“Let’s go,” Cereal Aisle Guy said stonily. He picked up the bag of Fruit Gems and grabbed me by the arm.

“Umm.” The manager was still standing there wielding his mop, though he looked significantly less confident now that firearms were involved.

“It’s okay. I’ll be all right. Go make sure everyone else got out,” I assured him.

Cereal Aisle Guy dragged me toward the front entrance, both of us limping, him from the injury I’d inflicted with my boot and me because his hard-ass thigh broke the heel right off.

I took a mental inventory of the situation. Getting taken to a second location was almost always a very bad thing. But in this case, I was finally going to see Duncan Hugo’s hideout. I had my phone in my jeans and Lucian’s ridiculous condom tracker in my jacket pocket. I’d left a voicemail for Nash, and I’d missed a call from my mother during the rehearsal dinner.

Help would be on the way soon.

We stepped outside into the dark parking lot, and he held the gun to my neck. “That’s a really small gun,” I noted.

“Too hard to carry concealed. The bigger barrels stick halfway down my ass crack. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Bad guy problems, am I right?” I quipped.