Chapter 2: Micah - Keeping Knight

Am I using the leftovers as an excuse to see her again?

The question comes to me as I jog up the stairs, both to-go containers still held in my hand. I’d been about to leave the building, halfway through the door, in fact, when I glanced at the containers and realized I’d forgotten to give Ruby’s back to her.

Of course I’d return it. It would be rude not to. I mean, what was I going to do? Just take everything home with me, even though it would only take a few extra minutes to run upstairs?

Maybe a different guy—an ill-mannered, self-absorbed guy like Ruby’s ex, which I’m assuming he is based on the offhand comments she’s made—would consider it too much of an inconvenience. But I just darted back inside and started heading upstairs, bypassing the elevator to take the slower but more reliable stairs.

“Everyone is always complaining about the elevator,” Ruby told me last week. “Some of my neighbors are even threatening to sue the owner of the building over it. It works so infrequently, they’re saying it’s a violation of the ADA. I’m not getting involved with the lawsuit, but I really wish they’d fix the thing so it actually works all the time. When it’s just me going up the stairs, it’s not a big deal. But when I’m loaded down with groceries… four flights of stairs isn’t my favorite.”

It would be easy enough to tell myself that I’m only going to Ruby’s apartment to bring back her food. But that brings me back to my earlier question. Am I only doing it because it’s the polite thing to do? Or is there a part of me that’s glad to have a reason to see her again?

It’s ironic, I think as I hit the third-floor stairwell. When I signed up for the cooking class, it was with zero intention of meeting a woman. Sure, I’d heard about guys using adult ed classes as a way to hook up with women. But that wasn’t why I did it.

Honestly, I just wanted to do something different. I wanted to do something where I was just Micah, beginner cook, instead of Knight, former Delta Force operator and heir to the Sutton fortune.

It’s not that I try to hide either of those things. While I can’t speak about a lot of the things I did in Delta, I’ve always been proud of my years of service. And I might not love the way people act when they find out my dad is the Jack Sutton, founder and CEO of Sutton Aeronautics, but I love my family. I’d never hurt them by eschewing our name.

It’s just… sometimes it’s nice being someone else. It’s nice knowing people like me for who I am and not what they think I can give them. My closest friends aren’t like that—they treat me like anyone else, and I know they don’t give a shit about how much money I have. But a lot of other people, women in particular…

Well, they aren’t interested in which fantasy movies are my favorite. They don’t care that I like hiking in the Catskills in the spring and visiting the Museum of Natural History a few times a year so I can look at the dinosaur exhibits. And they wouldn’t joke with me about keeping a meatball arsenal behind the counter so we can stage an imaginary attack against our least favorite classmate.

But Ruby cares about all of those things.

Ruby is fun to talk to. She’s smart. Insightful. Kind.

When I signed up for the class, I didn’t think I’d end up meeting a woman I really liked. But I did. And now, six weeks later, I keep finding myself coming up with excuses to see more of her.

First, it was walking her home from class, ostensibly for her safety. And it’s true; I didn’t like the idea of Ruby walking from Midtown to the Upper East Side in the dark.

But would I have offered to walk with anyone else in the class?

Would I have talked to them long enough to learn where they lived?

Probably not. But with Ruby, it felt different.

And now I’m going to pick her up for class, too. I’ll get an extra half-hour every week with her; sharing more conversation and sneaking extra glances at her gorgeous red hair and expressive features that make it impossible for her to hide what she’s thinking.

So, when I take all of that into consideration, I guess the answer is yes. I’m glad to have a reason to see Ruby again.

As I push open the door to the fourth-floor hallway, another thought strikes me.

Maybe she’ll invite me in this time. Since I’ll be right outside her door, rather than downstairs in the lobby, the invitation might come more naturally. She hasn’t asked me inside yet, and I haven’t suggested it, just like I haven’t brought up anything that could be considered a date, like stopping for coffee or meeting for a drink over the weekend.

Dating complicates things, after all. It requires a time commitment I’m not sure I can spare. It leaves an opening to be hurt. To discover the person you cared about was only using you.

Dating only complicates things, I remind myself whenever I get the idea of asking Ruby out. It might seem like a good idea. But do I really want to risk it? Or is it better to leave things as they are?

Except I’m not really. I chuckle ruefully at myself as I head down the hallway. If I were really set on leaving things alone, I wouldn’t have offered to walk Ruby to class. My pace wouldn’t be quickening as I get closer to her apartment. I wouldn’t be hoping that she’ll invite me inside once I get there.

When I’m a few doors down from Ruby’s, a muffled scream breaks the quiet of the hallway.

Instinctively, my muscles tense. My left hand dives into my pocket, where I always carry a small switchblade, a habit I’ve held onto even after I left the Army. As my fingers wrap around it, I spin around, half expecting to see someone behind me. But there’s no one.

I hold my breath and listen for the sound again.

There could be a hundred explanations for it. A scary movie. A giant cockroach. Someone could have received good news and shouted in excitement.

Or someone could be in trouble.

Ruby could be in trouble.

It’s unlikely. But my gut won’t let go of the possibility.

What if the sound came from Ruby’s apartment? And while I’m standing here, doing nothing, she could be hurt. Frightened. In danger.

Keeping my steps as quiet as possible, I hurry to Ruby’s door. Once I’m there, I lean my ear close to it, listening.

The first few seconds, there’s nothing. No buzz of voices or a laugh track on the TV. Not the soft melody of music playing. Not the pleasant lilt of Ruby’s voice as she talks to her best friend, Grace—something Ruby told me she often does before getting ready for bed.

But something I learned in the Army was never to assume safety based on a first impression. Take the time to observe. To assess the situation. Acting on impulse is one of the quickest ways to get yourself and your team killed.

So I press my ear to the smooth wood and wait.

And there.

From inside, something thunks.

It’s a dull, heavy thud, almost like something fell. Not furniture, or anything breakable, but a person.

Adrenaline surges.

My fingers tighten around the switchblade.

Then there’s another soft thump, followed by a low grunt.

An icy band wraps around my chest and squeezes.

Something’s wrong. This isn’t my gut’s occasional paranoia playing tricks on me. Something bad is going on inside Ruby’s apartment. And I need to do something about it.

First, I rap on the door; three hard knocks in quick succession. “Ruby,” I call, pitching my voice louder than normal. “Ruby. It’s Micah. Is everything okay?”

There’s no answering response. No flurry of footsteps hurrying towards the door.

“Ruby,” I repeat more loudly. I don’t want to shout, given that I’m not sure she’s in trouble, and I don’t want to piss off Ruby’s neighbors if she’s not. “Ruby. Are you okay? I heard something⁠—”

Inside the apartment, something shatters.

A deep voice mutters something unintelligible.

A woman yelps.

No. Not a woman. Ruby. And I’m certain she’s in trouble.

Taking a step back from the door, I glance at the locks first, then the hinges. I could try to pick the lock—I always keep a small pick in my wallet, and I know how to do it—but how long will it take? If Houdini were here, he could be inside in under thirty seconds. But I’m not nearly as good at lock-picking as he is. Trying to get into Ruby’s apartment could take me several minutes at least.

Or I could kick the door in. It’s wood, rather than metal, so that would help. If I hit the hinges at the right angle, I should hopefully be able to pop them off the doorframe. Using that method, it would take significantly less time than picking the lock.

But, my inner voice of reason points out, that means breaking into Ruby’s apartment. Not just breaking in, but kicking down her door. If she’s not in trouble, that’s going to be a pretty hard thing to come back from.

Ruby needs help, my gut argues. Don’t waste time debating this. Just get inside and help her.

And because I really do trust my gut, because it’s saved my life more times than I can count, I listen to it.

After taking another step back from the door, I eyeball it, calculating where my foot needs to hit to be most effective. I set the to-go containers on the floor and pull out my switchblade, still sheathed, but finger poised to open it. Then I snap my leg out, using all my strength as I kick at the door.

The first blow only makes the door shudder. So I kick it again. And again. With the second and third blows, the wood groans. Creaks. On the fourth, the wood around the hinges starts to separate. On the sixth, the door starts to move.

Glad for the hours every week I spend in the gym, I kick harder. Faster. The screws holding the hinges to the door loosen. The wood around them splinters.

On the tenth kick, the door crashes in.

Inside, the apartment is mostly dark, save for a small beam of light pointing at the wall in the far corner of the room. The blind on the window is crooked and bent, and it bumps unevenly against the window frame as the wind buffets it.

As my gaze sweeps across the room, it catches on a spray of broken glass, faintly reflecting the light creeping in through the broken blind.

Fear clutches at me.

This is very wrong.

I flick open my switchblade. My other hand plunges into my pocket to grab my phone.

I take another step inside the apartment, and that’s when I see her.

Half-hidden behind the couch, Ruby lies sprawled on the floor. Her hands are clutching her throat, and her chest rises and falls quickly as she gasps for breath.

“Ruby!” All thoughts of clearing the room—of searching for an intruder still inside—dissolve as I race across the room towards her. “Ruby!”

Crashing to my knees beside her, my gaze flicks across her body, searching for injuries. But it’s too dark to see clearly, so I have to turn on my phone’s flashlight to get a better look.

Ruby flinches against the bright light, and I say, “I’m sorry. I need to look at you. See where you’re⁠—”

But the bruises on her face steal the rest of my words.

Finger-shaped bruises on her cheeks and jaw, like her face was roughly grabbed. There’s another rising bruise on her forehead, and blood trickles from a small cut that splits her right eyebrow.

As Ruby stares at me, the panic in her eyes shifts to cautious hope. “Micah?” she whispers. Her voice is weak. Raspy. Her hands flutter down from her throat. “What…”

“It’s okay,” I start. But as I get my first look at the violent marks on her neck, I feel anything but.

It’s impossible to mistake what the marks are from. And the realization fills me with white-hot rage.

Someone choked her.

They hit her. Held her down. Choked her. And if I hadn’t gotten here when I had...

Tearing my gaze from Ruby, I scan the living room again. It looks empty, save for us. But there’s still a hallway with rooms attached to it. Closets. Any number of places her attacker could be hiding. “Where did he go?” I demand, my voice sharp with urgency. “The man who did this. Where did he go?”

I need to search. But that means leaving Ruby on her own, which I’m loath to do. Especially not knowing if she’s hurt anywhere else, or how many people could still be in here, intent on hurting her again.

Against one man, or even two or three, I’ve no doubt I could take them on and win. It wouldn't even matter if they were armed, since I’ve had plenty of experience disarming an armed attacker bare-handed. But fighting them off means leaving Ruby vulnerable.

Ruby draws in another shuddering gasp. She looks up at me with eyes shiny with tears. “He… he ran. When you…” Her gaze shifts to the apartment doorway, and her brow creases. “Did you…”

“I kicked in the door. I had to. I heard you yell. I thought… shit. What happened? Who did this to you?”

Tears leak from her eyes and streak down the sides of her face. She swallows, then winces. “I don’t know. He had… he had a mask. He…” Her voice cracks. “He knocked me down. Hit me. Then…”

More tears spill free, dampening her hair.

Rage ignites an inferno inside me.

A man put his hands on her. Tried to kill her. And there I was, taking my time coming upstairs, hesitating in the hallway…

Guilt punches me hard in the chest. “Shit,” I mutter. “Dammit.”

“He ran,” Ruby whispers. Her gaze searches mine. “When you… were hitting the door. I think… he was afraid of being caught. So he went out the window to the fire escape.”

I glance at the window again. And yes, now that Ruby’s mentioned it, the blind looks like one might if a person in a hurry tried to shove past it. A piece of shit monster who would attack a sweet, innocent woman like Ruby.

“I don’t know… how he got in here.” Ruby sucks in another shuddering breath. “The door was locked. The lights⁠—”

“Was he alone?” I interrupt. “Did you see anyone else? Hear them?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just him.”

I know I need to look for myself. I have to be sure.

But first, I look Ruby up and down again. Her clothes are rumpled, but thankfully all in one piece. She doesn’t appear to be bleeding or have any obvious broken bones, although without a full examination, it’s impossible to know for certain.

“I have to check the apartment,” I tell her. Before I think about it, I brush a tear from her cheek. “I’ll be quick. Just stay right⁠—”

“No. Don’t.” Her voice breaks at the end. One small hand grabs my sleeve. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

Ah, shit. I don’t want to.

What I want to do is pick Ruby up and carry her far, far away from here. Far enough away that all of this becomes a nightmare she can wake up from instead of being her terrifying reality.

The protectiveness I feel for her is overwhelming. There’s barely room for anything else.

“Hey, what’s going on in here?” At the sound of a new voice, my head jerks towards the hallway, where a tall man with shaggy hair and horn-rimmed glasses is standing. He’s peering into Ruby’s apartment with an expression of deep concern. “What happened? I heard the pounding.” His gaze shoots over to Ruby, and his features jolt with shock. “Shit! What happened?”

He starts to come into the apartment, and I bark, “Stay back. Call 911. Tell them there was an intruder. That he attacked a woman. We need an ambulance.”

“Ruby?” An older, white-haired woman joins the shaggy-haired man. She looks inside the apartment and gasps. “Ruby! Oh, lovey, are you hurt?”

“Stay outside,” I order. These people are making me itchy. They’re unknown variables who seem harmless, but until I get a better handle on things…

“I’m just going to check the apartment real quick,” I assure Ruby. The fear that flashes across her face makes me feel horrible. Like I’ve failed her again. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Ruby pinches her lips together, as if she’s trying to physically hold her words in. Her chin wobbles. Then she gives me the tiniest nod. “You’ll be right back?” she whispers. “You promise?”

The urge to pull her into my arms is almost impossible to resist. But instead, I settle for stroking her cheek. “I promise.”