Page 52 of Knox

The front door clicks quietly behind me.

The eerily quiet roads make the drive so much quicker. I pass the expensive apartment building Drake lives in. A thought jumps up in my head, one I should have realised fifteen minutes ago. No one knows where I am. I shoot a text to Drake with the address, nothing else. He’ll know what it means, I know I should’ve put Knox and Roman first, but I’d rather Drake dealt with any aftermath I cause.

As I drive down Beaufort Road, only one house is illuminated by an outside light above the front door. Not bothering to check any house numbers, I head straight to it. As I park, a light in the front window switches on.

Any nerves I’ve had since driving here are gone. There’s a white-hot rage simmering under the surface, but I’m in control of it—for now. With respect to the neighbours, I close my car door softly and take the dozen or so steps to the front door. It opens immediately, and there he is, the man that coordinated my death. All because of drugs and his greed for money.

“Maddox,” he says as if he’s pleased to see me. “Come in. I’ve made coffee, unless you’d like something stronger.”

“I’d like to know what the fuck is going on! What’s with the cheery hello? We’re not fucking friends. Say what you’ve got to say, then disappear again.” I step inside and can smell the coffee, but there are other muted voices. I’ve been fucking set up, and I walked straight into it. My paranoia must have set in because I discover the voices are from an almost muted tv talk show.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” Tyrone, or Carter, says. I don’t know which is his real name.

“I thought you were in prison.” The hairs on the back of my neck are bristling. I’m fucked, and I didn’t say goodbye or tell them how much I love them.

“I was. Got released about six months ago. I’ve been keeping my nose clean and staying out of trouble. Then I came across a YouTube video of an MMA fight. And your face was back in front of me. A face that was dead,”

I turn to Tyrone, or Carter, whatever the fuck his name is. “I’m pretty sure this is going against your parole. Anyway, whose fault is that. You knew I was listening; you knew I’d bolt. You nearly got me killed.”

“Now, I have a score to settle. Ten years, thanks to you, have gone.”

My knees go weak. I stumble back onto the sofa, collapsing. I bury my head in my hands. I don’t know what to think. None of it makes sense.

I drag my hands down my face before lifting to look at him. “Why now, why tell me all this shit now?”

“You’re the reason I got caught, my position blown, and sent down. Knowing you died almost made it worth it. Then I see you, and I can be angry, livid with you for living this awesome life, and I’ve lost everything.”

“Hardly skint, if you can live here. But I guess you kept your drug money locked up somewhere it wouldn’t be found. How did you find me?”

“Pure chance. I moved here and wanted to join a gym. That one had the best reviews. I couldn’t believe my eyes when you turned up. I wondered how long it would take you to work out who I was. You were quicker than I thought, but when you kissed the owner of the gym, I wanted to know more. Who else is in your life I could fuck with, that I could take away and cause you the pain I had when I got dumped as soon as my arse hit the prison bed.”

“What now? You know who I am and who I’m with. What’s the plan? What are you going to do to me? I mean, do you really think you have a chance to take me down; as you saw, I’m a damn good fighter.”

“You are, but how are you against one of these?” He pulls out a bloody huge knife, like a zombie knife. I can feel the blood drain from my face. The plain blade has got to be ten inches long, but the serrated blade on the other edge is fucking scary.

I can probably take it out by kicking it from his hand, but the risk of him swinging it at the same time? It could probably take my foot off. Why didn’t I say goodbye to Knox and Roman and Ollie, why didn’t I wait for Drake? “I’m prepared to find out, are you?”

A flash of something crosses his face. Is it fear or excitement? I guess I’m about to find out. Tyrone takes a second, then moves to the left, giving me access to the back of his knee. He crumples a little but manages to stay up on both feet. He slashes out again, aiming for my stomach, but as he lunges forward, his head lowers, and I punch him on the side of his head, followed by a kick. He’s on his knees, the knife skidding a few feet away, out of his reach. A kick on his arse has him sprawled out on his belly.

“Look like I’m good against them too. It’s a shame no one is here to see it.” I hate dirty playing in a fight, but it seems to be okay when my life depends on it. I give him another kick, but the sound of a door being kicked has me turning my back on him.

“Maddox, Maddox?” someone shouts out; it sounds like Knox, but I’m not sure.

“In here?” I shout, then scream as the white-hot slice of a blade cuts through the back of my leg. “Fuck!”

Then there’s pounding feet and shouting, and I’m being helped into the back of an ambulance.

What the fuck!

“Maddox isn’t here,” Ollie says, shaking my shoulder to get my attention.

“What time is it?” My brain is still fast asleep and unable to manage even the simplest task. When I pry my eyes open, Ollie is looking worried. I wanted us to all have a long, lazy lie-in after last night’s escapade.

Roman joins Ollie. “It’s half past four. Did you hear what he said? Maddox isn’t here, and his car is gone.”

That wakes me up. “Shit. Have you tried to call him?”

Ollie gives me a don’t be stupid look and rolls his eyes. “What do you think? It goes straight to voicemail. I think he was on your laptop last night. It was left open.”