Page 2 of Knox's Boy

I thought of my mother, then. She had vanished, finding a Russian businessman she’d met online. She had packed twosuitcases, kissed me on the forehead, and told me she’d send for me when she was settled. I was fourteen. She never did send anything, always claiming things were hard there. She still texted me, though, and called, sometimes. I didn't blame her, not really. She had looked at the sinking ship of our family and decided to grab the only life raft available. She survived. That was what we did.

I deleted Finn’s text without replying.

I had three days. I had nine dollars. I had no one coming to save me. After all, I was an adult. I had to save myself.

I set the empty ramen cup aside and pulled my laptop onto my lap. My fingers hovered over the keys. I had heard about how easy it was. Luna had mentioned a friend of a friend who paid her tuition by dating older men.I typed ‘fast cash opportunities’into the search bar, feeling ridiculous. I had done that a million times before. The results were scams, surveys, and clinical trials.

I scrolled past them, digging deeper, until I found the app. A darker corner of the internet.

Dominant Gentlemen looking for company.

It wasn't just dating. It was specific. The site catered to certain tastes. Dominance. Submission. Control.

My heart thudded. I knew about this world. I’d always been interested in kink. I’d dabbled with guys I’d met at parties, finding a strange, terrifying relief in letting someone else take the reins. When everything in your life was chaos, there was something addictive about being told exactly where to stand, exactly what to do. I knew that specific app paid well. It was famous in the community; some online friends of mine had tried it before. Not exactly safe, nothing was safe when it came toselling sex. But if you could manage to get yourself a good match, willing to pay for your time…

I clicked on the link.Create Profile.I really didn’t think I could do it, having a stranger use me in whichever way they preferred… that was why I postponed it as much as I could, but I really didn’t have any choice. I chose a photo I’d taken for an acting audition I never went to. It was filtered, lighting hitting the sharp angle of my cheekbones, my eyes challenging. I looked pretty. I knew I was pretty. It was the only currency I had left.

Username: Angel_Falls

Description: 21. Student. Intelligent. Obedient... for the right person. A brat for all the others. Which one will it be for you?

I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. I had to thread the needle: desperate enough to be available but detached enough to be valuable. I mentioned my height, 5'6", and my build, slim, but strong.

"Temporary," I whispered. "Just until I get the rent paid. I don't even know if I'll get any matches anyway."

I clickedactivate.

A shiver raced down my spine, but relief chased it close behind. I was between two worlds: scared as fuck that someone would reply, scared as fuck that no one would. I closed the laptop and lay back on the mattress, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. I could try other apps as well, but none were like this one, I knew; most of them were scams. So, I had all my eggs in that basket.

Back in the coffee shop, the memory faded as the bell above the door chimed. I snapped my head up, pulling myself out of the past and into the terrifying present.

A man had just walked in. And even from across the room, I knew it. It was him.

Chapter 2. Florian

The man standing in the doorway made the barista's hands falter mid-pour, coffee spilling a little. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but I thought not.

When we first started talking, before exchanging pictures and details, I was sure he’d be a mid-aged lonely freak, probably ugly, probably too desperate to be using that app. And I might have been right about the mid-aged lonely freak. Maybe desperate. But, boy, he wasn’t ugly. He was the polar opposite of ugly. He looked like a fucking deity. He had sent pictures, but I thought I was being catfished then. I wasn’t.

Knox was tall. Taller than I expected, with broad shoulders in a charcoal suit that fit him perfectly. He was older, forty-eight, his profile had said, the salt-and-pepper hair swept back from his forehead. Still, he was so fucking handsome. Annoyingly so, in the way that made it impossible to look away, even when I wanted to resist the pull. His features were too symmetrical, his eyes a shade too dark. Intimidating. He worked out regularly, forsure. He could be a fucking model or actor. What the fuck was he doing here? Trying to meet me? And he had money. I asked for a lot, planning on bargaining it with time. But he never even offered to lower my rate, he would pay in full. And on top of everything, he was a Dom. Even vanilla people knew it. I knew they knew.

He didn't scan the room. He didn't look for a table. His eyes locked onto me instantly, as if he could smell desperation. I wanted to look away. I wanted to slouch, to hide behind my cup. I wanted more than anything to play it cool. To be a professional prostitute, or something. But I froze. His gaze started at my messy hair and slid down to my scuffed sneakers, missing nothing in between. I gulped hard, feeling my Adam’s apple moving up and down. It brought tears to my eyes, and a kind of shame only a little boy confessing his sins to the strictest shepherd of the church would know. It paralyzed me.

He walked toward the counter, moving with his predatory stride that made the college students all over in their pajama pants look like clumsy children. He didn't ask me what I wanted. He just held up two fingers to the barista, murmured something in a low voice, and paid with a tap of a sleek black card.

My heart was doing gymnastics in my throat.Run, a small, panicked voice whispered.

Run before he owns you. You know you can’t do this, Florian, and he will know as well.

But I stayed. I stayed because the eviction notice was burning a hole in my memory, and because, God help me, I wanted to see what he would do next.

Knox approached my table, carrying two fresh cups. He set one down in front of me, hot chocolate with whipped cream, andplaced his own opposite it, black coffee, no sugar. This guy was obviously big on metaphors, not even bothering to hide it: his drink was bitter, adult, serious, scary. Mine was sweet, soft, and easy to drink. Almost as if he screamed: you're just a little boy, and we both know it.

Then, he sat. He occupied the chair like he owned the whole place, his hands clasping loosely on the tabletop. His hands were large, manicured.

"You look younger than your profile suggested," he said.

It wasn't an accusation, just an observation of a fact. It made me want to apologize. My defenses snapped up instantly. I straightened my spine, jutting my chin out, my eyebrows coming together.