Knight:A Club Alias Novel

By: K.D. Robichaux


“JUST SEND THE fucking text, you pussy.” Even though my words are whispered to myself, they still sound loud in my perfectly silent bedroom. And although I know I’m alone, I still glance around to make sure there’s no one watching me be a total fucking chickenshit. “She’s your best friend. You want to spend time with her, even if you don’t have a mission at the moment for her to meet you at.”

My cell phone screen glows brightly in my pitch-black room, and I almost want to hold it away from myself in case it bites me. Who knew such a small device that I have complete control over could be so intimidating?

“Yeah,” I respond to myself, rolling my eyes. “My best friend I’m completely fucking in love with.”

I sink deeper into my pillow, my finger hovering over the Send key. “Yep, you’d totally have her babies.”

I stare at the tiny circular picture of Clarice in the middle of my screen, her smile vibrant and unmistakable, even in such a small-scaled photo. That smile soothes me just long enough that my hand relaxes and my thumb sends the message through. I gasp like a fucking damsel, but then I see the three dots dancing in response. “Fuck it. The worse she can do is say no, right?” I murmur.

I read my text once again as I wait for hers to show up.

Me: Can I steal you for a while? Maybe not return you until they do an adult Amber alert on you? I could always return you with a “Sorry” sticker :)

My phone makes its little whomp sound, and my heart gives an extra hard thump.

Clarice: Steal me? I’m just at home. Where’s your mission?

I perk up a little. She’s free to meet up like we usually do when I go on one of my jobs as a mercenary. Our schedules normally have this mystical way of lining up together. Either she’s near where I’m sent, or close enough that I can grab her on my way to get the job done. We usually spend a couple of days in a hotel together before we go our separate ways, until the next time I’m ordered to kill some motherfucker who deserves much worse than my swift takedown. And in those hotels, we create magic together. We fulfill every need, desire, and craving either of us could ever imagine.

Me: No mission.

I take a deep breath. Do I add to that and risk freaking her out? There’s a fine line for Clarice. You get too close to it, and she scampers away like a frightened puppy. She’s my best friend, my lover, my goddamn person. But if I show how deeply my love for her runs, she shuts me out. And I can’t fucking handle that.


I decide to go for it.

Me: Just miss you.

There. Oh fuck. The dots dance, taunting me with what she could be replying. Every possible bad scenario flits through my brain by the time her text comes in, so I sigh in relief when I read what she actually sent.

Clarice: Miss you too, big guy :D Where we going then? Florida was fun that time…

Ah, Florida. Yes. Clarice met me down in the Keys for a mission, like she always does—the perks of being a freelance photographer who can make your own schedule—and I’d taken a few days off just to spend with her when I completed it.

Me: Well, I was thinking. Maybe you could come here. To my house. See my club finally.

There’s a pause. And in that pause, every nightmare I’ve ever had of her telling me she finally wants to end everything between us plays through my mind. I’m so deep in self-doubt that when her response arrives, I flinch at the sound.

Clarice: I don’t have another shoot lined up for two weeks. I’d love to! I’ll bring everything with me just in case a job comes in, but otherwise, I’m all yours.

All mine.

“All mine!” I yell, jumping up in bed like a fucking teenage girl who just got asked out by the boy she’s been crushing on. But I don’t give a shit how stupid I look. No one is here to see me acting a fool.

And no one is here to help me if I knock my damn self out, as I feel the top of my head graze my ten-foot ceiling when I jump up and down. Being 6’8”, it had been a requirement when I started searching for a home that I have extra high ceilings and doorframes. As I dust the popcorn texture out of my hair and settle back down on my California King, I’m grateful my real estate agent found exactly what I was looking for, or that could’ve been ugly.