Knox's Girl (Carmichael Series #1)✔️

On a Whim

**Edited**

Knox's POV

My stomach churned with an uneasy feeling of guilt as I watched my little Flower walk away from me. Knowing that the reason she was upset was solely because of me made me feel like absolute shit. Not to mention, continuously lying and keeping secrets from her left an awful, bitter taste in my mouth; however, I just couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth behind the bullshit I did in my free time. Poppy is the most wonderful, yet fragile and pure person I've ever had in my life and I'll be fucking damned if something like my illegal fighting were to ever change her in any way.

And I didn't want her, with her heart of gold that she constantly wore on her sleeve, to look at me like I was some monster for eliciting entertainment from purposely harming other people. Yeah, everyone else might've thought I was one sick fuck, but no one else's opinion actually mattered to me.

Only hers did.

I'd never wished I could go back in time and prevent myself from agreeing to that first fight. I was newly graduated and was finally getting a reminder of the freedom I'd been deprived of while in school. My anger issues weren't any worse, only suppressed by my time spent in that boring hellhole. A good friend I'd made on the inside brought me to the first illegal fight I'd ever watched. I remember asking how one went about participating in such a thing.

It was almost crazy how easy it was. A couple texts and I was scheduled for my first fight a few days later. My addiction to the high fighting brought me, even after the first hook, was instant; almost as fast as my love for Poppy had been. Almost, but not quite. As my skill and list of KO's grew, so did my ego and bank account. One night I'd beaten this one particularly prissy-looking dude to a pulp before he finally tapped out. After he was done spitting out the blood that had filled his mouth, he said to me, "you may have won this round, Killer, but who will have the last laugh in ten years when this is all you have going for you?"

The thought had dug deep under my skin and festered for days. It drove me nearly insane before I finally gave in and enrolled in some courses at the local college where I was living. They had a good enough business administration program and owning my own company, or just being my own boss, was something I was interested in since I was a kid. I tried quitting the fights all together a few times during my four years in college, but I couldn't stand just sitting around - I had to find something to do with my hands and body.

I discovered my fascination for carpentry and remodeling the first time I tried to quit fighting. I was driving around a bad part of my town when I saw a for sale sign in the front yard of a pretty beat up place. I placed a low blow all-cash offer and bam, I was suddenly a homeowner. Fixing the place up on my own and teaching myself along the way kept me occupied for a while, but the feeling of satisfaction once the place was done and sold was ill in comparison to winning a fight. No matter what, I always found my way back to a dingy basement with a makeshift ring. The fighting wasn't a part of my life that I was particularly proud of, but without it I wouldn't be where I was today. I had it to thank for my loan-free college degree, my drive and funds to start my own renovation and remodeling company right here in my hometown, and my ability to become a serious real estate investor.

I was brought out of my deep train of thought when Zane cleared his throat beside me.

"What?" I barked at him, trying to physically shake off the abnormal thoughts that had taken over my brain.

"I'm not trying to meddle into your relationship, but you keep fucking up, man," he stated with a teasing smirk, like he really thought it was the funniest thing in the world at the moment.

"I already know that, dipshit, so fuck off why don't you?" I growled back before crossing my arms over my chest, annoyed with myself beyond belief. How the fuck was I supposed to accurately portray to Poppy how much, and how deeply, I felt for her? Words weren't an option - they weren't my strong suit at all - and simply buying her something didn't feel personal enough. Scrubbing a hand over my face, my eye caught the patch of untouched, uninked skin on my forearm that Poppy had been so intrigued with at the diner.