Episode 2
1313 Words
Isla didn’t sleep.
She lay in the spare room of Riven’s house, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his boots moving somewhere down the hall. Every creak of the floorboards made her flinch. Every time the house settled, she thought he was coming for her.
She should have run. She’d told herself she would. First light, she’d slip out, grab her bag from the Honda, and disappear into Red Hollow. There were buses. There were other towns. There was still time to get away from Marcus.
But she didn’t move.
Because for the first time in a week, no one was shouting at her. No one was telling her she was crazy, that no one would believe her, that she owed him. The house was quiet. The bed was clean. And Riven—
Riven hadn’t touched her without asking.
That shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.
At 5:13 AM, she gave up on sleep and pushed the blanket off. The room was cold. She pulled on her jeans and the same shirt she’d worn yesterday, then opened the door.
The house smelled like coffee.
She followed the smell to the kitchen. Riven was there, barefoot again, wearing only low-slung jeans and a plain black shirt that hung off one shoulder. His cut was draped over a chair. The cross under his eye looked sharper in the early light.
He didn’t turn when she entered. Just slid a mug across the counter toward her.
“Coffee,” he said. “Black.”
Isla took it. Her fingers brushed his. His skin was warm. “Thanks.”
“You didn’t run,” he said, finally looking at her.
It wasn’t an accusation. It was observation. Like he’d expected her to, and was cataloging the fact that she hadn’t.
“I thought about it,” she admitted.
“I know.” He sipped his own coffee. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re calculating escape routes.”
Isla almost smiled. “Do I?”
“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. The cut had stopped bleeding, but it was still red. “You’re safer here than on the road.”
“I don’t know you,” she said softly.
“No.” He nodded. “But you know I’m not him.”
Isla’s breath hitched. She didn’t ask how he knew about Marcus. She didn’t ask how he’d seen the bruise and understood. She just took a sip of coffee and let the silence sit between them.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… steady.
“I need to check my car,” she said finally. “If the battery’s just dead, I can—”
“You’re not driving that piece of s**t,” Riven cut in, not unkindly. “It’ll get you killed.”
“I can’t afford—”
“You’re not paying for anything.” He set his mug down. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“To see your car.” He grabbed his cut, shrugged it on. The back patch caught the light: _Road Devils MC – President_. “Then we’re taking a ride.”
Isla blinked. “A ride?”
“Yeah.” He was already moving toward the door. “You hit my Harley. That means you ride it. Until I say otherwise.”
She followed him out, barefoot, coffee still in her hand.
The Harley was parked in the side yard, under a tarp. Riven pulled the tarp off with one motion. The bike gleamed, even with the dented exhaust from last night.
“You fixed it,” Isla said, surprised.
“Basic shit.” He swung a leg over. “Battery’s fine. Kickstand was bent.”
Isla looked at her Honda down the street. The front bumper was crumpled. It looked small and pathetic next to the Harley.
“Get on,” Riven said, nodding at the seat behind him.
“I don’t have a helmet.”
“You don’t need one. Not for this.” He held out a hand. “Yet.”
Isla hesitated. Then she set her coffee on the porch railing and took his hand.
He pulled her up behind him. Isla had to grab his waist to steady herself. Through his shirt, his back was solid, warm.
“Hold on tight,” he said.
The engine roared to life.
Riven pulled out slow, easing onto the empty street. Red Hollow was still asleep. The only sound was the Harley’s growl and the wind picking up as they gained speed.
Isla clung to him. At first, it was fear. Then, after a block, it became something else. The wind in her hair. The vibration of the engine through her chest. The way Riven’s body moved with the bike, smooth and sure.
He turned down a back road, away from town. Trees blurred on either side. The sun was just starting to rise, painting the sky pink and gold.
Isla closed her eyes.
For ten minutes, she wasn’t running. She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t Marcus’s. She was just… riding.
Riven slowed as they reached a lookout point above the town. He killed the engine. Silence rushed in.
Isla slid off carefully, her legs shaky. Riven got off too, pulling off his cut and draping it over the seat. In just his black shirt, in the morning light, he looked younger. Less like the Devil, more like a man.
“You okay?” he asked.
Isla nodded. Her heart was still racing, but not from fear. “That was…”
“Yeah,” he said. He understood.
They stood side by side, looking down at Red Hollow. The town was small, ugly in the daylight. Bars and pawn shops and houses that needed paint. But from up here, with the sun rising, it looked almost pretty.
“You’re running from someone,” Riven said. Not a question.
Isla didn’t answer right away. She picked at her thumbnail. “His name’s Marcus. He’s my… he was my fiancé.”
Riven didn’t react. Just waited.
“He told everyone I was crazy. Told the judge I was unstable. Told my brother I was lying.” Her voice was steady, but her hands shook. “He never hit me. He didn’t have to. He just… erased me.”
Riven’s jaw ticked. He took a step closer. Not touching her, but close enough that she could feel his heat.
“Is he here?” he asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“But he’s coming.”
Isla nodded.
Riven was quiet for a long moment. Then: “He won’t find you.”
Isla looked up at him. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” His voice was low. “You hit my ride. That makes you mine to protect.”
Not _mine_ like she belonged to him. _Mine_ like she was under his care.
Isla swallowed. “What if I don’t want to be protected?”
Riven’s eyes darkened. “Then tell me to back off.”
She didn’t.
The wind picked up, blowing her hair across her face. Without thinking, Riven reached out and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers were warm, careful.
“May I?” he murmured, like last night.
Isla nodded.
His hand lingered at her jaw. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. Isla’s breath caught.
“You’re shaking again,” he said softly.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar.” But he was smiling, just barely. The first real smile she’d seen from him.
He dropped his hand. Took a step back. “We should go. Before the town wakes up and starts asking questions.”
Isla nodded. She climbed back on the Harley, arms around his waist.
As they rode back down the hill, she rested her forehead against his back.
And for the first time since she’d run, she didn’t feel alone.
- Writer
