Ride And Obey MC

Twelve

Danielle POV

My body feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry, every limb aching with exhaustion that goes far deeper than muscle. I’ve watched the night disappear through slits in the blinds, too wired to sleep even though Knox is. He’d gone to grab drinks earlier, and we’d ended up talking, really talking, which somehow led to more s*x… again. Then again after that.

I honestly don’t think I’ve had s*x that many times in one month in my entire life, let alone in the same night.

But that’s not what’s keeping me awake.

We exchanged numbers. He said he wanted to take me out, not to some biker hangout, but somewhere with real food. A real date, and I said yes. I actually said yes.

Now, though, lying here in the quiet dark while his arm is slung over my waist and his breathing is slow and steady against the back of my neck, I wonder if I meant it.

Because this was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be one night. No expectations, no strings, and that’s the only reason I was able to go through with it.

That’s the only reason I felt safe enough to enjoy it.

Now it’s morning, or close enough, and I’m wide awake and unraveling.

I slide carefully out from under his arm, making sure not to disturb him. My heart’s already racing, like I’m doing something wrong, even though I’m not. I dress quietly, piece by piece, not because I’m trying to sneak out but because I can’t stop shaking.

I don’t put on my heels. I carry them. The sharp click of them across the floor might make someone stop me, and I can’t, God, I can’t handle anyone stopping me right now.

I crack the door open, then slip into the hall, my bare feet cold against the floor. The place is mostly empty, only a few people still lingering around the bar. A few heads turn, but no one says anything. That helps.

Outside, the air bites at my skin, and I breathe it in like I’ve been drowning. The gate’s just ahead. I keep my eyes on it, moving faster without looking around. I just need to get home. I need to feel the lock slide into place behind me and know no one else can get in.

The man at the gate watches me approach.

“Going somewhere, miss?”

“Home,” I answer, already on edge, already picturing ways to talk my way through if he decides I’m not allowed.

He starts to open it, but frowns. “Thought you were staying with Knox tonight.”

My head shakes quickly. “I changed my mind.”

He hesitates. “Does he know you’re sneaking out after dark?”

I stiffen, my heart kicking up. “I’m free to leave whenever I want.” I step forward, trying to walk through the gap before it closes.

“Hey, slow down there. Knox wouldn’t want you walking home alone.”

His hand reaches out and touches my arm, not hard, not threatening, but my mind doesn’t register that.

I snap.

“Let me go!” I scream, loud and sharp, panic flooding every nerve as I twist and yank my arm back. My body thrashes, old memories flashing through like a reel on fast-forward. My back hits the ground before I even know I’ve fallen.

“Shit... hey, I wasn’t—”

He steps toward me, but I’m already scrambling to my feet, stumbling backward like the pavement’s on fire.

“I was just saying—” he says.

I don’t wait to hear the rest. I bolt.

The streets are quieter than I remember, darker too. Every shadow feels like it’s watching me. Every sound, every creak of a branch, every passing car, is louder than it should be.

Every few feet, I swear I hear footsteps behind me. When I turn, there’s no one there. But it doesn’t matter. My body’s already decided it’s not safe.

I walk faster.

I count as I breathe in. One. Two. Three. Four. Out. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. I whisper the numbers to myself like they’ll keep the dark at bay. Like they’ll drown out the voice in my head saying this is your fault, you shouldn’t have gone, you shouldn’t have trusted him, you shouldn’t have stayed. You were wanted too much.

A car idles at the corner ahead, and I change direction without thinking.

A man steps out onto his porch to smoke, and I take the next turn.

Everything becomes something to avoid. Every light. Every open window. Every stranger’s glance.

By the time I reach my apartment building, my fingers are numb around my shoes and my legs are shaking so bad I can barely climb the steps.

I fumble the key three times before I finally get the door open.

Once it clicks shut behind me, I collapse against it, sliding to the floor as the adrenaline finally lets go.

I’m soaked in sweat. My chest rises and falls in shallow, panicked bursts.

I’m safe, but my body doesn’t believe it yet.

I sit here on the floor for what feels like hours, with my back pressed tight against the door as if holding it closed will keep the panic out. My knees are pulled to my chest, and my arms are wrapped around them so tightly it’s hard to breathe. But I don’t move. I can’t.

Even though I’m inside, even though I’m home, the fear hasn’t left me.

My breath still comes in short, jagged pulls, the kind that scrape the back of my throat. I know I’m safe, logically. The locks are in place. No one followed me, and no one’s coming after me, but none of that changes the way my skin feels, tight and wrong, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

I blink rapidly, trying to bring the apartment into focus. The hallway stretches out in front of me, dim and silent. Everything looks the same, but it feels different. The walls feel too close. The air feels too thin.

I strain my ears for any sound, hoping to hear something familiar. Maybe the low drone of the television or the clink of a mug being set down in the kitchen. But there’s nothing.

The apartment is silent, too silent, which means that Sam isn't home.

I hadn’t noticed it right away, but now that the thought settles in, it plants a fresh seed of unease in my chest. His keys aren’t on the hook by the door. His jacket isn’t draped over the back of the couch. The throw blanket is still tossed in the same messy pile it was in this morning.

He hasn’t been back since he left.

For a second, I don’t know what to make of that. Part of me expected him to be here, sitting in the living room with that guarded look on his face, ready to ask where I’ve been. Another part of me is relieved he isn’t.

But mostly, I just feel numb.

I push myself up slowly, my legs trembling as I stand. My entire body feels disconnected, like I’m moving through fog. I carry my shoes toward the bedroom but stop halfway. I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see the bed we used to share or the space that feels colder every time I look at it.

Instead, I head for the bathroom and the light flickers on, and I freeze at the sight of myself in the mirror.

My reflection startles me.

My hair is a tangled mess, sticking out in wild waves that still smell faintly of leather and smoke. There’s a red mark at the base of my throat where Knox kissed me. My mascara is smudged beneath my eyes, and my lips are swollen and red. I don’t look like myself.

I look like someone who doesn’t know where she belongs anymore.

The girl staring back at me isn’t the same girl who walked out the door earlier, full of fire and defiance. She’s quieter now. Smaller. There’s a shadow behind her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

I turn the tap on and let the cold water run. The sound fills the silence for a moment, grounding me just enough to breathe. I cup my hands beneath the stream and splash it over my face, again and again, as if I can wash the night away with water.

But it clings to me.

The feeling of being touched, of being seen, of being overwhelmed. The panic in the street, the scream that tore from my throat the second that man touched me, the helplessness that followed, I can still feel it in my bones.

It’s not gone just because the door is locked and I’m home.

It’s never that simple.

I grip the edges of the sink and hang my head, trying to remember the breathing techniques the therapist gave me all those years ago.

Inhale slowly. Count to four. Exhale even slower. Repeat.

But the rhythm doesn’t work, not tonight.

Because tonight, I didn’t just remember what it was like to be touched. I remembered what it was like to panic, to freeze and to scream.

Worse, I remembered what it was like not to be believed.

I press my palms to my cheeks, still damp from the water, and take another breath. I need to calm down. I need to think.

Knox hadn’t hurt me. He hadn’t even scared me. He had been patient. Gentle, in his own rough way. He listened, waited and even asked.

But the world outside that room? The second I stepped back into it, everything changed.

I thought I was ready for more than one night.

Now, I’m not so sure.