Ride And Obey MC

Thirteen

Knox POV

A voice cuts through my sleep like a goddamn knife, and I blink awake, the bed cold beside me. I sit up fast, already knowing what’s wrong before I look over and see Grudge standing in the doorway.

“What the f**k are you waking me up for?” I snap, scrubbing a hand over my face.

Grudge crosses his arms, face tight. “Because your little friend just ran outta here like her damn life depended on it. No shoes. Looked freaked as hell.”

The haze in my head clears real fast.

I throw the blanket off and grab the first pair of pants I see, yanking them on as I move.

“I might’ve made it worse,” Grudge adds, watching me closely. “Tried to slow her down, grabbed her arm to tell her not to walk home alone. She screamed like I’d pulled a knife. Hit the ground and bolted.”

My chest tightens. “s**t. How long ago?” I ask as I shove my feet into my boots, not even bothering with socks. I’m already moving, already heading for the door, grabbing my cut and my keys on the way.

Before I can reach the bikes, Echo steps in front of me, blocking the door with that annoying smirk he always wears when he thinks he’s being the voice of reason.

“You’re not riding anywhere, brother,” he says. “You’ve been drinking all f*****g night. You wreck that bike trying to play white knight, you’ll cry louder than Blaze with a bruised ego.”

I shove past him and take the keys anyway. “Worth it.”

Grudge raises a brow as I push open the door. “Did he just say it’s worth destroying his bike... for her?”

Echo laughs behind me. “Must’ve been the dress. Or maybe the death grip she had on his cock.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. I just walk out, fire in my veins, the cold morning air biting into my skin like I deserve it. I climb onto my bike, heart pounding harder than the engine as I kick it to life.

“Which way, Grudge?” I call out, turning my head toward the gate.

“She turned right. Took off fast,” he calls back, voice flat but serious now.

I nod once and gun the throttle, roaring out of the compound, tires spitting gravel behind me.

She couldn’t have gone far. She didn’t have a car. No shoes. She walked here, which means she had to be close. But one right turn turns into three more real fast, and by the time I’m a few blocks from the club, I realize I’ve got no idea where the hell she might’ve gone.

The streets are quiet. Too quiet.

Every turn I take shows me more empty sidewalks, more closed storefronts, more f*****g nothing. I ride through every possible street she could’ve taken, eyes scanning alleys and bus stops, doorways and corners, hoping I’ll catch sight of that red dress or that wild hair.

But there’s nothing. Just my own frustration boiling hotter with every mile.

I can still hear her voice in my head. I can feel her body under mine, soft and trusting. The way she gave herself to me like she was choosing it, not because she was running from something, but because she actually wanted me.

And now she’s out there, barefoot, panicked, probably thinking she made a mistake. I should’ve woken up. I should’ve said something when she started pulling away. I saw the shift in her eyes last night. I saw the flicker of fear when she thought she was letting her guard down too far.

I just didn’t want to push.

I thought maybe if I stayed still long enough, she’d stay too.

After almost an hour of searching, I finally admit I’ve got nothing. No trail. No idea where she lives. No clue where she might go when she runs scared.

Defeated and pissed off at the world, I turn the bike back toward the clubhouse.

But my gut is still burning.

Because something tells me this wasn’t just her running from a mistake.

It was her running from something deeper, and now that I’ve seen the way she falls apart and still keeps standing, I know one thing for damn sure.

I’m not done with Danielle, not even close.

By the time I get back to the clubhouse, the place is damn near silent. Everyone’s asleep, but that doesn’t surprise me. It’s close to five in the morning, and most of these bastards don’t crawl out of bed until after ten, unless there’s an emergency or a hangover to nurse with greasy food and black coffee.

Which means whatever I’m thinking about doing is going to have to wait. Nothing’s on fire, and it sure as hell isn’t life or death. Waking up Glitch now would be asking for my own funeral. That man might be a genius with wires and screens, but he’s got the temper of a rattlesnake when you yank him out of sleep.

I head to my room, shrug off my clothes, and stretch out across the bed, though sleep doesn’t come easy.

She stayed.

We f****d, we talked, we drank. Then we f****d again. And again. And each time, I waited for her to bolt. But she didn’t. Not until later. Maybe she stayed because she wanted to, or maybe she didn’t feel safe leaving until I was out cold. Maybe it was just easier to run when I wasn’t looking.

Or maybe she needed to get home before her boyfriend started asking questions. Hell, maybe she needed to hide what happened.

I don’t know, and that’s what’s eating at me.