My fingers twitch. Barely. The movement is so small I’m not even sure it happens, but the sensation follows a second later, like my body is trying to reconnect piece by piece.
I try again.
Nothing. The disconnect settles in deeper. That’s when the fear sharpens. Still quiet. Still controlled. But sharper now. Because I understand something I didn’t a second ago.
I can feel. I can hear. But I can’t respond. I’m inside it. Trapped behind it.
The voices shift again. More now. Different tones.
One lighter, faster, something like humor woven through it, even though I can’t catch the words. Another heavier, quieter, cutting through the first without trying.
The one holding me doesn’t change. That’s what I notice. Everything else moves around us. The grip stays steady. The heat stays constant. The position doesn’t shift unless it needs to. Like I’m something being held through movement, not moved by it. There’s a vibration under me. Low. Rhythmic.
It takes me a second to place it.
An engine. A vehicle. We’re moving.The realization doesn’t hit all at once. It builds. Slow. Wrong.
I’m being taken somewhere.
My chest tightens. This time the fear pushes higher. My breath stutters.
In.
Out.
It doesn’t change. I still don’t control it. My head tilts again. Light flashes across my vision, red and white and passing too fast to hold onto. Sound shifts with it, the hum of movement blending with distant noise that fades just as quickly.
The voice near me says something again. Closer. Lower.
I almost catch it. The shape of it brushes against understanding, then slips away. My body doesn’t react. But something inside me does. Not comfort. Not safety.
Recognition.
That word doesn’t fit. I don’t know him. I don’t know anything right now. But the feeling doesn’t need that. It settles in anyway. Quiet. Uninvited. There.
The movement slows. Then stops.The engine cuts. The vibration fades with it, leaving behind a kind of silence that feels heavier than the noise did. Doors open. Close. Boots on gravel. On pavement. Voices again, sharper now, clearer in tone even if the words still slip. Hands don’t leave me. Not once. The body holding me shifts, adjusts, but never lets go.
I’m lifted again. Or maybe I never stopped being held. The motion is different now. Up. Then forward. Steps. Steady. Each one measured. Controlled.
I try to open my eyes again. This time the light holds a fraction longer. Shapes form. Blurred. Dark against darker. Movement around us. Figures. Too many. Then gone again.
My head falls slightly, resting against that same solid point. Fabric. Heat. The smell again. Leather. Smoke. Something else underneath it that doesn’t resolve. My fingers twitch again. A little more this time. Still nothing I can use. But closer.
The fear presses harder now. Not loud. But deeper. Because I understand more than I did before.
I’m not waking up yet. And I don’t know where I’m being taken. Or why.
The voice comes one more time.Right above me. Closer than anything else. Low. Certain. It cuts through everything else again. Not the words. The presence. That’s what reaches me. That’s what sticks. And even with the fear sitting heavy in my chest, even with the darkness pulling me back under piece by piece, that’s the last thing that stays clear.
Not what he said.
Just…him.
Then everything fades again.
The clubhouse lot is lit up before we even pull in.
Not bright enough to draw attention from the road, but bright enough to tell me Logan already has men moving. Security lights cut hard lines across gravel, chrome, and shadows. Bikes sit in rows near the front, a few trucks angled near the side like somebody parked in a hurry and didn’t give a fuck about making it neat.
